McMorons

We had to drive to the next town over to sign some tax forms in order to complete our return this year. As soon as Greg got off of work at noon, we piled in the car to head out. In order to minimize the trauma of an early afternoon strapped in a car seat, we decided to take the kids for a fast food lunch. They could eat it in the car during the drive, and when they were finished could stare quizzically at and question the meaning of useless toys given to them with their meal. “But what does it DO, Daddy?” Your guess is as good as mine, kiddo.

Our little playa girl doesn’t like the meat in cheeseburgers, so we always order her a cheese sandwich with ketchup. Today was no different. Our conversation through the drive-through went something like this:

“One kids meal with a cheese sandwich, ketchup only, fries, and an apple juice.”

“So, no meat?”

“Yes, that’s correct. No meat. Just cheese and ketchup.”

I paid at the first window, thinking this was an oddly expensive trip through the drive-through, but we were in a hurry to sign our lives away at the Tax Depot, so I just paid it. I paid the guy who didn’t even respond when I said “hello” to him. I always LOVE that.

I pull up to collect our food (if that’s what you call it) and notice right away that there is an extra deluxe burger in the bag. I explain that we didn’t order that many burgers, so please take the extra one back. But the lady just looked at me like I was an idiot, because it in fact wasn’t an “extra” burger considering we had PAID FOR IT. I insisted that we did not order it, nor did we need it, so they took it back and gave me the three bucks and change I had paid for it.

Then, we drive away. Greg’s doling out food, drinks, and cheap ass toys to the kids, and I’m driving toward our tax destiny. That’s when Greg discovered Emily’s sandwich was wrong. What did we get instead of cheese and ketchup on a bun? A hamburger. No cheese. No ketchup. Just meat on a bun.

Of course we were practically back on the highway, but I did an illegal U-turn to take it back to get the right thing for our picky little eater. Greg runs in to the joint to get it corrected, assuming he’d get the right thing if he stood there and asked for it in person. Here is how his conversation went:

“This burger isn’t what we ordered. We asked for a cheese sandwich with ketchup only. No meat.”

“So, you want just cheese and ketchup. No meat.”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“OK.” Then he turns to holler the order to someone else, who in turn repeats the correct order request back to him.

Greg gets back to the car with a new sandwich in a bag. He opens it up to give it to Emily, and what do we get THIS TIME? A cheeseburger with ketchup. Holy McMorons, REALLY? At least he could peel off the meat and leave the cheese with this burger flub. He turned to Emily and said, “Here’s the right sandwich, Emily, because I MADE IT.”

Golden arches? More like golden pain in the ass.

Three Things

There are days when I wonder where my children get some of their habits and traits from. The next three things however are no mystery. Emily gets them FROM HER FATHER.

First, her eating habits, such as drinking ranch through a straw:

Second, her addiction to hummus:

And third, my personal favorite, the career choice:

What can I say? Like father, like daughter.

Um, Who Am I Again?

For almost four years now, I have focused most of my energy toward raising my children. During that time, I have learned a tremendous amount about parenting – discipline techniques that work and those that don’t, what green goop or red bumps are manageable and which ones are worthy of a trip to the pediatrician’s office, which cries mean drop everything and run to a child and which ones are just a ruse. I have learned ways to try and teach a four year old the concept of context – you can pick your nose in your room but not at the restaurant, you can joke about toots with your Daddy but not at the dinner table. I’m in no way a perfect parent, but I do strive to give my children the tools they will need to grow up with the critical skills necessary to make good choices in their lives.

So, during these last four-ish years, I have simultaneously learned some things about myself and lost a few things about myself. I’ve learned that I really do enjoy writing. My high school creative writing teacher always knew I’d never end up as an engineer as I had meticulously planned. If only I could find her so she could waggle her finger at me and say, “I told you so!”

I feel I have also lost some of my identity. With each iterative cleaning of the kitchen, changing of a diaper, breaking up a sibling fight, I have lost a bit of my previous identity and replaced it with one of “parent”. This isn’t a bad thing, but my life has been a bit out of balance lately, leaning a little too heavily on the “parent” side of things and not focusing enough on myself – my creative needs, my interests.

I am working on rebalancing my life. I am trying to do more for myself. This has become much easier now that the kids are a little bit older and no longer need the infinite and always present wisdom of my body language/cry/tantrum translation skills to see that their every basic need is met. What I have learned about this rebalancing act is that it is a very personal process. There are mothers and fathers out there that can be a nurturing being 24 hours a day; it oozes from their perfectly patient and giving pores, and they don’t require “get-away” time for themselves. This is not me. Do I wish it were? No, not really. What I wish for is a balance of the person I was before choosing to stay home with the kids with the person I have become. And to me, my children will benefit greatly from seeing their mother do things for herself. Being away from them for a while will teach them self-confidence. It’s a win-win all around.

These are some of the things I have done to bring balance to my life:

I joined a gym. I don’t go as often as I should though, shhhhh!

I joined a supper club.

I have invited people and families over to our house that I want to spend more time with.

I have a book club. It’s one night a month out where I get to discuss books that don’t always have pictures or a superhero in them.

I blog. Again, I don’t do it as often as I’d like, but pfffft.

And lastly, with the help of my friend, Amy, I now have two half days a month where I can drop the kids off at her house and do whatever the hell I want to do. In return, she gets two half days a month to drop off her daughter and go do whatever the hell she wants to do.

Today was the first day of this pilot program, and there was only one problem. I didn’t know what to do with my free four hours! Last night Greg asked me, “Well, what do you always wish you had time to do but don’t?” I couldn’t answer this question because I hadn’t thought about it since, well, forever. Don’t get me wrong, Greg is awesome at kicking me out in the evenings to go to the gym, encouraging me to go have a drink with a friend once in a while, and for putting up with my weekly early Saturday morning garage saling. This time is different though – it’s during the day! There won’t be anyone waiting for me to get home! There’s no agenda!

Should I go to a movie?

Should I go salivate over house stuff while wandering through The Home Depot?

Should I go to a coffee shop, sprawl out at a table, and brainstorm freelance writing ideas with my new copy of Writer’s Market?

Should I go pick a new paint color for our glaringly white master bedroom?

Should I volunteer somewhere for a few hours?

I opted to get stuff done around the house that I just can’t ever seem to carve out time for. I finished up a burdensome amount of filing, emptying an eye sore of a catch-all bin in our bedroom. I moved my dusty and never used scrapbooking table from our bedroom into our spare bedroom. So, there. I am two big steps closer to turning our bedroom into the retreat I desperately want it to be.

Maybe I’ll get better at figuring out what I would like to do with my free time once I’ve had a little more practice.  Now that is a challenge I completely welcome.

I Wanna Be A Rock Star

I already have the attitude.  Checkout the facial expression around 37 seconds.

Mental Arm Wrestling

I think everyone in our family is a bit out of sorts due to a couple of things that have happened over the last few days. First, on a whim we drove to the coast FOR THE DAY. Not for the weekend. FOR THE DAY. It was truly awesome! There is nothing like the sounds of the waves crashing and the smell of the ocean air. We loved playing on the very chilly beach for a few hours, and I loved racing through IKEA for a half hour on a break during the drive back. A half hour race through IKEA should be its own blog entry, being the major feat that it is and all. To get to the coast, we had to drive five hours there and five hours back, which included a shortcut through a scary neighborhood and a drive past San Quentin. And no, interestingly enough, those are not one in the same. So, to sum up, it was a great day, but a long and tiring day.

The second thing that happened is Daylight Savings Time. In college I despised “spring forward” and longed for the extra hour that came with “fall back”. However, as a mother of small children, the reverse is true. We still put the kids down at the same time, but they lie in bed and toss and turn for that extra hour before finally going to sleep. The glorious part is they finally sleep until 7 a.m. instead of that horrendous 6 a.m., giving us that much sought after extra hour of sleep. However, the time change gets us all out of whack. The extra light in the evenings is fabulous, but the kids are like, “You want me to go to bed? Now? Say what? The sun is still up. You’re crazy, lady.” To which I reply, “Why, yes, yes I am. And I have you guys to thank for that. Now, hurry up, American Idol is about to start.”

Today we had a great play date at our house, and when it was over it was time for our daily ritual of quiet time. Emily finally hit her emotional wall with all the excitement and changes over the last few days and was a complete shrieking mess when I asked her to brush her teeth. I know, I’m just so mean. There was no reasoning with her. There was no threatening her with the fear of sugar bugs rotting her teeth. There was no getting a word in edgewise. BECAUSE THE GIRL HAS A SET OF LUNGS ON HER Janet Leigh would have gone psycho for. After she hit me, I told her she wasn’t going to get a story before quiet time, to which she replied with more shrieks. I put her to bed and hung out right outside her door. She’d get out of bed, and I’d put her back. She’d get out again, and I’d put her back. All the while she is screaming at the top of her lungs how she wants a story.

AN HOUR LATER, she finally caved that she wasn’t going to get a story. I sung her the ABCs and Twinkle Little Star, and she told me she was sorry for being mad at me.

And thus, I emerge victorious from the mental arm wrestling today. Both kids are asleep, and I get to blog about it. Lucky you.

Butterflies Molt – Economy Doesn’t Recover

I was hoping when these little guys were “born” into the world it would dawn a new day like they would in a movie.  A metaphor for a new beginning.  But alas, they spread their wings and the world economy is still stuttering, wars rage on and nothing changes.

But I will tell you something.  They sure are fun to watch, and they put smiles on these little faces.  Maybe that’s enough.

From 3-4-2009

I LOVED It! But Not for the Prices.

I am constantly being guilted by some of my friends because of my not so politically correct shopping choices which happen to provide the best prices. OK, WalMart. There. I said it. I shop at WalMart. Oh, and it has ruined me something fierce.

I would love to find someplace else to shop where the weight of the evil mega corp isn’t pressing down on my soul, where I would get the thumbs up approval from my well-meaning and awesome friends, and where the prices are equally as alluring as those I have sadly become accustomed to at EvilMart. In my search, I have tried several places. First, Winco. People RAVE, seriously RAVE, about Winco! I hear, “I LOVE Winco!” or “I drive all the way to your side of town JUST to go to that Winco!” Apparently the planets haven’t been aligned properly when I go because I. HATE. WINCO. I don’t like the overcrowded long aisles or the über crabby shoppers. And frankly, the price is NOT right.

Which leads me to today, to yet another attempt to wiggle free of the gripping claws of the evil mega corp. I had a significant amount of grocery shopping to do, so I thought I would try someplace new (to me), Sac N Save. I’m a bargain hunter through and through, which is why overpriced places like Safeway and Raley’s just don’t do it for my thrifty self. I thought the little bit of extra gas to get there would be worth the kick-ass discounts I would find. And plus, I’d RATHER bag my own groceries, thank you very much. I blame my slight case of OCD for that.

OK, so some of my observations may make me seem like some middle-class, privileged white lady, but just know they are just that, observations. Or just go ahead and think that I’m some middle-class, privileged white lady. Fine. Whatever.

First observation, I arrive in the parking lot to find many taxis waiting outside. Interesting! I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many taxis in one place in this town that wasn’t an airport or a casino.

Second observation, the produce was priced to sell! Hot damn I was happy about that! Unfortunately not a whole lot else lived up to my EvilMart pricing. Boo-hoo.

Third observation, the merchandise was eye-brow raising. I have never seen a larger selection of Catholic style candles for sale in one place. Seriously, I felt like the entire Bible was there to represent. And they were scattered throughout the store too, like they were watching me.

Lastly, and OH MY GOD, the clientele. First, there was the family of five with the patriarch using every four letter word in several languages around his young children. He was doing this extremely casually, so apparently it was no big deal to him or his kin.  Interesting! Then there was hacker lady 1 and hacker lady 2. Cover your mouths already! Hacker lady 2 was so horrendous I swear I saw bits of lung flying out of her mouth with every cough. She looked like she had been smoking (something) since she was two, so her coughing was most likely a result of that, but just in case I held my breath as I passed through the air space previously fouled by her. I didn’t want to come home with greatly priced Red Delicious apples AND a case of Black Lung Disease.

But the clincher for me today was the a woman I saw in the produce section as I was leaving. In order to visualize her, please take this mohawk (only a little shorter and completely white):

With something like this skull tattoo:

And put it on this body:

I’m so not kidding. Mohawk, tattoo sporting granny looked like one not to mess with. And honestly if I thought the guy she was with wasn’t capable of breaking my kneecaps with his pinky, I would have whipped out my phone and taken a picture. I couldn’t have been sneaky about it either. I already risking being caught as a looky-lou with my glaringly obvious gaping mouth and bulging eyes.

So, did I find my new grocery stomping grounds? Sadly, no. The price just wasn’t right. Did I completely enjoy myself today? Absolutely! I mean what’s not to love about a sale on Red Delicious apples and grandmas sporting tattoos on their mohawk-laden heads?

It’s Quiet Time

Last week we had a rather unpleasant experience, the repercussions of which are still lingering for me. I made an appointment to take the dogs to get their vaccinations on Presidents Day. I was surprised they were open but was also thrilled because this meant GREG COULD TAKE THEM on his day off. Why is it such a big deal that Greg take them instead of me? Oh, well, let’s see. I just couldn’t bear taking all the fun for myself! I just had to share. I mean, come on! How much fun is this:

1. Get two kids into the car. (A major feat on most days alone.)
2. Wrangle two dogs into the same car. And, oh, did I mention neither of them really like the car?
3. Back out of the driveway, and just get the car into drive before smelling that gawd-awful smell of dog poop because Charmin FREAKS OUT in a moving car and loses her bowels EACH AND EVERY TIME. (Just ask Greg about trip home from the animal shelter.)
4. Listen to the kids complaining, whining, and crying about the poop smell.
5. Roll down the windows IN THE MIDDLE OF WINTER to aid with the smell.
6. Listen to the kids complaining, whining, and crying about how cold they are.
7. Drive while keeping your fingers crossed that the dogs aren’t leaving poop footprints all over the back of the car.
8. Arrive at the vet’s office.
9. Carefully and slowly open one side door of the van so that no dogs can escape.
10. One dog does try to escape and succeeds in putting a not-so-great-smelling paw print on your freshly laundered jeans, the ones you usually get three or four wears out of.
11. Get both dogs out of the car with a firm grip on their leashes with the one hand that isn’t trying to unbuckle the kids.
12. Do a little dance because both dogs and both kids are out of the car.
13. Open the door to the vet’s office and have Koko turn into Captain Contortionist and somehow gets her big head through her collar as she backs up like Speedy Gonzales on hot pavement. And escapes.
14. Get kids and the one non-contortionist (but trying to be) dog into the vet and ask tell the staff to watch them. Please.
15. Whistle and say “Koko! Come here sweetie!” so sweetly through gritted teeth to try and coax her back to you.

So, being the thoughtful and giving person I am, I thought I’d share in the fun with Greg. Oh, but I’d lend a helping hand and keep the kids at home. At least there would be four less feet to worry about leaving poop prints in the car.

Greg, being the gracious dog-lover he is, agreed to take the dogs for their check-up. To sum up the beginning of the trip: poop in car, escaped dog in parking lot, poop and pee in vet’s office. See? How fun is this?

Oh, then the thing that has been gnawing at me for the last week and a half happened. Koko bit the vet. Koko, the docile one. Koko, the one who we knew we wanted to adopt right away when we saw her just look back and do nothing at the kid who ran over her tail with his tricycle. Koko, my favorite. Koko. The vet wasn’t even touching her at the time, but as he started to reach to her stomach, she gave no warning and just turned and bit. Our poor vet was upset. Yes, he had been bitten, thankfully not bad enough for stitches, but it was the third time in a week. He was a little grouchy about it. Occupational hazard, I suppose.

When Greg got home and told me what had happened, I was completely devastated. And I cried. A lot. For in my mind, she had to go. HAD. TO. GO. After all, I did not want a dog who could do that, maybe next time to one of our kids, in our house.

Greg and I have always been of the belief that we would never keep a dog that bit. BUT. But what if she was so terrified of the entire experience that her natural survival instincts kicked in? It seems plausible and most likely possible that the wrangling into the car, the chase through the parking lot, the dragging into the vet’s office, the being hefted up onto the examination table, and the crazy plethora of scents in the room made her panic. And bite.

Koko is still here, and I’ve started to pet her again. I seriously started to detach myself from her for several days after this happened. Keeping her but not leaving her alone with the kids is completely impractical. I mean, seriously. I have the bladder the size of a thimble and am always running to the bathroom. I’d have more accidents on our floors than the kids AND the dogs combined if I had to run to the door and let them outside first each time. Am I watching Koko’s actions around the kids more? Absolutely. Have we taught the kids not to hug her? YES! Am I still agonizing over this? *Sigh*

I will undoubtedly continue to worry. It IS me we’re talking about after all. But during this agonizing process, I am enjoying moments like these:

I mean, just look at those two. A quiet time. Indeed.

But I Want One!

While I was out garage saling (yes, it IS a verb) last Saturday, the first for this season, Greg took the kids to get donuts and to get himself a much needed Saturday morning cuppa joe. As is the case on many a weekend morn, getting the kids into their clothes and out of their pajamas and into the car and out of the house is A. MAJOR. FEAT.

To relish in the achievement of getting two dressed children strapped in their car seats, Greg did what every father wanting to enjoy the peace would do and drove to the furthest Starbucks possible, which required him to drive through some older parts of our downtown. The destination is a Starbucks that is in a building that used to be a fire station, and the architecture is really cool. However many of the businesses leading up to it, well, let’s just say they are a tad eyebrow raising, especially to inquisitive young minds. For example, the building directly across from the furthest possible Starbucks from us is a strip club. A few doors down from that is the hottest piercing place in town. And yet even a few more doors down there are several, at least three, tattoo parlors.

Braedyn has a mind like a steel trap; he forgets NOTHING; and he will often relentlessly question something you’ve said until you are making up a story in an attempt to make the answer one you think he’ll find acceptable. Kind of like the time he kept asking me how Hot Wheels were made. He really didn’t like the boring but truthful answers I gave him like: machines make them, they are made in factories, the cars are designed on a computer, machines put all the pieces together. Yeah, none of this worked for him, so I finally told him that little tiny people made them and that’s how they got all those tiny pieces together so perfectly. That answer appeased his unrelenting inquiry, and he stopped the firing of questions my way. Phew. It wasn’t until months later when we were all in the car and Braedyn started talking about the little people that were building the Hot Wheels that Greg gave me the stink eye, and I had to confess that there were no little people that made Hot Wheels. This seemed to be a tad disappointing to Braedyn, but he quickly moved on to something else TO. OBSESS. ABOUT.

So on this fine day as they travelled to the furthest possible Starbucks, Greg made the observation that there were quite a few more tattoo parlors downtown than he remembered there being. His mistake was making this observation OUT LOUD. With all of the kids “tattoos” that are available these days, everywhere from the place they get their haircuts to birthday party gift bags to their stockings at Christmas, Braedyn, in true unrelenting form, started in on how he wanted to get a tattoo. Greg did said no, in case there were any question, but Braedyn wouldn’t let up. Over and over again he declared he wanted a tattoo! Um, no. No. And no. He didn’t like the answer he was getting over and over again AT ALL but the arrival at Starbucks finally distracted him. For now.

That night over dinner, Greg was telling the story of their morning adventure and I proudly boasted about my kick-ass garage sale finds. Once Braedyn heard the word tattoo during Greg’s recounting of the morning, he once again declared that he wanted one! He even mustered up a big lower lip and down turned mouth to help plead his case.

Greg looked at me like, “Agh. Make it stop.” And I was all, duh, “Did you tell him they use NEEDLES when getting a real tattoo?” Greg, light bulb ablaze over his head, “No! No, I didn’t.” And then to Braedyn he said, “Buddy, they use NEEDLES when putting on real tattoos. Did you still want to get one?” If you listen hard enough, you might still hear the reverb of the sound of his head shaking so feverishly that very moment.

So, for the time being, my kids are rebels in their own right, just without the needles, thank you very much.

Moyle Family Has The Worms

Ok, they aren’t worms per say, and we don’t have them in a bad way.

Emily received a Butterfly Habitat for Festivus and we received the caterpillars in the mail sometime over a week ago.  I have to say I was shocked at how TINY they were.  I mean we are talking a grain of rice.  Well, in a matter of days they have ballooned to an incredible size and now they look as though they are settling in for a long winters nap.  Ok, maybe a short one in a chrysalis.

From 2-18-2009