Archive for May, 2006

Sometimes, every once in a while, I may be wrong. Just maybe.

You know that grill I love? Well, it came time to do some serious cleaning on it, and I threw the grates in the dishwasher. (No, I didn’t ruin it – everything’s okay with the grill. Calm down.) But I did make a mess of things.

The grates (or whatever they’re called) didn’t exactly get clean. My husband, who is all wise (kinda) knew that the dishwasher wouldn’t get them clean. But he lovingly stood by and let me put them in the dishwasher anyway. Because even though he doesn’t know everything, he is smart enough to know that he should just stand back and let me do my thing. Especially when I think I’m right, and especially when it comes to the dishwasher.

What he doesn’t think I know is that when it came time to use the grill, he had to wash the grates by hand after they went through the dishwasher. And the sweet man didn’t say a word about it to me. Not one I told you so. He did mention that the dishwasher was a mess. There were little bits of black flake all over the bottom. And what did I say to that? Nah. It’s not a big deal. It won’t leave a mess.

So guess what? It did leave a mess. I had to run the last load of dishes through the dishwasher twice. And rinse all of the glasses separately. Everything was covered in the little black flakes.

Here it is folks, one of the only times you’ll hear me say this: Honey, you were right. The dishwasher wasn’t the right thing to do. I should have washed them by hand. And the black flakes did make a mess out of everything. But all is fixed, and all is clean. And I won’t do it again.

(Now hurry and memorize this, because I don’t like to admit I was wrong. I may just delete this entry so there is no proof of my errors. And I may delete it soon. Hurry!)

It’s not what you think.

Okay, um, I just realized something.

And I’m embarassed.

My title, the one up there in white, in all lowercase letters, that one? Well…

It can be taken to mean something not so wholesome. And for a mommmy-blog (because basically, that’s all this is) it may not be the best title.

You know what? I thought I was being cute when I came up with the title. It was my way of being cheeky. You know – instead of Grin and Bear It, I used Bare It. As in, Ha, Ha, baring all of my thoughts for you to read. But then, I realized, some people could come here to see someone baring it all. And boy are they disappointed when they get here, and no one is baring anything. Except me, and my mindless thoughts and activities. And really, that’s not what they want to see.

So, you people? You people who are here to see someone baring themselves to the world? THIS IS NOT THE PLACE FOR YOU!

And the rest of you? The ones who are here to find out what we’re up to down here in the hot-as-hell south? This is indeed the place for you. And shame on you for not telling me I had such a risque title! It’s like letting someone go around with spinach in their teeth and not saying a word!! And then that person feels even more embarassed later on when they realize that their friends never told them they had something stuck in their teeth and they went around all day looking like that!!! Well, I’ll forgive you this once, but you’re going to have to let me know about these kinds of things!!!! I consider it your job to let me know when I’m going to make an ass of myself!!!!! Now start taking that job seriously!!!!!!

Ahem… okay, um, thanks. Just wanted to say that.

My mind, it is lost. And it’s hot.

Let me just say how awesome I think starting the week on a Tuesday is. Can we do this every week?

The highlight of my day so far: My daughter asked me what prunes were. I told her they were like big raisins. Dried fruit, I said. I told her that the fruit was round and purple, and then they dry it and it looks like big raisins. And then, later, I remembered that the fruit was called a plum, and it’s only called a prune when it’s dried. So I tried to go back and explain to her about the whole plum/prune thing, and she truly looked at me as if I had lost my mind. And I feel pretty stupid for not remembering what a plum is. (And also for obsessing about it to the point that I’m writing about it now.)

Also, we took an early walk today. Because it is HOT and HUMID and I hate the hot, humid weather. I’m already sweaty and sticky feeling, and it’s not even 10:00. How do those women do it? You know, those ones that never sweat and always look neat and pressed? I am red faced, sweaty, and I probably smell. Ten minutes outside, and my face is an oil slick and my hair is sticking to my head. It really seems unfair.

Enjoy your Memorial Day!

It’s Memorial Day, and although we are not at the beach like my husband so wanted to be, we are enjoying the great outdoors.

We are grilling. And have I told you how much I love our grill? It’s a gas one from Sears. Nothing fancy, and certainly not an expensive one, but it is fantastic. I. Love. It.

We have been to the pool. (Our neighborhood, it is wonderful.) We do not have our own pool, but we do have several pools in the neighborhood. Yeah, several. And a water slide. And something called a “sprayground” which is a playground in 1 1/2′ to 2′ deep water and perfect for the kids to splash around in. Hubby and I are already a little burnt, but we’re going back for more later.

My husband, who never buys anything he wants, bought himself a set of golf clubs. No, not an expensive set – did you know you can pay like $500 for just one club?!? He bought a set on sale, but a full set so he’s got all he needs. And he’s actually giddy! (But don’t tell him I called him that.) I’m happy that he has finally spoiled himself a little.

And, AND, we are watering the grass. We actually put fertilizer down, and are now watering it to hopefully get a greener lawn. That’s yardwork people, and it’s a big step for us. We’ve never before done this much yardwork. Suburbia must be finally getting to us.

If only George Lucas was available for class visits.

Today’s the day my husband goes to my son’s class to make a little presentation. He’s got to tell the class a little about what he does for a living, and something about our son.

This has caused a lot of anxiety around our house for a while now. You see, other parents have had exciting jobs – hockey referee!, prison builder! – and one parent even brought a horse to the school, and all the kids got to brush the horse. And also, our son said so-and-so’s uncle brought in a Cadillac. So our dilemma is, how on earth do we top that? My husband, while having a good and very necessary job, does nothing exciting. Not for kids, anyway. (If you are really into dry cleaning and laundry equipment, then he’s your man.) Also, he doesn’t have anything he can bring in to show the class. All the equipment he works with is Huge (with a capital H).

So what is he bringing, you ask? He’s bringing brochures with pictures of laundry equipment. And goody bags full of candy. And also, R2D2.

Yeah, you read that right. R2D2. A real robot R2D2 of Star Wars fame. It has absolutely nothing to do with his job, but it is a very cool thing that our son owns. And when in doubt, you can dazzle Kindergarteners with cool things. They won’t even notice that it isn’t relevant to his job!

Now I’m wondering what kind of job these kids will go home and tell their parents my husband has. Maybe a robot builder. Or Star Wars star. Or maybe they’ll even think he’s George Lucas himself. Or maybe they’ll just think he’s kinda cool (which is really all we’re hoping for.)

UPDATE: My son, he threw up again. This time in the cafeteria at school. So my dear hubby didn’t even get a chance to do his presentation. But don’t worry, he’ll be going back next week. Which means another week of anxiety over what to tell the kids. And also, another addition to my son’s places-where-I’ve-thrown-up-at list. (That list is getting to be a long one.)

Who’s going to hold me if I get cranky?

Last night we went out to eat at a restaurant that my son had previously thrown up in (he has thrown up there twice, to be exact.) Now before you get yourself all worked up into a tizzy because we are such mean parents and subject our son to such places, let me say that he was the one who picked the place to eat. He actually loves going to eat there, even though the sight of some of the food makes him hurl. Anyway, the reason I’m telling you that we went there is to say: my son, he did not throw up! And we all got to eat a full meal without having to race him to the bathroom because he looked a little green! Amazing.

But before you celebrate our good fortune, let me tell you something else. The evil virus named Cold is making an appearance at our house. It has taken over my daughter’s head, and leaving trails of snot in it’s wake. And my son head is not far behind. Oh, and the baby, he seems to be getting it too. Hence the reason that this post is going to be short: he is currently sitting in my lap and yanking chunks of hair out of my scalp. And I cannot put him down, for he is cranky. Cranky baby = constant holding. Wish me luck.

Worship at the altar of my son.

This week my son is the “star student” in his class. Each student gets a week where they get to be, well, the star. I knew that this was his week. What I didn’t know was that it would require hours of manpower (or maybe mom-and-dad-power) to pull off.

Imagine my surprise when yesterday I got a little note from his teacher that said, “Please send in a poster of pictures of Ethan.” And it wasn’t even the subject of the note, it was a little footnote. As in, oh, by the way, please make a big poster of your son with pictures you don’t have and send it in for his week, which is already half over, and didn’t you know you were supposed to do that, you clueless mom?

And, um, me being me, I couldn’t just print some pictures off the computer (because all my pictures are digital) and tape them down. No, not me, I was determined to make him a nice poster.

So I decided to find out more about this ‘digital to print’ thing I have heard about. You know, where you can upload your digital pictures to a place like WalMart or Target and they magically turn them into actual pictures that you can hold in your hand. And I found out that, hot damn, they can do that. And in an hour. And – here’s the part I love – it’s easy.

After much deliberation I decided on some pictures. There were no baby pictures, because those are actual prints, and in no way was I going to tape those down and send them to school for a group of Kindergarteners to put their grubby little hands on. No, the pictures I used were from about age 3 onward.

So then off to WalMart the whole family went, where we got ourselves some posterboard. And, well, we got a lot of other things too. Things we didn’t really need, with maybe a few we actually needed thrown in for good measure.

Fast forward to me, after putting the kids to bed, hunched over a bunch of posterboard, cardstock, photos, rolls of tape and scissors. Oh, and also, a paper cutter (which I love because it actually cuts in a straight line, versus the wavy thing I call a line when I do it freehanded.)

An hour or so later, after a lot of frustration, and a lot of tape, I finished the poster. And when I held it up, I realized that it was one hell of a poster. As in, hmmm, is it supposed to be this big? Because it was BIG. It was a downright big poster (an homage, if you will) dedicated solely to my son. Then I was scared it was too big. I didn’t want it to seem like I wanted them all to worship at the altar of my son.

And me being me, again, I got my husband sufficiently worked up about whether or not we were sending in an appropriate sized poster. He kept asking, “Are you sure it should be a poster?” And I kept saying, “I don’t know. She just sent home a little note! Not an explanation! Who would ask this of a parent at the last minute?! Don’t they know I need time and preparation?!? Don’t they know I need exact measurements and instructions?!?! Don’t they know I need time?!?!?!”

Here’s where it gets embarrassing: My husband went to work late this morning because he wanted to take the poster in to my son’s teacher and make sure that it was what we were supposed to send in. Yeah, we were that worked up over it. While most parents would have just thrown something together and never give it a second thought, we will obsess and fret. And grill our son over his breakfast about what the other kids brought in. Also, for your information, a Kindergartener is absolutely no help when it comes to explaining the exact dimensions of other children’s posters.

Oh, and the poster size? It was fine.