Archive for September, 2007

I love Lucy.

Let me tell you how much I love my XM radio.  I love it so much that I consider it a necessity and may lay down and die for it if it asked me to.  Why? you ask, well, because when I got into my van this evening and started driving down the road, this is what it played for me: Violent Femmes – Blister in the Sun, followed by Rancid – Ruby Soho, and then on came Nirvana – Lithium, and AND! then it was Pixies – Debaser.  I mean, cool, right?  Well, to me at least.  Oh, but then it had to go and ruin such a good run of vintage 90’s alternative by playing Squirrel Nut Zippers – Hell, to which I say, what the hell?

Go get yourself an XM radio, and tune in to channel 54 – Lucy.  It’s 90’s alternative, and it is frickin’ awesome.

Daughter.

Oh, my daughter…

First, let me start off by saying that she’s a wonderful girl.  She’s full of personality, and she’s intelligent, and she’s kind, and she’s, well, wonderful.  And now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, let me tell you that she’s highly annoying.  And when I say highly, I mean, she will annoy you so bad you may consider clawing your ears off just to get her to be quiet. 

Now, I happen to know that she can annoy other people just the same as she annoys me.  However, I also happen to know that she doesn’t do it nearly as often.  Oh no, she saves the majority of it just for me.   Whether or not she does it on purpose, I’m not sure.

But here’s my problem:  I lose my temper with her way too easily.  While I can have limitless reserves of patience sometimes, other times I cannot even stop myself from raising my voice.  My jaw gets tight and my muscles tense and my eyes squint shut and my voice rises to a decibel level that could (and quite possibly has) deafen unsuspecting pedestrians.  And while it doesn’t happen every single time, the longer she’s alive the more it happens, and also the more quickly it gets to that point.

I hate getting angry with her.  I hate when I feel like I cannot get her to stop whatever annoying behavior she is doing this time around with just a quiet word or a stern look.   She hears those quiet words and sees those looks, and then one-ups them by being even more maniacally crazy.  It’s really a never ending circle.  And I’m dizzy.

Oh, and let me tell you, the girl is so full of BS that I wonder why it is she doesn’t smell.  She can feed you a line, and then when you call her on it’s BS-ness, she’ll feed you another line to cover everything up.  When really, what you end up with is not anything that resembles the truth, but a huge pile of her BS taking up all of the space in the room.  Sometimes I wonder whether or not I should call her on it, or if we should just ignore the smell of all the BS surrounding her and go on.

So between the dizziness and the smelliness, I’m really kind of at a point when all I want to do is go into her room at night and just hold her.  Hold her while she’s quiet and kind and still.

Maybe things will level out again when she’s 25 (?)  Or 30 (?)

Be glad I didn’t take you to lunch on your birthday.

I just ate lunch at the school cafeteria with my children.  And since neither of them has lunch at the same time, I had to stay for two whole consecutive lunch breaks.  Which, by the way, is akin to peeling your skin off with a dull knife while bathing in alcohol.  In other words, I didn’t enjoy myself.  But!  I will do it again sometime if the kids ask me too.  That’s how much I love them.

Speaking of love…today’s my dad’s birthday.  So happy birthday Dad!  (Ha!  I had to go check and make sure it really is the 20th..  Because I didn’t want to declare it was his birthday and then be wrong.  Then I would feel like an ass.  But it is the 20th!  So I’m not an ass.  This time.)  Happy!  Birthday!  I love you.

And I also owe my dad a big apology for not setting up the web camera he bought us a few weeks back.  I’ve been meaning to do it one weekend, but then we get sidetracked with something or other, and it doesn’t get done.  Also, I’m intimidated by the whole unknown set-up process, and have been just ignoring it when it’s only me at home.  (That seems to be a pattern for me – ignore until someone else fixes it.  However, that strategy rarely works for me.  You would think I would try something else.  But, alas, I never learn.)  But I do promise we’ll get it up and running soon.  Because then we can show you the children, who seem to have grown a foot overnight and the dog, who really has grown overnight.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go spend some quiet time on the couch with my dog.  I need to recuperate from my lunch room experience.  This may take a while.

The end of her puppyhood.

As I sit here, the dog has finally chewed one of her favorite stuffed toys into oblivion.  The squeaker that had provided her with so many hours of fun has finally come out of the toy.  She has mercilessly chewed the head off of the toy, while the squeaker made it’s screaming noises, leaving a long stuffed-dog body in it’s wake.   

When she tore off the toy’s head, the little balloon shaped squeaker fell out onto the couch.  She took a moment to stare at it, then dropped the stuffed head, instead going over to sniff the noise maker.  She nosed it forward, and waited to see if it would move.  Still watching, she circled it.  Then she gently took it in her mouth and slowly bit down.  When it squeaked, she quickly dropped it.  Then she looked at me, a look of doggy confusion on her face.  She picked it up once more, squeaking it again and again.  And then she eyed the stuffed toy’s headless body.  It was then that it dawned on her that this little piece of plastic was the source of all her endless hours of fun.  She realized that her stuffed animal was not, in fact, screaming in agony every time she bit it.  She realized that it was only this little squeaker inside the toy that made the noise.

And then she barked at me accusingly, because I was clearly at fault for trying to pass off a stuffed animal filled with fluff and a plastic noise maker as the real deal.

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I may as well tell her about Santa now.  Her innocence is already gone.

Well, well.

Long time no write, huh.  I’ve got a couple of drafts saved and I’ve got lots of things to say rolling around in my head, but ultimately, I cannot seem to find the time or energy to sit down and get them written.

Lately it’s been busy.  But not in a bad, crazy kind of way.  It’s just been life in general.  And it’s good.  But it does take up all of my time.  Any spare time I have is reserved for soaking in the tub and eating.  Maybe both at once, depending on how crazy things are around here.

SO let me just say that the kids are doing well–enjoying school and playing with their friends.  I am doing well–no major problems with health or work.  B is doing well–he’s business as usual and managing just fine.

Hope you’re doing well, as well.

And when I get time, I owe my dad one web camera hook-up, and some various emails, and also a note to my daughter’s teacher saying she can get ice cream at lunch.  (Better get the ice cream thing taken care of right now.)  I’ll get back to y’all soon.

To him, donate means throw away.

While doing my daily read-through of blogs, I came across this post over at Suburban Bliss that reminded me of my husband and I.

Every time we move, I have truckloads of things to donate and throw away.  Things that we don’t use anymore, things that we have more than one of, and things that are broken or missing pieces.  (I don’t exactly know how we can accumulate such things, but we seem to be able do it at an alarming rate.  I think we leave the house and the Junk Fairy comes and leaves more junk in our closets.  And sometimes on our kitchen counters.)  But whenever we (meaning I, really) start the process of going through things to see what needs to go, my husband has a heart attack or two.  He hates getting rid of things.  It expecially hurts him if the something in question is “still good.”

Recently, for example, we bought ourselves a new kitchen table.  We didn’t need a new table, but were tired of living like college kids with our castoffs.  Once we knew that new table was going to be deliverd in a couple of days, we had to solve the problem of what to do with the old table.  I was all for donating it.  “Why,” I asked, “should we keep it when we have no place to store it, and no need for more than one table in the kitchen?”  “But it’s still good!” he pleaded.  “We should keep it.”

And it went back and forth like this for a while.  And we were about to bring the table to his mother’s house for safe keeping because it was “still good” when we found out his aunt needed a new table for her art classroom.  So, voila, the table now has a new home, and we know that’s it’s safe and sound, and useful to small children.

But we still have a lamp that he’s had forever.  We’ve kept it through four moves now.  It still sort-of works, and is missing a shade.  And it is collecting dust in a far corner of our closet.  However, he won’t let me get rid of it because it’s his and it’s “still good.”

Oh boy, the pictures.

Yesterday I finally decided to upload the few pictures I had on the camera to make way for a new set.  I knew that I had taken a couple of pictures when I picked the kids up from their first day of school, and that I also had a couple of the new furniture I wanted to post here.  So imagine my surprise when I plugged the camera into the USB port and started to download, and it said I had 82 pictures on there.  82!  And amongst those 82 pictures were several like this:

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And also these:

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Why, yes, those are their backsides. Lovely.

Also, I have enough pictures of the dog to wallpaper the house. The whole house. And a strange photo of one of the children’s hair, from some weird angle, that makes it look like grassy terrain from some uncharted planet. Oh, and lots of fingers. Lots and lots of pictures of fingers, with a few pure black ones thrown in for good measure. (Black pictures, not fingers. I thought I might have to clarify.)

I’m thankful that I didn’t have to take these pictures in to be developed. Because then I would have been angry that I had to pay for such pictures, instead of mildly amused by the kids’ craziness. Thank God for digital cameras.

And if you’re interested, there are pictures of the new furniture after the jump… Continue reading