Let me start off by saying that I thank my lucky stars every nite that I have happy healthy children. With that being said, every year about this time I find myself wondering why they had to grow 2 inches over the summer. The thing is, I never notice that they've grown until the first cold day of fall when they have to wear their pants to school.You'd think after 13 years I would take it into consideration that, yes, it is going to get cold, and, yes I should buy them new pants before the cold hits. I just never think to, I'm a procrastinator.
Every fall it's the same scenario, we wake up one morning, and there is frost on the ground. That's my cue to start digging under the beds to find a wadded up pair of jeans that have been there since last winter. After wiping off the stains, and throwing them into the dryer to get out the wrinkles, I give them to the kids. When they come out to model them, there is always an inch of ankle showing. I try to appear calm and tell them to pull their socks up, maybe noone will notice. But who am I kidding?
Olivia, my 3 year old, is down to 2 pairs of pants. One pair that fit great, they are just lost at the moment. The other pair are an inch too big in the waist, and an inch too short in the legs. I had to take her out in those today in order to buy her new pants. What a sight she made. She is going through a phase of not bathing. Don't judge me, I'd rather bathe my cat than to try and hold Olivia down for her weekly hosing off. I keep her wiped off, but her hair is another story in itself. I'm not even going to admit to the last time her hair saw the business end of a hair brush. I have been tempted to chop it off, but she will not stay still long enough. Needless to say, she basically looks like a wild animal. A very cute one though!
As we're walking through Target I look down and notice she is wearing 2 different flip flops. She insists on dressing herself, and for some reason she thinks as long as she's wearing shoes, it doesn't matter if they match or not. So, here I am, with a toddler wearing 2 different shoes, hair knotted up sticking out in all different directions, with her butt crack shining. I was horrified. I'm actually shocked that noone was trying to give us spare change and the phone number for the nearest soup kitchen.
Long story short, we get into Target, she starts throwing a tantrum, I walk right back out the door. So here I am in the same boat, faced with the prospect of taking her out into public looking like a wild child again. I'm already dreading it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Satan's In The Advertising Business
It's that time year for me. Time to admit I have relapsed on my New Year's resolution. I tried to make world peace happen, really I did. Nah, I'm just kidding, I just want to lose some weight. I started out strong. I was eating a lot of fruit, cut back on the fried foods. I was faithfully doing 50-75 crunches a day along with push-ups, and trying to walk whenever the weather permitted.
I don't know what happened. Wait, yes I do. It started when I brought home a bag of Valentine's candy. Just to have around for the kiddos, right? Now I have never been a huge fan of sweets so I didn't think it would be a big deal. Till I ate that first piece. I would equate it to someone getting their first shot of heroin. No, I've never done heroin, but the way it's been described to me is the way I felt when I popped that first sweet in my mouth. I couldn't wait for the next one, or the next one, or the...well, you get the picture.
After getting my tattoo and taking pictures of it, I realized that I had alot more upper arm than I had thought. ALOT. So last nite I was googling "exercises that tone up the arms". Every site I went to had some good exercises, but I started noticing something. All of the advertisement banners were saying, "take this pill, eat whatever you want, forget about exercise". I even went to one that had an annoying pop-up of McDonald's newest skillet burrito. It came zooming across the page like the Goodyear blimp and I had to chase it around trying to hit the "close" button.
It was like satan himself was placing these advertisements. I mean, who really wants go give up fried chicken and walk 10 miles a day when you can just take this pill or drink that shake and the weight magically falls off? I am going to hop back up on my diet wagon and hope I can steer my course past the devil. I think the key to weight loss is healthy food, exercise and a little common sense. But just in case I'm wrong, all I have to do is google "weight loss" and it will take me to a zillion different sites selling that magic pill.
I don't know what happened. Wait, yes I do. It started when I brought home a bag of Valentine's candy. Just to have around for the kiddos, right? Now I have never been a huge fan of sweets so I didn't think it would be a big deal. Till I ate that first piece. I would equate it to someone getting their first shot of heroin. No, I've never done heroin, but the way it's been described to me is the way I felt when I popped that first sweet in my mouth. I couldn't wait for the next one, or the next one, or the...well, you get the picture.
After getting my tattoo and taking pictures of it, I realized that I had alot more upper arm than I had thought. ALOT. So last nite I was googling "exercises that tone up the arms". Every site I went to had some good exercises, but I started noticing something. All of the advertisement banners were saying, "take this pill, eat whatever you want, forget about exercise". I even went to one that had an annoying pop-up of McDonald's newest skillet burrito. It came zooming across the page like the Goodyear blimp and I had to chase it around trying to hit the "close" button.
It was like satan himself was placing these advertisements. I mean, who really wants go give up fried chicken and walk 10 miles a day when you can just take this pill or drink that shake and the weight magically falls off? I am going to hop back up on my diet wagon and hope I can steer my course past the devil. I think the key to weight loss is healthy food, exercise and a little common sense. But just in case I'm wrong, all I have to do is google "weight loss" and it will take me to a zillion different sites selling that magic pill.
Viva Evolution!
I don't claim to know how we all began. I do believe in evolution to an extent. Not because I'm a big fan of Darwin, but because every picture I've ever seen of cavemen doesn't look like anyone I know. Okay, maybe a couple of guys I dated in high school, but other than that we all look different now. Just for the record, I personally think the Geico caveman is pretty hot. But anyways.
What I do believe in is that our bodies need to evolve. It is my personal belief that our bodies are designed to exist on a diet high in fruits and berries and red meat. Also our bodies are designed to walk all day tracking wooly mammoths. So I have come upon a new theory - if we could just figure out a way to make our bodies understand that we can now drive to get where we are going. If we could make our metabolism understand that we now have a more varied diet that no longer includes brontosaurus burgers.
My point is, I think we as a nation are fat because our bodies just don't understand all the yummy foods that are out there. I'm not saying that you shouldn't eat healthy, but why everytime do I even consider eating a piece of cheesecake my jeans get tighter? I think our bodies are expecting way too much exercise and not enough food. It's not like I have to beat on a piece of flint all day to get a fire, I just pick up my bic and give it a flick nowadays.
Now before you discount me, just give it a thought. I think I'm onto something here, what do you think?
What I do believe in is that our bodies need to evolve. It is my personal belief that our bodies are designed to exist on a diet high in fruits and berries and red meat. Also our bodies are designed to walk all day tracking wooly mammoths. So I have come upon a new theory - if we could just figure out a way to make our bodies understand that we can now drive to get where we are going. If we could make our metabolism understand that we now have a more varied diet that no longer includes brontosaurus burgers.
My point is, I think we as a nation are fat because our bodies just don't understand all the yummy foods that are out there. I'm not saying that you shouldn't eat healthy, but why everytime do I even consider eating a piece of cheesecake my jeans get tighter? I think our bodies are expecting way too much exercise and not enough food. It's not like I have to beat on a piece of flint all day to get a fire, I just pick up my bic and give it a flick nowadays.
Now before you discount me, just give it a thought. I think I'm onto something here, what do you think?
Painful Memories of That First Time
I remember my first time, I was young and naive. I foolishly thought it would be a fun experience, and I might make a little money to boot. It was an all day ordeal, and at the end of it, I just felt used and wore out. And I was still broke.
A lot of time passed between my first and second time. The first one was so bad that I just didn't think I could ever handle doing it again. But, as time has a way of doing, my bad memories were replaced by the thought of a quick dollar. The second time was even worse than the first. By the time nite fell, I felt completely dejected, and was still broke.
2 years passed since that last time. This time, I got cocky. I told myself that I would make a lot of money and would have a great time. With this third strike, I believe I am finally ready to admit defeat. I will never do it again.
Now I know what you're thinking. 3 times I've done it and I have 3 kids, hmmmm. Get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about having a yard sale! Yard sales, they seem so glamorous and romantic to think of. You are going to put out your prized possessions and people will fight each other trying to pay you top dollar for them. That's not how it ever works. At least not for me.
I always spend a week getting prepared; making sure everything is clean and folded and priced to sell. I make bright colorful signs and strategically place them around town. I get up the morning of the sale while it is still dark outside, trying to arrange everything so that it will be pleasing to the eye. Then I sit back and I wait for the customers to arrive in droves. And I wait, and I wait. People slowly trickle in. They are always looking for the one thing I don't have. I had someone ask me today if I have any cassette tapes of gospel music. Are you kidding me?
Finally, by the end of the day, worn and weary, I'm reduced to almost begging people to take my stuff for free just so I don't have to bring it back in the house. I always end every yard sale the same way; cussing myself and swearing to never do it again. Yet I always do, I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment.
A lot of time passed between my first and second time. The first one was so bad that I just didn't think I could ever handle doing it again. But, as time has a way of doing, my bad memories were replaced by the thought of a quick dollar. The second time was even worse than the first. By the time nite fell, I felt completely dejected, and was still broke.
2 years passed since that last time. This time, I got cocky. I told myself that I would make a lot of money and would have a great time. With this third strike, I believe I am finally ready to admit defeat. I will never do it again.
Now I know what you're thinking. 3 times I've done it and I have 3 kids, hmmmm. Get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about having a yard sale! Yard sales, they seem so glamorous and romantic to think of. You are going to put out your prized possessions and people will fight each other trying to pay you top dollar for them. That's not how it ever works. At least not for me.
I always spend a week getting prepared; making sure everything is clean and folded and priced to sell. I make bright colorful signs and strategically place them around town. I get up the morning of the sale while it is still dark outside, trying to arrange everything so that it will be pleasing to the eye. Then I sit back and I wait for the customers to arrive in droves. And I wait, and I wait. People slowly trickle in. They are always looking for the one thing I don't have. I had someone ask me today if I have any cassette tapes of gospel music. Are you kidding me?
Finally, by the end of the day, worn and weary, I'm reduced to almost begging people to take my stuff for free just so I don't have to bring it back in the house. I always end every yard sale the same way; cussing myself and swearing to never do it again. Yet I always do, I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment.
Find Out What It Means To Me!
When my oldest daughter was born 12 years ago, I received the most important piece of advice I had ever been given. It was given to me by my aunt, Jerri Ann. She told me that the key to a happy family was to respect my mate, respect my child, and respect myself. Being 20 years old at the time, I had no idea what she was talking about, but it struck me so deep that I mentally filed it away until I could understand what it meant.
It didn't take me very long to realize what she meant, and I have tried to live by those rules. I respect Mark, not only as the head of our household (so he thinks), but also as my husband and best friend. I respect my children, I try very hard to realize that they are actually really little people with feelings and thoughts of their own. I also respect myself. It works out because by following my lead, we all respect each other. Now that's not to say that I don't have a few smart ass kids, but they are still great.
If I could talk to every parent out there, I would ask them to please use that same rule of thumb with their kids. Alas, this isn't true though. Case in point, I took my kids to the park the other day and there was a gang of teenagers loitering around. I could not believe the language coming out of their mouths! Now, I am not a prude, if you know me for more than a minute, you realize that I drop the "f" bomb more than most sailors, but I try to be respectful with it. I won't say it in certain company, but I do say it, alot.
After listening to the colorful language for a few minutes, I realized I had a choice to make. Before I even thought about it, I made that choice. I jumped up and in my meanest tone of voice I could muster, I told them to watch their mouths in front of my kids. Now by nature, I am a very laid back person, totally not into confrontation, but I just couldn't allow the disrespect to go on anymore. After I had my say, I was scared to death. What if they wanted to fight? What if they scratched the f word into my car? But none of that happened, they scattered. I was greatful.
I am not a perfect mom by any means. I raise my voice on the average of once every 17 minutes. I get exasperated. I lose my patience. But I try to maintain that line of respect. I just wish other people would teach their kids the same thing, I think the world would be a lot better place to live.
It didn't take me very long to realize what she meant, and I have tried to live by those rules. I respect Mark, not only as the head of our household (so he thinks), but also as my husband and best friend. I respect my children, I try very hard to realize that they are actually really little people with feelings and thoughts of their own. I also respect myself. It works out because by following my lead, we all respect each other. Now that's not to say that I don't have a few smart ass kids, but they are still great.
If I could talk to every parent out there, I would ask them to please use that same rule of thumb with their kids. Alas, this isn't true though. Case in point, I took my kids to the park the other day and there was a gang of teenagers loitering around. I could not believe the language coming out of their mouths! Now, I am not a prude, if you know me for more than a minute, you realize that I drop the "f" bomb more than most sailors, but I try to be respectful with it. I won't say it in certain company, but I do say it, alot.
After listening to the colorful language for a few minutes, I realized I had a choice to make. Before I even thought about it, I made that choice. I jumped up and in my meanest tone of voice I could muster, I told them to watch their mouths in front of my kids. Now by nature, I am a very laid back person, totally not into confrontation, but I just couldn't allow the disrespect to go on anymore. After I had my say, I was scared to death. What if they wanted to fight? What if they scratched the f word into my car? But none of that happened, they scattered. I was greatful.
I am not a perfect mom by any means. I raise my voice on the average of once every 17 minutes. I get exasperated. I lose my patience. But I try to maintain that line of respect. I just wish other people would teach their kids the same thing, I think the world would be a lot better place to live.
Identity Crisis
I am having an identity crisis, and I have the mall to thank for it. I went shopping for some new clothes recently at a large department store, name withheld. I look at the store directory to try to figure out where to go. I see the "women's" department. Yep, that's me I'm thinking. I head over there, and after checking the sizes, I see that I am mistaken. I am not a woman, which makes me feel bad to admit to myself.
Back to the directory. I see "Misses". Oh, okay, I'm married, so duh, that does make more sense. I take off in search for the perfect outfit. I'm thumbing through the racks, hmmm, polyester pants, sweater sets, embroidered t-shirts. Wait a minute! I'm not a grandmother! So even though I am technically "Mrs. Denney", clotheswise, I am no "miss".
Fast foward to me standing in front of the directory again, scratching my head. I see a "Petite" department. Well, I am 5'3", so maybe that's where I'll find my new clothes. I look around the department and do not see anything. Something on the floor caught my eye and I looked down and lo and behold, there were the clothes rack. I got down on my knees and started looking at the selection. After finding a pair of jeans, I go to the fitting room and try them on. Why do they look like shorts on me? Maybe I'm not petite, I decide.
Directory, here I come again. The last option is the "Juniors" department. Juniors? Aren't they kids? I don't want to shop in the kids department! I am a woman! Or at least I thought I was before I arrived at the mall. I guess I'll try it, what do I have to lose? As I'm looking through the clothes, I see a size I didn't think was possible, 00. Are you kidding me here? I pull the pants off the rack and see that the only way to fit into them is to have the bottom half of my body removed and replaced with a set of chopsticks. Depression sets in, I decide to leave. Who needs clothes when there are more important things in life, like trying to figure out exactly what I am?
Back to the directory. I see "Misses". Oh, okay, I'm married, so duh, that does make more sense. I take off in search for the perfect outfit. I'm thumbing through the racks, hmmm, polyester pants, sweater sets, embroidered t-shirts. Wait a minute! I'm not a grandmother! So even though I am technically "Mrs. Denney", clotheswise, I am no "miss".
Fast foward to me standing in front of the directory again, scratching my head. I see a "Petite" department. Well, I am 5'3", so maybe that's where I'll find my new clothes. I look around the department and do not see anything. Something on the floor caught my eye and I looked down and lo and behold, there were the clothes rack. I got down on my knees and started looking at the selection. After finding a pair of jeans, I go to the fitting room and try them on. Why do they look like shorts on me? Maybe I'm not petite, I decide.
Directory, here I come again. The last option is the "Juniors" department. Juniors? Aren't they kids? I don't want to shop in the kids department! I am a woman! Or at least I thought I was before I arrived at the mall. I guess I'll try it, what do I have to lose? As I'm looking through the clothes, I see a size I didn't think was possible, 00. Are you kidding me here? I pull the pants off the rack and see that the only way to fit into them is to have the bottom half of my body removed and replaced with a set of chopsticks. Depression sets in, I decide to leave. Who needs clothes when there are more important things in life, like trying to figure out exactly what I am?
The Case of The Humming Gyno
This is an old one, but I hope you enjoy it..
Hey ya'll, it's been awhile, sorry about that. I guess I've had blogger's block. I haven't been able to come up with anything worth writing about in a long time. I came up with an idea, of all places, carrying a urine sample through the doctor's office.
I started thinking, with all the modern technology out there, is it really necessary for me to be prancing around in public with a shot glass of urine? Today I had my annual woman's exam. I always come out of the office feeling very uncomfortable and confused. I am a married woman, have been for 11 years. I would never dream of cheating on my husband. Yet I met my new doctor and within 10 minutes of saying "hello", I'm dropping my drawers. It makes me feel like a woman with loose morals.
I know that they say that gynocologists see so many naked woman that they don't even pay attention. But I always secretly watch them from the corner of my eye just to make sure he's not admiring me, or even worse, laughing. I've had a few different gynos over the years. I like this one alot. He's very professional. Alot better than my last one, he used to hum to himself the whole time. And the one before that, he had the shortest, stubbiest fingers on a human being I've ever seen.
I think men have it lucky, even more lucky than they realize. Sure they have to do the whole "turn your head and cough" thing, and I'm sure a proctolgy exam isn't a trip to the beach either. But when you compare that to paying a stranger to fondle you, no drinks involved, I think men are the luckier sex.
Hey ya'll, it's been awhile, sorry about that. I guess I've had blogger's block. I haven't been able to come up with anything worth writing about in a long time. I came up with an idea, of all places, carrying a urine sample through the doctor's office.
I started thinking, with all the modern technology out there, is it really necessary for me to be prancing around in public with a shot glass of urine? Today I had my annual woman's exam. I always come out of the office feeling very uncomfortable and confused. I am a married woman, have been for 11 years. I would never dream of cheating on my husband. Yet I met my new doctor and within 10 minutes of saying "hello", I'm dropping my drawers. It makes me feel like a woman with loose morals.
I know that they say that gynocologists see so many naked woman that they don't even pay attention. But I always secretly watch them from the corner of my eye just to make sure he's not admiring me, or even worse, laughing. I've had a few different gynos over the years. I like this one alot. He's very professional. Alot better than my last one, he used to hum to himself the whole time. And the one before that, he had the shortest, stubbiest fingers on a human being I've ever seen.
I think men have it lucky, even more lucky than they realize. Sure they have to do the whole "turn your head and cough" thing, and I'm sure a proctolgy exam isn't a trip to the beach either. But when you compare that to paying a stranger to fondle you, no drinks involved, I think men are the luckier sex.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Tales of A Dirty House
I don't, in general, consider myself a bad housekeeper. That being said, NEVER pop up on me unannounced. Give me at least 15 minutes warning so I can be prepared. I have a 15 minute cleaning routine specifically for popper-uppers. First I run into the kitchen, and shove all my dirty dishes in the oven. I then dash around the house gathering up all the dirty laundry. For some reason, my family does not understand the fact that we have a little room in the house that has a washer and a dryer and is used for no other purpose than doing laundry, if so, then surely they would bring their dirty clothes there themselves. After removing the offense laundry and clothes, I then open the closet in the living room and shove all of the toys in it. Spray some pine sol in the air, and viola, a clean house ready for company.
It's a completely different story when I have advance warning of company coming. Take for instance, Olivia's birthday party. I threw together an impromptu get together because for the 3rd year in a row her birthday crept up on me. I'm not a bad parent, she was just born too close to Christmas. I will always procrastinate doing my housework until the day before any get together using the excuse that the kids would just mess it right back up, so why bother.
I start out in the kitchen, because I am very funny about my kitchen being clean. I will make sure all the dishes are washed and put away. Then I will wipe down everything and then sweep. But I'll notice there is a sticky spot, so I have to mop. Then I will think to myself, what if someone wants a drink and opens my fridge? Will they be scared of the fuzzy things in the bottom? I believe they used to be grapes, but I can't swear to it. Thus I am now cleaning out the refridgerator.
After spending 4 hours on the kitchen, I'm exhausted, but I plow on furiously scrubbing my house. I will grab my trusty bottle of cleaner and a rag and start scrubbing the walls, thinking to myself, what do they do when I'm not looking. Are they making mudpies and then practicing their high five skills on the wall? I always end up frustrated, wondering if I'm raising a filthy pack of animals who have no regard about what people think of their home.
It always ends the same way. The day of the party arrives, I'm cranky and tired, the kids are mad because I have spent the whole day fussing at them. And what happens? Noone wanted a damn drink anway, go figure.
It's a completely different story when I have advance warning of company coming. Take for instance, Olivia's birthday party. I threw together an impromptu get together because for the 3rd year in a row her birthday crept up on me. I'm not a bad parent, she was just born too close to Christmas. I will always procrastinate doing my housework until the day before any get together using the excuse that the kids would just mess it right back up, so why bother.
I start out in the kitchen, because I am very funny about my kitchen being clean. I will make sure all the dishes are washed and put away. Then I will wipe down everything and then sweep. But I'll notice there is a sticky spot, so I have to mop. Then I will think to myself, what if someone wants a drink and opens my fridge? Will they be scared of the fuzzy things in the bottom? I believe they used to be grapes, but I can't swear to it. Thus I am now cleaning out the refridgerator.
After spending 4 hours on the kitchen, I'm exhausted, but I plow on furiously scrubbing my house. I will grab my trusty bottle of cleaner and a rag and start scrubbing the walls, thinking to myself, what do they do when I'm not looking. Are they making mudpies and then practicing their high five skills on the wall? I always end up frustrated, wondering if I'm raising a filthy pack of animals who have no regard about what people think of their home.
It always ends the same way. The day of the party arrives, I'm cranky and tired, the kids are mad because I have spent the whole day fussing at them. And what happens? Noone wanted a damn drink anway, go figure.
Who Could Be This Mad at Me?
Someone is very angry at me. That's the only solution I can come up with about the problem I am having. Someone is so mad at me that instead of hiring a hitman to just shoot me point blank, they have hired someone even worse. A hateful foe whose only mission in life is to see me slowly lose my mind.
This foe must've been a ninja before he took his current job of slowly torturing me. Because he is stealthy. I've never seen him, but I have heard him. He causes me to get up in the nite inspecting the house, looking for him. Praying that I'll find him, yet not knowing what I would do if I ever confronted him face to face.
I have threatened to go armed, but Mark will not tell me where the key to the gun safe is. That's probably a wise decision, I don't know how to shoot a gun anyway. I would probably go into overkill mode and shoot out an entire wall in our house.
My adversary has gotten bolder over the last few nites. He started out being just outside of my bedroom, softly calling to me. Taunting me into finding his hiding place. He is a very aggressive opponent, and as of two nites ago, he took up residence in my bedroom. Always out of my site, but never out of my hearing. He's relentless with his torture, he says the same thing over and over, for hours on end. Why would someone want to see me crazy this bad?
So, if I have offended anyone out there, I am throwing up my white flag. I surrender. I will do whatever it takes if you will just call this ninja off of me. I have reached my breaking point. I will tell you anything you want to hear. I will even do your laundry forever. Just for God's sake, please call this cricket and tell him to go away.
This foe must've been a ninja before he took his current job of slowly torturing me. Because he is stealthy. I've never seen him, but I have heard him. He causes me to get up in the nite inspecting the house, looking for him. Praying that I'll find him, yet not knowing what I would do if I ever confronted him face to face.
I have threatened to go armed, but Mark will not tell me where the key to the gun safe is. That's probably a wise decision, I don't know how to shoot a gun anyway. I would probably go into overkill mode and shoot out an entire wall in our house.
My adversary has gotten bolder over the last few nites. He started out being just outside of my bedroom, softly calling to me. Taunting me into finding his hiding place. He is a very aggressive opponent, and as of two nites ago, he took up residence in my bedroom. Always out of my site, but never out of my hearing. He's relentless with his torture, he says the same thing over and over, for hours on end. Why would someone want to see me crazy this bad?
So, if I have offended anyone out there, I am throwing up my white flag. I surrender. I will do whatever it takes if you will just call this ninja off of me. I have reached my breaking point. I will tell you anything you want to hear. I will even do your laundry forever. Just for God's sake, please call this cricket and tell him to go away.
I need the Number to a Plan Therapis Please!
When I close my eyes and picture my home, I see clean, dust-free surfaces with everything put up carefully where it belongs. But most of all, I see plants. Lots of them. Green everywhere. Leaves, vines, flowers invading your vision.
When I open my eyes, I see chaos. Okay, I've got 3 kids and a bit of a lazy side, so I accept that. But what breaks my heart is that instead of lush plants everywhere, I have alot of pots with sticks poking pitifully out of them. I try so hard to be good to my plants. I water them, I feed them, I'm not ashamed to admit, I even talk to them. Yet they all choose to commit suicide. Is it possible I am driving them crazy?
Last year when my brother-in-law, Robert passed away, I received some beautiful house plants. They were the first plants trusted to my possession since my father-in-law passed away almost 10 years ago. One of the plants I got was a peace lilly that Mark and I had got for the children for the funeral home. I explained my brown thumb to the lady at the flower shop, she scoffed at me in that way that only people with a green thumb can do, and informed me there is no way to kill a peace lilly. Are you kidding me? In my lifetime, I have killed 4 peace lillies, but we still chose it anyway.
Some friends also bought a lilly that we brought home. The day we brought it home it was a big, beautiful, green bushy plant. Today it is a sad anorexic shell of itself. Only about a fourth of it is still alive, but I can't bear to trim off the dead leaves because then the plant would look even worse. I've thought about trying to get it into some kind of therapy before it completely goes to the big garden in the sky.
My personal record for killing houseplants is 3 in one day. A friend told me to water them with leftover coffee. Sounded like a great idea, so I brewed them their own pot, then let it cool, and served it to them black in the morning. By that afternoon, I had the carcasses of a peace lilly, a rubber plant, and a schefflera in my living room. That was 10 years ago, and I guess I haven't gotten any better at plant nurturing.
The funny thing? The peace lilly that Mark and I bought is actually still alive and thriving nicely. The really funny thing is that that plant sits behind our entertainment center. The reason for that is because the pot was just the right height to hold a stick that I use as a prop to hold up the surge protector for the TV. I figured it would die anyway, so I just stuck it back there. Lo and behold, I check it every so often, and there it is grinning at me, almost as if to say, "I'm one tough SOB lady, it's gonna take more than you to kill me". Who am I to question that?
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
A Day at The Park
I love to take my children to the park. I am a big people watcher anyway, and I really enjoy seeing all the different parenting styles that everyone has. These are some of the things I noticed today:
First you have your "hover mothers" who are following their children around, ever mindful that they don't get dirty. These moms are still packing diaper bags for their 8 & 9 year olds, complete with bleach wipes and hand sanitizer. They are often seen wiping down the swing chains and seats before they allow their children to sit on them.
Then you have your "delusional moms". They are often crowded into groups with other moms just like them, loudly crowing about how they only feed their children organically grown veggies. And not regular vegetables like corn and potato chips, mind you, they feed their kids veggies with exotic names like swiss chard, endives, and watercress. While these moms are busily telling everyone that their kid had the Preamble to the Consitution memorized by the age of 2, they don't happen to notice that little precious is grounding sand into an innocent toddler's face. These are also the same children that hang out under the slide uttering phrases that would make a soldier blush.
Where do I fit in all of this you might ask? Well if you have to know, I'm the one cringing, watching my children climbing to the top of the swingset pole, or hanging upside down from the monkey bars. I'm one of those "regular moms". The kind who enjoy watching their children enjoy being outside and breathing fresh air. The kind of mom who knows where my kids are, not trying to impress anyone with my parental skills, not overworried about germs, just there, watching my kids do what they do best...be kids.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Too Much Of A Good Thing
I live a rather boring, typical suburban housewife's meager life. In other words, not a lot happens around here, so I find excitement in the smallest of circumstances. One of the most exciting things that happens to me is when we run out of body wash around the house. That means a trip to Wal-Mart, which in itself is a form of torture, but it also means that for the next couple of weeks we get to smell completely different.
I might choose for us to smell like spring rain in the high prairie, or like a tropical rainforest in southern Venezuala, or even like a handful of lavender, grown especially for our bathing pleasure in the Mediterranean. I have a hard time deciding, because each one smells better than the next. I love the idea of transporting to another location without even having to leave the comfort of my bathroom.
The complete opposite of my joy in picking new body wash is my experience when we run out of shampoo. I cringe when the bottle starts running low. I will add water to it trying to stretch it out. That's because there are too many different varieties of shampoos on the market. I don't know how to choose. When I was a child, you had your shampoo, your dandruff shampoo, and if you had a particularly itchy problem, you had your lice shampoo.
Now a days, you have shampoo for volume, shampoo for heat damage, shampoo for shiny hair, shampoo for an unhappy aura. I have no idea what the difference is. When I make the trek to the store to buy shampoo, I usually end up standing in the aisle muttering to myself, "I just want clean hair, is that too much to ask?" People tend to stear clear of me, giving me the side-eye as if I'm some kind of lunatic. It's not fair, there is a such a thing as too much a good thing.
I can't find one shampoo that I love and stick to it. My hair already has too much volume, it's shiny enough, I don't use heat on it, and my aura is fine, thank you. I guess my alternative is to either get used to having greasy hair, or just shave it off. I hate to be that extreme, maybe I should just talk to the doctor about a prescription for xanax to be taken ONLY on trips for shampoo. Speaking of, I only have about a half a bottle of shampoo left, I should probably go ahead and call the doctor tomorrow.
I might choose for us to smell like spring rain in the high prairie, or like a tropical rainforest in southern Venezuala, or even like a handful of lavender, grown especially for our bathing pleasure in the Mediterranean. I have a hard time deciding, because each one smells better than the next. I love the idea of transporting to another location without even having to leave the comfort of my bathroom.
The complete opposite of my joy in picking new body wash is my experience when we run out of shampoo. I cringe when the bottle starts running low. I will add water to it trying to stretch it out. That's because there are too many different varieties of shampoos on the market. I don't know how to choose. When I was a child, you had your shampoo, your dandruff shampoo, and if you had a particularly itchy problem, you had your lice shampoo.
Now a days, you have shampoo for volume, shampoo for heat damage, shampoo for shiny hair, shampoo for an unhappy aura. I have no idea what the difference is. When I make the trek to the store to buy shampoo, I usually end up standing in the aisle muttering to myself, "I just want clean hair, is that too much to ask?" People tend to stear clear of me, giving me the side-eye as if I'm some kind of lunatic. It's not fair, there is a such a thing as too much a good thing.
I can't find one shampoo that I love and stick to it. My hair already has too much volume, it's shiny enough, I don't use heat on it, and my aura is fine, thank you. I guess my alternative is to either get used to having greasy hair, or just shave it off. I hate to be that extreme, maybe I should just talk to the doctor about a prescription for xanax to be taken ONLY on trips for shampoo. Speaking of, I only have about a half a bottle of shampoo left, I should probably go ahead and call the doctor tomorrow.
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