Tip Tuesday Archives
On Her Flying Trapeze
Recently Jessica wrote that her Parenting Magazines were talking to her. The same sort of thing has been happening with my Palm.
Cause it’s inspirational quote day on Daring Young Mom and this one’s definitely worthy of inscription on a table runner or pilla’ of some sort.
Take a minute, bust a prayer and you good to go.
Surcie has inspired me to talk about what the heck our kids are subjected to on the radio lately. I personally think it’s quite precious that Laylee (Little-C) says “Bob Marley is my favorite mutsic.” I especially like it when she quotes him in casual dinner conversation.
Yes, that’s right. I am willing to take one for the team and obscond with your exquisite bedroom set. You know, the extra one you ordered from Pottery Barn “just in case” and now have no idea what to do with?
I have no scientific or genealogical evidence to prove this theory but I do have a strong feeling that my stomach originated in the country of India. When I was pregnant with Laylee, the only food I enjoyed and could consistently keep down was Indian food from my favorite restauraunt.
Laylee: Where's Cinderella's mommy?
Whilst wandering through the isles of Halloween treats this week, I spotted the perfect accessory for my shmoop, a sweet black-haired mullet wig. Yes folks, that’s right and since the wonderful holiday is only days away, it was 30% off. 30% off of what, you may ask. But that doesn’t matter because it was on sale.
So right next to the frozen edamame in my cart goes the mullet (I actually don’t think it fell anywhere near the edamame since I hadn’t picked that up yet, but I’m trying to sound healthy, vegetarianish and chic. Is it working?)
When I told Danny about said mullet, he asked, “What am I supposed to be?”
“Why, a mullet of course.”
“What are you going to be for Halloween this year, Dan?” his programmer friends will ask him with giddy girlish excitement.
Iiiiiiiiii don’t know why that conversation seems so funny in my mind, but there you are. I once promised a group of his co-workers that I would bake for them every week for a year if any of them would grow a long, sweet mullet for me. Imagine my shock when they all refused. I am somewhat of a celebrity amongst the boys, most of whom are single and not accustomed to baking anything without the help of a doughboy.
Anyway, we decided to kick things up a notch and have him go as a mullet-wearing hockey player. I went as a Texas high school home-coming queen, really just an excuse to wear my massive mum (not seen in this picture). I had to remove the mum halfway through the party due to its massive size and weight. Then I just looked like a sparkly person with way too much makeup on. Laylee was a fab ghost and Magoo was a huge hit in his sumo suit.
And we may just call that a wrap on the Daring Young Family Halloween. Everyone backed their cars into the church parking lot and Laylee got to “Trunk-or-Treat” for more candy than she’ll ever be allowed to eat. For all she knows, tonight WAS Halloween. I may not dress them up again on Monday, except of course Dan who MUST WEAR THE MULLET to work.
Oh, and right before we left for the party, Laylee informed me that she no longer wanted to be a ghost. "I want to be an alligator like Ducky!"
So I gave her the same response she gets when she asks for something without saying please.
"Mommy, I want some juice."
All modesty shoved under the sofa, I think I’m a pretty great cook. However I don’t usually have the slightest desire to cook first thing in the morning. So, Laylee is addicted to cold cereal, scrambled eggs and toaster waffles.
The other day after I fed Magoo, Dan was trying to burp him. After quite a bit of pounding, Magoo let out a small “Urp” and smiled at Dan as if to say, “I’m done.”
Okay. These people are driving me nuts. Since we bought our home, we've been inundated with telemarketing calls, especially those asking us to refinance our home. These started maybe 2 weeks after we signed our original mortgage. Sheesh!
So I’ll do it in my blog.
Okay, here's another link to Heather's blog. I just love this entry. It's too flippin' true.
In a moment Dan will come in and he will say its bedtime and I really should go. We have to get up for church at ridiculous o'clock in the morning to get everyone ready and out the door by 8:30am. But I don’t wanna go to bed!
Little-C (Laylee) loves stories more than anything in the world. The other night we found her in bed like this. I swear we did not pose this or even turn the page on the Doctor Seuss book. It was just too perfect. When we pulled back the covers, we found about 20 more books in bed with her, several under her body. That's our Little-C, avid reader and book hoarder. Her choice of pages to stop on does seem a bit narcissistic.
Laylee begins every day by waking up, closing her door so she won’t get caught being awake and then turning on her light and playing for about a half an hour. I can’t bring myself to go in there because it’s so cute to listen to her talk to herself. After a little while she ventures out where she finds me and says in a wide-eyed, head-shaking, I’m-so-surprised, can’t-believe-it-myself sort of voice, “I’m AWAKE!” She then runs to me. I pick her up in a huge hug and say, “Yay! Now we can eat breakfast and play!”
This is the way our day starts every morning that I’m up before her, which is more often now that I’m walking with Sandra again. Otherwise, the only difference is that when she finally comes out of her room, she comes into my bed and says, “I’m AWAKE! Please get up on the carpet Mommy.” This makes me feel like a lazy slacker piece-of-cheese mom so I’m trying to beat her in the wake-up department (beat, meaning win - not in the please call the authorities now sense of the word). It’s a goal.
I’m still cheap. I accepted my free gift of books and flashcards from Readers’ Digest Families and returned the one I had to pay for. Then I canceled my subscription. I hate when parents drill their kids relentlessly with flashcards but they’re fun for Laylee to play with and we made a game out of her telling Magoo what the different numbers were. Yesterday it went like this:
I show her a card - she responds.
I will give you a rare peek today at my husband and his complete adorableness. I try to limit these as not to make you weep with frustration at your own husbands’ lack of promise. So, Dan was trying to add my blog feed to his aggregator at work. Somehow Blogger had a bug (I know everyone is now shocked! Blogger, have a bug? NO!!) that was bringing up some other random blog when he typed in my address. He wanted to email them about the bug but they said he had to have a blogger account first. So he set up his own blogger site. Check his links and then try and tell me he’s not the cutest man on this planet.
Finally, my show and tell. Not much to see here. I keep most of my medicines and exciting things locked far away but here’s the unchanged-to-make-myself-look-cooler version of the cabinet. This is a weird one Blackbird, but very telling. Click on the picture to read the deets. Enjoy, folks.
I love dressing up. My first year working at a public library I somehow conned the entire staff at my desk into dressing up as characters from the Wizard of Oz. I think it was more about humoring the new Associate Librarian than about a real desire to wear a lion’s mane to work, but they looked great and we (at least I) had a really fun time.
This morning while Sandra and I were walking in the wet dark foggy beautiful morning (get used to the copious adjectives. It’s the only way I’ll get enough words into my NANOWRIMO book by November 30th and I’m practicing.) we started talking about school patrols.
Picture "borrowed" from my local Police Service website
Actually, she was talking about wishing we had a stop sign to carry around so people would stop running us over in the dark and I couldn’t help shamelessly telling her that not only was I a school patrol in grade six, I was an HONOR patrol, pretty much the most prestige you can have as a grade six student at my school.
Being an honor patrol meant you got a cool patch for your Girl Guide poncho, respect and awe from the other children, free trips to the roller rink, AND (could there be anything more?) a chance to go to patrol camp out in the mountains. Patrol camp was a place where you were rewarded for your efforts with a teeny bit of training from Constable Harvey and other saintly police officers and then a whole lot of free time with your teenage camp counselors who introduced you to 80s rap music and just the complete coolness that was high school. Then there was a dance....which I was not allowed to go to.*
Any kid’s dream, right? Well, not mine. I had so much fun the whole first day but when night came, I remembered, “Hey, I’m scared of the dark, 11 years old, stuck with a bunch of people who are not like me and listen to fun but probably evil music, and my mommy is nowhere to be seen.” I freaked out. I woke up my counselor and begged her to call my mom and have her come pick me up.
She said, “Let’s go talk to Constable Harvey and see what he thinks.” Hallelujah! I was saved. Constable Harvey was a childhood hero. He was one of the hallowed police force who, as far as I was concerned, practically walked on water. He taught us about bike safety, not talking to strangers and to say no to drugs. This guy was a straight arrow, upstanding citizen I could trust with my life.
So she walked me into a smoky back room where Constable Harvey was SMOKING...dun dun dun….A STOGIE!!!! Stogies are drugs. I thought we were supposed to say no, just say no. The stogie hung from his lips and in his right hand was a glass of LIQUOR and in his left, a hand of PLAYING CARDS for playing POKER. Help, oh help, my sweet and unbesmirched Constable Harvey was now pretty much the closest earthly incarnation of Satan I had come across in my 11 years. SMOKING, DRINKING, and GAMBLING all at the same time. My little Mormon brain nearly exploded. I didn’t know you could do so many bad things at the same time. Constable Harvey was now a stranger……and I wasn’t supposed to talk to them…….according to Constable Harvey…….who I could no longer trust……so maybe I SHOULD talk to strangers…..but then I’d have to talk to HIM and oh yeah, the evilness.
Anyway, Constable Harvey hardly looked up as he spoke to the counselor, telling her to “send the kid back to bed. If we let her talk to her mom on the phone, she’ll only freak out more.” And that was the end of it. I cried myself to sleep in my sleeping bag, in my bunk bed, in a den of sin and just mean meanness.
I have long since come to realize that not everyone has the same beliefs that I do and that’s okay. Not everyone is perfect and if he’d let me call my mom, I would have indeed “freaked out even more.” But it chipped a big chunk out of my childhood innocence and for the first time I realized that police officers weren’t all hiding a halo under their helmets, that not every good man acted exactly like my dad, and that sometimes people were hypocrites. It still makes me sad when I think about it.
On a lighter note, another big moment of disillusionment came when I went away to college and learned that Barnes and Noble was a CHAIN STORE. Okay, gasp if you must because the cat’s out of the bag! The B&N I discovered as a quaint high school hangout in the town where I grew up is not unique in all the world. No, there are definitely more than one. They are, in fact, everywhere. They are not, in fact, quaint. They all, in fact, look the same and here is the scariest part: They are owned by a giant corporation. AHHHHH! Constable Harvey, save us all!
Pick yourself up off the floor. Don’t worry. There is still a Santa Claus and if I lose teeth anytime soon, I will be putting them under my pillow and collecting my 50 cents.
*(In my house, dances were for when you turned 14 and dating for 16.)
We're painting our house. Yay!! Actually, we're having someone else do it. Double-yay!! We moved in a year and a half ago and still have that disposable white-wash paint on the walls. It gets dirty really easy and you can't clean it or you wipe through to the drywall. I have been DYING to put real, washable paint up.