Power to the Tatas!

Posted by She Said

I need to get something off of my chest (ahem), so to speak…

Turning 40 has been a wild ride so far, and I’m only 6 months in. It started with a celebratory tattoo, an awesome party with wonderful friends, and the running of three 5Ks, one of which included zombies. Forty ain’t so bad!

But then it can be.

Along with that number comes the need for annual boob squishings, otherwise known as mammograms. I had one at 38 because of my mother’s breast cancer diagnosis. I wasn’t thrilled to have to do this; hell, I doubt anyone enjoys them, but I did it. I was told that if the tech found anything, they’d give me a call the next day. I didn’t get a call, so woohoo!

But then I got the letter!

Apparently, someone forgot to make the call and I got the letter (almost two weeks later) instead. A strange mass was found on the mammogram and I needed to go in for further testing. BUT I DIDN’T GET A CALL! I thought I was in the clear, but here was the damn letter in front of me stating otherwise. Nervously I went in for the ultrasound, sweaty as all get out because you can’t wear deodorant. And when do I need to be wearing deodorant? WHEN I’M STRESSED.

The doctor came in after reviewing the ultrasound findings and said I had what looked like a complicated cyst. I just needed to have a needle aspiration (how fun!) and a biopsy, and I’d be good. They are almost always benign, he said. Call my doctor, he said.

Now, I’ll be honest, I’m terrible about doing my own monthly breast checks. Hell, I’m bad about doing them EVER. So, with sudsy, nervous hands in the shower, I felt around for this “cyst” and holy shit. There it was! AND queue meltdown.

Fast forward to the surgeon’s office, and he’s feeling around and can’t find anything. He asked me to show him where I felt it, and I couldn’t find it either. I guess suds and a shower is to feeling a bump as a box a kleenex and porn is to Larry Flynt’s Friday nights.

Two days later, I go in for the biopsy and needle aspiration (again, doesn’t that just sound like a good time?). I couldn’t feel anything, thankfully, because of the local anesthetic, but I could SEE everything he was doing since it was an ultrasound guided biopsy and the screen was right in front of me. AND queue deer in the headlights.

After the biopsy, the doctor informed me that it was not a cyst but a tumor. The difference being that a cyst is fluid filled, and a tumor is solid. Given that it was almost an inch in length, he was not able to aspirate it through the needle. He again assured me it looked benign, and that it most likely was a fibroadenoma. AND queue painful waiting and some wicked bruising.

(I know, gross. Sorry.)

And more waiting, waiting, waiting…

After doing a TON of reading (thanks, google!) about this, I discovered that fibroadenomas are usually found in younger women, while phyllodes tumors, that look very similar, are often found in women in their forties and older. Thank you, forty, for being such an unpredictable bitch. Again, it is rare for one of these to be malignant, but there is a small percentage that are.

After THREE (THREE!!!!!!) full days of excruciating, gut-wrenching waiting, the results came back, and the samples were benign (hoo-fucking-ray!!!) and it is either a fibroadenoma or a phyllodes tumor or possibly both. They won’t fully know until it is excised (a nice term for cutting that shit out) and sent to pathology. When asked if it could still be found to be malignant, he said there was a chance, but that none of the samples sent in had any sign of malignancy, so not to worry. He said that to ME, the person hard-wired to worry. But I am going to try and do just that, not worry.

The surgery is scheduled in a couple of weeks, and I’m assured the scarring will be minimal. Good thing; I don’t want to lose that sweet pole dancing gig I’ve got goin’.

To Stick or Not to Stick?

Posted by She Said

I recently freed myself of my mommymobile (aka minivan) and acquired a much more “I’m an outdoorsy type” Outback. It’s even a stick shift, which alone makes me feel 10 years younger. And in our very four-seasons climate, these “I can easily go kayaking! or skiing!” cars are very popular. (Not that I do either of those things, but still.) These cars are EVERYWHERE.

So, I was trying to figure out how to make mine stand out a bit? I’ve been wavering on whether or not to put my politically-affiliated bumper sticker on the car, but in a fit of Angry Susanne, I decided to bite the proverbial bullet and put it on my car. And as I was smoothing down the final corner and checking Facebook at the same time (hey, not all multi-tasking skills left me with motherhood!), I saw a friend’s post about being opposed to putting any sticker on his car but would possibly consider this one:

Now, the geek factor alone on this gem seriously makes it worth sticking it on your own forehead and running around for everyone to see. Stick it, I say! Had I not just sealed the deal with my own sticker, I may have considered that one instead.

So, anyway, I digress. Political bumper sticker. My car. Done deal. I am going to be acutely aware of any increases in one finger salutes in my direction and any increases in being cut off. Hopefully I’ll get a few thumbs up. At least my sticker just states where my support lay and isn’t one of those horribly blunt and downright rude stickers. I won’t say whose team (*cough Romney cough*) I keep seeing them for, because, you know, that would just be tacky.

Still pondering my choice to commit to the stick at the grocery store today, I happened to park next to a car with one of those aforementioned snarky stickers. This was no ordinary car either; it was also plastered with the name of the person’s floral business. If I were the owner of a small business, I would definitely consider the fact that I could be pissing away half of my customers by mixing my political beliefs with my business.

All I can say is thank goodness I’m a slacker and don’t have my own business! I can piss off whomever I want! (Sorry, parents.)

So, what do you think about political stickers on cars? Are only certain ones upsetting? Do you stick? Or do you avoid sticking? Inquiring minds want to know!

Fifty Shades of Ducky

Posted by She Said

You all know my ducks, right? Well, one of them has been really naughty lately, and I think I know why. That little sneak has been reading Fifty Shades of Grey (on our Kindle, of course).

Apparently she’s gotten herself pretty tied up in the storyline, and now even her peers aren’t sure what to make of her. They are always whispering behind her back.

Maybe they are just jealous, who knows? But the biggest question is where does she hang out during the day? There’s certainly no way she can hang out at the tub with the others. Even though she brags to them about how she is water proof and can vibrate. Seriously, where exactly does a duck of her, um… character hang out where the risk of ogling children’s eyes isn’t an issue? Do you think she has a secret playroom in the house somewhere?

Maybe her new, shall we say, attire can be attributed to our other new ducky addition:

Yeah, she looks innocent enough, but I bet she’s had a wicked influence on the others, don’t you think? All joking aside, there’s no way one could get into this getup alone. Is there?

---

So, yes, I have been given several more ducks for my ever-increasing collection. I’m not sure if that says something about me or the friends I keep. Either way, keep ‘em coming! Ahem, so to speak.

It’s 4:20 Somewhere

Posted by She Said

It is obvious I have been married to my beloved for a long time. I have clearly become Angry Susanne, counterpart to Angry Greg. The difference however is that Greg has chilled at work and people no longer distinguish him from the other Gregs at work by referring to him as “Angry Greg.” OK, yes they do, but it is done more in jest instead of well, the truth.

I need to follow suit and chill. It is obvious I have been, ahem, angry lately. Angry at stupid white men trying to take women back 100 years and to discriminate against people “other” than them. OK, damn! There I go again.

Breath.

So, OK. I promise to try and talk about fun and light things and keep my political ramblings to a minimum. Not completely stop, but minimize. I’ll try. Pinky promise. Hey, how about every time I bring it up, we do shots!? We’ll call the drinking game Angry Susanne!

So here I go trying to be light. And funny. It’s a little story about how technology can bite you in the ass…

Greg and I have parental controls on our Netflix account to keep the kids from watching things we don’t want them to see. It works perfectly! Well, until it doesn’t because you forgot to turn them back on after a grown up night of TV.

The kids have been watching this Japanese anime cartoon through Netflix, and where I don’t actually sit and watch shows with them, I do listen to them, keenly from the other room. I kept asking Braedyn what the rating was on the show, and he kept rolling his eyes at me and informing me it was TV-PG. Now, I didn’t think TV-PG shows were allowed with our settings, but I figured Greg set it, so he must be ok with it. What I heard wasn’t terrible, just a little surprising with its occasional “damn” and “what the hell?”. But there were princesses! and classical music! and well, I let it go.

Then last night Greg and Braedyn were watching something together and some guy was trapped in a car.

Braedyn: <calmly> Why don’t they just break the damn window?

Greg: What?

Braedyn: <again, calmly and truly inquisitive> Why don’t they just break the damn window?

Greg: You know, bud, damn is not a word you should use. It is a swear word.

Braedyn: What? I didn’t call anybody it.

It’s true. Good point. If you are going to swear in this house, you damn well better know where it goes in the f#cking sentence. It’s just good parenting.

Time for a Push

Posted by She Said

I’ve always believed our culture evolved in a manner similar to a pendulum moving. Advancements in women’s rights and GLBT rights, for example, come with a pushing back by those who don’t want change, but change comes nonetheless. It may not be as fast or as complete as those pushing may want, but advancements ARE made. The push, and subsequent push-back, mimics the movement of the pendulum. Our culture evolves from this motion.

Recently, however, there has been such an incredible insurgence of people pushing our culture back, back, back. That pendulum is flying so hard back to the early 20th century that I feel like I’ve been bitch-slapped. And what are those that fought so hard for advancements in women’s rights, in GLBT rights, and in science doing? I for one feel like I have been standing here watching the train wreck that is our culture. I’m so shocked by stories in the news, DAILY! news, of things being said and done that are chiseling away our advancements, and not subtly either. These are big chunks coming out of culture’s advancements. And all this hate and intolerance is just pulling all the crazies out, making them mainstream. It wouldn’t be an ordinary day anymore without hearing about some other white man redefining rape or “traditional” marriage.

You know what I’m talking about, right? Legitimate rape. Life begins two weeks before conception. Don’t want to get pregnant? - put a dime between your legs. Magical vaginas that know how to “shut down” a pregnancy resulting from rape. Radio station cancels public affairs program over interview with LGBT advocate. Don’t look like a white politician? Better carry papers. Want contraception? - you must be a slut. Pray the gay away! Evolution is a theory and can’t be taught in schools. And the list painfully goes ON and ON and ON.

My stages of grief over this attack on our advancements have been clearly visible. I have certainly been in denial about this cultural war. Certainly this craziness has got to stop! I’ve been depressed about this backlash on women, immigrants, the GLBT community, science. This is all so unbelievably sad! Now, I am angry. I’m absolutely pissed that hate seems to be the norm for so much of our society today. I’m pissed that people are publically speaking their racist, homophobic, misogynist, and anti-reason minds and HAVEN’T BEEN CALLED OUT ON IT ENOUGH. I’m pissed that our push-back hasn’t been as loud and visible as the crazies has been. I’m pissed that so many haters don’t see it as JUST THAT – HATE.

But I guarantee there will be one stage of grief I will never reach. I will never accept. I will never accept that hate will win out over love. I will never accept that there are more intolerant people in our country than those who cherish and respect differences in others. I will never accept.

It’s time we woke up and dust off our <insert any number of groups under attack here> rights signs and proudly display them again! Get out there and have your voice heard! Enough is enough. Let’s push back, people! PUSH BACK!

Ready, Set, GO, GO, GO!!!!

Posted by She Said

I absolutely adore this time of year. I cherish the change in the air, that crispness that tells me fall is coming. I’ve been noticing some leaves in our neighborhood starting to change color. Granted, I hope they aren’t DYING because of the lack of water around these here parts lately – I shake my fist at you climate change!

The oranges and lush warm hues that seem to work their way into every store window makes me happy. The idea of curling up with a book by the fireplace under a soft throw thrills me. Yes, fall is my favorite time of year!

And it’s not.

Sadly, my idyllic image of quiet fall strolls through leaf covered streets falls short of reality, the reality that is our life this time of year. Fall  signals the ramping up of the busiest four months of the year for us.

It starts with soccer. Two kids, so two soccer practices and two games a week – both at different places, but sometimes at the same time! That’s in addition to all the gobs of stuff they are suddenly responsible for in school. Projects? Book Reports? Homework!

Both of the kids’ birthdays are also sprinkled around Halloween and Christmas. Oh, all the holidays! There’s Halloween, VOTING DAY!, the Married Geek’s Binary Anniversary, Friendsgiving (our version of Thanksgiving), Christmas, and New Years! OK, I’m just kidding. New Years hasn’t been a holiday since I was in my twenties! It’s more of a “Do you want to try and stay up this year?” kind of event. But still. You get the point. Busy, busy, busy!

So, it is possible that over the next few months I may seem a little crazed (or more than usual), but now you’ll know why. I’m probably trying to blog on my phone and cheer for someone’s team at the same time. Or wrapping presents while typing with my toes. But I love it, because in the end my love of this time of year wins out. Hands down.

HGTV Needs to Hire Me

Posted by She Said

You probably read the title of this blog and figured I think of myself as a master decorator who wants the likes of HGTV to hire me for one of their numerous design shows. If that’s the case, your guess would be akin to pitching during a football game – yeah, that far off. Unless there is such a thing as a pitch during a football game??? Ugh, I should know better than to use sports metaphors??? I am sports illiterate after all.

So, no. I don’t think I’m a great designer, or even above-average for that matter. I think HGTV needs to hire me because I have what I believe to be a really cool idea for a TV show. I even googled “how to submit a show idea to HGTV”, and I found a result! Yeah, a result that sucked. They can’t accept show ideas from the average joe schmo because of legal reasons. According to their site, they will only accept proposals “from television production companies with national or major market production credentials.” If you could see how hard my eyes are rolling right now, you’d certainly be impressed.

Since last time I checked I was not a member of one of those groups, I’m going to share this idea with the three of you! (If you are new here, you’ll see self-deprecating humor is BIG.)

I want a show to chronicle the building of a house. Here’s the twist: the house will be made entirely out of materials being given away for free off of Craigslist. Seriously! How cool would that be? I see all kinds of stuff being given away! Just a random perusing of Craigslist in our area revealed the following:

• Four 4’ x 8’ Pegboards – wouldn’t that be great in a garage?
• Lots of Rolls of Carpet, Great For Burning Man – OK, I can’t speak for the quality of the carpet, but hey, FREE CARPET! (Not to take from the burners. Peace, dude.)
• 5 Gallon Buckets with Handles – Needed for the paint we’ll find for free!
• Door – Duh.
• Free Scrap Metal
• Free Hot Tub!
• 9’ Wood Horizontal Blinds
• Bathroom Sink
• Ceiling Fan
• Mirrored Closet Doors
• Fill dirt
• Windows!

I know I went a little crazy with the list there, but that was all on the FIRST results page! Get the idea? What a great way to be green (reduce, reuse, recycle!), frugal (can’t get better than FREE), and make me a star all in one awesome idea?

So, anyone reading this who is a member of a national or major market production credentials (*cough* Libby *cough*) and who thinks this could lead somewhere, holla!

Scratching the Literary 7 Year Itch

Posted by She Said

For seven years I have been a stay-at-home mom. SEVEN years.

Seven years of not earning a paycheck. (Boo!)

Seven years of not having to clock in anywhere. (Yay!)

It truly has been the best of times. It’s also been the worst of times. I haven’t missed the stress of a “traditional” job, but staying at home hasn’t been all Oprah and bonbons. My journey of meeting other like-minded parents has been akin to water-boarding, but now that the kids are in school, that hasn’t been such torturous issue.

But my journey is taking a radical turn next week. Our youngest is going into first grade, which means both kids will be at school ALL DAY. I am fortunate enough to have a husband who deeply values having me stay home to take care of all the day-to-day stuff, stuff that could oftentimes bore me to tears. Laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning the kitchen over-and-over-and-over again – all things that done throughout the day frees up time when he is home for us to do family stuff. You know, like play Mindcraft. Now, I’m not saying I’m the best at all of those domestic shenanigans. My house isn’t immaculate 24/7. I generally wait until we have no clean clothes before tackling the mountain of dirty clothes. But, whatever, it gets done.

But now! Now I am going to have HOURS each day. BY MYSELF. And oh, dear lawdy, I do not want to have my children think all I do is clean and shop for food. In fact, I’ve been saying that this is the year where I get to reinvent myself! So, before I say what I am going to attempt to do, I must first tell you what I am going to attempt NOT to do.

I do not want to clean all day. Or grocery shop all day. Or do laundry all day.

This next one is something that worries me. I do not want to play solitaire for hours on end, because as pathetic as it sounds, I can whittle away time doing just that. I’m going to show you something. I’m outing myself here, so don’t judge me.

(OK, judge me a little.)

So, on to what I WANT to do. I mulled over ways to reinvent myself, and when I decided upon a path, I talked to Greg, and I asked him to tell me if he honestly thought I could do it. His answer stung like Anastasia Steele’s ass getting spanked in Fifty Shades of Grey but wasn’t nearly as fun. He said, “I think you can do it, but I think you’ll struggle with motivation.”

Ouch.

But you know what? That may have been the best motivation of all. To prove him wrong. (Again.)

As part of my motivation technique, I’m throwing it out for all to read! That way, I’d not only have to answer to Greg if I fail, but I’d have to hang my head in shame to you all as well.

I want to write. I’m going to attempt (there is no try, only do) throw my hat into the scary, overpopulated world of freelance writing! And if when I get something published, I am going to have a bigger smile than Christian Grey gets from doing all that spanking.

And that, my friends, you can get in writing.

(Wish me luck!)

Wine In a Box? The Married Geeks are Thinking Bigger!

Posted by She Said

When Greg and I started dating, I was thrown into his world of beer making. I’d help bottle and cap his latest home brew. I’m not much of a beer drinker**, but we had a great time doing this together. My favorite was the Jolly Rancher beer made from a Corona Clone, created by using a Jolly Rancher as the final priming sugar. We’d drop a particular flavor into the bottle right before capping it. And they were scrumptious! My favorite was the watermelon. Or maybe the cherry. OH! Green apple! Yum!

For our wedding favors, we even handed out our private label home brew:

And then years of marriage flew by, and out went the beer making, and in came the box wine. We’ve adjusted wine fridges to accommodate these glorious things! We’ve figured out how to best camp with the box! (Remove box, insert plastic bag directly into ice in cooler!) Hell, we’ve even adjusted the shelves in our main refrigerator to work with the average height of the boxes. Folks, we are educated in all things box.

We know people that will snub their noses at the box and swear they are worth nothing more than to be used as props for the next Deliverance movie. To them, I say, I think she looks good in a canoe!

But I digress. Something in Greg must have been missing the creativity that comes in the form of booze production. So, I came home to this:

Yes, my friends, that is a five gallon bucket of “Coastal White” wine in the making. Because who needs a box when you can have a BUCKET?! Now, are we just going to tap the sucker or fill boxes with it? Decisions, decisions.

** Except when I am.

An Open Letter to Chick-Fil-A

Posted by She Said
It is with heartfelt enthusiasm that I write to you today. You see, I need to get a few things off of my chest, and how better than with the written word to completely express the way you have made me feel over the last week?

When the news hit of your open financial support of organizations that oppose gay marriage, I felt anger, gut-wrenching anger. And it’s not like I even inadvertently supported you in your lofty goal of inequality because we don’t even have a Chick-Fil-A around here! No pennies of mine went to such a blatantly intolerant and hateful goal! Nonetheless, the anger I felt was palpable. Why be so cruel as to spend millions on stopping love? And don’t quote any biblical source for your reasoning, because I think that is a lot of blather anyway. Frankly, your “divine” book serves as nothing more than a scapegoat for your hate and intolerance, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

People on both sides of the equality debate were up on arms about your announcement! When Thomas Menino, the mayor of Boston, urged you to stay out of his city, honestly I was thrilled at first! Hooray for a loud, public voice standing up to your message of hate and intolerance by denying you access to the city! But then I realized that was not the answer. I used to work in public access television and had to educate everyone, even those with messages of hate, on how to create television shows. I did it out of a reverence for free speech. So, where I appreciate the sentiment of Menino’s letter, I do not approve of denying your rights. So see, I am truly the bigger person here because I will stand up for your right to try and deny others theirs. I know you don’t see it like this, but come on, let’s call a spade a spade. You can open up a franchise in my city even, but I vow to you today that I will never support your goal of inequality. I will never drop a dime on your fast food. I will never will take my children to your establishment, and I will openly and honestly explain to them why.

Lastly, when the blogosphere and Facebook exploded with those who oppose you and support you, your message had another unforeseen affect on me. I am originally from Texas, so you can probably correctly guess that I have some kin that proudly ate up your intolerance sold in the form of a chicken sandwich on your Chick-Fil-A appreciation day. Oh, they boasted about it on Facebook! All that did was show me what I suspected already, that they support you in your mission to prevent people from being equal. So, thanks for that. You outed the intolerance in my family. I had to go and hide some of my own family on Facebook so that the spikes in my blood pressure wouldn’t put me in the hospital! You may think I am joking, but I am not. I desperately want my family to embrace equality, to fight for it even! But instead your “appreciation day” put the proverbial nail in the coffin of my dream of a family fighting for justice.

Some say this whole thing is blown out of proportion and is stupid at its best. So, why am I writing this letter? Years from now I want it to be publically known, to my children especially, that I was on the right side of history on this. I don’t ever want them to look back and think I didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything. They will have seen their mother stand up for equality for all. I will continue to do so by exercising my right to not spend my money in your establishment and through my vote.

Regards,
Susanne

Out of the Mouth of Babes

I am going to update these sayings as they occur. I don’t want them to be lost.

June 2012
Family friend: Hey, Blondie!
Emily: I’m not Blondie.
Family friend: Yes you are, Blondie!
Emily: <in her disgruntled voice> I am not! I used to be but then I cut my hair!
August 2010
Susanne had a conversation with Braedyn trying to explain evolution and how man evolved from monkeys.  A few days later I am telling a story and explained that it happened to me a long time ago.  Braedyn asks:
"Is that when you were hairy and had a tail?"
July 2010
Heading through the agricultural checkpoint Braedyn says:
"This is where they check to make sure you don't have bugs in your hair. Right?"
January 2010
We had a few great friends over one night for a dinner party, and one couple has a sharp, witty, and beautiful little girl one year younger than Braedyn. The adults were all sitting around the table after dinner talking about Food Inc. and life in general over some wine when Braedyn comes running out of his room to say:
Braedyn: <beaming> Guess what? Lola kissed me!
Adults: <chuckles>
Me: Where did she kiss you, Braedyn?
Braedyn: <boisterously> In my room!!!
November 2009
Me: Would you like to go to a park?
Braedyn: I was kinda wanting to get a donut.
Me: <chuckling> I was hoping to get you outside while it is nice and let you play.
Braedyn: <with a big smile> Well, we could go outside to eat our donuts!
October 2009
Greg: Did Bo [Braedyn’s teddy bear] get a bath today?
Me: No, I didn’t get another load of clothes going.
Greg: <jokingly> slaaaaaaaaaaaacker!
Braedyn: slaaaaaaaaaaaaacker!
Emily: slaaaaaaaaaap her!
Me: Ow! <doubled over with a cramp in my side>
Braedyn: Are you ok?
Me: Yes, thanks. It’s just a cramp.
Braedyn: Maybe it’s growing veins.
August 2009
After spending a lot of time following the directions to build a Spiderman space ship made of Legos:
Me: That is SO cool, Braedyn! It kicks bum-bum!
Braedyn: <big smile and a giggle> Yes, it does. Spiderman could save the world with this. <pause> If it was bigger. <another pause> And if it wasn’t made out of toys. <yet another pause> And if it was real.
DIY Network was on when the TV was turned on, and Braedyn wanted to watch the construction activity going on the show called Wasted Spaces. I turned it off thinking that’s what he wanted, and he got upset and said, “I want to watch Wisted Spices!” I replied, “You mean, Wasted Spaces.” He got upset again and said, “No, it is called Wisted Spices, WISTED SPICES!!” I couldn’t help but laugh because the show is hosted by an English dude... with a thick accent.
June 2009
After brushing his teeth tonight, Braedyn had blue toothpaste smeared all over his mouth. Greg filled the palm of his hand with water and asked Braedyn to put his mouth in the water so he could wipe off the toothpaste. Braedyn leaned over and inhaled at the same time, causing him to get a nose full of water. Greg said, “Buddy, I just wanted you to put your mouth in the water,” to which Braedyn replied, “But my nose is too close to my mouth!”
While sitting at the table coloring, Emily made up her own song with these lyrics: “Sometimes Mommy says yes! And sometimes Mommy says no.” Then she told me she didn’t want to go to jail.
5/20/2009
Dad: Emily, since today is your mommy’s birthday I need you to listen to her words, make good choices, not fight with your brother and just try to give mommy a great day. ok?
Emily: Ok daddy, after I finish my movie.
5/2009
I handed Emily a green goldfish cracker while she was coloring. She picked up the green crayon and said, “This is the same color!” In my forever attempt to teach Emily her colors, I asked her what color it was. She replied, “It’s the fish cracker color.”
After seeing a bulging vein in my arm, Emily points to it and says, “That’s what aliens have.”
After finally noticing a wedding picture of Greg and me in the hallway, Emily says to me, “Mommy, when I get bigger, will you marry me?”
I’ve had a cold, so the kids know that I can’t give them kisses on the lips because I don’t want them to catch it. When Greg went in to Emily’s room to kiss her goodnight, she told him not to kiss her on the lips. She had the “hippups” and didn’t want him to catch them.
4/2009
While telling ghost stories in the dark in my closet, Braedyn says: And the monster turned into a giant! A huge giant! Huger than the other giants. Huger than trees! HUGER than squirrels!
Braedyn: Are there people inside the Ninja Turtles?
Greg: No, they are supposed to be real turtles.
Braedyn: <look of slight confusion> But, they aren’t very slow.
Greg: And thus the irony of NINJA turtles.
Emily: Color with me, Mommy.
Me: OK. What color is this? <holding up a marker>
Emily: Ummmmm, I don’t know.
Me: Can you guess?
Emily: No. You guess.
Emily: <dancing>
Me: <smiling at Emily dancing>
Emily: <notices me smiling at her> Stop it! You interrupted me!
Me: Are you sure you aren’t a teenager?
Braedyn: <waking up too early…AGAIN>
Me: <ready to tell him to go back to bed>
Braedyn: Daddy! Did you hear the birds twittering?
Me: Awwwwwww!
3/2009
Emily: I want to catch a fish.
Me: Fun! You want to be a fisherman?
Emily: No! <indignant> I be Fisher EMILY.
2/2009
Emily: Mommy, can I have a scissor?
Me: You mean scissors? Yes, you can have some scissors.
Emily: No, Mommy. Scissor. Just one.
The following is a conversation between Braedyn and Greg during the bedtime reading of the book, The Nightmare Before Christmas:
Braedyn: Daddy, that dog doesn’t have any legs.
Greg: Right. He’s a ghost dog.
Braedyn: But how does he float?
Greg: He floats because he’s a ghost dog.
Braedyn: But he doesn’t have legs. How does he float?
Greg: He’s a ghost, a ghost dog.
Braedyn: But how does he float?
Greg: He’s a GHOST.
Braedyn: But he doesn’t have any legs. How does he do that?
Greg: It’s magic ghost powers.
Braedyn: <clearly satisfied> Oh. OK.
1/2009
Braedyn: Do flies poop?
Me: Yes. Everything poops.
Braedyn: Only people, fish, birds…and strangers poop.
12/2008
Emily: Daddy, your hair is growing. You have to mow it.
Braedyn: Mommy, can I get Hot Wheels for doing chores again?
Me: I don’t know, Braedyn. I’ll have to think about it. Chores are things you really should do to help out around the house without necessarily getting a toy to do it. I mean, I do a lot around the house all the time and I don’t get rewards for it.
Braedyn: Mommy, I’ll let you have one of my Hot Wheels after you do stuff around the house.
As I opened a gift that included a bottle of wine:
Emily, pointing to the wine: HEY! That’s daddy’s cup!
Me: No. His looks like a box.
Braedyn: Emily, your mom doesn’t have a force field on your planet?
Emily: No, she doesn’t.
Braedyn: Mine does.
Emily: Mommy, I want you to sit in my lap.
Me: You would like me to hold you?
Emily: No. I want you to sit in my lap.
11/2008
Braedyn: When Granny was here last night, she let us have ice cream.
Me: Well that was a special treat!
Braedyn: Yeah, she splitted us.
Me: You mean she spoiled you?
Braedyn: Yeah, she spoiled us.
11/04/2008
Me: Today is an important day in our country. We are going to find out who the next President is. Mommy voted and hopes the person she voted for gets the job.
Braedyn: Yeah, but when Daddy gets home can I show him my new Power Rangers phone?
10/2008
Emily: Mommy, what’s your name?
Me: Susanne.
Emily: What's my name?
Me: Emily.
Emily: What's Braedyn's name?
09/2008
Greg to Emily: Who’s your Daddy?
Emily: Mommy is.
Me: How did you get all that ink on your legs?
Braedyn: I don’t know. It just bounced off the paper onto my legs.
Braedyn after I snuck up on him: Agh!!! You fartled me!
Braedyn: Mommy! Emily is going to tell on me!
Braedyn: EMILY! Be quiet! I can’t hear the lightning with you talking!
08/2008
Braedyn: Mommy, Emily wants an Elmo party on her planet.
Emily: Take a picture of my bones.
Braedyn: I can’t! Your skin keeps getting in the way.
Emily: Mommy, turn off the wind!
Emily: (Covering and uncovering her eyes) Pee poo!
Me: Peek-a-boo!
Emily: Pee poo!
Braedyn: Mommy, when I trick my treat, can I be Batman?
Braedyn: Daddy, I remember when you were a kid.
Emily: Daddy, you’re an old guy.
Braedyn: (While trimming his toes) My big toe is getting old.
Braedyn: Mommy, Emily is taking a long time to grow up.

Oh, Allergies, How I Despise Thee

Posted by She Said

I’m dreading tomorrow. I’d rather go for a Brazilian. Wax, that is. THAT’S how much I am dreading tomorrow.

Tomorrow I take Braedyn to the doctor to “challenge” his allergy to one of the three antibiotics he has reactions to. We may have food allergy issues with Emily, but with Braedyn, we suffer in the allergies to antibiotics department.

Since this is what happens to him with penicillin, we aren’t going to bother challenging its affects on him:

The reason a challenge is even in order is because we are becoming more and more limited on what he can take. The last time a simple sinus infection hit, he ended up getting too much of a very strong antibiotic (one of the few determined he could take) and ended up with C Diff, which suffice it to say is a really gruesome intestinal infection. And I became Doctor Disgusto as I had to take multiple samples for testing. I already knew I didn’t have it in me to be a doctor, but THAT CONFIRMED IT.

This C Diff only has two antibiotics that can beat it. And guess what? Braedyn is allergic to one of those two. And to add insult to injury? He still had the blasted sinus infection at the end of it all!

The challenge consists of giving him a dose of the antibiotic in question and sitting there for four hours while they monitor him. The best case scenario is we walk out of there with one less allergy on his list. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. I’d appreciate it if you’d do the same.

Label Readers UNITE!

Posted by She Said

Every now and again, you need to have a serious post from us, right? RIGHT!? So, I’m going to give in to your need for something snark-free today.

Greg and I have been worried about Emily for a while now. She has had tummy troubles since…well, forever. And what has really worried me over the last couple of years was her level of energy. I’m not even talking about comparing her to Braedyn, ‘cuz let’s face it, not many CAN keep up with that fireball. I’m talking about her choosing to not have a play date because she’s tired. Or lying down on a couch during a play date and simply not playing. Or during a play date, getting up, going to her room, shutting the door, and falling asleep on her bed. I had every reason to believe that her tonsillectomy last December would remedy this, but it didn’t. In fact, it slowly seemed to be getting worse.

And you know me, I worry. I try not to, believe you me! But this time, I couldn’t help it. I had taken her to the doctor several times for her tummy issues and separately several times for her lethargy. A couple of weeks ago, I took her in again. This time, I pulled her doctor out of the room so Emily couldn’t hear, and I laid it all out. All my worries. And he understood and took action. I took her immediately after the appointment for some blood work to test for celiacs, crohns, iron levels, infection, and lastly, food allergies. She was such a sweetheart as the lab tech prepped her for the blood draw. She didn’t struggle in my lap, and she didn’t cry; she just looked up at me and whispered, “Mommy, I’m scared.” And let me tell you, my brave little girl was spoiled rotten after that! I’m talking chocolate from the candy store, two new dresses, and a new bathing suit. Girlfriend, we shopped!

And then I waited. And just to let you know, waiting patiently is not one of my strong suits.

After a little over a week of waiting for results, I finally heard the news. Thankfully, Emily does NOT have celiacs or crohns, nor does she have any infections. I can honestly say I was relieved to hear that Emily “only” has some food allergies. She is allergic to wheat, cow’s milk, egg, and banana.

Then I let all of that sink in. Um, do you remember all of those food stories involving our children while we were in China? And do you remember how picky they are? Especially Emily? Yeah, it hit me that everything Emily eats she is now allergic to.

• macaroni and cheese, Emily’s staple – contains wheat and milk
• cheese – contains milk
• goldfish crackers – contain wheat and milk
• chocolate milk! – um, yeah
• banana – one of the only fruits I could ever get Emily to eat

Thankfully, she’s not allergic to broccoli - the ONLY green thing she’ll eat.

I am lucky enough to have a dear friend that works at Whole Foods, so the day after learning of Emily’s allergies, we went shopping, and she shared with me all of her knowledge. I bought three different types of vegan cheeses, including one parmesan alternative. I bought goat cheddar cheese because her allergies don’t include goat milk. I bought coconut milk and almond milk. I actually found a “macaroni and cheese” that was wheat-free AND dairy-free. Yeah, it actually tasted good, but nothing, nuh-thing, like Kraft.

And I have to give it to Emily, she has been a trooper and has tried it all.

That’s right. My picky little eater has started a whole new culinary adventure at our house, and she’s the captain of the ship. She’s being honest about what she likes and doesn’t like. She’s never been one to complain about being sick (unlike her brother and her dad, ahem), so her willingness to venture into this new culinary world really makes me feel like she is excited about feeling better. I have a lot to learn and many questions to get answered still, but at least we know what we are dealing with.

We should see a difference in about three weeks, so stay tuned.

Backpack? Check. Teeth Brushed? Check.

Posted by She Said

Emily started Kindergarten this week, and she has loved it. She loves the special cubby where her new Hello Kitty backpack goes. She loves her teacher, adoringly known among the parents as “The Kindergartener Whisperer”. And boy, does Emily love the special playground that is just for Kindergarteners.

Even with this excitement for school, getting ready in the morning and out the door has not become any easier on me. Any particular chore in the morning makes me sound like a broken record:

Me: Emily, Braedyn, get your shoes on please. It’s time to go. <me running around collecting backpacks>

Me: Emily. Braedyn. Time to go. Please get your shoes on. <me brushing my own teeth>

Me: It’s time to go!! Get your shoes on! <me making sure lunch and snacks are appropriately packed>

Me: Emily! Braedyn! Get your shoes on! NOW! <me watching my children blow bubbles in the backyard WITHOUT SHOES>

Me: GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON! GET YOUR SHOES ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <me spinning my head, pulling out my hair, and foaming at the mouth>

Good times.

So, once we are at school, Emily picks out the “Kindergarten only” swing with the least amount of bird poop on it, sits, and begs me to push her. I oblige, knowing the time will come when the pumping of legs will render me useless in this task. There I am, lovingly pushing my daughter on the swing on her second day of Kindergarten, and I start to run through the checklist in my head, hoping that I remembered everything in the mad dash out the door.

Backpack? Check.

Teeth brushed? Check.

Snack packed? Check.

Hair done? Check.

I continue to push Emily. She is happy. I am happy. And then as her dress flows up in the breeze…

Underwear on? Oh. Dear. God. Say. It. Isn’t. So. CRAP.

That’s right. My daughter went to school in a dress. Commando.

I let out a mumbled, yet loud, “ohmygodwhatamIgoingtodo?” intermingled with a gasp of epic magnitude. Thankfully, my friend, Emma, came to the rescue. Her oldest of three is in Emily’s class, but the poor middle child, who is only about a year younger than Emily, had her “knickers” taken from her and given to Emily for the day. Crisis averted.

We always knew that Emily had a soft spot in her heart for the Playa, so I blame myself for not double checking her “knicker” status. Trust me, it’s now at the top of my daily checklist.

Well, My Dream of Being a Backup Dancer for Lady Gaga Just Sashayed Off the Dance Floor

Posted by She Said

Oh, I truly believed myself to be a decent dancer. Good even. Sadly though, two things have burst this little fantasy of mine. First, that damn XBox Kinect Dance Central game. Don’t get me wrong, it is a blast. Great songs. Great moves. Great fun.

Until the replay.

Some sick, twisted geek at Microsoft thought it would be funny to let everyone see what they look like during a sped-up replay at the end of the song. Seriously, I did NOT need to see what I look like dancing during a replay. I know I look SO much cooler than that. In my head.

Second, I completed, and not gracefully, a hip hop exercise class at the gym this morning. I was all over the hip rolls, the attitude, and the sashays. That is, until I saw my reflection in one of the twenty hundred billion fifty mirrors emblazoned on every possible hard surface. As I step-tapped left to right while everyone else step-tapped right to left, I had to come to terms with the fact that I. Am. Not. A. Dancing. Queen.

If I were honest though, I could probably look to the way-back, known as my twenties, and discovered this a lot sooner. My friend, John, and I would drive to San Francisco in the wee hours to hit some hard-core thumpin’ dance beats. We’d dance FOR HOURS. Much of my time was spent with my eyes closed, dancing alone, stationed in front of one of the speakers. That’s right. I was THAT cool kid.

But I never, ever got a date out of it.

However, that might have been more due to the fact that the dance floor was filled with shirtless, sweaty gay boys than any misconceived ideas of my cool factor? Maybe I am just out of practice? Maybe I am still that cool kid dancer?

Ahhh, who am I kidding. I’ll give up thinking I’m all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips and just get used to the fact that people may giggle on the dance floor in my near vicinity. So be it.

What the Hell?

Posted by She Said

What the hell has happened to personal responsibility? Seriously. I know there are people out there roaming the streets, just looking for that obviously icy sidewalk to “slip” on, hoping to cash in on a few. Or those that claim they had no idea they could gain a lot of weight from eating too many Big Macs and Super Sized fries and soda. WHAT? You gain weight if you eat lots of crappy food? I’m shocked.

I mostly thought these people existed largely as a means of feeding the sensationalist Interwebs.

Until now.

A friend of mine, she wants to be called Loretta, works in a grocery store, and it is her job to deal with any people that might come in with a complaint, or should I say a “complaint.” <eye roll> Here are some of the things she has heard recently:

I bought this avocado two weeks ago and it rotted.

What the hell? You mean if I don’t eat a piece of fruit, it will go bad!? GASP! That’s just bull. I would demand my money back, fo sho.

I brought in my bag last time, and the checker didn’t give me my bag refund.

What? You mean, if I forget, I can spend two bucks in gas getting back to the store and get my nickel? Oh, hells ya! I’m all over that.

I bought this piece of meat from you, and we cooked it last night, and it was terrible. Here’s my receipt.

Yeah, I got nuthin’ on the cajones it must have taken to actually pull that one off, but someone did. And they got their money back.

People, seriously. Take some responsibility for yourselves. Or I might just start suing your asses for pissing me off.

You are Going DOWN, Grandpa

Posted by She Said

Our family recently joined a gym, and as much as as it surprises me to say it, I am actually enjoying it. Originally it was the variety of programs for the kids that got us to step foot in there in the first place, but now Greg is training for his first 5K. And me? I took full advantage of the FREE month of Pilates given to me, a membership prize, so to speak. Now that my month is up and there is no way in hell I am going to shell out more bucks to continue Pilates, I have now turned to the world of the <free> group classes. My first (and so far only) one was the Body Push class which uses a barbell and weights during its THREE THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED seconds of torture fulfilling and body-bettering exercise.

Luckily, I saw a woman who has a daughter at the same school as my kids heading to the class at the same time, so I tagged along with her and got the scoop on what to expect from the class.

The class was incredible, truly. But it wasn’t the challenge of the class or the collective energy of the group keeping up with the chiseled and humorous instructor that was the most memorable part of my inaugural Body Push.

Nope.

It was the 50-something man behind me asking me if the woman I was talking to when I entered the class was my DAUGHTER.

My daughter? Excuse me, Grandpa?

How <insert expletive of choice here> old do you think I am?

It must have been the daggers darting from my eyes that made him backpedal. Or maybe it was the tone of my answer, “No. We have kids at the same school,” I seethed, spittle and all. Which I am certain made me look even more youthful.

“She looks like she is about 16,” he about-faced.

OK, then, TECHNICALLY I could be her mother.

Shut. Up.

SpaChinglish

Posted by She Said

All right, it is the new year, and nothing like sharing an old story to kick my ass into writing again. So, here goes…

Those of you who have stuck with us for a while now know that our last week in China last year included the flat lining of our only functioning, blog-posting capable computer. No amount of wire hangers weighed down with the perfect amount of clothing could revive it. Trust me, we tried. And tried again.

This really sucked because it was our last week in China, which included our vacation to Xi’an. An incredible week with wonderful friends, it was filled will all sorts of fodder for witty and adventurous posts, like the trip to see the Terra Cotta Soldiers. Yeah, the soldiers were spectacular, but it was the getting there that I am going to tell you about.

Our friends, Lilian and Chang, helped get us all onto a tour bus headed to see the soldiers. As the bus started to head out of town, a young Chinese woman stood at the front of the bus and, using a microphone, began what seemed to us to be a very detailed description of how the tour was going to work. Of course, Greg and I don’t speak Mandarin, so it was only a guess that it was something important about the day’s events because she talked non-stop for at least twenty minutes. TWENTY MINUTES. That’s plenty of time to let your imagination go wild with translation possibilities.

Anyway, after she finished, and my eyes returned to a non-glassed-over state, Greg and I turned to Lilian and Chang in the row behind us and asked, “So, what did she say?”

Chang: She talked about the trip.

Me: How is it going to work?

Chang: I’m not sure.

Me: But we are going to see the Terra Cotta Soldiers, right?

Chang: I think so. We are going to make a stop at the Hot Springs.

Me: Oh! We are going to see something else?

Chang: I’m not sure.

And… queue confusion.

Meanwhile, the two gentlemen sitting across from us were listening intently to our conversation. They appeared to be in their late 30s/early 40s, and one was Chinese, and the other appeared Caucasian. Then the Caucasian guy asked Greg and me a question, making it apparent he was of Spanish decent.

Spanish guy: <in English-as-a-second language> Do you know how the tour works?

Greg: No. We were just trying to figure that out.

Chang: <in English-as-a-second language> We are going to stop at the Hot Springs.

Spanish guy: We don’t have a lot of time today. Do we have to tour the Hot Springs too?

Chang: I don’t know.

Then to make things even more interesting, we found out that Spanish guy’s friend was a Chinese-born Spaniard, whose primary language was Spanish. He had left China at 4-years old, and was completely immersed into the Spanish culture, including Spanish school, thus making Spanish his primary language. However, interestingly enough, while he and his friend were visiting various places in China, his Chinese language skills, not used since he was four, were surfacing in a primitive form. In order to help with the language barrier between Greg and I <English speaking>, and them <Spanish speaking>, he tried talking to Chang and Lilian in Chinese to figure out what was going on with the tour.

Chinese Spaniard: <something in Chinese>

Chang: <something in Chinese>

Chinese Spaniard to Spanish guy: <something in Spanish>

Spanish guy to us: I’m not sure how this is going to work.

Us to Chang and Lilian: <something in English>

Chang to Chinese Spaniard: <something in Chinese>

Chinese Spaniard to Spanish guy: <something in Spanish>

Spanish guy to us: <something in English>

Us: Ah! OK! I think we’ve got it!

We all had a very good laugh about the confusion, but we completely appreciated how a little SpaChinglish could be used to solve a mystery.

 

(Lilian and Chang)

Houdini, Part Freakin’ Two

Posted by She Said

Our dog saga continues, much to my chagrin. Charmin, although her squeezable softness is remarkable, should have been named Tigger due to the freak-of-nature height she reaches in her every jump. We (we being Greg) have lined our fence with an electric wire, which presumably would keep any dog cowering away from the fence in fear of getting shocked. That would be true for any dog that subscribes to the Pavlov theory, and if you haven’t already guess, that would NOT be our dog. She’ll be damned if she is going to let a little jolt stop her from riding along with me as I take the kids to school, attend a birthday party, or even tag along for those once-a-year “fun” check ups.

This, let me assure you, IS. A. BITCH.

Our test run with the fence resulted in me coming home to her terrorizing the construction workers in our expanding neighborhood. The best part? She kept jumping into the back yard of the cookie cutter home that looks just like ours only several doors away. Hey, I never said she was brilliant, just impervious to the powers of conditioning.

As my friend Kerry would say, Oy! I have a headache in my eye!

Gotta love her persistence!

Actually, no I don’t.

Freakin’ Houdini Reincarnated as My Dog

Posted by She Said

Before I am flogged for being a blogger slacker, here’s a summary of my last couple of months that may merit your forgiveness:

• Kids in school – there three times a day for drop offs and pick ups.
• Sell house.
• Pack up house.
• Soccer practices and games.
• Almost move into bane of our existence, aka the condo.
• Get email on the day we are moving into the bane that the sale of it is being “expedited”.
• Decide NOT to move into the bane.
• Frantically find house to rent in the right school zone (not an easy task).
• Find house.
• Track down property manager.
• Soccer practices and games.
• Attend three birthday parties and a BBQ in one weekend!
• Move. One. Van Load. At. A. Time.

OK, can you tell our life has been rather frantic lately? On the upside, we have now been successfully, and I use that term loosely, living in our new house for almost two weeks. As we navigate through school life, work, spelling tests, birthday parties, and boxes, we are trying to find our familial groove again. Apparently Charmin didn’t get the memo. Because instead of just being a nuisance by barking at every moving creature she can spot through the fence like she did at our old house, she has decided to jump it and just go see what it is for herself. Literally. She is jumping our almost 6’ fence.

In an attempt to stop it, we have tried to block the fence.

Didn’t work.

So, we decided to take her to Doggy Day Care, which worked great, but is not practical for every day. So, we bought a “no jump harness” to keep her from being able to extend her legs fully for her full Houdini-like action.

Yeah, that looks easy to put on a dog that won’t sit still, doesn’t it? Houdini could have used one of these contraptions in his act and wowed everyone. After Greg exercised every brain cell getting it on Charmin this morning, we all successfully went on our way. Greg to work. Me to carpool kids to school and to pick up a pizza to have after a late soccer practice tonight. After a successful drop off of kids and a quick run into the store, Emily and I drove home. TO FIND CHARMIN IN OUR DRIVEWAY. AGAIN. After the fume coming from my ears cleared, I could see the neck part of the contraption was still attached to her, but the rest of it was dragging between her legs. I guess Houdini has found a way to wow everyone after all. By coming back reincarnated as my dog. Lucky me.

Moments after getting Emily, Charmin, and the pizza successfully into the house, our not-quite-working doorbell eked out a pathetic chirp. Unsure of whether someone was actually at the door or not, I opened it to find our local friendly Animal Control. Welcome to the neighborhood! Dog ownership doesn’t get much better than this, folks. Let me tell you.

 

Dammit, Charmin. Quit looking so cute.