I have to clean up when it is done. Oh, dear.
The social worker called and our Adoption Homestudy is Sunday at 2:30. Say a prayer, light a candle, cross the fingers, take the pins out of the voodoo doll--do whatever it is you do.
See Dixie has a tendency to say the most perfectly inappropriate thing fathomable. One day, as I was clicking her into her car seat, we had the following conversation:
Dixie: Mommy, why do you hurt me ALL the time? You are so mean to me and make me cry?
Mommy: How do I hurt you? How am I mean?
Dixie: When you click me into my car seat you pinch me with the clicker. And you hurt me EVERY DAY! Your fingernails scratch.
Mommy: If you can sit still while I click you into your car seat it wouldn't pinch. It only pinches when you are wriggling around and I have to use the car seat straps like a lasso. And if you would get your straps on yourself, which I know you can do, then you don't risk me scratching you with my finger nails because I don't have to dig around looking.
Dixie: Harumph. Well. Well. You're mean.
This was another favorite that happened when Dixie slipped climbing out of Charlie's crib:
Dixie: Dammit!
Mommy: What did you say?
D: Dammit.
M: Where on earth did you learn that word? We NEVER say that word!
D: Oh, it's my grandma's favorite word. She says it all the time.
M: I have known your grandmother since I was twelve years old and I have never once heard her say that word.
D: Oh, it is her favorite. She loves to hear me say it. I say it every day because it makes her laugh and smile so much!
See what I mean? So I can just imagine the conversation with the social worker:
Social Worker: How do you like your new home?
Dixie: Mommy hurts me EVERY DAY.
SW: How does she hurt you?
D: She pinches my bottom and scratches me with her fingernails. Every day.
SW: How does that make you feel?
D: Like saying, "Dammit." I say dammit every day.
11/19/07
My Husband Has Terrible Taste
Which I can prove beyond all reasonable doubt with the following paragraph:
Dowlan is Buffy The Vampire Slayer fan. But wait, there's more. There was a special musical episode of Buffy that was known as "Once More, With Feeling." Not only did he record it and watch it on multiple occasions, he then recorded himself a CD of the songs on it. But here's the true kicker: within a few days of its broadcast, I took him to see a touring Broadway group's rendition of Les Miserables. It was fantastic, beautiful, moving and perfect in every way. When I asked him what he thought after the show he made some ridiculous noise about it being okay, but not as good as "Once More, With Feeling."
Heretic.
I say all this because there is an aspect to the story line of the Buffy Musical that is seeming quite familiar. A spell is cast that makes the characters dance more and more wildly until they are so out of control that they spontaneously combust.
See, I am a little worried that this might happen to my girls.
Not due to dancing, but because of the insane amounts of escalating giggling. Here is a recent example:
Melody comes up to me and asks for juice. Being the lazy parent I am, I tell her that I forgot how to make it. So she tells me. I tell her, "Nope, that doesn't sound familiar. I don't think I can do that."
She giggles, and climbs on top of me while I'm doing my Kakuro puzzle. (Kakuro is like Sudoku, only hard and interesting.) I take the logical next step and draw a smiley face on the bottom of her big toe. This triggers more giggling and a request for the complementing toe on the other foot to be smiling likewise. I acquiesce.
Then I draw one of those little puppet faces on the side of my hand. Each girl wants one as well. We start making our hands be Ursula, Ariel and Eric. Then they start kissing and biting each other. Then Charlie decides to climb atop the fray.
Charlie does not smell good.
Mommy: Girls, get off me. I need to change your brother's stinky bottom.
Melody: His stinky bottom? His binky doddum?
Dixie: His stinky booty? His dinkie dootie?
Please tell me I don't have to spell out the rest of that portion of the conversation.
Mommy: Yes. Please, get off me now.
You can imagine how well that worked.
Finally, I had to bodily remove them under threat of imminent and lasting psychological harm. Melody's feet hit the ground running as she sprinted into the closet/nursery and hurled herself upon the changing table.
Again with the threats and throwing the kid about a bit. Lucky for me she doesn't weigh much.
So the giggling continues to escalate into pitches that left the neighborhood dogs whimpering. I begin changing the foul gift that Charlie had prepared for me when it suddenly became very dark.
Mommy: Melody, turn that light on right now!
Melody: I can't.
Mommy: Why not?
Melody: Because it is dark and I cannot find the light switch.
So I have a few choices. Stand and wait until Melody finds the switch in the dark and hope that Charlie doesn't decide to create further gifts or explore the current selections with both hands. Leave a poop smeared baby alone on the changing table to go across the small space and reach for the light switch and hope that he doesn't take this moment to explore the wondrous sport of diving. Pick up the partially-covered foul stench that is my infant son and take it with me to turn on the light.
As I am contemplating, Melody's hand manages to bump the dimmer switch enough for me to see what I am doing. The giggling continues to grow as she climbs into the crib. I finish the diaper duty, shut off the light and close the door. Melody does not appreciate my gesture.
So the girls then begin to run in screaming giggling circles throughout the house until they begin falling over themselves, and fall into one giggle-infested heap of girly-ness.
I think I distinctly smell smoke.
Dowlan is Buffy The Vampire Slayer fan. But wait, there's more. There was a special musical episode of Buffy that was known as "Once More, With Feeling." Not only did he record it and watch it on multiple occasions, he then recorded himself a CD of the songs on it. But here's the true kicker: within a few days of its broadcast, I took him to see a touring Broadway group's rendition of Les Miserables. It was fantastic, beautiful, moving and perfect in every way. When I asked him what he thought after the show he made some ridiculous noise about it being okay, but not as good as "Once More, With Feeling."
Heretic.
I say all this because there is an aspect to the story line of the Buffy Musical that is seeming quite familiar. A spell is cast that makes the characters dance more and more wildly until they are so out of control that they spontaneously combust.
See, I am a little worried that this might happen to my girls.
Not due to dancing, but because of the insane amounts of escalating giggling. Here is a recent example:
Melody comes up to me and asks for juice. Being the lazy parent I am, I tell her that I forgot how to make it. So she tells me. I tell her, "Nope, that doesn't sound familiar. I don't think I can do that."
She giggles, and climbs on top of me while I'm doing my Kakuro puzzle. (Kakuro is like Sudoku, only hard and interesting.) I take the logical next step and draw a smiley face on the bottom of her big toe. This triggers more giggling and a request for the complementing toe on the other foot to be smiling likewise. I acquiesce.
Then I draw one of those little puppet faces on the side of my hand. Each girl wants one as well. We start making our hands be Ursula, Ariel and Eric. Then they start kissing and biting each other. Then Charlie decides to climb atop the fray.
Charlie does not smell good.
Mommy: Girls, get off me. I need to change your brother's stinky bottom.
Melody: His stinky bottom? His binky doddum?
Dixie: His stinky booty? His dinkie dootie?
Please tell me I don't have to spell out the rest of that portion of the conversation.
Mommy: Yes. Please, get off me now.
You can imagine how well that worked.
Finally, I had to bodily remove them under threat of imminent and lasting psychological harm. Melody's feet hit the ground running as she sprinted into the closet/nursery and hurled herself upon the changing table.
Again with the threats and throwing the kid about a bit. Lucky for me she doesn't weigh much.
So the giggling continues to escalate into pitches that left the neighborhood dogs whimpering. I begin changing the foul gift that Charlie had prepared for me when it suddenly became very dark.
Mommy: Melody, turn that light on right now!
Melody: I can't.
Mommy: Why not?
Melody: Because it is dark and I cannot find the light switch.
So I have a few choices. Stand and wait until Melody finds the switch in the dark and hope that Charlie doesn't decide to create further gifts or explore the current selections with both hands. Leave a poop smeared baby alone on the changing table to go across the small space and reach for the light switch and hope that he doesn't take this moment to explore the wondrous sport of diving. Pick up the partially-covered foul stench that is my infant son and take it with me to turn on the light.
As I am contemplating, Melody's hand manages to bump the dimmer switch enough for me to see what I am doing. The giggling continues to grow as she climbs into the crib. I finish the diaper duty, shut off the light and close the door. Melody does not appreciate my gesture.
So the girls then begin to run in screaming giggling circles throughout the house until they begin falling over themselves, and fall into one giggle-infested heap of girly-ness.
I think I distinctly smell smoke.
11/18/07
Lost: One Easygoing Baby Boy
If you have found him, please return him to me. You know where to find me.
I have to offer in exchange this duplicate child who is like Charlie in every way, but they totally screwed up the personality on this model. I know it isn't exactly a fair swap, but I have plenty of diaper coupons to sweeten the deal and help in the care of Post-Croup And -Rotovirus Charlie [PCARC].
I am pretty sure I lost him in the hospital, because he is not at all the baby I arrived with. That baby was easygoing and virtually effortless. As long as food was provided on a regular basis and the diaper was quickly changed on an as needed basis, life was fabulous. You could take that kid anywhere. He was self-entertaining, semi-self-feeding and one champ of a sleeper.
This model is none of these things. PCARC wants to be held all day long. And only by a standing person of his choosing. Only he gets really bored hovering 4-ish feet over all the toys so he make movements to indicate that he wants to be set down. Setting him down triggers the little switch mechanisms on the bottom of his feet that activate screaming mode. The only solution to screaming mode is to again pick up said boy child. Who then wants down. Who then forgets why he wanted down in the first place and, thus, the cycle continues. Quite vicious, that cycle.
Additionally, the putting-him-in-the-highchair-with-a-heap-o'- food-mode is no longer working. PCARC wants bottles and lots of them. Sippy cups are no longer an acceptable means of containing liquids (unless they belong to a sister of the original Charlie). He prefers baby food spooned directly into his mouth over little chopped up bits but will accept little chopped up bits as long as only one food item is offered at a time and you do not walk more than eight inches away from the chair, address another person verbally or allow your gaze to wander. PCARC will instantly reject the initial food offering if a second appears, even if it is less pleasing than the first. PCARC will only pick up bits of food for consumption if holding a utensil of his choosing in one hand, even though it is often in no way involved in the actual eating process.
PCARC also finds a great deal of joy in chewing food and adding to that food without actually ever swallowing it. At some point his capacity threshold is reached and his capability to swallow is exceeded, so the food come tumbling and oozing back out of his mouth in a slow grin.
The inability to pinpoint his exact food allergies are not helping any of this.
The last defect of the current inhabitant of my closet is in regards to his sleeping pattern. Charlie is a Cry-It-Out success story. They should put this child on a plaque somewhere. You lay him down, he is asleep. No fuss, no muss, no bother. He sleeps so long and so well that it is actually quite easy to forget his very existence. PCARC begins fussing the moment he sees the hand of the adult carrying him reach for the knob of the closet/nursery because he has wised up to the fact that nothing good happens in that room. That is where the tall people take him to change his clothes, wipe his face, clean his bottom or entrap him heartlessly in the prison they refer to mockingly as a crib.
If you have seen Original Charlie, please return him. My sanity depends on it.
I have to offer in exchange this duplicate child who is like Charlie in every way, but they totally screwed up the personality on this model. I know it isn't exactly a fair swap, but I have plenty of diaper coupons to sweeten the deal and help in the care of Post-Croup And -Rotovirus Charlie [PCARC].
I am pretty sure I lost him in the hospital, because he is not at all the baby I arrived with. That baby was easygoing and virtually effortless. As long as food was provided on a regular basis and the diaper was quickly changed on an as needed basis, life was fabulous. You could take that kid anywhere. He was self-entertaining, semi-self-feeding and one champ of a sleeper.
This model is none of these things. PCARC wants to be held all day long. And only by a standing person of his choosing. Only he gets really bored hovering 4-ish feet over all the toys so he make movements to indicate that he wants to be set down. Setting him down triggers the little switch mechanisms on the bottom of his feet that activate screaming mode. The only solution to screaming mode is to again pick up said boy child. Who then wants down. Who then forgets why he wanted down in the first place and, thus, the cycle continues. Quite vicious, that cycle.
Additionally, the putting-him-in-the-highchair-with-a-heap-o'- food-mode is no longer working. PCARC wants bottles and lots of them. Sippy cups are no longer an acceptable means of containing liquids (unless they belong to a sister of the original Charlie). He prefers baby food spooned directly into his mouth over little chopped up bits but will accept little chopped up bits as long as only one food item is offered at a time and you do not walk more than eight inches away from the chair, address another person verbally or allow your gaze to wander. PCARC will instantly reject the initial food offering if a second appears, even if it is less pleasing than the first. PCARC will only pick up bits of food for consumption if holding a utensil of his choosing in one hand, even though it is often in no way involved in the actual eating process.
PCARC also finds a great deal of joy in chewing food and adding to that food without actually ever swallowing it. At some point his capacity threshold is reached and his capability to swallow is exceeded, so the food come tumbling and oozing back out of his mouth in a slow grin.
The inability to pinpoint his exact food allergies are not helping any of this.
The last defect of the current inhabitant of my closet is in regards to his sleeping pattern. Charlie is a Cry-It-Out success story. They should put this child on a plaque somewhere. You lay him down, he is asleep. No fuss, no muss, no bother. He sleeps so long and so well that it is actually quite easy to forget his very existence. PCARC begins fussing the moment he sees the hand of the adult carrying him reach for the knob of the closet/nursery because he has wised up to the fact that nothing good happens in that room. That is where the tall people take him to change his clothes, wipe his face, clean his bottom or entrap him heartlessly in the prison they refer to mockingly as a crib.
If you have seen Original Charlie, please return him. My sanity depends on it.
I really AM the Greatest!
Dixie told me this and i had to share:
Dixie: Mommy, I love you. I just always wanted a mom like you. Mommy of my dreams. I wanted this home for a long time.
Dixie: Mommy, I love you. I just always wanted a mom like you. Mommy of my dreams. I wanted this home for a long time.
11/15/07
Hey, I didn't say it.
Making sandwiches with Dixie:
Mommy, be careful not to cut that messy. Because if you cut that messy, you won't be a wife, you'll be a husband!
Mommy, be careful not to cut that messy. Because if you cut that messy, you won't be a wife, you'll be a husband!
Those of you not from Texas may not get this . . .
My 10th high school reunion was this past weekend. I had a really great time and enjoyed catching up with people.
Right after high school, I moved to Austin to go to the University of Texas. I am a proud Texas Longhorn and I have the tattoo and student loans to prove it.
So we are at the after party from the reunion and we are standing in some guy's garage at 1:00 a.m. and a lot of drinking has occurred in the last six hours. Jeff comes up to me, gives me a huge hug, and we start chatting. I see his Texas A&M ring and we start talking smack like any good rivals should. Then Just comes up to see what we're talking about. So I am a Longhorn, Just is a Red Raider and Jeff is an Aggie.
I told them, "Hey, if we all walk into the bar, are we the start of a joke?"
Even better: the Aggie didn't get it.
Right after high school, I moved to Austin to go to the University of Texas. I am a proud Texas Longhorn and I have the tattoo and student loans to prove it.
So we are at the after party from the reunion and we are standing in some guy's garage at 1:00 a.m. and a lot of drinking has occurred in the last six hours. Jeff comes up to me, gives me a huge hug, and we start chatting. I see his Texas A&M ring and we start talking smack like any good rivals should. Then Just comes up to see what we're talking about. So I am a Longhorn, Just is a Red Raider and Jeff is an Aggie.
I told them, "Hey, if we all walk into the bar, are we the start of a joke?"
Even better: the Aggie didn't get it.
11/14/07
At least her dog didn't explode on fire
You may remember me writing about teaching the girls about 9-1-1. Clearly, Melody has a firm grasp of when and how to call, based on this exchange she has on her Fisher Price phone:
Melody: Mommy, what's the 'mergency number again? 911?
Mommy: Yes, 911
Melody: 'Mergency? Help! I'm stuck to an elephant. Yes, we got glued together. And monsters are cooking me. Yes. I have called Eric to come help, but I need 'Mergency because they're both very big 'mergencies.
Melody: Mommy, what's the 'mergency number again? 911?
Mommy: Yes, 911
Melody: 'Mergency? Help! I'm stuck to an elephant. Yes, we got glued together. And monsters are cooking me. Yes. I have called Eric to come help, but I need 'Mergency because they're both very big 'mergencies.
100,000 words by the end of breakfsast
I have heard the statistic that men speak 20,000 words a day and women speak 100,000 words a day.
I have something to add to that. I have no empirical data to back me up,but would feel quite comfortable betting large amounts of money on the statistic that my little girls have easily spoken 100,000 words by the end of breakfast. Daddy has spoken 100, Charlie about 10 and I have spoken five: 'Please make me some coffee.' On a rare occasion I will also throw in the phrase 'Hey, don't touch my coffee' thereby doubling my count.
We did get the blinds hung yesterday, and the girls sparked off the day with commentary on the blinds. Melody's assessment was: Mommy! I touched them and they didn't make me blind!
Sorry, but I haven't actually had the aforementioned coffee so there will be no pic.
Then we moved to working on the project that we are making the Grandmothers for Christmas. I dutifully manned my paintbrush and steered the girls away from the table cloth and onto the item the paint brush was intended for while Dixie asked why we are making these, when is it Christmas, if people will like them, why hers isn't as neat as mommies and about four thousand questions. I didn't actually have to answer any of them because there was no pause between thoughts.
Sorry, but I am awake enough, Grandmothers, to know better than to include pics.
The discussion du jour was on the punishment fitting the crime. What will happen if you say 'stupid.' What will happen if you stick your bottom out. What about sticking your tongue out. What if you do all three and what if you do all three one hundred times. After much speculation I told them that this was not a penal system with mandatory sentencing laws and the only way to really know was to try it and see if Judge Mommy was in a good enough mood to offer probation.
Have I mentioned that I need coffee?
I have something to add to that. I have no empirical data to back me up,but would feel quite comfortable betting large amounts of money on the statistic that my little girls have easily spoken 100,000 words by the end of breakfast. Daddy has spoken 100, Charlie about 10 and I have spoken five: 'Please make me some coffee.' On a rare occasion I will also throw in the phrase 'Hey, don't touch my coffee' thereby doubling my count.
We did get the blinds hung yesterday, and the girls sparked off the day with commentary on the blinds. Melody's assessment was: Mommy! I touched them and they didn't make me blind!
Sorry, but I haven't actually had the aforementioned coffee so there will be no pic.
Then we moved to working on the project that we are making the Grandmothers for Christmas. I dutifully manned my paintbrush and steered the girls away from the table cloth and onto the item the paint brush was intended for while Dixie asked why we are making these, when is it Christmas, if people will like them, why hers isn't as neat as mommies and about four thousand questions. I didn't actually have to answer any of them because there was no pause between thoughts.
Sorry, but I am awake enough, Grandmothers, to know better than to include pics.
The discussion du jour was on the punishment fitting the crime. What will happen if you say 'stupid.' What will happen if you stick your bottom out. What about sticking your tongue out. What if you do all three and what if you do all three one hundred times. After much speculation I told them that this was not a penal system with mandatory sentencing laws and the only way to really know was to try it and see if Judge Mommy was in a good enough mood to offer probation.
Have I mentioned that I need coffee?
11/13/07
Oh, Dear.
So I went to Lowe's with my friend to buy plantation blinds for my living room and *kind of* come back with almost $400 worth of stuff.
Before:
After:
(No, I did not buy a man. I already had that one. Look behind he couch.)
Before:
After:
Before:
After:
My ultimate scheme is to get one more three drawer unit and one more two door/one drawer unit and have five units of alternating types along that whole wall. Then build bookshelves to install on top that will be flanking the painting on each side and have a top that runs all the way across.
Who could have a problem with such a glorious scheme in home improvement and organization? Not to mention the over $250 I saved? Apparently my husband. He has this insane notion that earmarked funds should be only used to buy the HDTV that they are earmarked for.
I tried to explain to him that we'd be even further from our goal if the disorganization, clutter and takeover of our home by large plastic objects in primary colors caused me to snap and pull a Milton (If I have to pick up this toy one more time I think I'll just set the building on fire. Have you seen my stapler?.)
I think this argument might get me further if I hadn't brought this all home at 8:30 and those photos weren't finally taken till around 2:00 a.m. But really! He didn't have to leave for work until eight.
As for the windows that needed the blinds that started it all?
Yup, you guessed it.
Before:
After:
(No, I did not buy a man. I already had that one. Look behind he couch.)
Before:
After:
Before:
After:
My ultimate scheme is to get one more three drawer unit and one more two door/one drawer unit and have five units of alternating types along that whole wall. Then build bookshelves to install on top that will be flanking the painting on each side and have a top that runs all the way across.
Who could have a problem with such a glorious scheme in home improvement and organization? Not to mention the over $250 I saved? Apparently my husband. He has this insane notion that earmarked funds should be only used to buy the HDTV that they are earmarked for.
I tried to explain to him that we'd be even further from our goal if the disorganization, clutter and takeover of our home by large plastic objects in primary colors caused me to snap and pull a Milton (If I have to pick up this toy one more time I think I'll just set the building on fire. Have you seen my stapler?.)
I think this argument might get me further if I hadn't brought this all home at 8:30 and those photos weren't finally taken till around 2:00 a.m. But really! He didn't have to leave for work until eight.
As for the windows that needed the blinds that started it all?
Yup, you guessed it.
11/12/07
If I am still around tomorrow
I will explain to you why a $400 impulse buy does NOT contribute to marital bliss.
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