Is it odd that I have posted more in the shortest month of the year than the other months? I know I just started, but I’m on a roll this month.
If I had been paying attention to my post numbers, I probably would have made my last post “Almost 100” in honor of The Man’s blog. In order to be accurate, I should have done the “Almost 100” blog on the 29th or 30th post. Since that’s how old The Man really is (he’s 29 now, going on 30, he’s not both ages at the same time). The Boy just tells him, “Dad you’re old. You’re almost 100.” Have I mentioned my excitement for my upcoming birthday? I can’t wait to be told that I’m almost one hundred years old. Jeez, I never knew having a kid would make me feel so old so quickly.
Anyway, for Post 100, it’s to The Boy:
Hunny Bear, I love that you still let me call you Hunny Bear. I know that won’t last forever, I fear the days are numbered actually. You still let me hug and kiss all over you when we drop you off at school, too. I will be so sad the day that you push me away. I truly cherish every single day the opportunity I have to snuggle with you in your classroom before Mommy and Daddy leave.
I worry about you, SO much. I hear that grandkids are great and I’d love to experience them (or one) one day, but at the same time, I want to warn you that you will never be the same after the birth of your first child. No matter how safe or healthy they are, you will find things to worry about anyway, especially if you take after me. I worried that you would never walk, never speak, and now you do both. I worry that you will always be picky about your food and are destined to a diet of tortillas, applesauce, and cheese throughout your adult life. Even when you sit with me and I can see that you are perfectly content, I constantly wonder what could make your life better and if you are truly as healthy as you look. Would you be happier if I got you some juice? Are the bruises on your legs a sign of anemia?
I love you, SO much. It is difficult to be a good mom sometimes because I just want you to be happy. I don’t want to tell you that you can’t eat candy all the time. I don’t want to put you on a time out for throwing the Wii remotes on the ground in frustration. I want to take you to the jungle when you say we should go to the jungle. My desire to fulfill every desire in your little heart is so strong that it is sometimes very hard, near impossible, to do the right thing.
I miss you, SO much. I am sad that I did not love every second that we spent together for the first two years of your life. I am sorry that I was so depressed and I wish I could go back and enjoy that time because now I miss it. Now that I work all day, all I want to do is stay home with you. Not that I think it wouldn’t still drive me insane, but just because I miss you when I’m at work.
I’m sad that you will soon be going into kindergarten. I told Daddy the other day that this milestone was hard for me because it really meant that there was no going back to being a baby. As if, somehow, it would have been possible for you to go back to being a baby, but kindergarten is the point of no return for a potential time warp. You will truly be a big boy and I know there will be so much fun stuff we will go through together, but I’m already having so much fun and that will be a different kind of fun but I’m not ready yet.
I love your eyelashes, they are so long. They frame your bright blue eyes beautifully. I love to watch your mouth when you talk, it makes the best shapes. Your nose is so cute, and your hair is beautifully blonde. I never expected it to stay this blonde for this long, but I’m glad it did. Your little ears are so cute and there is a freckle behind one of them. You have another freckle on one of your squishy pink cheeks. Your fingers are no longer chubby, but now long, slender, and capable of fine motor movements. Your body is so lean and you have a six pack that I could only ever dream to have.
My little man, I hope so hard that Daddy and I are raising you properly. I know that we are doing the best we know how, but I know it’s not good enough for what you deserve, which is perfection. Whatever we are doing wrong I hope that you learn from and then become a better parent to your kid(s).
Although I realize you are headed down the path of thinking you are smarter than Mommy and Daddy, you mostly still respect us, listen to us, and like to spend time with us. I love playing video games with you. They are the highlight of your life right now and it’s so much fun to see you so excited about something. You also love to use your imagination, and you are really good at it. You like music and dancing, reading, drawing, sports, and cooking. You are so talented at so many different things, it really amazes me. I’m sure every parent thinks this at some time in their child’s life, but I think you could be a prodigy in an area if we focused on it enough. I think you’re a child genius.
There aren’t enough words in the world to describe my love for you, and not enough space on the internet to write all of the things that you are doing right now. But I do love you with all of my heart and when I look at you I know that I am truly blessed.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Is it odd that I have posted more in the shortest month of the year than the other months? I know I just started, but I’m on a roll this month.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
As sung by The Boy at Age Four
“Take me out to the ballgame.
Take me out to the crowd.
Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks.
I don’t care if I ever get back.
root, root, root for the home team.
I don’t care if it’s a shame.
Cuz it’s one, two, free stree-yikes your out
At the ooooold, baaaaall, gaaaaame!”
The Boy took The Man to a baseball game with his boss and his boss’ daughter (the kids are about the same age). Now, we do not normally hang out with The Man’s boss, and I think it may have actually been the first time The Boy met either of them.
Fast forward about six months. The Boy and I go to The Man’s office and see his boss. The Man says, “Do you remember my boss?” The Boy is silent for a moment and I’m about to say something that excuses him for not remembering him when The Boy reveals his true knowledge, “Yeah, we went to the baseball game together and Alex was there, the A’s beat the Tigers, there were fireworks, we took BART…” and he continues. We all started laughing. What a smart kid – I’m so proud of him.
Do you know what really scares me? The fact that I do not find this article to be disturbing.
Reading the story felt like watching a movie. It’s a tragic love story, where two avant-garde artists are tangled up in a tumultuous twister of presumed stalkers and conspiracy theories. You can see in their eyes that their souls are lost. They seem unsettled, like they could hardly stand to hold still for the photo.
I kind of get it, you know? I identify with them being crazy and paranoid. I think this is what happens when two crazy people stay together as a couple for so long. I’m crazy, but The Man is not. So he keeps me grounded. That way, when I think Scientologists are stalking me, he helps me realize that is ridiculous (or I might still believe it, but at least I don’t act on it), whereas two crazy people will further each other’s unreasonable fears.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
The Boy says to The Man, “Dad, tell me if you forget and I’ll remind you.”
The Boy says he made a wish that his plush Piplup friend would be real.
We were listening to “Balance Song” on the JoJo’s Circus CD. It was on repeat per The Boy’s request. He wanted me to sing the words with him. Then he said last time to sing, so I took it off of repeat. When the next song came on, he looked so betrayed and defensively said, “HEY!” I told him I thought he said last time. He said, “It was the last time to sing, Mom. We can still listen to the song.”
Disney is awesome. Whatever they do, they go all out. We went to Disney on Ice this weekend and I went thinking oh, it will be cute, hopefully it will hold The Boy’s attention the entire time, but I was prepared for him to get bored. It was, after all, a Disney Princess performance, and I wasn’t sure if it would be too girly for him. The Boy is always going on and on about how we see Ariel everywhere. It sounds like a complaint to me, but I guess he really likes Ariel. At least that’s what The Man has told me.
It was AWESOME. It held MY attention the entire show, and The Boy was mesmerized. There were way more than just the Princesses. There were Princes, Mickey and Minnie, props, extras, etc. And their skating was really impressive. Nobody fell and they did…I don’t know what the moves are called, and at the risk of sounding like I’m calling them hookers, I’m going to call them tricks. The jumping and spinning and the lifting, it was unbelievable, especially since some of them were dressed in very bulky costumes.
As you look at these photos, you will see that I need a new camera. The battery sucks; it didn’t even last until intermission. I can’t take a lot of pictures in a row. It’s like take one picture, have a snack, take another picture, take a bathroom break. Maybe I don’t know how to use it in this type of situation with the different lighting, etc., but the pictures don’t come out the way I want them to. A new camera may not be the answer. Reading the user’s manual? Maybe I’ll try that first. Although I am dying to go out and buy this camera as recommended by Ashley.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
I write things in a book that The Boy says so that I remember to blog about them. Otherwise, let’s face it, I’m in the early stages of Alzheimer’s and can unfortunately, only remember the things I get paid to remember.
He does not normally see me write in my book, because I usually pull it out when he is distracted by whatever it is that I am writing about, or he is sleeping. On this particular Sunday morning, though, The Boy and I went out to breakfast, and I pulled out my book to write down some things that I was remembering at that moment. The Boy asked me what I was doing and I told him that I was writing down special things that he said so that I could put them in my blog. He proceeded to recite all of the nursery rhymes he could and after each one he asked me, “Did you write that down?” He insisted that I write down every one and waited patiently as he spoke each line and watched me write it down. So here are the words to nursery rhymes, as delivered by The Boy on February 17, 2008:
Little Miss Muffet
Little Miss Muffet,
Sat on her tuffet,
Eating her courage away.
Along came a spider,
And sat down beside her,
And frightened Miss Muffet away.
(my speculation: she was frightened because she ate all her courage)
Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater
Peter, Peter Punkin Eater,
Had a Wife.
Put her in a pinkin shell,
There he kept her very well.
The Itsy Bitsy Spider
Bitsy Bitsy Spider,
Went up the water spout,
Down came the rains,
And washed the spider out,
Out came the sun,
And dried up all the way,
And the bitsy bitsy spider,
Went up the spout again.
Scooby Do Theme Song
Scooby Doovy Do,
Where are you,
We have a job to do.
OR when he’s being silly…
Scooby Doovy Do,
Where are you,
We have shampoo to do.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,
All the king horses and all the king men,
Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
I think that the amount of laundry and dishes we go through is excessive for a family of three. I don’t know how to stop it – perhaps start walking around naked and eating off of the floor with our hands? No?
I swear, I just finished folding a TON (quite literally, 2,000 pounds, okay) of laundry on Saturday morning and then I turned around Sunday afternoon and there was more! At least two full loads. Where did it come from? I think it is beginning to multiply.
And yet, I never seem to have anything to wear. I want a certain item – oh, it’s in the dirty laundry. I swore I would never be one of those moms who loses her kids socks, too. Like I can control the dryer’s incessant appetite for damp, semi-grubby cotton.
Fortunately, The Man does the dishes. The dishes are on the same schedule as the laundry. I think the dirty dishes have a dirty double date with the dirty clothes and that’s how things start to reproduce. Thank goodness I have The Man because if I had to do both the dishes AND the laundry, I might crawl into the washer and go through a spin cycle just to put myself out of my misery.
The Man and I were very naïve at one point and thought that we might want up to three children. And then we had one. They are hard work (surprise, surprise, right?). It is no secret that we decided one was good and now I cannot imagine it any other way. I am so thankful we aren’t going to have a girl, and there is no way I could handle another boy in the house. I couldn’t imagine trying to share my time, finances, love, etc. with another child. So it’s a perfect fit for us. And I understand that others have different experiences and that what is right for us is not necessarily right for other families.
Having said that, if anyone out there who has only one child and is on the fence about having another let me offer this advice: DON’T DO IT.
Here is an article that supports this advice. Or at least lends itself to supporting this advice.
Monday, February 25, 2008
I read that the color beige does not photograph well. Therefore, I am warning you that 1) I am in no way close to being any kind of professional photographer, and 2) I took a picture of some beige things.
I made hummus. The Man had some at a Greek restaurant when he went to lunch with his office and I started to have a craving for it. I looked up some recipes and did not have all of the ingredients from one recipe, so I combined some things together and came up with my own recipe. I thought it came out pretty good, which means I should probably be bottling it and selling it because I am my very worst critic. Here is what I did (roughly, I did not write down anything):
Recipe for Hummus, I Got the Hummus
1 can garbanzo beans
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1/4 cup water
1 Tablespoon lemon juice
Olive Oil as needed
1/2 teaspoon parsley
salt to taste
I put the garbanzo beans, garlic, water, and lemon juice in my food processor. I put the lid on, turned it on, and added the olive oil until it was the right consistency. Then I put in the parsley and some salt, ran it again, and did one more tasting and adding of salt. Then it was done.
I warmed up some pita bread, sliced it into triangles and we dipped it in the hummus. It was REALLY good.
I also made cupcakes. It is cold and raining outside and I wanted to do something with The Boy, so he helped me make cupcakes. And he actually helped this time. Most of the time, his “helping” involves a LOT of clean up for me, but this time he did a really great job. I was super impressed.
So please enjoy my beige photos.
Our department has a standing meeting with CEO Boss once a month. I feel pretty honored that I am included in these meetings, especially since most items on the agenda are not things that I do, although I could be somewhat involved, especially if Quiet Boss would ever use me and my abilities properly.
Female Boss is sure to make me feel like it is a privilege for me to attend these meetings. By giving me this month’s agenda literally ONE MINUTE before the meeting begins. She half way tosses it at me and says, “Here, this is for today’s meeting. I don’t think you have it yet.” Um, you know I don’t have it yet because you are the only person handing them out and you never gave me one. And all items on the agendas are assigned to someone so that CEO Boss knows who to go to if he has a question about anything. And Female Boss is sure to leave me off altogether. If I’m working on something, she’ll list Quiet Boss or Her Majesty instead. I get a nod on maybe one thing, the tiniest, most insignificant thing, and she includes Quiet Boss on there, too, just so everybody knows that I’m not capable of doing it myself.
We are in the meeting and CEO Boss asked me a direct question. I had the answer all ready for him. Yeah, take THAT Female Boss – he didn’t ask you about it and your husband is the person who is going to be doing the work, ha! AND, he mentioned something that he said was highly confidential. He said “this is very confidential” like three times, so I know how important it is that I don’t repeat it. I’m sure he was directing that comment towards me, but he continued with the story and it made me feel like I was worth something that he trusted me to hear his confidential story.
We bought new shoes for The Boy yesterday. I think this is the first time that he has worn out his shoes before he grew out of them. Also, this was the first time he was really involved with picking them out. Previously, I ordered them online, or he was too young to care what kind of shoes he was wearing. He always stated how he could run faster, but it has never been as adamant as yesterday’s declaration.
We purchased Mario and Sonic at the Olympics for the Wii last week and it has been non-stop at our house. I’m pretty sure that’s how I’m going to die. Heart attack by Wii game. The Boy is totally in love with Sonic right now and wanted to get Sonic shoes. I wasn’t sure they existed, but I now see that I can, of course, get them on eBay.
Anyway, we went to the mall and I was searching for a particular pair of shoes and we also needed to find a pair of white shoes. But we got to the first store and The Boy fell in love with these shoes because he says they are Sonic shoes because they have an “S” on them and they are blue like Sonic. His little heart was set on those shoes and it didn’t matter what we showed him, he hated everything else. We bought the shoes and he wore them home. He was so excited about them and informed us that he is now faster than Dash from The Incredibles and that he and Sonic are the same amount of fast.
We could barely pry them off of his feet before he went to bed last night, and this morning when he got up he said we should take them downstairs so we don’t forget them. He forgot to take them right then, and then remembered later. He asked Dad to bring them down. Daddy assumed that it would be okay to bring the shoes downstairs the next time he went down, but a few minutes later we heard The Boy stomping up the stairs. He bursts into our room, observes The Man putting on his own shoes and cried out, “Stop tying your shoes! Bring my Sonic shoes downstairs right now!!!”
When we finally put the shoes on, I told him that I would take a picture of him in his new shoes. What I meant was go stand over there and I’ll take a picture of your entire body and your shoes will be part of the picture. What he did was this:
The Boy is not one who traditionally goes around telling his friends I did this or showing a teacher something new, but today, it was all about the shoes. He showed Grandma, two teachers, and two friends before I could even left him at school.
I loved every second of it. It’s so great when your kids make their own decisions and are proud of those decisions.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Mommy and The Boy read a book called "Throwing Tantrums." The Boy, who is learning about letters, sounds, and spelling, says that the first word on the cover of the book is "tantrums." Mommy told him that the first word is "throwing."
"But Mom," The Boy informs me, "throwing doesn't start with 't'!" He thinks "throwing" begins with "f" because he says "frowing."
The Boy received a birthday invitation in the mail. He loves to get mail. The boy who invited him is turning three, we'll call him B. The Boy emphatically states, "I love B!"
Mommy and Daddy: "Aw, you are so sweet."
The Boy: "Yeah. He poops though. But that's okay. I still like him."
Mommy: "Oh, honey. Everyone poops."
The Boy: "Yeah. But not grown ups."
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Lately, when I cook or bake something, I find that I want to blog about it later, and then I constantly find myself wishing I had pictures of the process and final product. For example, I made these yummy hostess cupcakes and they were a LOT of work. I even made the marshmallow fluff from scratch. Everything was so labor intensive, they looked really good, and they tasted great, too. I was bummed then that I didn’t take any pictures for proof. Because they were a little bit too much work in my opinion and I probably won’t make them again.
Since then, I resolved to take pictures when I was cooking or baking in order to remember my efforts. I did not tell anyone about this resolution though, so when I grabbed the camera Saturday morning to take a picture of bacon, The Man was a little taken aback. I don’t blame him. Here is my lovely picture of the bacon. Doesn’t it look warm and crispy?
And totally unrelated to food, I took a picture of the lunar eclipse last night. See that white speck? That’s it. Would a better camera have captured that better, or is it just too far away? At least by blogging about it I can recall the memory I have of actually seeing it, and The Boy’s response. He called it a “lips.”
I received an e-mail today and a word was misspelled that totally changed the meaning of the word. The picture I got it my head made me laugh. The e-mail said:
“The door handle isn’t functioning properly. It takes a lot of giggling to get it open.”
I’ve never laughed so hard that a door opened.
The boy is consumed with imagination play. Everything is, “You pretend to be this person and I’ll be that guy and Daddy will be so and so.” It’s so awesome. Everyone we pretend to be is based on the color the character wears, and sometimes it is based on the sex of the character. I’m usually whatever female character there is, despite what color she might wear. For example, even though Sally from CARS is blue, she’s a girl, so I’m Sally. And The Boy is Lightning, because even though he’s not blue, he is the main character, the center of attention, and let’s face it, that is all the matters to a five year old. Dad is Chick because Dad likes green. But let’s pretend Daddy is a good guy. With the Legend of Zelda, Daddy is grown up Link, The Boy is little Link, and Mommy is Zelda.
Everything is like that. The Boy is constantly assigning a persona to all three of us and then we are given our mission, which is to get the bad guys. And the sound affects are great: shing, pssh, dah! Of course The Boy can never get hurt. On the off chance that one of us is a bad guy and we try to get him, or do actually get him, he says, “I’m protect,” which means nothing can get him.
I have to say, I love grocery shopping online at Safeway. I did it again and it just makes my life SO much easier. I can plan meals, order exactly what I want, I’m not distracted by seeing other things I don’t need, I don’t have to wait in line, I don’t have to interact with other people (total bonus), I get ten cents a gallon off of their gas, and they do a great job picking my produce. Initially I thought I might get their reject produce, but it is very fresh.
I thought I went through eBates again, but last time my account was credited right away, and it has not been credited yet. Maybe I did something wrong this time.
Did you know that the National Sleep Foundation says that kids ages five to twelve years old should get between 9 and 11 hours of sleep each night? That doesn’t seem like enough. I think it should be more like 18 to 24 hours hours of sleep each night. I mean, I need more than 9 to 11 hours of sleep each night. And I don’t really see how the needs of a five year old can be anywhere near the same as the needs of a twelve year old. I have seen a twelve year old boy sit still. I have not seen my five year old boy sit still. Ever. So I have to believe that he is expending more energy than the twelve year old. This means he requires more sleep than the twelve year old. Also, my five year old’s body is trying to grow at least two feet in the next thirteen years, whereas the twelve year old’s body is only has six years of growing left to do. I think The Boy’s body is working hard at growing and should therefore require more rest than the twelve year old.
Somehow, this scientific speculation escapes The Boy, as it probably does most other children, which is why the National Foundation for Sleep has come to the accurate conclusion that 9 to 11 hours of sleep is sufficient. I’d still like the National Parenting Foundation to make a recommendation.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Go to the pharmacy and pick up your prescriptions already. Sheesh, how much more of this crazy negative thinking can you handle?
I want a cookie from the cookie platter you took into the conference room. You filled your plates for lunch buffet style and the leftovers remained in the kitchen for everyone else to enjoy (which I did not because I was already full from eating Chinese leftovers from dinner last night). Why couldn’t you treat the cookies the same way – take what you want and leave the rest? I was really relying on them for an afternoon pick me up. One day, when I’m rich and have a family meeting, I’ll share my cookies with everyone in the office.
You are a loser. It took me awhile to realize this; it actually took someone else telling me for me to recognize it. You are living in an unhappy marriage, you are unhappy with yourself, and misery loves company, doesn’t it?
You gave me my annual review. I’m not sure why you are my “boss” – I don’t think the fact that you track my absences qualifies you to give me an accurate evaluation. You insist that I “report” to you, but I really receive all of my assignments from The Quiet Boss.
It is not unreasonable for you to say that I spend too much time on the internet. I know this. But I still get my work done. Nothing is ever late and it is usually correct. I get here on time so that you can meander in thirty minutes late every day. I stay in during the lunch hour so that you can take ninety minute lunches. I do the work of five people so that you can do the work of half of a person. You’d think I’d get some mercy from you when it comes to the internet. Yes, I have a highly visible desk, but everyone knows how much work I do. I think you might be the only person in the office who actually cares what is on my monitor. I think everyone else in the office has a life and they are concerned with their own work, not focused on what I am doing. I’m pretty sure I’m not number one on their list of “let’s see what she’s working on right now.” And P.S., I see you looking back at my screen when you walk by my desk. Guess what? I’ve already minimized the internet screen. It gets minimized every time I see you coming. Also, I know you quietly sneak when coming up from behind me to see what I am doing. I don’t care if you see me on the internet. It reminds me that I have a life that is better than any petty excuse you might have for existing.
If I worked in a cubicle where nobody could see what I did all day, you would be singing praises at the amount of work I can pump out in a forty hour week. I know this because everyone else is already singing praises for all of the work I do. That is also how I know that they aren’t paying attention to what is on my computer screen.
And once I figure out what the heck I want to do with my career, you are going to be so sorry you ever treated me poorly. I’m going to get out of there so fast you won’t know what happened and good luck finding a replacement that puts up with your micromanaging nonsense AND performs as well as I do. You will either be stuck with someone who is so stupid they don’t realize that there is micromanaging going on, but they can’t do the work I do and you’ll have to do it, or work harder to make sure it gets done or is correct. I know your lazy behind won’t like that. OR, you’ll have high turnover for the position because a smart person will not put up with you for very long. The only reason I have suffered through it for this long is because I don’t know what I want to do.
So I am forced to write my blogs in Word first and then transfer them to Blogger either at home or during my lunch hour. Or copying the text I want to read online and pasting it into Word. Now you are wondering, what is she typing, or what is she reading in that Word document? You may eventually figure out my little “trick,” but hopefully I will be gone before you do. Gone to a place where people value and respect me.
Do you really think that nobody notices you talking on the phone on personal calls for half the day (you are doing it right now)? You know our phones show how long you have been on the phone? And that I can see it whenever I go to your desk? And that at least once a day it says that you have been on the phone with the same caller for over TWO HOURS? I have never been on the internet continuously for that amount of time. Let me tell you – you don’t have that much enlightening information to pass on to your kids and daughter-in-law. And even if you did, I guarantee you that they don’t want to hear it.
Do you actually think you are funny? I don’t. It is not funny to me when I am sending out my rent statements and you bring me letters that have been in your office for over a month that, by finally signing, will affect my rent statements. Oh, but isn’t it my job to remind you to review that stuff? Yes, yes it is. And I have. For the last THREE WEEKS. So don’t laugh when you hand me that stuff when I am the one who has to frantically run down the mail guy, burrow through the piles of mail like a raccoon digging through the garbage, victoriously grab my envelopes, and walk back to my office feigning dignity. I wish I could say that next time I’ll make you go through all of that. But that’s why I get paid the “big bucks.”
And you did get me sick. I have the nagging cough to prove it, and my dislike for you grows every time I cough.
Just because you are an attorney doesn’t mean that you are better than the HVAC guy. He makes your life comfortable. So be a little more respectful when he is in your suite. He is not “disgusting” as you so pompously put it. He is a nice, clean, good-smelling technician, which is more than I can say for your receptionist. But then again, you probably think she is “below” you in the human ranking system and don’t pay her enough to afford a place with a shower.
I’m so glad your lease is up in just a few more months. I will probably “loose” any of your e-mail requests or phone messages until that time. You might not burn in hell, but you will burn in your office this summer, that’s for sure.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Or thin tires in our case.
We are not great with money. We could probably be considered terrible with money. But I like to give us some “credit” (ha!), because we no longer use credit cards. We used to have a HUGE spending problem and now we live on a budget. Well, we spend the money we have on the budget part and then whatever is left over (not much of it), gets spent on other stuff, not in the budget (i.e., eating out, Wii games…mostly eating out and Wii games). The point is that we don’t spend MORE than we make. But we don’t save either. I save for two things each month – property taxes and car registration. Because I can’t pull six hundred and six dollars out of my behind twice a year, one of those times being right before Christmas. We don’t save large chunks of money we get either, like bonuses or tax returns. We use that money to go on vacations, or buy new electronic devices, or sometimes we even buy practical things like prescription glasses or a big boy bed for The Boy.
Right now we really need new tires. We need them so badly. I can see the threading coming through on one of the tires. One of the tires wore itself flat. The spare is brand new and looks terrific compared to the others. I feel bad for the spare tire. He’s just supposed to provide assistance, not support the entire car. Maybe I shouldn’t feel bad for him. Maybe he thinks he looks pretty good for a spare tire compared to these slackers.
I love the guy at Honda, too. He tells The Man, “Dude, you like totally need new tires.” The Man says, “Thanks for telling me. We don’t have money for that right now. I’ll let The Wife know so that she can start budgeting for it.” The guy says, “They’re in really bad shape, man.” The Man reiterates, “That’s great, but it doesn’t put any money in my bank account. We’ll bring it back in when we have the money.” The guy stares back, perplexed. What doesn’t he understand? Unless they were having a free tire sale, no money equals no new tires. Dude.
It is times like these when I wish we had some sort of savings. If we kept like two grand in savings, this wouldn’t even put a dent in that. We’d be all set. Instead, I’m scrambling around the house, grabbing anything I think might sell on eBay, and praying so hard that the other tires don’t go flat before I can find $542.92 (note to self: check under couch cushions). I really didn’t want to spend our tax return on new tires. I wanted to buy a big boy bed for The Boy, buy some new prescription glasses (mine are over five years old and I’m not sure they improve my vision anymore), or maybe go to Disneyland or New York. Or, buy some new boots.
Oh well. If I keep selling stuff on eBay, maybe that will pay for a family vacation. And I won’t have to worry about anyone breaking in and stealing anything while we’re gone, since I’ll have to sell everything in our house to make that much.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Oh, my, gosh. Kill me now. Seriously. Remember when I told you about how I spelled out a word when speaking with a vendor? Well this story is about that same vendor. Which means I’m sure he thinks I’m a genius. He’s bidding on a project for us. He should probably use monosyllabic words and a large font so as not to confuse me.
He came to meet with Female Boss. I get the call that he is here, go to the reception desk to meet him, and bring him back to the conference room. I’m about to ask him, “Would you like some water or coffee?” just like the good assistant that I am. But what comes out is, “Would you like some milk or juice?” Because that is what I ask The Boy. Milk. Or Juice.
Then (oh, no, the horror is not over), I get him set in the conference room, turn to leave, and the belt buckle on my navy blue capris catches on the door handle and I trip and almost fall. I’m “cool” enough to catch myself before I fall flat on my face. When will the suffering end?
The Boy’s class has a little party and I made these really adorable goodie bags. I just got these paper bags from Target, stamped them all over with different heart stamps (thanks Mom), punched holes in the top, filled them with candy, and tied them with a bow. They are really sweet. The Boy picked out TMNT valentines to hand out to his classmates. And they have a little pretend mailbox so the parents can “send” their kids a Valentine card. I found this really cute card with Mickey on it. I fell in love with it, and I didn’t check the price, how much could a greeting card be? I was stunned at the checkout to see that it cost almost as much as the seven dollar box of Theraflu I was purchasing. But anyway, we wrote a little love note in it and put it in the special mailbox. I think that is such a great idea, a way for the parents to be there with their kids and make their kids feel special.
Friday, February 15, 2008
One of the rules at our house is that The Boy must stay in bed until 6 a.m. If we didn’t have that rule, he would get up at goodness only knows what time. He is an early riser, a morning person. The Man and I don’t know where he gets it from. Actually, that’s not true. I was a morning person before I had The Boy. He stole it from me.
Very often, he comes in on or around 5:30 in the morning and we must remind him to go back to his bed and stay there until the clock in his room says 6:00.
Time has been a very big deal to him lately. On Wednesday we were driving to church and he stated the time every minute until we got there. “It’s six! Six o’clock. That means my school is closed.” “6:01” “It’s 6:02!” With such excitement and shock, as though he didn’t know what number was coming next.
This morning he came in at 5:30, and was very disappointed to be reminded that it wasn’t six yet. It appeared to be laborious for him to walk back to his bedroom, dragging his blanket behind him. He stayed in there until six, well “6:01” exactly, according to him. And he proudly stated, “I counted until it was six. I counted to one hundred and nine.” I can’t believe his resistance to sleeping. I knew I only had thirty more minutes to sleep, but I took the opportunity. Why is counting more appealing to him that sleep? I want to grab his tiny little shoulders and tell him, “There is no other time in your life when you will have this much of a chance to sleep so much. Stock up now!” But I am so glad that he looks forward to his life so much that he can’t bear to waste another moment sleeping. It makes me feel like we must be doing something right.
What on EARTH would possess you to honk your horn for so long and look so furious at someone when the light JUST turned green? You didn’t even give that poor person a chance, AND the lane you are in only leads to the freeway, which, in looking at the overpass, isn’t going anywhere. Chill man, chill.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Man wrote a great post about not celebrating Valentine’s Day. I totally agree with him. I would much rather get flowers from him for no “special” reason other than the fact that he loves me. Or for him to show me he is thinking of me by doing something nice for me on any other day of the year. Which he does. And I love him for it.
I have not really defined my bosses, but I pretty much have four. They don’t all technically boss me around, but they are all above me in the pecking order.
First is Female Boss. She is the opinionated, always right, know-it-all, micromanager, ungrateful, nosy in your business type.
Second is Quiet Boss. He has what I think is a sense of humor that I don’t get, or he is just really weird and maybe a little mean. He is super shy, quiet, private, hard to read. I think a little OCD, too.
Third is Boss Man. My favorite one, I wish it was just me and him in the office. Level headed, practical, honest, no ego, fair, just an all around nice person.
Fourth is CEO Boss. He’s the CEO and married into the family business (he’s not actual family). Stay out of his way when he’s cranky, which isn’t often, in general he’s very nice, a family man. Likes things a certain way and has the money to have things done those certain ways. Can be hard to read.
Anyway, that is all totally unrelated to this post, but good knowledge to have for future posts.
And it does help explain Female Boss’ reaction to Valentine’s Day. Her husband sent her a dozen red roses (gorgeous), everyone is oohing and aahing all over them and she says, “Yes, my husband has no imagination. Red roses on Valentine’s Day, how creative.” I want to grab one of those roses and shove the thorny stem down her throat! It’s nice that he thought of her. There are SO many other women in the office who either don’t have someone to celebrate with, or whose husbands don’t ever treat them special, whether it’s on Valentine’s Day or not. I mean, come on! Be a little enthusiastic about it. Jeez.
Then I hear her call her husband to thank him for the flowers (after everyone else has gone away and nobody can hear her being nice), but in the process berates him for having his music up too loud. “Turn your music down so you can hear me thank you.” If the guy hasn’t had a vasectomy already, he certainly doesn't need one due to her constant emasculating comments.
Depression sucks. It sucks because it’s not necessarily related to what’s going on in your life. Like say your dad dies; it would be obvious and understandable for you to say, “I’m depressed.” But say that everything in your life is going fine, you have a job, a house, a family, etc.; it seems less reasonable, perhaps almost unappreciative to then say, “I’m depressed.”
The difference in the two is that one is an actual indication of bad times, where the grieving process is necessary, and the other are feelings of depression due to a chemical imbalance in the brain.
This site is helpful in understanding depression, the signs of depression, and treatments for depression. The site states: “Many things can trigger debilitating depression. Feelings of depression are caused by a chemical change that affects how the brain functions.”
What is not helpful is that there’s not much you can do about it when it hits you. Yes, you can (and I do) take medication to assist with the chemical imbalance, but sometimes even that isn’t enough. I mean seriously, what the heck! I have so much for which I should be thankful and happy. Why can't I just knock it off?
In a recent post, I expressed my desire to get out of my rut. I had a plan and I felt respectable for wanting to make a change, not just wanting to bathe myself in my misery. Some days I feel just as euphoric as I did the day I made that decision. The rest of the days, not so much. It’s such a challenge to think positively about anything. I hate this or I don’t feel like doing that. It’s self-defeatist, I know that, yet here I am doing it!
Since I started this blog, not a day has gone by where I haven’t had the desire to write. The Boy said this, or I experienced that, I can incorporate this incident into my blog. And then yesterday, WHAM! I get hit with this wave of disinterest in everything. I’m not interested in my work, in eating (gasp!), in my blog. I don’t want to play video games, read magazines, or go outside where the weather is beautiful. All I want to do is get in my pajamas, get into bed, and sleep. Sleep all day and all night, not talking to anyone until this feeling goes away.
I’m sitting at my desk thinking I have the desire to write on my blog today, however I do not feel like writing anything. I don’t feel like opening up a new Word document. I don’t feel like typing the words to this idea I have. So I don’t. Then I’m frustrated because I’m letting this feeling take over me. It’s like I’m two different people. One of me says, “Hey, you have something cool to write about, do it!” The other me says, “Nope. Sorry, we don’t feel like it today.” The first me says, “Oh, okay.” Then we both feel bad for giving in to the antagonistic behavior. It’s a very bizarre feeling to have.
There’s nothing changing it either. I can’t take an extra pill, I can’t talk myself out of it, the weather doesn’t change it.
I didn’t feel like writing about anything today, repeating the same argument inside my head with my two selves. Finally I decide, “Fine! Just write about this.” “Fine! I will.” I forced myself to do it. Now that it is done do you think I feel a sense of completion? No, I don’t. I’m totally critical of my writing. This is stupid, you shouldn’t feel this way. It’s not long enough. It doesn’t explain enough. People will read this and they won’t appreciate what you are going through.
Whatever. I don’t care people! Like it, don’t like it. I didn’t even want to write it in the first place.
Okay, have a great day! Ha!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The Boy is spoiled. I do not disagree with that. He is not a spoiled brat, though. I think he’s the only kid in his class with a Wii. And Santa brought him a Nintendo DS for Christmas. Like a four year old needed his own DS. And not that he cares, but I buy him 7 for All Mankind jeans, True Religion cords, clothes from Janie and Jack, Junk Food tees, etc. He pretty much thinks that school is for learning and home is for fun. Most things that we do with him are fun, so it usually comes as a shock to him when we have to do something that’s not fun. I used to think that he was probably more spoiled than some of his classmates. Until everyone had their 5th birthdays.
We went about his birthday as usual. He picked the theme and I had the special cake made, planned special games, and he got lots of presents, we gave him more than we had planned or budgeted for, but that goes without saying. A good time was had by all and I really felt like it was the most successful birthday party we’ve had for him. He didn’t get anything really big, but we got him want he wanted and lots of it – Pokemon toys.
WELL, we didn’t hear about what went on for everyone’s 5th birthday, but I heard enough. His little on-again, off-again girlfriend, we’ll call her J, who is already a diva, told the teacher that she wasn’t going to be at school on Friday because it was the beginning of her birthday week. Birthday week. So instead of going to school (okay, it’s actually day care, but still), she had a spa day, getting her hair and nails done. She’s five.
A little boy in his class told us (so I’m not sure how totally accurate this is) some stuff that he got that I couldn’t understand, and the thing that I did understand was an iPod. Excuse me, what does a five year old need with an iPod? I’m just going to pretend that’s not true.
But it left me wondering if we didn’t make a big enough deal about The Boy’s 5th birthday. Yes it is a milestone, but do we need to do more for the milestone birthdays?
And it’s official now, I don’t care what The Man says (Hear that? I’m putting my foot down…through my blog because I don’t have the guts to tell you to your face!), the Tooth Fairy is giving him $100 for his first tooth. He even said recently that he wanted to see a one hundred dollar bill. Well, now he can. I was previously informed that this amount was too much for a first tooth. But I don’t care. We can afford it and I can’t wait to see the looks on everyone’s faces when he tells them the Tooth Fairy left him One Hundred Dollars in exchange for his first tooth. I refuse to be outdone on this one. Hmph.
The Man and I have agreed vehemently on one topic: no more children. One is good. We originally wanted three babies and then we had one baby. Ha! We were so naïve. They are so much work emotionally, physically, and financially.
We agreed on our names, too. And we used our favorite name I think because now I think the other two suck. Well, not really, but I’m not in love with them like I’m in love with The Boy’s name. Jade Rayne for the second baby – a girl and Jaylen Anthony for the third baby – a boy.
I came across Nymbler the other day and I wondered what names it would pick for me. The website states, “Nymbler is the smart baby name guide that responds to your personal taste. Just choose a few names that appeal to you or let Nymbler offer ideas. Then press "Find Names" and Nymbler will start using its expert knowledge to brainstorm names tailored to fit your style.”
Here are the boy names it generated that I actually liked: Jalen (!), Maxwell, Parker, Kennedy, O’Brien, Darby, Mccoy.
And the girl names, which all oddly ended in an “e” sound: Sydney, Lily, Molly, Lucy, Sophie.
But I’m really starting to like the name Nymbler.
I’m bored at work today. Not bored as in I don’t have any work to do; bored as in I have no motivation to do the work. The nice thing about blogging is that I can type my blogs in Word so that it looks like I’m working. There aren’t many other things I can do like that. If anyone knows of a website or any online games that look like work (i.e., Word document, Excel spreadsheet, etc.), let me know, okay?
Here’s how I know I’m bored:
Click here to create your own painting.
81%How Addicted to Blogging Are You?
And I’ve added eight blogs to my blogroll. I’m not even sure I like all these blogs yet. If I decide later I don’t, I’ll just take them off. But I found eight new blogs today out of boredeom.
I saw this widget on a blog I read regularly and I was dying to know what level of eduction is required to read my blog so I went to the site and entered my blog address. This is what came up:
Hooray! I'm so excited...my blog is smart! I thought I'd get Junior High level for sure. Then I enter The Man's blog address, thinking, "He only has a couple of entries on there, my blog has to be smarter than his, right?"
Do you love the irony as much as I do?
I am my own worst critic when it comes to cooking. The Man raves about a couple of things that I make and I’m like, eh. I just don’t think they taste that great.
Chocolate chip cookies are the worst for me. I eat my mom’s and they are so good. I eat the kind from the grocery store and they are so good. I eat mine and I think they are dry and taste like flour. The Man always tells me they are fine, but I know they don’t taste anything like the kind from the store.
Last night The Boy and I made chocolate chip cookies. I followed the recipe like I always do. I was not looking forward to tasting them. Then I took a bite and I was like, Whoa! They were good! Really good.
Later in the evening I had the notion that if I of all people think that these cookies taste really good, they must be spectacular. So I decided to take a picture of my fabulous cookies as proof that I can make something that tastes good. Now if only I knew what was different so that I could duplicate it next time…
At work, I have to balance my accounts at the end of each month before we can close out that month. In the past, whenever my accounts don’t balance, I call my boss, the Controller, and tell him what I’m off by. Sometimes he’ll come over to my desk to look and sometimes he won’t, but his answer has always been for me to print everything and give it to him to look at. So this month I didn’t balance. I think I’m all smart and I print out everything, write him a note that says I’m off by this much, and I think he’ll just fix it like he always does. So I come in this morning and the reports are on the top of my In-Box. I’m thinking great, he fixed them, and the month can close. I pick it up and look at my sticky note where I wrote, “I’m off by $342.20” and I see his reply below it, “Why?”
WHAT?!? If I knew WHY it was off, I could fix it myself, couldn’t I?!? If I knew WHY, I wouldn’t need YOU, would I?!? How am I supposed to respond to that? It is soooooooooooooooooooo annoying. That’s like the most annoyed I have ever been with him.
I swear it feels like lately he is trying to aggravate me. He does this thing where we have some work that absolutely has to be completed. It could even be work that our insurance company is going to pay for so who cares about the cost, right? He asks me to get a proposal from a company for the work. Cool, I can do that. Then we get the proposal and he has like three questions. But does he ask me all of them at one time? No. He asks me one at a time so that I have to interrupt my vendor’s day three times. And the answers to the questions don’t even matter because we are going to do the work anyway. Because we have to. Like yesterday, I had to ask the asphalt guy how much asphalt he was planning on removing. Why? Who cares how much asphalt is getting removed? It’s getting removed! Are we going to recycle it and use it somewhere else? Do we have an asphalt deficiency at another project that I am not aware of? NO. Just sign the dang proposal and let’s get the work done! They said that they could start the work on Monday but you took so long asking questions that don’t matter that you didn’t even approve the work until Monday afternoon and then it’s too late to start the project and by then the company has already scheduled other work for the rest of the week and can’t get to our project for a whole extra week and now we have to
If I were one of my vendors, I wouldn’t like me very much and I’d probably refuse to do work for our company. We’re such a hassle.
Monday, February 11, 2008
We are pretty cautious of what we allow The Boy to watch. We realize that many parents do not rework their television encounters around their children. Some take their toddlers to vampire movies, others spend T.V. time together watching crime dramas. The only channels appearing on our television when The Boy is awake are Disney Channel in the morning (Playhouse Disney), Sprout (referred to by The Boy as “Sproutlet”), SportsCenter on ESPN, the occasional game (i.e., basketball, baseball, etc.), pre-approved and pre-screened shows OnDemand, and pre-approved and pre-screened DVDs. That’s it.
The Man thought it would be a great idea to have The Boy watch a show from when we were kids. We checked out the listings OnDemand and settled on Tom and Jerry (which is listed under the Kids section). We did not pre-screen this. Cat chasing mouse equals good clean fun, right? Uh, NO. I was horrified when I saw little Jerry running away from Tom, who was chasing him with an axe. I fear that I have scarred my innocent little child because Tom stole an egg from it’s nest, cracked it into a pan in hopes to eat a fried egg for breakfast, thus killing the potential of a baby chick to be born. Fortunately a baby chick comes out of the egg, but my hopes for redemption are again nixed when Tom pulls out a book that says “How to Cook Roast Duck.” He’s going to cook a BABY duck!? How am I supposed to explain this heartless behavior to my child? In the next episode, Jerry and his baby brother play with dynamite. The baby mouse pulls a match out of his diaper and lights it. Where are these mice’s parents?!? Our diligent discussions about not playing with fire are negated with this show, all in an attempt to humor young children.
We let him watch the four episodes this morning, and vow to never let that happen again. From now on, we will be screening all cartoons that we were raised on. No wonder my parents didn’t keep a television in the house for such a long time.
By choice, I have very few friends. And now that I have discovered blogs, I don’t think I’ll be pursuing any new friendships. Except for Salty and Jenny if they ever move out here. HELLO you guys! When is that going to happen?!?
Blogs are great in that they are the personal stories and thoughts of someone’s life, and I feel like I’m getting to know someone. The thing that makes them a great replacement of friends is that if I don’t want to listen to a boring narrative about why I should vote for Obama, I don’t have to. If I disagree with some parenting advice, I can say whatever I want and the person won’t be offended because they can’t hear me! And if I don’t like someone’s blog, I just quit looking at it. I don’t feel guilty because nobody’s feelings are hurt, and they probably don’t even notice that they are missing a reader. Best of both worlds I’d say.
I know that this is a warped way of thinking, because truly what am I getting from these blogs? It’s not a true friendship at all, but a very shallow, false sensation of a distorted version of an acquaintance. But hey, that’s why I’m in therapy.
I was so excited that The Man started his own blog!!! He is a really great writer and I know he likes to write, so I’m glad he’s making time to do it. Check it out here.
Something is wrong with the links in my blogs. I’m not sure what’s wrong, the html code is correct. But I figured out something else so they will work from now on (hopefully). I might eventually go back and correct the rest of the links, but for now you’ll have to use your imagination.
I was not feeling well last week. I actually came home after work one day with body aches, went to bed after drinking a miracle I call Theraflu, woke up in the morning with a 100 degree fever, and WENT TO WORK ANYWAY. I went all week. Yup. ALL WEEK. And you know who got me sick in the first place? My boss. Yeah, he came to work all week, too, sharing his germs with everyone. Thanks a lot. Because now I’m sick but since you deem it important enough to be here even though your nose is dripping more than Niagara Falls, I feel like I can’t stay home. Even if I hardly ever stay home sick and have accrued almost 11 days of sick time. Why do I feel guilty for calling in sick? I earned the time, I certainly don’t abuse the time, and I truly am sick.
My boss ended up staying home on Thursday, a day I actually needed him there. I just filled his In-Box with all of my contaminated reports and infected draft letters, etc., and then I cursed his chair (I kid, I put a hex on it, they’re totally different). I came in on Friday and I finally had an excuse I could not ignore. I had such a bad sinus headache that I couldn’t see. My vision was actually blurred from the pain in my head. So I left work early, went home and slept for four hours in the middle of the day. Oh, my, gosh, it felt SO good.
So I’m back at work today and I feel much better. My sinuses are still stuffy, and I think I coughed up my lung. Something came out anyway and it’s practically alive. But other than that I feel pretty good. Lesson learned, people? Stay home when you are sick! Don’t hang out and get everyone else around you sick. Jeez that’s annoying.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
I wrote about being stuck in a rut and I’m ready to update. Yes, the office is still completely depressing, yes, I’m still concerned that I might get laid off, and no I’m not friends with anyone else who got laid off. Acquaintances, maybe. But not friends. I did not mention this in that post, but my boss still treats me like garbage most of the time.
I have stopped looking for another job though. The following things happened that lead me to that decision (in no particular order):
1. The Boy has been enrolled in kindergarten and it is right by my office. Like, it’s one minute away.
2. I read an article on this website about how to break out of a rut. This helped a lot. Attitude is key.
3. I realized that I don’t really know what I really want to do for work. I enjoy doing a variety of different things and I am good at a lot of stuff, so I need to sit down and think about which avenue I want to take. Before I do that, it would be pointless to go to another job.
Some days (like yesterday) it feels really good to have made these very mature, adult decisions and I want to skip down the hallway because I’m so happy. And other days (like today), it seems like futile to try and think happy thoughts because I’m so sick of not caring about my work. Perhaps I need to increase my medication.
So it’s not a real conclusion because I do still feel like I’m in a rut. But maybe the rut is less deep and it’s headed in a specific direction.
When does listening kick in? Is there ever a time when kids are good listeners? Or people in general for that matter? Most people I know are thinking of what they are going to say during a conversation, instead of simply opening their ears and hearing what the other person is saying. I’m guilty of it too. What I’m most guilty of is thinking of other things while someone is talking to me. Did I put more time on the dryer? Are the dishes in the dishwasher clean? I can’t forget to pick up my dry cleaning. Oh, what? Were you talking to me? Yeah.
Anyway, it can be very annoying, but other times it can be funny when The Boy doesn’t listen.
Me: “Hey, dude. Are you going to finish your milk?”
The Boy: “No.” Picks up cup and finishes milk.
The Man: “Do you need to go potty before you get dressed?”
The Boy: “No.” Goes into the bathroom and pees in toilet.
The concept of rhyming is not completely grasped by The Boy. He will get it sometimes:
“Hey! Brock and rock rhyme!”
And other times, not so much:
“Hey! Six and seven rhyme!”
“Hey! Jesse and Jesse rhyme!”
Don’t bother trying to correct him. It’s like his ears are deaf to anything he says after a discovery is made. He’s too distracted by his own breakthrough to listen to what anyone else might have to add to the topic.
I would say some of my best thinking can occur in the shower. Not every shower, but some showers are pretty productive. Originally, I just typed productful, which is not a word. I didn’t want to leave it there because it’s wrong, but I did want everyone to know that I created a new word. I’m sick, sue me for not remembering that the word is productive.
Back to the shower. The environment can be very conducive for pondering. The Boy is not constantly talking (he’s plopped in front of the television, would you please nominate me for Mother of the Year? Thanks.), I’m alone, which is not something I can experience anywhere else in my life, and I don’t really have anything else pressing to think about other than trying not to cut a chunk out of my leg while shaving.
I previously thought that it would be awesome if my blogging could somehow bring in enough money to replace my current income. However, today in the shower, I realized that may not be exactly what I want. I thought about dooce. I consider her to be a successful blogger. I don’t know if she thinks so, I have no idea how much (if any) money she makes from her blog, but I think it’s a gorgeous blog, she’s funny, her photography is incredible, and I see her on everybody's blogroll. Today I had the flash that maybe when she started she was able to write whatever she wanted and now she might have someone editing her work, stunting her fresh, creative expressions. Or maybe people recognize her and her children. I would not like that. I don’t even put pictures of our faces up now and I’m not famous. I barely am okay with you knowing what The Boy’s name is. And what about people judging your personal musings? I don’t know if I could take it if someone wrote a negative critique of my feelings – which should always have validity.
So I decided in the shower this morning that I do not want to become rich and famous from THIS blog. I’ll write a book or something that’s not related to my personal life, under a pseudonym, and then I won’t mind if someone edits or critiques it.
Then I wondered if a person could drink enough water that they could drown themselves.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
I hate going grocery shopping. I have written before about my inability to plan meals and I am sure that feeds into the loathing I feel when it comes time to get groceries. I’d let our fridge be empty and eat boxed macaroni and cheese every night for dinner before I’d go grocery shopping. Occasionally I will get a bug similar to the spring cleaning bug people get when the weather changes and I will gladly make my list and happily trek through all the aisles, somehow feeling like I am fulfilling a womanly duty. But most of the time I groan, scribble some things down on a random piece of paper, try to drag The Boy, The Man, or both with me so I’ll at least have someone to gripe to. I drag my feet through the aisles, annoyed at the people who block the walkway. I mutter under my breath at those who don’t control their loud and obnoxious children – should they really have had that fifth child, I wonder? When I have finally put everything into my cart that I think I need, inevitably forgetting one key item, I make my way up to the checkout line. I lean against the cart and read the headlines of the tabloids as they sit in their wire stand, wondering if there is a better way to do this thing we call grocery shopping.
And there is! I knew that Safeway * delivered groceries, but I thought that it must be too expensive and that only the rich and famous could afford such luxuries. Out of curiosity, I visited the site one day and filled up my cart with everything on my list. It took a little while to do it, but it came to quite a surprise to me that the total was within my monthly grocery budget!
I was a little disappointed in the search feature. Yes I could type in cottage cheese, but it only brought up a few choices. If I went to the dairy section I was able to choose from many more brands and a variety of sizes.
The delivery fee is $9.95. I know that I’m paying for someone to purchase my groceries, and that amount is worth it to me. But I had a coupon code for the first delivery, so no delivery fee this time!
I checked out at the (limited) privacy of my desk on my lunch break, setting the delivery time for the next day in the evening. I went home and remembered two more things I needed and added them to my order from home. The order came within the time slot provided. The delivery person called when they were here, brought two freezer bags up to the door on a dolly and unloaded the bags onto the dining room table. We signed for our order and he was on his way!
I unloaded my groceries and was surprised to see everything that I ordered, no mistakes. I made a note about the bananas, “the greener the better” and I received two very green bananas.
This experience was a dream come true! I will definitely use this service again. It’s not just for the rich and famous.
*Please note that I have no affiliation with Safeway, nor have they asked me to promote their site. In fact, they do not know that I am writing this review and I hope I wasn't supposed to ask permission first!
I would say that Land of Nod* is on the same level as Pottery Barn Kids as far as pricing goes and their furniture has a similar look. However, Land of Nod has very unique room accessories, wall décor, and toys.
The look of the site is very whimsical. When the site pops up on my screen I immediately feel relaxed and at ease. I really love that they have a box to enter search words. You would not believe how uncommon that is and I consider it to be essential.
I recently purchased their Finger Picasso Paint set and the Finger Paint Pad. The paints are on backorder and I won’t be receiving them until March. I only purchased the primary colors. I figured I could save some money that way and also use it as a learning tool to teach my son how to make the other colors.
The Finger Paint Pad is already here. Normally, from other sites, I’m like where is that thing I ordered? And I have to go and look up my order number then track the package. But this order was delivered before I had a chance to think about it!
If we could afford it, I would be making more purchases from Land of Nod to create the perfect entertainment center, and adding to The Boy’s toy collection. Don’t get me wrong, the prices are reasonable, especially items in the outlet. We just don’t have the funds available to be replacing perfectly good, albeit old and outdated, furniture.
*Please note that I have no affiliation with Land of Nod, nor have they asked me to promote their site. In fact, they do not know that I am writing this review and I hope I wasn't supposed to ask permission first!
The Boy has the BEST imagination right now. It’s great. He loves to pretend that we are the Ninja Turtles, and of course we assume the identity of the turtle who wears our favorite color. The Boy is Leonardo, The Man is Raphael, and I am Donatello. He calls The Man Raph and he calls me Donatello and we call him Leo or Leonardo. If you've ever seen the movie you know that the turtles are super tough and say sassy things. So it’s really hysterical when The Boy says, “Raph, can I have some honey bees for a snack?” or the other day I’m getting him dressed in his pajamas and he tells me, “I love you Donatello.” My reply of course: “I love you, too, Leo.”
He says that he wants to go to New York so he can see the Ninja Turtles. You can tell when he talks about it that he wants it will all his heart and that he truly believes that they exist. It is so precious.
The Boy has taken up throwing his head back and clapping when he laughs. It is truly a mystery to me where he gets these things. He’s such a little monkey, imitating what he must see at school or on television.
He made some joke (probably a potty joke) the other day and threw his head back (anybody know a good chiropractor), clapped his hands, and then said to me, “Come on, Mom. You gotta give that one a clap!”
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
I’ve been blogging now for almost two months, with the hopes of being able to support myself with my writing one day (far far FAR down the road, in my dreams really), and as far as I know only The Man and I read my blog. I’m my biggest fan. But today I know for sure that someone at lease VISITED, even if they didn’t read it. I know it because they voted on my poll! Instead of my measly two little votes made by The Man and me, there was a THIRD VOTE. I cannot tell you how ecstatic I was to see that. So whoever visited my blog, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, a million times THANK YOU!!! And please feel free to leave a comment next time.
Because what I can do for The Boy is exclusive to him. I cannot do for anyone else what I do for him.
Yesterday I promised him chocolate milk. We got home and I poured some chocolate syrup in a special Buzz cup from our trip to Disneyland. Then I topped it off with some milk, stirred with a spoon, taste tested, and added a few more drops of chocolate syrup until it was just right. I put the lid on the cup and inserted a pink silly straw from his birthday party goodie bags, and he was the happiest camper. I cannot articulate the love that went in to that glass of chocolate milk, and I’m sure The Boy does not fully appreciate what I did. Perhaps one day he will, but if not, I feel that it was a privilege to be able to give him that love.
I cannot make chocolate milk in a Buzz cup with a silly straw for my boss at work. Well, I guess I could, but they might put me under psychiatric evaluation.
This morning the boy chose to watch Toy Story 2. He informed The Man that his other choice was Toy Story 10. We have the tenth anniversary edition of the first Toy Story movie, and The Man tried to explain that to The Boy, but to no avail. So we have the movies Toy Story 10 and Toy Story 2.
When The boy is naked his hands are uncontrollably drawn to his privates. It’s like there is a magnetic force between his hands and his boy beans. And I put lotion all over his body, so it is beyond my comprehension that his butt could be so itchy that it must constantly be scratched. We have told The Boy how one contracts pink eye, and we have asked him to please not touch his bottom when he is naked or he might accidentally rub his eyes afterward and get pink eye. This has recently become a problem as he likes to lie in our bed and we cannot see what is going on under the covers. When he was naked one morning we caught him scratching his behind and then during the course of reminding him, he inevitably rubbed his eyes. We probably startled him as we shrieked, “STOP!!! Don’t rub your eyes!” We sent him off to the bathroom to wash his hands thoroughly with soap and water.
We may have finally gotten through to him. At regular intervals for the rest of the morning he asked The Man, “Do I have pink eye now?”
It reminded me of that Verizon commercial. “Can you hear me now?” Except the question is, “Do I have pink eye now?”
Monday, February 4, 2008
The Boy and I are walking to the park yesterday and he looks up at me with a guilty grin and says, "I tooted. Two times." He giggles.
I reply, "That's okay, I tooted today, too."
He snickers. Then he gets serious. "Maybe our toots will be friends." He sounds hopeful.
My reply, "Oh, yeah? Maybe."
"Yeah. Your toot will be your age and my toot will be my age. And they'll be friends."