Archive for March, 2008

Do I vote Republican? I’m not saying…

(But I sure as hell am not voting for Hilary.)

Okay, this was an email that my husband got from his friend, and then forwarded to me. I have no idea who the original author is — so I can’t give credit where credit is due. I just thought it was funny and that one or two of you may get a kick out of reading it.

The Ant and the Grasshopper

OLD VERSION:
The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his
house and laying up supplies for the winter.
The grasshopper thinks he’s a fool and laughs and dances and plays the
summer away. Come winter, the ant is warm and well fed. The grasshopper
has no food or shelter, so he dies out in the cold.
MORAL OF THE STORY: Be responsible for yourself.
———————————————————————————-
MODERN VERSION:
The ant works hard in the withering heat all summer long, building his
house and laying up supplies for the winter.
The grasshopper thinks he’s a fool and laughs and dances and plays the
summer away.
Come winter, the shivering grasshopper calls a press conference and
demands to know why the ant should be allowed to be warm and well fed
while others are cold and starving.
CBS, NBC, and ABC show up to provide pictures of the shivering
grasshopper next to a video of the ant in his comfortable home with a
table filled with food.
America is stunned by the sharp contrast. How can this be, that in a
country of such wealth, this poor grasshopper is allowed to suffer so?
Kermit the Frog appears on Oprah with the grasshopper, and everybody
cries when they sing, “It’s Not Easy Being Green.”
Jesse Jackson stages a demonstration in front of the ant’s house where
the news stations film the group singing, “We shall overcome.”
Jesse then has the group kneel down to pray to God for the grasshopper’s
sake. Tom Daschle & John Kerry exclaim in an interview with Peter
Jennings that the ant has gotten rich off the back of the grasshopper,
and both call for an immediate tax hike on the ant to make him pay his
“fair share.”
Finally, the EEOC drafts the “Economic Equity and Anti-Grasshopper Act,”
retroactive to the beginning of the summer.
The ant is fined for failing to hire a proportionate number of green
bugs and, having nothing left to pay his retroactive taxes, his home is
confiscated by the government.
Hillary gets her old law firm to represent the grasshopper in a
defamation suit against the ant, and the case is tried before a panel of
federal judges that Bill appointed from a list of single-parent welfare
recipients. The ant loses the case.
The story ends as we see the grasshopper finishing up the last bits of
the ant’s food while the government house he is in, which just happens
to be the ant’s old house, crumbles around him because he doesn’t
maintain it.
The ant has disappeared in the snow.
The grasshopper is found dead in a drug related incident and the house,
now abandoned, is taken over by a gang of spiders who terrorize the once
peaceful neighborhood.
MORAL OF THE STORY: Vote Republican.

Sizes, etc.

About a month ago, give or take a week, I bought my daughter some new jeans.  She had grown out of her old ones, and so I ordered her three new pairs from an expensive store, buying them in a looser size so she could wear them well into spring and maybe for the first little bit of fall.  At least, that was my hope.  But, as always, my hopes seemed to clash with what reality had in store for me.

My daughter has not only managed to rip a hole in the knee of her favorite pair of those jeans, but she has also grown right out of them.  She came to me one day and said that the snap came undone whenever she leaned forward.  And I looked at her feet and noticed that when she took a step forward, I could see her ankle bones. 

Let me just take a minute to say: holy crap!

So this weekend we’re off to the store to buy her another pair of jeans.  Probably two.  And also something that can be rolled into capris because the weather here has decided to start the usual nine months of summer we seem to (not) enjoy here.  But this time we’re going to Target and/or Walmart, and we’re not buying anything over $12.00.  If I don’t spend a lot of money, it’s almost guaranteed that she won’t grow out of them quickly.  (A theory that was proven when I bought her the expensive jeans and she already needs new ones but the Target pants I bought last fall still fit well.)

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I’m having issues with the size of clothes my children wear.  (Also, their shoe size.)  I’m not upset that they are growing.  No, no, no.  No, them growing doesn’t upset me as much as I sometimes say.  What upsets me the most is that, once upon a time, I used to wear children’s clothes.  But not just when I was a child.  Nope.  As an adult, I used to fit into a child’s size large.  Sometimes it needed to be extra large, but still it was children’s clothes.  I was that small.  And now, after having had two children, I no longer can wear anything close to children’s clothes.  And I mourn the loss.  Oh how I mourn the loss.  I miss being thin.  And since the weather has gotten warm enough to warrant turning on the air conditioner, I am also mourning the loss of the jeans and sweaters that cover me so well.  I am very disappointed to find out that my legs did not magically get thinner (or longer) during the winter.  Hmmph.

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Today is the last day of spring break for the kids.  And all I can say is, thank goodness.  It’s been a long week, and I think that my kids have finally reached the point where they are tired of having other kids in their space.  Me babysitting children in my home has been as amazing blessing because I’ve been able to take my kids to school, do what needs to be done here during the day, pick my kids up from school, and still manage to pull in some money.  However, usually all of the kids are together for only a few hours of the day.  So everyone can manage well together.  But during times like this (see: break, spring) when all the kids spend 10 hours a day together, and they don’t all get along, well, it’s torturous.  For all of us. 

I think that once this gig is up — in June I become jobless — I still want to pursue keeping children.  But I’m worried that the children’s personalities will clash again.  This time around, I guess I could have found a child who’s personality clashes worse with my son, but I would have been hard-pressed to do so.  I really can’t believe that, of all the children out there, we managed to get two boys together who have a lot of the same issues but react to them in such entirely different ways.  It really makes it hard on everyone.

How do you screen children, though?  How do you manage to find kids who all get along nicely, especially when you just need a job and are willing to take anything that comes your way?  Ugh, I don’t know.  I think you just hope that you get lucky.

Here’s to luck.  May we all have a little bit of it (especially when it comes to jobs.)

Love, E.

Y’all, I love my husband.

I’m not going to follow that with a but or even an except, because there aren’t any buts or excepts.  I just love the man.  And I wanted to write it down while I’m thinking about it because sometimes I get mired in the day’s happenings and go to bed at night without ever letting him know how much I appreciate him. 

And, by golly, I really do appreciate the man. 

But it was a bargain!

We bought a bag of assorted Easter chocolates at BJ’s Wholesale Club.

Never, ever do that — unless, of course, you plan on giving a lot of them away — because the bag will not look very large in comparison to all the other bags of candy there, but when you get it home you will come to the realization that you just bought a huge-ass bag of candy.  And you will end up eating so much chocolate that you swear — and this is just by the feel of your jeans, mind you — that you’ve put on 15 pounds since Sunday.

At least, that’s been my experience.  Your experience may vary.

Just a few things…

Y’all, B was disappointed that there was nary a word said about his (sarcastic) post yesterday.  No email.  No comments.  Nothing.  I fear it may have come across as actual crazy instead of just jokingly crazy.  It didn’t, did it?  I mean, yes, we did tell them about the Easter Bunny, but no we really didn’t fear a bunny in league with Satan. 

The kids took the information well.  In fact, they had just recently spent valuable homework time discussing whether or not an actual man dressed as a bunny comes into their house at night and leaves treats.  The idea started to freak them the heck out, so I think them knowing that the Easter Bunny is a source of fun for younger children — but not an actual thing — has helped ease their minds.  We still had an egg hunt, plenty of chocolate, and we let them pick out their own toys at the store — which, by the way, was the most brilliant idea ever, because they got exactly what they wanted, and it was nothing that I would have picked out for them.  So we’re all happy.

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It’s spring break week here, and I think I’m going to go crazy.  I know there are some of you who have more than two children around you all the time and you survive it, but I rarely have to spend an entire day with all of the children (mine and the two I babysit) and the fact that they are all here, all the time, makes me more than a little insane.  I wonder why it is they feel they have to yell all of the time.  Why?

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My son is doing well with his eye patch and contact lens.  He did lose the first lens on the very first day — and we have no earthly idea where it went — but otherwise he’s adapted well.  After taking the eye patch off on the first day he wore it for the entire day, he declared that the world looked, “So big, Mom!”  He’s been riding his bike, playing video games, and doing everything in his usual way.  It hasn’t slowed him down one bit.  (Thank goodness.)

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My daughter is going to sleep over at her friends house tonight, and it is only her second ever sleep-over.  So I’m alternating between being excited for her — and me — and also being worried that she’ll be homesick and cry.  I’m glad she has a good friend that she enjoys spending time with.  But there’s just something not right about her not being here.

Not suitable for children.

What did we do this weekend?  Well, B decided it was time to sit the kids down for a hard talk.  I told him I was having no part of it, and if he wanted to tell them, he could do it solo.  So he gathered them into the living room and I stayed in the kitchen and…. well, I’ll let him tell it.  Here’s a repost from his blog:

It is done!!!

The myth of the Easter Bunny has been removed from our house. No longer do our kids wonder how this humanoid like rabbit manages to leave baskets of goodies in the house. I told them the truth! There is no such thing as an Easter Bunny and that is that. Do not feel sorry for these children for they are spoiled beyond belief. They may get treats, oh yes, but they will not come from a rabbit, but from loving parents, damn it.

Why do we lie to our children? Why do we guard our house from intruders except on certain holidays? Why are these pagan beings able to enter our domicile unchecked and unnoticed? What if the Easter Bunny went mad or fell in league with Satan? It would be a massacre waiting to happen. Well not on my watch, motherfucker!!

Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus you’re next!!!!

Happy Easter everyone

And let me tell you, I did not enjoy this.  I was not ready for anyone to start with the hard questions.  I figured that the kids would put two and two together and begin to question all the holiday “mascots.”  But they didn’t.  Except for my son.  He came up with one question, and I cringed to hear what the next words out of his mouth would be.  “Well, what about…” he started.  But he finished with something totally unexpected.  He said, “What about St. Patrick’s Day?”

He’s only run into one thing so far.

This morning we went to the eye doctor and had my son fitted with his contact lens for his left eye.  Let me just say, there is nothing more nerve wracking than trying to get a contact lens out of someone else’s eye. 

The boy was a trooper, and didn’t even squirm much when we all huddled around him and watched the eye doctor insert a contact.  Nor did he complain when I tried to take it out, and then reinsert it.  The boy put his hands firmly in his pants — to keep from pushing our hands away from his head — and only said, “I’m holding my eye open,” over and over again.  He didn’t yell, he didn’t scream, he didn’t even stay STOP.  He just repeated his little mantra and hung in there.  Brave boy.

After we paid the eye doctor even more money — I think I’m going to just give him my bank account number and let him help himself — we went to the store to buy my son an eye patch.  I bought some adhesive ones that are like band-aids for his eyes, but I also bought him an eye patch, pirate-style.  He got quite a kick out of wearing it.  Well, he did until we encountered someone who told him he looked like a pirate and asked where his sword was.  But he does not want to wear the adhesive patches because he’s scared they’ll hurt when it’s time to pull them off.  He can’t stand to tear a band-aid off of himself.  I know he’s thinking that one on his eye would be even worse, and I totally see his reasoning there.

He’ll have to wear the eye patch anytime he’s not in school for the next month or so, until we go back to the doctor.  If his “bad eye” improves, then maybe he can stop patching his good eye.  But we’ll just have to see.

So until then, he’ll continue to be the scourge of the seven seas. 

(Oh hush.  You’re just lucky I’ve refrained from making pirate jokes until now.  Because I’ve got a lot more, trust me.)