I came up with some new lovey-dovey things to say to the kids. Earlier this week, I started telling Sam she smells like sunshine and kisses. She does, actually. She plays outside a lot so she smells like a warm, sunny day, and she's so soft and cuddly these days that I can't resist kissing her. So she smells like sunshine and kisses. Cassie smells a bit like her preschool most of her time, meaning she smells vaguely of the disinfectant they use to hose everything down. Man, all that disinfectant and Cass still brings home the creeping crud five times a year. But I didn't want to tell Cassie she smelled like disinfectant because that's no fun, so instead I told her...
"Honey, you smell like rainbows and fairy farts!"
You know that went over well.
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Friday, May 16, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
An Obsession With Nipples
Maybe it's a breast feeding thing, but I've recently come to realize that both my children have an obsession with nipples. Well, not Cassie so much. She **had** an obsession with nipples when she was about Sam's age (almost two) but I think she eventually grew out of it. Sam, however, is in the full height of nipple obsession, which means it will be a while before I can take her bra shopping with me.
Both girls were breast fed. In fact, I just weaned Sam about two months ago. I had planned to let the little fart wean herself, but she had already passed the point that Cassie stopped (18 months) and was not really nursing any more so much as chewing my nipples to death. I think she saw that last before bedtime nursing as a delaying tactic. She would chaw away and rather than drift off to sleep, keep herself awake by thrashing around in my lap, occasionally bashing me in the head with her flailing arms and legs. I got tired of this after a while and decided that since she wasn't going to peaceably wean herself, I'd just have to do it for her and so I cut out that last nursing cold turkey.
Needless to say, what followed was a couple of weeks of Sam grabbing at my breasts right before bedtime, demanding to be fed. "Nurse! Nurse!" she'd scream. My solution was to hand her to Michael, who's nipples are too hairy for Sam to chew on. Mine however, are still fair game, and Sam takes every opportunity to point them out when she sees them. If she sees me in the bathtub, Sam will point and go, "Nipples. Nurse." That is the quickest way I know of for her to end my bath. I can't get dressed fast enough, especially if I see her jaws open up to clamp down on my recently reclaimed nipples. Not that I think it will hurt if she latches on -- god knows she killed off all the nerve endings in my nipples long ago -- but I honestly to feel like dealing with the thrashing and beating that came to accompany those last nursing sessions. I mean really, do I need to be beaten black and blue by my toddler?
Sam is also fascinated with her own nipples, much the way Cassie was at her age. She will pull off her shirt to show them off at odd occasions. Again, makes it a little hard to go out with her in public places. And she will point out nipples if she sees them anywhere she goes (like if she sees a shirtless man in a poster or advertisement). Cassie used to do this. I remember one time sitting in zen meditation at home, with my Buddha figurine on the floor in front of me. Cassie walked up to the figure, looked at it and then pointed at the bare side of its chest to proclaim, "Buddha! Nipple!" And that killed that afternoon's meditation, you can be sure.
Cassie is also the child who once ran through the bra section of a lingerie department in a J. C. Penny's, screamaing, "Boobies! Boobies!" as she snatched bras off the rack. To this day, I still cannot walk into J. C. Penny's.
But Sam's latest fascination is not with anything on my chest, but rather with the small brown mole on my left arm. I've had this mole for as long as I can remember, and both kids are obsessed with it, to the point of driving me crazy. They like to poke and prod at it, even though I've told them not to. Sam in particular likes to grab at it and shout out, "Nipple!" "No, no," I say. "That's a mole." "Nipple!" Sam insists. I live in fear of the day when she'll try to latch on. If you ever see me walking around with a toddler fastened onto my left elbow, you know what happened.
Both girls were breast fed. In fact, I just weaned Sam about two months ago. I had planned to let the little fart wean herself, but she had already passed the point that Cassie stopped (18 months) and was not really nursing any more so much as chewing my nipples to death. I think she saw that last before bedtime nursing as a delaying tactic. She would chaw away and rather than drift off to sleep, keep herself awake by thrashing around in my lap, occasionally bashing me in the head with her flailing arms and legs. I got tired of this after a while and decided that since she wasn't going to peaceably wean herself, I'd just have to do it for her and so I cut out that last nursing cold turkey.
Needless to say, what followed was a couple of weeks of Sam grabbing at my breasts right before bedtime, demanding to be fed. "Nurse! Nurse!" she'd scream. My solution was to hand her to Michael, who's nipples are too hairy for Sam to chew on. Mine however, are still fair game, and Sam takes every opportunity to point them out when she sees them. If she sees me in the bathtub, Sam will point and go, "Nipples. Nurse." That is the quickest way I know of for her to end my bath. I can't get dressed fast enough, especially if I see her jaws open up to clamp down on my recently reclaimed nipples. Not that I think it will hurt if she latches on -- god knows she killed off all the nerve endings in my nipples long ago -- but I honestly to feel like dealing with the thrashing and beating that came to accompany those last nursing sessions. I mean really, do I need to be beaten black and blue by my toddler?
Sam is also fascinated with her own nipples, much the way Cassie was at her age. She will pull off her shirt to show them off at odd occasions. Again, makes it a little hard to go out with her in public places. And she will point out nipples if she sees them anywhere she goes (like if she sees a shirtless man in a poster or advertisement). Cassie used to do this. I remember one time sitting in zen meditation at home, with my Buddha figurine on the floor in front of me. Cassie walked up to the figure, looked at it and then pointed at the bare side of its chest to proclaim, "Buddha! Nipple!" And that killed that afternoon's meditation, you can be sure.
Cassie is also the child who once ran through the bra section of a lingerie department in a J. C. Penny's, screamaing, "Boobies! Boobies!" as she snatched bras off the rack. To this day, I still cannot walk into J. C. Penny's.
But Sam's latest fascination is not with anything on my chest, but rather with the small brown mole on my left arm. I've had this mole for as long as I can remember, and both kids are obsessed with it, to the point of driving me crazy. They like to poke and prod at it, even though I've told them not to. Sam in particular likes to grab at it and shout out, "Nipple!" "No, no," I say. "That's a mole." "Nipple!" Sam insists. I live in fear of the day when she'll try to latch on. If you ever see me walking around with a toddler fastened onto my left elbow, you know what happened.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
You Beast!
There's domestic trouble in the Madden household. Sam got into her sister's Disney Princess Barbie dolls with disturbing results. I found Belle and Prince Eric in the master bathroom together, naked. I was wondering who kept humming "Be My Guest." The Beast is going to be so pissed off when he finds out about this.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Conversations with Cassandra
This morning, Sunday, around 10:30 AM. I'm upstairs checking e-mail. Sam is playing in her room. Michael and Cassie have just returned from church. Cassie comes running upstairs...
Cassie: "Mommy! We're home!"
Cassie bounds into the room.
Me: "Hey, sweetie. How was your first day of Bible school?"
Cassie, flinging her arms wide: "Excommunicated!"
Me: "What?"
Cassie, huge grin on her face: "I got excommunicated!"
Me, wondering who put her up to this: "Why were you excommunicated?"
Cassie, now laughing: "For asking questions!"
Me, shouting downstairs: "Michael! Get up here..."
The funny thing is, Michael told Cassie to tell me she was excommunicated, but he didn't tell her to tell me she was excommunicated for asking questions. When he heard about that, he fell over laughing.
Cassie: "Mommy! We're home!"
Cassie bounds into the room.
Me: "Hey, sweetie. How was your first day of Bible school?"
Cassie, flinging her arms wide: "Excommunicated!"
Me: "What?"
Cassie, huge grin on her face: "I got excommunicated!"
Me, wondering who put her up to this: "Why were you excommunicated?"
Cassie, now laughing: "For asking questions!"
Me, shouting downstairs: "Michael! Get up here..."
The funny thing is, Michael told Cassie to tell me she was excommunicated, but he didn't tell her to tell me she was excommunicated for asking questions. When he heard about that, he fell over laughing.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Who Is Harold Rockin'?
Cassie has come up with a new nick name for Sam. It's Harold Rockin'. I have no clue why she calls Sam this, but she does. For those of you who don't know, Sam is short for Samantha so the name Harold Rockin' really confounds me. The first time I heard Cassie use that nick name was a couple months ago. It was right after I had applied some sunblock to Sam. Sam has this very fine blonde hair and she hates to wear hats so to protect her scalp from burning, I doused her head with sunblock and worked it into her hair. The end result was this wild, crazy hair style, sort of like Albert Einstein on a bad hair day. Cassie took one look at Sam and shrieked, "That's Harold Rockin'!" Then she collapsed in a fit of laughter. Sam has been Harold Rockin' ever since.
I've tried asking Cassie where she got the name Harold Rockin' from. Is it a cartoon character? No. An imaginary friend? No. Is it the name of one her friends at preschool? No again. Best I can figure, Cassie just came up with the name on her own, and she uses it every time Sam's hair gets wild. Whether it be spikey with sunblock or tousled from the tub, wild hair gets Sam dubbed Harold Rockin'.
Maybe he's a rock star? Who knows.
I've tried asking Cassie where she got the name Harold Rockin' from. Is it a cartoon character? No. An imaginary friend? No. Is it the name of one her friends at preschool? No again. Best I can figure, Cassie just came up with the name on her own, and she uses it every time Sam's hair gets wild. Whether it be spikey with sunblock or tousled from the tub, wild hair gets Sam dubbed Harold Rockin'.
Maybe he's a rock star? Who knows.
Harold Rockin' and her sister Cassandra Jane.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
How To Make Blue Poopie
For this recipe, you will need:
One (1) baby
One (1) pint of blueberries
One (1) high chair (optional, but recommended unless you like cleaning mashed blueberries off your carpet and furniture)
Directions:
Feed one (1) pint of blueberries to one (1) baby. Wait 12-36 hours. Change baby's diaper. Contents of diaper should be grayish navy blue, with small round pieces in it that look suspiciously like whole blueberries.
And that's it. Voila! You're done!
One (1) baby
One (1) pint of blueberries
One (1) high chair (optional, but recommended unless you like cleaning mashed blueberries off your carpet and furniture)
Directions:
Feed one (1) pint of blueberries to one (1) baby. Wait 12-36 hours. Change baby's diaper. Contents of diaper should be grayish navy blue, with small round pieces in it that look suspiciously like whole blueberries.
And that's it. Voila! You're done!
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Who Needs Family Portraits?
Who needs family portraits when you can take pictures like this:
Yeah, yeah, I know one of the pics is out of focus, but consider the subject. So forget those professional photographers, parents. Kids look best when they're mess- er, natural.
Don't you just love this face?
And how about this one?
Yeah, yeah, I know one of the pics is out of focus, but consider the subject. So forget those professional photographers, parents. Kids look best when they're mess- er, natural.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
I've Had Days Like This...
This one comes from Yvonne over at East Coast F'lakers:
Click and open
I can remember doing quite a few things similar to this when tired. Looking for ice in the pantry. Putting my eye glasses in the dairy shelf of the fridge and then wandering around the house wondering where they were. Pouring OJ in my coffee. That last one really sucked because we didn't have any more coffee left.
Sad what happens to moms when they get tired.
Click and open
I can remember doing quite a few things similar to this when tired. Looking for ice in the pantry. Putting my eye glasses in the dairy shelf of the fridge and then wandering around the house wondering where they were. Pouring OJ in my coffee. That last one really sucked because we didn't have any more coffee left.
Sad what happens to moms when they get tired.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Sunday Morning Musings
Just some random thoughts about what’s going on in our house, in no particular order...
Thought #1 - Living In The Mobile Age
Sam is getting more and more mobile, and as a result so am I. She’s crawling, (often on her hands and toes like a baby gorilla), standing, cruising along holding furniture, and in general getting into stuff. I am racing around her in an ever increasing circle, trying to put stuff out of her reach. Cassie got into a lot of stuff at about this age, and Sam is doing the same, but there are some differences. Sam will climb stairs. Cassie never tried them unless I was there to help her along. Sam grabs different things, namely Cassie’s toys. So at least I’m not the only one scrambling to remove stuff from Sam’s reach. Cassie was fairly easy to distract. If I took something away from her, I could give her something else to play with and she was happy. Sam is a bit more stubborn.
Ah well, it’s that age, and as exhausting as it is keeping up with Sam, it’s fun to watch.
Thought #2 - The Speakers Of The House
Sam is starting to develop a vocabulary. She now says Mama, Dada, and “Doh!” which I think means “No!” At least she says “Doh!” every time I tell her “No!” She also waves her hands and says “Duh!” when we ask her if she’s done eating.
Cassie has come up with a few new words as well, making me think she has inherited my talent for swearing. Oh well. By the way, did you know most preschool teachers think “Fart” is a dirty word? I thought it was pretty harmless myself.
Thought #3 - The Tooth Hurts
Sam is keeping me up nights again. Apparently she’s got another tooth on the way. Unlike Cassie, who only went through a day or two of fussing before a new tooth appeared in her mouth, Sam spends weeks in miserable preparation for her new pearly whites. I find myself waking up a couple times a night to nurse and comfort the poor thing. That is, right up until she uses the teeth she already has to chomp down on me. Sam will probably learn to swear just like her sister and I, I’m sure.
Thought #4 - Words Of Wisdom From The Mommies Group
On seeing something mysterious go into a toddler’s mouth at the playground... “Finding no bug in your child’s mouth is better than finding half a bug.”
On seeing a child embark on yet another new and exciting adventure involving the stairs and a pair of roller skates... “This can only end poorly.”
Said to a teething baby... “Don’t bite the boob that feeds you.”
That’s all I got today folks. Have a nice Easter.
Thought #1 - Living In The Mobile Age
Sam is getting more and more mobile, and as a result so am I. She’s crawling, (often on her hands and toes like a baby gorilla), standing, cruising along holding furniture, and in general getting into stuff. I am racing around her in an ever increasing circle, trying to put stuff out of her reach. Cassie got into a lot of stuff at about this age, and Sam is doing the same, but there are some differences. Sam will climb stairs. Cassie never tried them unless I was there to help her along. Sam grabs different things, namely Cassie’s toys. So at least I’m not the only one scrambling to remove stuff from Sam’s reach. Cassie was fairly easy to distract. If I took something away from her, I could give her something else to play with and she was happy. Sam is a bit more stubborn.
Ah well, it’s that age, and as exhausting as it is keeping up with Sam, it’s fun to watch.
Thought #2 - The Speakers Of The House
Sam is starting to develop a vocabulary. She now says Mama, Dada, and “Doh!” which I think means “No!” At least she says “Doh!” every time I tell her “No!” She also waves her hands and says “Duh!” when we ask her if she’s done eating.
Cassie has come up with a few new words as well, making me think she has inherited my talent for swearing. Oh well. By the way, did you know most preschool teachers think “Fart” is a dirty word? I thought it was pretty harmless myself.
Thought #3 - The Tooth Hurts
Sam is keeping me up nights again. Apparently she’s got another tooth on the way. Unlike Cassie, who only went through a day or two of fussing before a new tooth appeared in her mouth, Sam spends weeks in miserable preparation for her new pearly whites. I find myself waking up a couple times a night to nurse and comfort the poor thing. That is, right up until she uses the teeth she already has to chomp down on me. Sam will probably learn to swear just like her sister and I, I’m sure.
Thought #4 - Words Of Wisdom From The Mommies Group
On seeing something mysterious go into a toddler’s mouth at the playground... “Finding no bug in your child’s mouth is better than finding half a bug.”
On seeing a child embark on yet another new and exciting adventure involving the stairs and a pair of roller skates... “This can only end poorly.”
Said to a teething baby... “Don’t bite the boob that feeds you.”
That’s all I got today folks. Have a nice Easter.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Baby Got Rap!
With apologies to Sir Mix-A-Lot...
I like clean butts and I cannot lie
You other babies can’t deny
When your diaper’s wet you get upset
And then you start to cry.
That poopie is tough, it’s stinky smelly stuff
Gotta wipe my hiney, make it shiney
When I’m in the buff.
I’m a little bitty baby but I got a lotta rap...
I’m a little bitty baby but I got a lotta rap...
I like clean butts and I cannot lie
You other babies can’t deny
When your diaper’s wet you get upset
And then you start to cry.
That poopie is tough, it’s stinky smelly stuff
Gotta wipe my hiney, make it shiney
When I’m in the buff.
I’m a little bitty baby but I got a lotta rap...
I’m a little bitty baby but I got a lotta rap...
Monday, January 08, 2007
Mommy Milestones
Today in mommy history...
- Cassie moved up to the four-year-old room at her preschool. She recognizes all her letters and numbers and likes to draw pictures of her and Mommy.
- Sam sat up for the first time all on her own, and then got scared because she couldn’t figure out how to get back down on her tummy. She’s cutting another tooth as well, which will make a grand total of three once it comes through.
- Mommy got to talk to another adult on the phone and actually got through most of the conversation without having to scream for quiet. Mommy also got bit by Sam’s aforementioned teeth while nursing.
Ow!
Monday, January 01, 2007
New Year’s Resolutions
I resolve not to eat anything larger than my head.
I resolve not to forget to exercise. Doesn’t mean I’ll do it, just that I won’t forget I’m supposed to do it.
I resolve to start calling a toilet a toilet, and not a potty.
I resolve not to let the kids watch cartoons unless I get to sit and watch them too. “Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends” rules!
I resolve not to eat cookies in front of my three-year-old daughter, because if she sees me eating them, then I have to share some with her.
I resolve not to stay up past 10 PM, because if I do, I’ll have no hope whatsoever of getting any sleep. Sam still wakes up twice during the night, wanting to nurse, and at least twice a week Cassie comes scrambling into our bed at 3 AM complaining of monsters in her room. None of this is conducive to sleep.
I resolve to promptly forget about all the above resolutions just as soon as I possibly can.
I resolve not to forget to exercise. Doesn’t mean I’ll do it, just that I won’t forget I’m supposed to do it.
I resolve to start calling a toilet a toilet, and not a potty.
I resolve not to let the kids watch cartoons unless I get to sit and watch them too. “Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends” rules!
I resolve not to eat cookies in front of my three-year-old daughter, because if she sees me eating them, then I have to share some with her.
I resolve not to stay up past 10 PM, because if I do, I’ll have no hope whatsoever of getting any sleep. Sam still wakes up twice during the night, wanting to nurse, and at least twice a week Cassie comes scrambling into our bed at 3 AM complaining of monsters in her room. None of this is conducive to sleep.
I resolve to promptly forget about all the above resolutions just as soon as I possibly can.
Another Fond Christmas Memory
Cassie got a stuffed doll for Christmas. It’s sort of a horse wearing a frilly dress with petticoats. We decided to call her Hortence. Anyway, Cassie was playing with Hortence the Horse. For some reason, Hortence “died” and Michael had to revive her. This provided some unexpected amusement...
Cassie: Daddy, Hortence died! She’s dead!”
Michael: No, sweetie. Hortence is only mostly dead, which means she’s still a little alive. You know what that means?
Cassie: Um, noooooooo...
Michael: It means we can bring her back, like this!
(Michael proceeds to give Hortence mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Hortence quickly comes back to “life.”)
Cassie (grabbing the newly revived Hortence): Mommy! Mommy! Daddy blow the horse! Daddy blow the horse!
Remember folks, if you just sprayed coffee all over your computer screen, it’s not my fault.
Cassie: Daddy, Hortence died! She’s dead!”
Michael: No, sweetie. Hortence is only mostly dead, which means she’s still a little alive. You know what that means?
Cassie: Um, noooooooo...
Michael: It means we can bring her back, like this!
(Michael proceeds to give Hortence mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Hortence quickly comes back to “life.”)
Cassie (grabbing the newly revived Hortence): Mommy! Mommy! Daddy blow the horse! Daddy blow the horse!
Remember folks, if you just sprayed coffee all over your computer screen, it’s not my fault.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Just One More Christmas Anecdote
Did I happen to mention that after opening the huge mountain of presents that overwhelmed our living room, Cassie actually ran around the house singing “I’m Getting Nothing for Christmas?”
Really, that’s what she did.
Really, that’s what she did.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Christmas Overload And Recovery
Oh.
My.
God.
You would not believe the sheer number of presents that got opened in this house yesterday morning. I knew it was going to be bad, because the number of giant packages we had received was already making it hard for people to get in and out of our living room. I swear, the place looked like the store room of UPS.
So many presents, so much excitement. I would have liked for things to have gone at a more leisurely pace this year, but with the kids sick so much of the time prior to the holidays, Michael and I never really got a chance to preplan and prepare, so we ended up running around in chaos like always. Ugh. Maybe next year will be different. Riiiiiight.
Cassie is old enough this year to really get into the whole Christmas tradition. We started with a delicious Christmas Eve dinner, which we ate early (Michael cooked it, Cassie helped). Turkey, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, crescent rolls... yum. Cassie ate a little bit (she’s at that age where all foods that don’t obviously look like candy are “yucky”). Then we all raced to get dressed and head out the door for 5:30 mass. Cass sat through most of mass with her daddy, although I had to leave because Sam wanted to sing... during the homily. Personally, I don’t mind missing mass. I’m Buddhist, and if I’m going to sit that long for any reason, I’d rather meditate than go through the Catholic Calisthenics of stand up, sit down, genuflect, HIKE!
But we got through church and then came home. This is where the real chaos started. I avoided the misery of buying gifts this year by shopping almost strictly online. I gave all the adults the same gift - porn (or rather, the erotica anthology I’m published in this season). However, I hadn’t managed to wrap anything. And of course, neither Michael nor I realized until we sat down that evening that we were almost out of Christmas wrapping paper. Cassie got a few gifts done up in baby shower paper. Don’t think she noticed though.
I wrapped stuff first while Michael got Cassie to bed. Then I spent all evening cleaning while he wrapped. The cats are on a ‘Bah-humbug!’ trip right now, it seems. They went to great pains to puke and poop all over the downstairs carpet (joy to the world, people). But they’re old, so these things do tend to happen. Especially on Christmas Eve.
We made sure Cassie put out milk and cookies. Sometime around midnight, after all the wrapping and the cleaning was done, Michael and I managed to sit down and ‘help Santa’ with his treats. We also put out Cassie’s reindeer food - uncooked oatmeal with silver glitter in it. The glitter is for magic. Then we each exchanged one gift, like we do every Christmas Eve. Michael gave me “Meatloaf: Bat Out Of Hell III” and I gave him a blank book with a love note written in it. The idea is that he now has one week to write a love note as well, and then hand it back to me. Then we’ll pass this book back and forth to each other, adding a love note each time until the book is full and I feel schmaltzy enough to go get another one.
We collapsed into bed around 12:30 AM. I got up four hours later and started working on some caramel pecan rolls. Yes, further proof that I am crazy. My mom always made these things and served them hot on Christmas morning, and they really are good, but they take forever to make. I promised myself that next year, I’d get my act together and make them on Christmas Eve. Of course, I also promised myself that next year I’d have all my presents wrapped the week before and we’d have plenty of Christmas paper to do it with. Michael did buy new wrapping paper this morning at the traditional butt-crack-of-dawn post-Christmas sales, so one out of three ain’t bad, right?
The pecan rolls were ready to eat by 9:30. By then, both kids had been up a couple of hours and we had cardboard boxes and wrapping paper strewn all over the house. Remember how I mentioned at the beginning of this post that we could barely get into the living room for all the boxes? It got worse, a lot worse, once we started opening everything. And it seemed like the boxes were multiplying exponentially under the tree. Open one box and find two more behind it. Open those two and find four more behind that. Open four and find sixteen. Etc, etc, etc.
Around noon I finally had to quit opening gifts to do more cooking. We had an invitation to eat Christmas dinner over at Mary’s parents’ place and I offered to make something. I made a killer spinach soufflé and packed up the second plate of pecan rolls to take with us. By the time I was done, Michael was finishing up with the last package, stabbing it to death with his leatherman to prevent it from breeding any further gifts. The word disaster does not begin to describe the scene in our living room. It was at this point that I really started to feel ill. You can have too many presents, believe me.
And now for some of the highlights on who got what in this gross display of overabundance and wealth...
Cassie: She got a handmade Cinderella costume from her Grandmama. To say it’s gorgeous does not begin to describe it. She had to immediately to try it on, so we caught half a preschooler striptease act on video before Michael was able to turn off the camera. Twenty minutes later, Cassie opened up the Ariel wedding gown her aunt Khaki sent and stripped yet again. She also got a Disney Jasmine and Aladdin doll set. The dolls are dressed in their wedding clothes and look gorgeous, but the look on Aladdin’s face make me think he’s just realized it’s his wedding night and he’s not anatomically correct.
Sam: My little baby got a play saucer, one of those giant contraptions that’s supposed to keep kids entertained and out of trouble. The idea is that you sit babies in the little diaper-style seat amidst a frightful of light-up noise makers, allowing them to scream at the top of their lungs while they flail their little feet a mere inch or two above the carpet and fail to go anywhere at all. It looks like the mother ship from ET. Or maybe Close Encounters. I can’t decide.
Michael: I always try to find something that Michael will enjoy, yet hasn’t been listed on his wish list. I know, I know. Wish lists are there for a reason. But to me, it’s so unoriginal to keep checking off items on his list every time a holiday, birthday, or anniversary rolls around. So this year I decided to give him the gift of intelligent conversation. I got him a subscription to Scientific American, a magazine that looks at what’s happening in all areas of science and talks about topics like relativity and unified field theory (areas that Michael wants to do research in someday). The idea is that he and I can both read the magazine and then discuss it at the dinner table, in the car, wherever we get the chance to talk a bit. Hopefully, I’ll be able to do more than just look at an issue and say, “Oh, pretty pictures!”
Me: In addition to the Meatloaf CD, Michael also gave me sleepwear. You can tell our marriage has only gotten better over time. Years ago, he would have bought me Victoria’s Secret. This year he got me “Nightmare Before Christmas” jammies. The man truly loves and understands me. I also got the “You Can Do It!” book set (a merit badge handbook for grown up girls) from my sister, several boxes of Darjeeling tea from my parents, and the Action Heroine’s Handbook from Angie. Angie is always sending me cool stuff like that. One year, out of the blue, she sent me a psychedelic wall plaque of Ganesh. It’s still up in my dining room today. Cool!
Other odds and ends of note...
Once again, we got Trappist Monk cheese from Michael’s parents. You either love this cheese or you hate it. Whichever you decide, pray that it uses its overwhelming powers of stinkiness for good and not evil.
In addition to Cassie’s spontaneous strip tease acts, we also caught a few other interesting tidbits on tape. At one point, she was sitting with Michael while he worked on assembling the mother ship. Cassie kept putting her foot on the frame, so he responded by taking his screw driver and pretending to screw her foot to the saucer. Cassie was having so much fun she turned to me and shouted, “Mommy, Daddy keeps screwing me! Screw me again Daddy! Screw me again!”
So anyway, now that you’re done spraying coffee out of your nose, that was our Christmas. We headed over to Mary’s parents’ for dinner and had a wonderful time there. When we got home, I went to work on recovering my house. It took me two hours, but I eventually found the living room floor. Now I’m gearing up for a post-Christmas party. I’ve got a cake baking in the oven and once Sam is done nursing, I’m going to sit down with a cup of joe and one of my new books and do some reading. Hope everyone out there had a wonderful holiday, and enjoy New Year’s Day!
My.
God.
You would not believe the sheer number of presents that got opened in this house yesterday morning. I knew it was going to be bad, because the number of giant packages we had received was already making it hard for people to get in and out of our living room. I swear, the place looked like the store room of UPS.
So many presents, so much excitement. I would have liked for things to have gone at a more leisurely pace this year, but with the kids sick so much of the time prior to the holidays, Michael and I never really got a chance to preplan and prepare, so we ended up running around in chaos like always. Ugh. Maybe next year will be different. Riiiiiight.
Cassie is old enough this year to really get into the whole Christmas tradition. We started with a delicious Christmas Eve dinner, which we ate early (Michael cooked it, Cassie helped). Turkey, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, crescent rolls... yum. Cassie ate a little bit (she’s at that age where all foods that don’t obviously look like candy are “yucky”). Then we all raced to get dressed and head out the door for 5:30 mass. Cass sat through most of mass with her daddy, although I had to leave because Sam wanted to sing... during the homily. Personally, I don’t mind missing mass. I’m Buddhist, and if I’m going to sit that long for any reason, I’d rather meditate than go through the Catholic Calisthenics of stand up, sit down, genuflect, HIKE!
But we got through church and then came home. This is where the real chaos started. I avoided the misery of buying gifts this year by shopping almost strictly online. I gave all the adults the same gift - porn (or rather, the erotica anthology I’m published in this season). However, I hadn’t managed to wrap anything. And of course, neither Michael nor I realized until we sat down that evening that we were almost out of Christmas wrapping paper. Cassie got a few gifts done up in baby shower paper. Don’t think she noticed though.
I wrapped stuff first while Michael got Cassie to bed. Then I spent all evening cleaning while he wrapped. The cats are on a ‘Bah-humbug!’ trip right now, it seems. They went to great pains to puke and poop all over the downstairs carpet (joy to the world, people). But they’re old, so these things do tend to happen. Especially on Christmas Eve.
We made sure Cassie put out milk and cookies. Sometime around midnight, after all the wrapping and the cleaning was done, Michael and I managed to sit down and ‘help Santa’ with his treats. We also put out Cassie’s reindeer food - uncooked oatmeal with silver glitter in it. The glitter is for magic. Then we each exchanged one gift, like we do every Christmas Eve. Michael gave me “Meatloaf: Bat Out Of Hell III” and I gave him a blank book with a love note written in it. The idea is that he now has one week to write a love note as well, and then hand it back to me. Then we’ll pass this book back and forth to each other, adding a love note each time until the book is full and I feel schmaltzy enough to go get another one.
We collapsed into bed around 12:30 AM. I got up four hours later and started working on some caramel pecan rolls. Yes, further proof that I am crazy. My mom always made these things and served them hot on Christmas morning, and they really are good, but they take forever to make. I promised myself that next year, I’d get my act together and make them on Christmas Eve. Of course, I also promised myself that next year I’d have all my presents wrapped the week before and we’d have plenty of Christmas paper to do it with. Michael did buy new wrapping paper this morning at the traditional butt-crack-of-dawn post-Christmas sales, so one out of three ain’t bad, right?
The pecan rolls were ready to eat by 9:30. By then, both kids had been up a couple of hours and we had cardboard boxes and wrapping paper strewn all over the house. Remember how I mentioned at the beginning of this post that we could barely get into the living room for all the boxes? It got worse, a lot worse, once we started opening everything. And it seemed like the boxes were multiplying exponentially under the tree. Open one box and find two more behind it. Open those two and find four more behind that. Open four and find sixteen. Etc, etc, etc.
Around noon I finally had to quit opening gifts to do more cooking. We had an invitation to eat Christmas dinner over at Mary’s parents’ place and I offered to make something. I made a killer spinach soufflé and packed up the second plate of pecan rolls to take with us. By the time I was done, Michael was finishing up with the last package, stabbing it to death with his leatherman to prevent it from breeding any further gifts. The word disaster does not begin to describe the scene in our living room. It was at this point that I really started to feel ill. You can have too many presents, believe me.
And now for some of the highlights on who got what in this gross display of overabundance and wealth...
Cassie: She got a handmade Cinderella costume from her Grandmama. To say it’s gorgeous does not begin to describe it. She had to immediately to try it on, so we caught half a preschooler striptease act on video before Michael was able to turn off the camera. Twenty minutes later, Cassie opened up the Ariel wedding gown her aunt Khaki sent and stripped yet again. She also got a Disney Jasmine and Aladdin doll set. The dolls are dressed in their wedding clothes and look gorgeous, but the look on Aladdin’s face make me think he’s just realized it’s his wedding night and he’s not anatomically correct.
Sam: My little baby got a play saucer, one of those giant contraptions that’s supposed to keep kids entertained and out of trouble. The idea is that you sit babies in the little diaper-style seat amidst a frightful of light-up noise makers, allowing them to scream at the top of their lungs while they flail their little feet a mere inch or two above the carpet and fail to go anywhere at all. It looks like the mother ship from ET. Or maybe Close Encounters. I can’t decide.
Michael: I always try to find something that Michael will enjoy, yet hasn’t been listed on his wish list. I know, I know. Wish lists are there for a reason. But to me, it’s so unoriginal to keep checking off items on his list every time a holiday, birthday, or anniversary rolls around. So this year I decided to give him the gift of intelligent conversation. I got him a subscription to Scientific American, a magazine that looks at what’s happening in all areas of science and talks about topics like relativity and unified field theory (areas that Michael wants to do research in someday). The idea is that he and I can both read the magazine and then discuss it at the dinner table, in the car, wherever we get the chance to talk a bit. Hopefully, I’ll be able to do more than just look at an issue and say, “Oh, pretty pictures!”
Me: In addition to the Meatloaf CD, Michael also gave me sleepwear. You can tell our marriage has only gotten better over time. Years ago, he would have bought me Victoria’s Secret. This year he got me “Nightmare Before Christmas” jammies. The man truly loves and understands me. I also got the “You Can Do It!” book set (a merit badge handbook for grown up girls) from my sister, several boxes of Darjeeling tea from my parents, and the Action Heroine’s Handbook from Angie. Angie is always sending me cool stuff like that. One year, out of the blue, she sent me a psychedelic wall plaque of Ganesh. It’s still up in my dining room today. Cool!
Other odds and ends of note...
Once again, we got Trappist Monk cheese from Michael’s parents. You either love this cheese or you hate it. Whichever you decide, pray that it uses its overwhelming powers of stinkiness for good and not evil.
In addition to Cassie’s spontaneous strip tease acts, we also caught a few other interesting tidbits on tape. At one point, she was sitting with Michael while he worked on assembling the mother ship. Cassie kept putting her foot on the frame, so he responded by taking his screw driver and pretending to screw her foot to the saucer. Cassie was having so much fun she turned to me and shouted, “Mommy, Daddy keeps screwing me! Screw me again Daddy! Screw me again!”
So anyway, now that you’re done spraying coffee out of your nose, that was our Christmas. We headed over to Mary’s parents’ for dinner and had a wonderful time there. When we got home, I went to work on recovering my house. It took me two hours, but I eventually found the living room floor. Now I’m gearing up for a post-Christmas party. I’ve got a cake baking in the oven and once Sam is done nursing, I’m going to sit down with a cup of joe and one of my new books and do some reading. Hope everyone out there had a wonderful holiday, and enjoy New Year’s Day!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Must Have Been Something I Said
We went to the pediatrician on Wednesday for a follow up appointment for Cassie. That makes seven visits in two weeks. The pediatrician joked that she was going to start charging me rent, I spent so much time there. I said I was just going to find an empty office space nearby and set up shop there. That way I could write between doctor visits. That led to her asking how my writing was going, and she was overjoyed when I told her I had a contract for my pornographic novel.
“Is that what you write?” she exclaimed. When I said yes, she grinned and asked if I wrote from experience.
“Oh god no,” I replied. “I’m not a gay man.”
She laughed so hard she almost couldn’t walk out of the examining room.
“Is that what you write?” she exclaimed. When I said yes, she grinned and asked if I wrote from experience.
“Oh god no,” I replied. “I’m not a gay man.”
She laughed so hard she almost couldn’t walk out of the examining room.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Hungry Mungry And The Picky Eater!
Dinner with Sam...
Me: Sam, it’s dinner time! Are you hungry, precious?
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Okay honey, don’t eat the high chair. That’s not good for you. Here, try some cereal instead. Mmmmmm, cereal.
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Oh, very good. You’re a good eater, Sam. But Mommy needs the spoon back now.
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum! Nyum nyum nyum!
Me: No sweetie, please don’t shove the spoon up your nose. Mommy needs that back to feed you. Give me the spoon... Sam, give me the spoon... Of fer crying out loud, Sam. Give me the spoon!
Sam: Waaaaaah! Waaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaaah!
Me: No, don’t cry! Don’t cry! Look, here’s the airplane! Here comes the airplane! Zoooooooooooooom!
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Very good Sam. Now let’s do a choo choo train. Choo choo, choo choo, choo choo, choo choo, WOO WOOOO!
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Good girl! Can Mommy have her fingers back now? Uh, I need those fingers. Thank you. Okay Sam, let’s try another one. Here comes the astronaut. Here he comes in his space suit! He says, ‘Open the pod bay doors, Hal.’
Sam stares at me blankly.
Me: Okay, that’s from the movie ‘2001.’ Maybe you’ll get that when you’re older. Um, let’s do the airplane again. Here comes the airplane! Zooooooom! Zooooooooom! Zoooooo- Augh! My fingers! Sam, give me back my fingers!
Sam: Nyum! Nyum nyum nyum! Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Aaaaaaa! Call 911! She bit off my fingers! Call 911! Aaaaaaugh!! AAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!
And that’s dinner with Sam. An hour after all this, she’ll spit everything back up, including my fingers, which is why I can still count to ten. Feeding Cassie has been an entirely different matter...
Cassie: Mommy, I don’t like chicken.
Me: Oh? Well you don’t have to eat it...
Cassie: Okay!
Me: But you’re not getting a treat if you don’t eat your dinner.
Cassie (pokes at her plate): Mommy, I don’t like broccoli.
Me: That’s fine. But you’re still not getting any treats if you don’t eat what’s on your plate.
Cassie (does a little more poking): I don’t like rice either.
Me: Once again, you will not get anything else to eat tonight if you don’t eat your dinner. Do you understand?
Cassie: Yes ma’am. Mommy?
Me: Yes, Cassandra?
Cassie: I’m done. May I be excused?
Me: Yes, you may. But you’re not getting anything else to eat tonight. Remember that.
Cassie runs off to play in the living room. During the course of dinner, she keeps running up to either me or Michael, asking for a movie, telling fart jokes, and in general acting like a little hooligan. After we’re done eating, I clear the dishes off the table. Cassie’s plate is still untouched. It’s the exact same food I tried feeding her last night, which she refused to eat then too, so I just dump it in the trash.
Me: Okay Cassie, movie time is over. It’s time to go upstairs for your bath.
Cassie: Mommy, I’m hungry. May I have something to eat?
Me: Uh, no. Remember what I told you?
Cassie looks at me blankly.
Me: You didn’t eat your dinner, so you’re not getting anything else to eat.
Cassie: But I’m hungry!
Me: Too bad. It’s bath time. Get upstairs.
The crocodile tears begin to flow from Cassie’s baby blues. She wails, screams, gnashes her teeth and throws herself on the ground. It’s all I can do to keep from laughing.
Cassie: Waaaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaah! WAAAAAAAAAAH!
Me: I’m turning out the light and going upstairs now. See you in the tub.
Cassie: Waaaaah! Waaaaaaah! WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
I turn out the light and head upstairs, as promised. Cassie, who hates to be left in the dark, scrambles up the stairs after me, throwing herself on the ground every third step to throw another tantrum. She keeps screaming at me, but I can no longer understand anything she says. I just keep humming and turning out the lights as I go. Eventually, Cassie makes it to the bathroom. She sobs all through getting undressed, and is still howling when she steps into the tub. When I turn on the water, she screams even louder. By now, I can no longer contain myself. I’m laughing out loud. This just pisses Cassie off even more. However, once the tub fills up, the crying stops (I knew it would). She starts splashing around, playing with her bath toys. We sing funny songs and laugh. Eventually, the bath is over, and Cassie makes it to bed with only one more minor tantrum, this one about how she hates to brush her teeth. Fortunately, Michael is home to handle that, because I think if I laugh at that kid too much more, I’m going to burst my sides.
And that’s dinner at the Madden household.
Me: Sam, it’s dinner time! Are you hungry, precious?
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Okay honey, don’t eat the high chair. That’s not good for you. Here, try some cereal instead. Mmmmmm, cereal.
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Oh, very good. You’re a good eater, Sam. But Mommy needs the spoon back now.
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum! Nyum nyum nyum!
Me: No sweetie, please don’t shove the spoon up your nose. Mommy needs that back to feed you. Give me the spoon... Sam, give me the spoon... Of fer crying out loud, Sam. Give me the spoon!
Sam: Waaaaaah! Waaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaaah!
Me: No, don’t cry! Don’t cry! Look, here’s the airplane! Here comes the airplane! Zoooooooooooooom!
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Very good Sam. Now let’s do a choo choo train. Choo choo, choo choo, choo choo, choo choo, WOO WOOOO!
Sam: Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Good girl! Can Mommy have her fingers back now? Uh, I need those fingers. Thank you. Okay Sam, let’s try another one. Here comes the astronaut. Here he comes in his space suit! He says, ‘Open the pod bay doors, Hal.’
Sam stares at me blankly.
Me: Okay, that’s from the movie ‘2001.’ Maybe you’ll get that when you’re older. Um, let’s do the airplane again. Here comes the airplane! Zooooooom! Zooooooooom! Zoooooo- Augh! My fingers! Sam, give me back my fingers!
Sam: Nyum! Nyum nyum nyum! Nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum nyum!
Me: Aaaaaaa! Call 911! She bit off my fingers! Call 911! Aaaaaaugh!! AAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!!
And that’s dinner with Sam. An hour after all this, she’ll spit everything back up, including my fingers, which is why I can still count to ten. Feeding Cassie has been an entirely different matter...
Cassie: Mommy, I don’t like chicken.
Me: Oh? Well you don’t have to eat it...
Cassie: Okay!
Me: But you’re not getting a treat if you don’t eat your dinner.
Cassie (pokes at her plate): Mommy, I don’t like broccoli.
Me: That’s fine. But you’re still not getting any treats if you don’t eat what’s on your plate.
Cassie (does a little more poking): I don’t like rice either.
Me: Once again, you will not get anything else to eat tonight if you don’t eat your dinner. Do you understand?
Cassie: Yes ma’am. Mommy?
Me: Yes, Cassandra?
Cassie: I’m done. May I be excused?
Me: Yes, you may. But you’re not getting anything else to eat tonight. Remember that.
Cassie runs off to play in the living room. During the course of dinner, she keeps running up to either me or Michael, asking for a movie, telling fart jokes, and in general acting like a little hooligan. After we’re done eating, I clear the dishes off the table. Cassie’s plate is still untouched. It’s the exact same food I tried feeding her last night, which she refused to eat then too, so I just dump it in the trash.
Me: Okay Cassie, movie time is over. It’s time to go upstairs for your bath.
Cassie: Mommy, I’m hungry. May I have something to eat?
Me: Uh, no. Remember what I told you?
Cassie looks at me blankly.
Me: You didn’t eat your dinner, so you’re not getting anything else to eat.
Cassie: But I’m hungry!
Me: Too bad. It’s bath time. Get upstairs.
The crocodile tears begin to flow from Cassie’s baby blues. She wails, screams, gnashes her teeth and throws herself on the ground. It’s all I can do to keep from laughing.
Cassie: Waaaaaaaah! Waaaaaaaaaaah! WAAAAAAAAAAH!
Me: I’m turning out the light and going upstairs now. See you in the tub.
Cassie: Waaaaah! Waaaaaaah! WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
I turn out the light and head upstairs, as promised. Cassie, who hates to be left in the dark, scrambles up the stairs after me, throwing herself on the ground every third step to throw another tantrum. She keeps screaming at me, but I can no longer understand anything she says. I just keep humming and turning out the lights as I go. Eventually, Cassie makes it to the bathroom. She sobs all through getting undressed, and is still howling when she steps into the tub. When I turn on the water, she screams even louder. By now, I can no longer contain myself. I’m laughing out loud. This just pisses Cassie off even more. However, once the tub fills up, the crying stops (I knew it would). She starts splashing around, playing with her bath toys. We sing funny songs and laugh. Eventually, the bath is over, and Cassie makes it to bed with only one more minor tantrum, this one about how she hates to brush her teeth. Fortunately, Michael is home to handle that, because I think if I laugh at that kid too much more, I’m going to burst my sides.
And that’s dinner at the Madden household.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
You Know You’re Tired When...
You brush your teeth with facial cleanser instead of toothpaste.
You use a tube of bright red lipstick instead of a tube of flesh-toned concealer to cover up the circles under your eyes.
You keep asking the other moms in the play group, “Has anybody seen my kid?” And they keep pointing out to you that she’s sitting right there next to you.
You put orange juice in your coffee instead of creamer (yes Yvonne, I’ve done it too, and you’re right, it is a complete f@cking waste of perfectly good coffee).
You can’t find your eye glasses because you put them in the refrigerator... again.
You call someone every name of every female in your family, trying to get that person to come down for dinner... and the person you’re yelling for is your husband (last time I checked, he was male).
You put your nursing bra on inside out.
You go to change the baby’s diaper, but somehow the clean diaper ends up in the gin and the dirty one ends up right back on the baby.
You give the cats baby food and the baby cat food... and you don’t figure this out until after lunch is over.
There are more signs, I’m sure, but I’m too tired to remember them.
You use a tube of bright red lipstick instead of a tube of flesh-toned concealer to cover up the circles under your eyes.
You keep asking the other moms in the play group, “Has anybody seen my kid?” And they keep pointing out to you that she’s sitting right there next to you.
You put orange juice in your coffee instead of creamer (yes Yvonne, I’ve done it too, and you’re right, it is a complete f@cking waste of perfectly good coffee).
You can’t find your eye glasses because you put them in the refrigerator... again.
You call someone every name of every female in your family, trying to get that person to come down for dinner... and the person you’re yelling for is your husband (last time I checked, he was male).
You put your nursing bra on inside out.
You go to change the baby’s diaper, but somehow the clean diaper ends up in the gin and the dirty one ends up right back on the baby.
You give the cats baby food and the baby cat food... and you don’t figure this out until after lunch is over.
There are more signs, I’m sure, but I’m too tired to remember them.
Happy Birthday, Mary!
I can't remember how old she is (last I recalled, she was a year younger than me, I think), nor can I remember the exact date of her birthday (hell, I can't remember the exact date of MY birthday), but I do know it's sometime this month, and she's still alive and kicking, so happy birthday, Mary! Here's to not dropping dead from sheer frustration.
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