You go to a PTA meeting, promised a program about internet safety. You leave wanting to throw the computer in the garbage and lock your kids in the bathroom for the next 20 years. You know, we are SO SHELTERED. And unfortunately, what we don't know CAN hurt us, and our kids.
There are a lot of sickos out there, and the internet is making it easier for them to prey on kids. Mr. FBI Agent (who did an excellent presentation), filled us in on so much. One of the things he mentioned was how these pedophiles will go on-line, steal pictures of kids, and then put their faces on child pornography. For that reason, I'm not putting pictures of the kids up here anymore, since this page is public. Sorry.
Oh - and note to all: if your kid is on myspace or facebook or xanga, or if they are in virtual worlds like Second Life, or if they play Wii or PS3 games via the internet, YOU NEED TO REALLY, REALLY PAY ATTENTION!
This guy came to talk to us, and there were maybe 30 people in the room. The school currently has 650 students. I'm hoping we will have him back next year and really, really publicize it, because EVERYONE with kids needs to hear about this stuff.
I am literally nauseous after seeing some of that stuff. So kiss your kids/nieces/nephews/friend's kids and be on the ball!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Curious George Visits The Hospital (This is a long one)
OK...so Karlin's not a monkey, and Bart doesn't have a big yellow hat and there's no sad little girl named Betsy or a big foodcart crash with the mayor. But I still think the title fits the blog. You see...
On Thursday, we packed my baby girl into the car and drove off to All Children's Hospital in St. Petersburg. She had been fasting since 10:30 pm the night before, and had her last drink of liquid at 9:30 am. We arrived - right on time - at 10:45 am, as instructed. Registration went quickly - no problems. Admission & check in - nothin' to it. Then we were told to wait in the "game room" where we would be until going into pre-op "holding". So we went. And stayed. And stayed. And stayed.
Now, I understand that hospitals get backed up. Emergencies happen, things run behind, etc. But we hit the "game room" at 11:15, prepared for a 12:45 adenoidectomy. I use the words "game room" in quotes because it really wasn't. God bless the people who hired some 40 year old to set up that room, but please! They had 2 gaming consoles. According to Bart, they were "Play Station 1"s, which came out about 10 years ago. They have since been followed up with PS2 ,and now the PS3. Point being that the games were out of date. And half the gaming consoles didn't work. Oh - and the walls were painted with lovely murals: Looney Tunes, the Flintstones, and the Jetsons. Hello? I'll bet you if you stood 50 kids in front of that mural and told them they'd get $100 if they could name 4 of the characters, NO ONE would be able to do it. Hell - I'm not sure I even remember all the damned Flintstones characters, and I used to watch them on TV! How long has it been since the Jetsons were on? 15 years? They should really update that stuff to Dora, Spongebob, and any or all of the Pixar characters. There was a TV which was playing the Disney channel, which was good. Except that they put it on the wall in front of the passageway, meaning every single person who came into the room had to walk in front of the TV. There were a few books, and some little ride-on cars, but not really enough to occupy a kid for more than about 45 minutes. Which was OK, because I brought the backpack of fun to the hospital: 2 new Geronimo Stilton books, an animal activities book, 2 ponies, a pad of paper, and a box of crayons. This kept Karlin occupied and distracted for while...
But not for the 3 hours it took us to get moved into holding. At this point the poor thing hadn't had food for 16 hours, and nothing to drink for almost 6 hours. She was thirsty and cranky and hungry and scared. We went into the holding room at 2:25, prepared for a 20 minute wait. It was more like 45 minutes. FINALLY at 3:15, they took her back. She was SO BRAVE. Bart and I were saying goodbye and we loved her and yadda yadda yadda. She was chatting up the nurses and the anesthesiologist. We went to a little "conference room" to wait, and exactly 12 minutes later the doctor came in. He said it had gone great, and that her adenoids were huge. She should see a vast improvement in her ability to breathe and her quality of speech. (Note: Dr. Dickhead has been downgraded back to Dr. Important. We instructed him - with the support of Karlin's pediatrician - NOT to put tubes in her ears. And he didn't, and surprisingly didn't give us any crap about it. His nurses and PA all seemed amused that we were going against Dr. Important's instructions, but when they brought out the revised consent, it just read "adenoidectomy." )
Anyway - 4 hours of waiting for a 12 minute surgery. At least it was over. So the nurse told us to go grab a bite and a drink, and come back in 20 minutes. So we came back in 20 minutes and went into the post-op room, expecting Karlin to be wheeled in any minute. But 5 minutes went by. Then 10. Then 20. Just when we were starting to wonder what in the hell was taking so long, a nurse came in and said "Mom, I need to to come back to recovery with me." Bart and I both stood up, but the nurse said "no - just mom." So as we're walking back to the recovery room, I asked what was wrong. She says "I don't know - they just told me to come and get you and bring you back." Insert panic HERE. So we go through the doors, and there's my baby. My tiny baby lying there in the bed - hysterical. Apparently, she didn't come out of the anesthesia very well, and freaked out. She was as white as a sheet, her eyes and lips were all red and swollen, and she was full-out panicked. She was also coughing like she had TB, and couldn't really talk.
Now, anyone who knows mw knows these things about me: I have no poker face. I am a terrible liar. Most time, you can read anything I am thinking or feeling right across my face. So how hard was it for me to smile and be brave and reassuring to her, when inside I was freaking out too, and really wanted to cry? That was one of the single most difficult moments of my life as a parent so far. And I had questions that I couldn't ask the nurse, because I didn't want to scare Karlin any more. Basically this is what I found out: she had come out of the anesthesia disoriented and upset. She was crying for me, and when they couldn't get her to settle down, they came and got me. She was in an unusual amount of pain, so they gave her - hang on to your hats for this one - morphine. So when she was a little cloudy waking up, now she was downright loopy. And she had developed a "croupy" cough, which was concerning them. They wanted to keep her back there for 30 more minutes to monitor her on the pain meds, and wanted to put her on a humidifier for the cough. So for more than a half hour, I sat there and talked to her, gave her sips of water, rubbed her forehead and held her hand. It was awful. I kept thinking - "Why am I back here? I suck at this! BART is the good, solid, calm one! He should be here!" I did manage - with one hand - to text Bart to fill him in. Otherwise he''d have been in the post-op room freaking out himself. Finally, we moved into post-op. She started to get her color back a bit, and was eating a popsickle. She had to keep the humidifier on for awhile, but was still really incoherent. She finally dozed off for 45 minutes, and the nurse said when she woke up if she wasn't coughing we could go home. She woke up about 5:30, crying. When we asked what was wrong - was anything hurting? - she finally said in a loud, croaky voice "I WANT TO GO HOME!" The nurse said "Alrighty, then - let's get that IV out!" Bart went to go get the car, and I asked her if she wanted a wheelchair ride, or if she wanted me to carry her. She asked me to carry her. At that point I would have carried her to the moon if she asked me to.
She slept all the way home. When we got her into the house, so woke up long enough to have a drink of water, ask to be on the couch, and look at the flowers and webkin my mom had sent her. Then she passed out again. She slept for an hour and a half solid, then woke up again just long enough to drink a little. at 10:30, we moved her up into our bed, put her in clean pjs, and she woke up again. This time, she actually looked somewhat lucid. She ate about 1/2 cup of soft cereal, then passed out again. We had to give her medicine at Midnight, and again at 6:00 am.
Bart and I were totally unprepared for how long that whole mess would take, and by the bad condition she was in coming out of the surgery. NO ONE told us it would be like that. We were really worried about her. Thankfully, when she woke up Friday morning, she was back. She ate about 200 pounds of soft cereal during the day, and although her voice is still a little raspy and she has a sore throat when she swallows, she is probably 80% recovered.
Before Karlin had this operation, SO MANY PEOPLE said things to me like "oh - there's nothing to it". or "It's a breeze" or "my kid practically danced out of the hospital" or "my kid ate a whole pizza that very night." Guess what? There was A LOT to Karlin's surgery. It WASN'T a breeze. Karlin STILL doesn't feel much like dancing. And she couldn't stay conscious long enough to eat anything that evening.
I can tell you this, though...there is a tiny little part of me that is so honored that she asked for me, and not Bart. Most girls know that the bond between a daddy and his little girl is a special one. That is even more so with Karlin and Bart. They are so much alike, and sometimes I feel like I'm on a different team. Don't get me wrong -- I am not jealous, and I am so glad they have that special relationship. But a tiny part of me is glad that - on some level - she still needs me. Even if she doesn't really know it.
Today is mother's day, and I am so thankful. I am thankful that my baby is OK. I am so thankful that I somehow found the strength to get her through that, and to get me through that. I hope that the memory of her in that recovery room - it's stuck in my head - goes away soon.
On Thursday, we packed my baby girl into the car and drove off to All Children's Hospital in St. Petersburg. She had been fasting since 10:30 pm the night before, and had her last drink of liquid at 9:30 am. We arrived - right on time - at 10:45 am, as instructed. Registration went quickly - no problems. Admission & check in - nothin' to it. Then we were told to wait in the "game room" where we would be until going into pre-op "holding". So we went. And stayed. And stayed. And stayed.
Now, I understand that hospitals get backed up. Emergencies happen, things run behind, etc. But we hit the "game room" at 11:15, prepared for a 12:45 adenoidectomy. I use the words "game room" in quotes because it really wasn't. God bless the people who hired some 40 year old to set up that room, but please! They had 2 gaming consoles. According to Bart, they were "Play Station 1"s, which came out about 10 years ago. They have since been followed up with PS2 ,and now the PS3. Point being that the games were out of date. And half the gaming consoles didn't work. Oh - and the walls were painted with lovely murals: Looney Tunes, the Flintstones, and the Jetsons. Hello? I'll bet you if you stood 50 kids in front of that mural and told them they'd get $100 if they could name 4 of the characters, NO ONE would be able to do it. Hell - I'm not sure I even remember all the damned Flintstones characters, and I used to watch them on TV! How long has it been since the Jetsons were on? 15 years? They should really update that stuff to Dora, Spongebob, and any or all of the Pixar characters. There was a TV which was playing the Disney channel, which was good. Except that they put it on the wall in front of the passageway, meaning every single person who came into the room had to walk in front of the TV. There were a few books, and some little ride-on cars, but not really enough to occupy a kid for more than about 45 minutes. Which was OK, because I brought the backpack of fun to the hospital: 2 new Geronimo Stilton books, an animal activities book, 2 ponies, a pad of paper, and a box of crayons. This kept Karlin occupied and distracted for while...
But not for the 3 hours it took us to get moved into holding. At this point the poor thing hadn't had food for 16 hours, and nothing to drink for almost 6 hours. She was thirsty and cranky and hungry and scared. We went into the holding room at 2:25, prepared for a 20 minute wait. It was more like 45 minutes. FINALLY at 3:15, they took her back. She was SO BRAVE. Bart and I were saying goodbye and we loved her and yadda yadda yadda. She was chatting up the nurses and the anesthesiologist. We went to a little "conference room" to wait, and exactly 12 minutes later the doctor came in. He said it had gone great, and that her adenoids were huge. She should see a vast improvement in her ability to breathe and her quality of speech. (Note: Dr. Dickhead has been downgraded back to Dr. Important. We instructed him - with the support of Karlin's pediatrician - NOT to put tubes in her ears. And he didn't, and surprisingly didn't give us any crap about it. His nurses and PA all seemed amused that we were going against Dr. Important's instructions, but when they brought out the revised consent, it just read "adenoidectomy." )
Anyway - 4 hours of waiting for a 12 minute surgery. At least it was over. So the nurse told us to go grab a bite and a drink, and come back in 20 minutes. So we came back in 20 minutes and went into the post-op room, expecting Karlin to be wheeled in any minute. But 5 minutes went by. Then 10. Then 20. Just when we were starting to wonder what in the hell was taking so long, a nurse came in and said "Mom, I need to to come back to recovery with me." Bart and I both stood up, but the nurse said "no - just mom." So as we're walking back to the recovery room, I asked what was wrong. She says "I don't know - they just told me to come and get you and bring you back." Insert panic HERE. So we go through the doors, and there's my baby. My tiny baby lying there in the bed - hysterical. Apparently, she didn't come out of the anesthesia very well, and freaked out. She was as white as a sheet, her eyes and lips were all red and swollen, and she was full-out panicked. She was also coughing like she had TB, and couldn't really talk.
Now, anyone who knows mw knows these things about me: I have no poker face. I am a terrible liar. Most time, you can read anything I am thinking or feeling right across my face. So how hard was it for me to smile and be brave and reassuring to her, when inside I was freaking out too, and really wanted to cry? That was one of the single most difficult moments of my life as a parent so far. And I had questions that I couldn't ask the nurse, because I didn't want to scare Karlin any more. Basically this is what I found out: she had come out of the anesthesia disoriented and upset. She was crying for me, and when they couldn't get her to settle down, they came and got me. She was in an unusual amount of pain, so they gave her - hang on to your hats for this one - morphine. So when she was a little cloudy waking up, now she was downright loopy. And she had developed a "croupy" cough, which was concerning them. They wanted to keep her back there for 30 more minutes to monitor her on the pain meds, and wanted to put her on a humidifier for the cough. So for more than a half hour, I sat there and talked to her, gave her sips of water, rubbed her forehead and held her hand. It was awful. I kept thinking - "Why am I back here? I suck at this! BART is the good, solid, calm one! He should be here!" I did manage - with one hand - to text Bart to fill him in. Otherwise he''d have been in the post-op room freaking out himself. Finally, we moved into post-op. She started to get her color back a bit, and was eating a popsickle. She had to keep the humidifier on for awhile, but was still really incoherent. She finally dozed off for 45 minutes, and the nurse said when she woke up if she wasn't coughing we could go home. She woke up about 5:30, crying. When we asked what was wrong - was anything hurting? - she finally said in a loud, croaky voice "I WANT TO GO HOME!" The nurse said "Alrighty, then - let's get that IV out!" Bart went to go get the car, and I asked her if she wanted a wheelchair ride, or if she wanted me to carry her. She asked me to carry her. At that point I would have carried her to the moon if she asked me to.
She slept all the way home. When we got her into the house, so woke up long enough to have a drink of water, ask to be on the couch, and look at the flowers and webkin my mom had sent her. Then she passed out again. She slept for an hour and a half solid, then woke up again just long enough to drink a little. at 10:30, we moved her up into our bed, put her in clean pjs, and she woke up again. This time, she actually looked somewhat lucid. She ate about 1/2 cup of soft cereal, then passed out again. We had to give her medicine at Midnight, and again at 6:00 am.
Bart and I were totally unprepared for how long that whole mess would take, and by the bad condition she was in coming out of the surgery. NO ONE told us it would be like that. We were really worried about her. Thankfully, when she woke up Friday morning, she was back. She ate about 200 pounds of soft cereal during the day, and although her voice is still a little raspy and she has a sore throat when she swallows, she is probably 80% recovered.
Before Karlin had this operation, SO MANY PEOPLE said things to me like "oh - there's nothing to it". or "It's a breeze" or "my kid practically danced out of the hospital" or "my kid ate a whole pizza that very night." Guess what? There was A LOT to Karlin's surgery. It WASN'T a breeze. Karlin STILL doesn't feel much like dancing. And she couldn't stay conscious long enough to eat anything that evening.
I can tell you this, though...there is a tiny little part of me that is so honored that she asked for me, and not Bart. Most girls know that the bond between a daddy and his little girl is a special one. That is even more so with Karlin and Bart. They are so much alike, and sometimes I feel like I'm on a different team. Don't get me wrong -- I am not jealous, and I am so glad they have that special relationship. But a tiny part of me is glad that - on some level - she still needs me. Even if she doesn't really know it.
Today is mother's day, and I am so thankful. I am thankful that my baby is OK. I am so thankful that I somehow found the strength to get her through that, and to get me through that. I hope that the memory of her in that recovery room - it's stuck in my head - goes away soon.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Finger Painting, Ferraris, and Whole Wheat Pasta
OK - as explanation to the whole "flying margarita" thing...you have to go back 2 posts and read "Top 10 Reasons Why I Should Be an Alcoholic". One of those reasons had to do with my inability to relax and let Chase be creative. So I started working on that. The photo is proof that I tried. This would be C's painting on one of our large picture windows. (I painted too - palm trees, fish, margaritas...) Anyway, I let C paint his "island", made up of about 6 different colors all mixed together. I also didn't freak out at the paint splatters on the window or wall (no worries about the carpet - I had put a sheet down.) All in all, I think it was good progress. Today, we colored in a coloring book for a half an hour or so. C did his side, and I did mine. I didn't even freak out when he took his fuchsia marker and began embellishing my wonderful masterpiece "Cow Baking an Apple Pie." It was really, really hard, but I bit my tongue and let him have at it. Hopefully my hard-won restraint will pay off in creative dividends for my little man.
Ferraris are really cool cars. Have you ever seen one up close before? Have you ever ridden in one? Have you ever driven one? Most people I know would answer "no" to all of those questions. But my friend has a bright and shiny red one right in her garage! It is be-you-tee-ful. I have now seen it up close, I hope to get a ride in it someday, and she'd be damned crazy to even think about letting me drive it! Here's the thing: some people might be jealous or envious of this person's car. Some people might make assumptions about this person because of this car (not an unusual occurrence in this relatively wealthy part if Tampa.) But this person really deserves this car. She and her husband worked really hard for a lot of years, and their work has paid off. These people are the some of the kindest, most humble, most caring people I know. They didn't grow up with money, so they appreciate their blessings all that much more. I could not be more excited for my friend - I think it is all WAY COOL. So if you see a hot strawberry blonde chick driving around Tampa in a red Ferrari blaring Aerosmith or Motley Crue, honk and wave! ;)
I'll finish up with the pasta. Who's brilliant idea was it to introduce "Whole Wheat Pasta" into the American diet? Have you tried this stuff? IT SUCKS. The Ronzo sucks. The Mueller sucks. The Publix brand sucks. It's just awful. I mean, I suppose we all want to be healthier. But I wouldn't eat dirt if you told me THAT was healthy. So why in the hell would we eat this crap? I'm fairly certain that they don't eat whole wheat pasta in Italy. (Not 100% certain, but I'm willing to gamble on this one.) Haven't people been making pasta for thousands of years? In all those years, how many times did Whole Wheat Pasta become popular? None. That's because it sucks. I made a "healthy pasta salad" last week. It was so bad, we literally threw it in the trash and ate cereal for dinner instead. So save yourself the trouble and just go ahead and get the good ole pasta that we all know and love. Eating it on occasion isn't going to kill you. However, the taste of the whole wheat crap just might!
PS - keep your fingers crossed for my baby girl - we're going to see Dr. Dickhead to get her adenoids out on Thursday. (see earlier post about Adenoids and Dr. Dickhead...)
Ferraris are really cool cars. Have you ever seen one up close before? Have you ever ridden in one? Have you ever driven one? Most people I know would answer "no" to all of those questions. But my friend has a bright and shiny red one right in her garage! It is be-you-tee-ful. I have now seen it up close, I hope to get a ride in it someday, and she'd be damned crazy to even think about letting me drive it! Here's the thing: some people might be jealous or envious of this person's car. Some people might make assumptions about this person because of this car (not an unusual occurrence in this relatively wealthy part if Tampa.) But this person really deserves this car. She and her husband worked really hard for a lot of years, and their work has paid off. These people are the some of the kindest, most humble, most caring people I know. They didn't grow up with money, so they appreciate their blessings all that much more. I could not be more excited for my friend - I think it is all WAY COOL. So if you see a hot strawberry blonde chick driving around Tampa in a red Ferrari blaring Aerosmith or Motley Crue, honk and wave! ;)
I'll finish up with the pasta. Who's brilliant idea was it to introduce "Whole Wheat Pasta" into the American diet? Have you tried this stuff? IT SUCKS. The Ronzo sucks. The Mueller sucks. The Publix brand sucks. It's just awful. I mean, I suppose we all want to be healthier. But I wouldn't eat dirt if you told me THAT was healthy. So why in the hell would we eat this crap? I'm fairly certain that they don't eat whole wheat pasta in Italy. (Not 100% certain, but I'm willing to gamble on this one.) Haven't people been making pasta for thousands of years? In all those years, how many times did Whole Wheat Pasta become popular? None. That's because it sucks. I made a "healthy pasta salad" last week. It was so bad, we literally threw it in the trash and ate cereal for dinner instead. So save yourself the trouble and just go ahead and get the good ole pasta that we all know and love. Eating it on occasion isn't going to kill you. However, the taste of the whole wheat crap just might!
PS - keep your fingers crossed for my baby girl - we're going to see Dr. Dickhead to get her adenoids out on Thursday. (see earlier post about Adenoids and Dr. Dickhead...)
Sunday, April 27, 2008
UFMs....(Unidentified Flying Margaritas)
There has been an alert issued from McDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida...reports are coming in of an unidentified flying object over the Northwest Tampa area. Reports claim that it appears to be a flying Margarita. That's affirmative - a flying Margarita. If you see the flying Margarita, do not attempt to make contact with it. Immediate contact could cause delusional behavior, dancing on tables, occasional vomiting, an uncontrollable urge to show one's breasts for cheap plastic beads, and a desire to kick someone's ass. More info coming soon...
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Top 10 Reasons Why I Should Be An Alcoholic
Earlier today, I posted a long, ranting blog about patriotism, the presidential election, etc. But after a few hours (and a rather horrific fingerpainting incident), I decided it was just WAAAAAAAAAY too heavy. For those of you who missed it, it basically said that I'm very Patriotic and Proud to be an American, that I think this country is great, that if you don't like it here you can get the hell out, and that I'm terrified Obama will become President.
That being said, here are the top 10 reasons why I SHOULD be an alcoholic (or top 10 reasons why I really need a girl's weekend):
10. The Cat With Nine Lives. My cat - who I kinda ended up with by accident and who is totally antisocial and pretty much thinks I'm annoying for even intruding into his world - was "diagnosed" with some sort of mystery intestinal cancer. This was, oh - about 3 years ago. After thousands of dollars of tests (no joke), they determined that without a doubt he "might have some sort of cancer." In order to keep him from pooping, peeing, and vomiting in inappropriate locations, we have to diligently medicate him with steroids and a kitty anti-depressant. They told us he might live 6 months. That was three years ago. He's going to live forever.
9. I'm having trouble fitting into my genes. I diet, and I gain weight. I don't diet, and I gain weight. It's a losing battle. I figure that the reason I can't fit into my jeans is because of my genes. I'm fighting roughly a half dozen generations of less-than-petite genes. I'm not sure I can win. Hell, I'm not sure I can even break even.
8. Two steps forward and one step back. I go to the gym. I run, really hard. Then I look down at the speed, and see I'm travelling at roughly the speed of a 90 year old with her walker. It really seemed like I was running fast...
7. Canine Disobedience. The dog I got to replace my irreplaceable dog is a little, well rowdy. He didn't make it through an obedience class because he wasn't quite "socialized" enough. I used to train animals for a living, but I can't get this dog to do a damned thing.
6. "Board"-um. I volunteered for a position on the PTA Board today. I'm a little concerned, because when I was walking to the bus stop today, one PTA member pointed at me and yelled "There she is! Beth's going to do it!" All the other PTA moms cheered. When I asked what the deal was, I was told that so many people were leaving the Board that they are desperate. So my first thought was "What in the hell have I gotten myself into?" and my second thought was "How bad is it that they practically through me a party at the bus stop just for volunteering?"
5. Task Master. Have you guys ever read that goofy email, the one about how a woman goes to check the mail, and ends up doing 50 different things that prevent her from going to check the mail? That's me. I have multiple home projects in mid-stream. I have multiple scrapbook projects in mid-stream. I have multiple vacation plans in mid-stream. I never get anything done, because every time I start something, I get distracted by something else. I sit down to check my email, but find some old pictures on the desk. I take the old pictures to the closet (where my scrapbook stuff is), and realize I have dirty clothes piled to the ceiling. So I take the laundry to the laundry room, only to discover that the cat has kicked litter all over the place. So I go downstairs to get the broom and dustpan but see a package on the front step. So I open the package, and it's birthday gifts for a few people whose birthday's aren't for a few weeks. So I put the gifts into the closet and see the curtain rods I've been meaning to hang. So I get out the curtain rods and head out into the garage to get the drill. While there, I see the 3 plants that I had bought earlier that day but forgot to put int he ground. So I go out front to plant the 3 plants and realize I haven' watered the new grass plugs. So I water the new grass plugs, and then go get the mail. The mail had coupons, so I go through those and cut out the good ones. I go to put them in the coupon folder and realize the pantry is a MESS. I could literally go on like this FOREVER. This is really the way I am. And they want me on the PTA Board?
4. "It's da chooze". (That's from The Birdcage, in case you missed it.) I firmly believe that during the course of the day and night, little kid's shoes walk themselves down the stairs and take up residence in various places on the floor. No matter how many times they are taken upstairs, or who takes them upstairs, they always end up on the living room floor. Where I proceed to trip over them in the middle of the night when I'm looking for chocolate.
3. Ipod Ipod We all Scream For Ipod! I have an Ipod. I love it. But does it really do me any good if I can't seem to find time to add new songs to it? I mean really, how many times can I listen to "Low" by Flo Rida? I'll sit down to download, and I realize...(see #5)
2. House Hunters. I am starting to think I a obsessed with this show. Few things in life give me as much of a thrill as seeing a new House Hunters episode. House Hunters International? Even better. In the tropics? SCORE! I have about a 99.6% accuracy rate at choosing which house the buyers will choose. This week it's "first time buyers" week, and I caught myself actually counselling the couple on which house to buy. ("Get the one with the bigger lot! You can replace the cabinets, for Christ's sake!") ("The house isn't too small, honey - maybe you're too big...") Seriously.
1. Color inside the lines! I'm really not cut out for having kids. I mean, you're supposed to encourage the kids to have artistic expression. Create! Be free! Imagine! I have a problem with this. I'm anal-retentive. I'm a control freak. And I like to color INSIDE the lines. Today, I spent 45 minutes cleaning up red footprints and green drips from the carpet. (Chase painted his foot and then decided to take his dripping green paintbrush to the bathroom...) I'm not sure what bothered me more: cleaning up the mess, or the color thing. You see, Chase likes to mix the colors. He thinks the yucky brown caused by mixing purple and red and orange and yellow is great! He also does this with Play Doh. I'll put out 6 cans of beautiful, brand new colors, and within minutes it's all in one big mush. This drives me INSANE. I try really hard to "let go", but it's just not in me. You can't get those play doh colors apart, you know. They're like that for good. And the paint? How are you supposed to paint anything if all the colors are fucked up? (excuse the language)
So after a day of cleaning up cat vomit,gaining 2 pounds,running really slowly on the treadmill,trying to get the dog to do ANYTHING, finding out more about the PTA Board,picking up shoes for the 13th time, writing down songs on little scraps of paper so I can one day put them on my Ipod, watching at least 2 episodes of House Hunters, and having a painting session with my kids....
I'm ready for a DRINK!
That being said, here are the top 10 reasons why I SHOULD be an alcoholic (or top 10 reasons why I really need a girl's weekend):
10. The Cat With Nine Lives. My cat - who I kinda ended up with by accident and who is totally antisocial and pretty much thinks I'm annoying for even intruding into his world - was "diagnosed" with some sort of mystery intestinal cancer. This was, oh - about 3 years ago. After thousands of dollars of tests (no joke), they determined that without a doubt he "might have some sort of cancer." In order to keep him from pooping, peeing, and vomiting in inappropriate locations, we have to diligently medicate him with steroids and a kitty anti-depressant. They told us he might live 6 months. That was three years ago. He's going to live forever.
9. I'm having trouble fitting into my genes. I diet, and I gain weight. I don't diet, and I gain weight. It's a losing battle. I figure that the reason I can't fit into my jeans is because of my genes. I'm fighting roughly a half dozen generations of less-than-petite genes. I'm not sure I can win. Hell, I'm not sure I can even break even.
8. Two steps forward and one step back. I go to the gym. I run, really hard. Then I look down at the speed, and see I'm travelling at roughly the speed of a 90 year old with her walker. It really seemed like I was running fast...
7. Canine Disobedience. The dog I got to replace my irreplaceable dog is a little, well rowdy. He didn't make it through an obedience class because he wasn't quite "socialized" enough. I used to train animals for a living, but I can't get this dog to do a damned thing.
6. "Board"-um. I volunteered for a position on the PTA Board today. I'm a little concerned, because when I was walking to the bus stop today, one PTA member pointed at me and yelled "There she is! Beth's going to do it!" All the other PTA moms cheered. When I asked what the deal was, I was told that so many people were leaving the Board that they are desperate. So my first thought was "What in the hell have I gotten myself into?" and my second thought was "How bad is it that they practically through me a party at the bus stop just for volunteering?"
5. Task Master. Have you guys ever read that goofy email, the one about how a woman goes to check the mail, and ends up doing 50 different things that prevent her from going to check the mail? That's me. I have multiple home projects in mid-stream. I have multiple scrapbook projects in mid-stream. I have multiple vacation plans in mid-stream. I never get anything done, because every time I start something, I get distracted by something else. I sit down to check my email, but find some old pictures on the desk. I take the old pictures to the closet (where my scrapbook stuff is), and realize I have dirty clothes piled to the ceiling. So I take the laundry to the laundry room, only to discover that the cat has kicked litter all over the place. So I go downstairs to get the broom and dustpan but see a package on the front step. So I open the package, and it's birthday gifts for a few people whose birthday's aren't for a few weeks. So I put the gifts into the closet and see the curtain rods I've been meaning to hang. So I get out the curtain rods and head out into the garage to get the drill. While there, I see the 3 plants that I had bought earlier that day but forgot to put int he ground. So I go out front to plant the 3 plants and realize I haven' watered the new grass plugs. So I water the new grass plugs, and then go get the mail. The mail had coupons, so I go through those and cut out the good ones. I go to put them in the coupon folder and realize the pantry is a MESS. I could literally go on like this FOREVER. This is really the way I am. And they want me on the PTA Board?
4. "It's da chooze". (That's from The Birdcage, in case you missed it.) I firmly believe that during the course of the day and night, little kid's shoes walk themselves down the stairs and take up residence in various places on the floor. No matter how many times they are taken upstairs, or who takes them upstairs, they always end up on the living room floor. Where I proceed to trip over them in the middle of the night when I'm looking for chocolate.
3. Ipod Ipod We all Scream For Ipod! I have an Ipod. I love it. But does it really do me any good if I can't seem to find time to add new songs to it? I mean really, how many times can I listen to "Low" by Flo Rida? I'll sit down to download, and I realize...(see #5)
2. House Hunters. I am starting to think I a obsessed with this show. Few things in life give me as much of a thrill as seeing a new House Hunters episode. House Hunters International? Even better. In the tropics? SCORE! I have about a 99.6% accuracy rate at choosing which house the buyers will choose. This week it's "first time buyers" week, and I caught myself actually counselling the couple on which house to buy. ("Get the one with the bigger lot! You can replace the cabinets, for Christ's sake!") ("The house isn't too small, honey - maybe you're too big...") Seriously.
1. Color inside the lines! I'm really not cut out for having kids. I mean, you're supposed to encourage the kids to have artistic expression. Create! Be free! Imagine! I have a problem with this. I'm anal-retentive. I'm a control freak. And I like to color INSIDE the lines. Today, I spent 45 minutes cleaning up red footprints and green drips from the carpet. (Chase painted his foot and then decided to take his dripping green paintbrush to the bathroom...) I'm not sure what bothered me more: cleaning up the mess, or the color thing. You see, Chase likes to mix the colors. He thinks the yucky brown caused by mixing purple and red and orange and yellow is great! He also does this with Play Doh. I'll put out 6 cans of beautiful, brand new colors, and within minutes it's all in one big mush. This drives me INSANE. I try really hard to "let go", but it's just not in me. You can't get those play doh colors apart, you know. They're like that for good. And the paint? How are you supposed to paint anything if all the colors are fucked up? (excuse the language)
So after a day of cleaning up cat vomit,gaining 2 pounds,running really slowly on the treadmill,trying to get the dog to do ANYTHING, finding out more about the PTA Board,picking up shoes for the 13th time, writing down songs on little scraps of paper so I can one day put them on my Ipod, watching at least 2 episodes of House Hunters, and having a painting session with my kids....
I'm ready for a DRINK!
Sunday, April 6, 2008
B-r-i-l-l-i-a-n-t
Yesterday, a really great friend of mine was commenting about this blog. She said something along the lines of "You're a really great writer - your blog is so funny!" Now, her opinion was more than likely tainted by the 5 or so Mango Margaritas we had been consuming, but still. Another friend told me that once too - that I should write a column or something.
That kinda cracks me up. When someone says "your blogs are so funny", I can't help but think "You have GOT to be kidding me!" This blog is like my random stream of consciousness - and sometime unconsciousness - that I just throw out there. Most times it is the result of not getting to talk to enough grown-ups. Many times it makes no sense at all. The run-on sentence is my friend! So I'm amazed that some people actually find this crap entertaining!
And then if someone says "You are such a good writer!", I can almost hear Dr. Terry Prewitt groan all the way from UWF. Dr Prewitt was my advisor at UWF. Dr. Prewitt is brilliant. This is for many reasons, but he is legendary amongst Anthroplogosts for somehow getting funding to study things like the "Culture of Strip Clubs" and the "Social and Linguistic Aspects of Pub Culture". (No - I am dead serious about that shit. The guy is b-r-i-l-l-i-a-n-t.) Anyway, in my two years or so under Dr. Prewitt's wing, I received possibly hundreds of papers back from him, all so covered with red ink that you would have thought he performed some sort of animal sacrifice on them. "Too passive." "Passive." "Passive, passive, passive!" he would write. Again. And again. (It should be noted that my other advisor and mentor, the esteemed Dr. Micklovich, also gave me his fair share of red ink, usually writing more of the same. Dr. Mick is also b-r-i-l-l-i-a-n-t, mainly for being the COOLEST history instructor in the world, and for having the cohones to head to the Middle East with a bunch of rowdy college kids. While there, he managed to drink more than we did, and get more action too. The man is a Legend, capital "L".)
So passive, passive, passive is my writing style. (Or, put another way, "I write passively." or "I write with a passive style.")I still go back and change my damned past-tenses to present tense, all because of those two. I seriously doubt that either of them would find me to be a "great writer", unless they thought my friend Tre was ghost writing for me. Tre was my partner in crime in Prewitt's 8:00 am Linguistics class. If I remember correctly, he carried my slack ass through that class by wowing Dr. P with a biblical translation done completely in Vulcan. True story.
So - if you think I'm funny and a great writer, then hold that thought. One day I'm going to self publish all this stuff, and I'm going to expect YOU to pre-order, and to buy one for all of your friends. (Or, put another way: "one day I will self publish, and I will expect you to pre-order...")
Now if only I could come up with a really GREAT idea for a book...something like, oh, I dunno, "Tequila! A Natural and Cultural History." (Sent to me yesterday by yet another Legend, my girl Della, aka Buwana.) See the crap that Anthropologists get to come up with? B-r-i-l-l-i-a-n-t.
That kinda cracks me up. When someone says "your blogs are so funny", I can't help but think "You have GOT to be kidding me!" This blog is like my random stream of consciousness - and sometime unconsciousness - that I just throw out there. Most times it is the result of not getting to talk to enough grown-ups. Many times it makes no sense at all. The run-on sentence is my friend! So I'm amazed that some people actually find this crap entertaining!
And then if someone says "You are such a good writer!", I can almost hear Dr. Terry Prewitt groan all the way from UWF. Dr Prewitt was my advisor at UWF. Dr. Prewitt is brilliant. This is for many reasons, but he is legendary amongst Anthroplogosts for somehow getting funding to study things like the "Culture of Strip Clubs" and the "Social and Linguistic Aspects of Pub Culture". (No - I am dead serious about that shit. The guy is b-r-i-l-l-i-a-n-t.) Anyway, in my two years or so under Dr. Prewitt's wing, I received possibly hundreds of papers back from him, all so covered with red ink that you would have thought he performed some sort of animal sacrifice on them. "Too passive." "Passive." "Passive, passive, passive!" he would write. Again. And again. (It should be noted that my other advisor and mentor, the esteemed Dr. Micklovich, also gave me his fair share of red ink, usually writing more of the same. Dr. Mick is also b-r-i-l-l-i-a-n-t, mainly for being the COOLEST history instructor in the world, and for having the cohones to head to the Middle East with a bunch of rowdy college kids. While there, he managed to drink more than we did, and get more action too. The man is a Legend, capital "L".)
So passive, passive, passive is my writing style. (Or, put another way, "I write passively." or "I write with a passive style.")I still go back and change my damned past-tenses to present tense, all because of those two. I seriously doubt that either of them would find me to be a "great writer", unless they thought my friend Tre was ghost writing for me. Tre was my partner in crime in Prewitt's 8:00 am Linguistics class. If I remember correctly, he carried my slack ass through that class by wowing Dr. P with a biblical translation done completely in Vulcan. True story.
So - if you think I'm funny and a great writer, then hold that thought. One day I'm going to self publish all this stuff, and I'm going to expect YOU to pre-order, and to buy one for all of your friends. (Or, put another way: "one day I will self publish, and I will expect you to pre-order...")
Now if only I could come up with a really GREAT idea for a book...something like, oh, I dunno, "Tequila! A Natural and Cultural History." (Sent to me yesterday by yet another Legend, my girl Della, aka Buwana.) See the crap that Anthropologists get to come up with? B-r-i-l-l-i-a-n-t.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Eventually
Eventually, I will post this wonderful blog all about nostalgia. (Since I'm coming up on a birthday, it's got me thinking...) But right now I'm swamped by Brownie stuff, and the first grade scrapbook. Which will, of course, be a work of art befitting display in one of the world's finest art museums...
But - in the meantime, here's a funny funny that was in the paper on Sunday. I just LOVE Danny Donkey. Hopefully you will too. (Click on the pic if it's too small to read the words...not a cruel joke, I swear...)
But - in the meantime, here's a funny funny that was in the paper on Sunday. I just LOVE Danny Donkey. Hopefully you will too. (Click on the pic if it's too small to read the words...not a cruel joke, I swear...)
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