Saturday, April 26

What the hell?

This creepy ad was in the new Better Homes and Gardens:

I'm fine with Bigfoot movin' in on the housewife, but WHAT THE FUCK is up with those dwarves? And the racoon worshiping the pink polo?

Creepy, I tell you.

Thursday, April 24

Bullets a la CRSE

  • Little O has been counting down to the 23rd for weeks, having decided it was Floaty's Pink and Purple Rainbow's birthday. I convinced her that the large Dora cake she thought Floaty (c'mon, who am I kidding?) would like might scare him/her (it's a fish--who can tell?), and maybe we could buy the brightly colored mini cupcakes, instead? She agreed and set a tiny mound of pink whipped crisco next to the fish all night, slowly taking licks on Floaty's behalf until it was gone. (It was Norm's B-day over at the CRSEUM, too---happy day, buddy!)
  • She came charging down the hall the other night demanding the "bug slapper" to get the mosquito in her bedroom. I don't know why that cracks me up so much, but it totally does.
  • Big O, in a fit of madness, decided that his bangs were driving him nuts, grabbed them and hacked them off while over at his dad's house. After letting him wander town like Frakenstein for a few days, I took him to see what they could do, but there was no salvaging the shaggy skater look he'd been working so long for. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.
  • Anyone out there have rabbit ears on the TV? Wondering about the whole Digital thing? I have no answers for you. But the Honey bought a new TV from a desperate salesman at the dealership (yes, sales ARE that slow) and wow. Just wow. Did you know they are hiding extra channels?
  • On that note, isn't it expensive to hire a 24 hour meteorologist type? Because each of the local major network affilliates also runs it's own HD weather channel. ALL THREE of you? Nobody thought maybe NEWS or LOCAL INTEREST or SOMETHING? I didn't really need one Weather Channel. Now I have three.
  • But wow. I've been able to put the Honey off about cable for another two years at least based upon the picture we get now.

That's all I've got, kids.

Tuesday, April 22

I drive by this bus every day.

I thought I'd share with y'all.
Posted by Picasa

Hey LUUUUCEEEEEEEEE, FREEEEEEED--well helloooooo Ethel!

You know, we have early prime time for our CBS affilliate.
The Honey and I have discovered that we can watch CSI:Miami if we agree to mock David Caruso.  I can enjoy the mystery but we both enjoy the bad impressions.  Last night my eyes just about popped out of my head.  CBS has a new show coming out.  It's like That 70's Show, but it's all about the swinging parents.  It's called Swingtown!
Isn't that why we have cable?  Or, more to my point, why I DON'T have cable?  My twelve year old's head is gonna explode from the ads alone!  This is going to screw up every birds and bees speech I've ever thought out. 
Ricky and Lucy couldn't sleep in the same bed.  Now they're joined by Fred and Ethel? 
Don't get me wrong, I have some wild friends.  Some in bloglife and some in the real world.  But no one I know flaunts their choices in front of their kids.  Now CBS is flaunting it in front of EVERYBODY'S kids.   
Grrrr..   Grrrr...  Grrrr...  

Saturday, April 19

Avast, me hearties...(Central Valley style?)Odale, vatos!

If you know me in real life, try not to stare.

I'm not recreating my hilarious turn as the pirate of Big Dog, I've got motherfucking Habanero Eye.

What, you ask, is Habanero eye?

It's when you rub your tender, delicate, optical type area with the hand that only for the briefest moment touched the unbroken skin of the hottest member of the chile family. Because my homemade chicken noodle soup is not hot enough for the Honey, and I was going to beat him if he added tabasco again. You want hot? I'll give you hot!

Turns out I gave myself hot, too.

Hopefully I won't be squinting like a pirate by monday. Or I could put a corn cob pipe in my mouth and be Popeye. I like spinach...

Wednesday, April 16

It's a multi-purpose post!

So today is Kal's birthday. All he wanted for his birthday was a little linky love. I can do that.

So tonight, let's open the door on my wee blog party with the writers. People who just take my breath away with the way they put it all together.

In honor of his birthday,Kal from Trauma Queen is first.

Now, I come from an EMS family (search the tags for daddi-o), and Kal's work posts are stunning. But beyond the EMS stuff, he's an extraordinary storyteller. His two and three part posts kill me. Happy Birthday Kal! Have fun in the 'copter!

The first writer I read online who just mesmerized was
Pendullum. She seldom posts anymore, but everything she writes is worth the wait.

The next two writers sneak up on me. They write about everyday things and it ought to be straightforward. But Sayre and Maria could write directions for Jiffy biscuits and compel me to read to the end. It's about family and the value of those everyday moments and special days.

For hysterical takes on the madness of family life, nobody beats Crystal McKnob over at Boobs, Injuries and Dr. Pepper. She's going through some dark stuff right now, but I am sooo taking notes for Big O's future...

I was going to stop with the writers, but I can't NOT mention Kim, who got me started on this whole blogging thing. I want Kimmy to meet Sam. Sam has a story of her own, and some of you may remember that I was convinced Sam was going to turn out to be a shill for the HPV vaccine, because no child that had gone through so much would have the wherewithal and eloquence to write like she did. A year or more later, I freely admit I was wrong. I think Sam needs a Kimmy in her life, but Maria would also do her some good. On the other hand, Ash would set that nasty Aunt Elaine straight in about three seconds. I'd love to watch.

Argh. This is only half of my blog party, but I'm dragging, here. The person in charge of Blogtations really needs to find CRSE at this thing, for her tags alone, nevermind basking in the genius that is the CRSEUM.

On a totally unrelated note?

I discovered something about myself and others like me that only the fashion world knew before. Apparently fat girls luuuuvs us some butterflies.

EVERY.FUCKING.SHIRT. Everything had butterflies on it. Now, I actually own a couple of butterfly things. I bought them because they were out of character for me, but very springy and pretty. I stand by those two items, but two is really the upper most limit for butterfly laden apparel. Every Shirt? You couldn't change it up with, say, Jeez, I was going to suggest a different bug, but how about we just leave the things alone? or a halfway decent floral? Just because we're big doesn't mean we're only available for teaching preschool or quilting bees--because seriously? They had the bad denim shirt with the appliques, and the banded botttom ones, too. The appliques? Butterflies. May I say that nothing looks better on a fat lady than a banded bottomed shirt riding up over her midsection to expose her elastic waisted pants. I'm thirty-seven, not seventy-three. I am SO going over to Manolo for the Big Girl to stare longingly at clothes I STILL can't afford, even though they are all about the bargains.

Ahem. Sorry.

More blog party tomorrow, folks.

Wednesday, April 9

Picture day.

Little O was just spun about what to wear and how to do her hair.
She changed her mind that morning and wanted ballerina hair-- that normally requires wet hair, and we were out of time.
As we were driving to preschool, little tufts of hair were already escaping her bun.
When I picked her up, she looked like a tornado had hit her.  Hairpins were dangling from the bun that had become misshapen like a little overbaked cupcake plopped on top of her head. 
I was dreading those pictures. 
Can I tell you how cute she was?
We got our proofs yesterday and she just rocked it.  I guess all that America's Next Top Model really paid off...
Now I just have to sell a kidney to pay for them.

Tuesday, April 8

When DON'T you speak out of your Ass, Jennifer?

Okay, watching PBS later at night is never good for my brain.

Or it's very good.

Or I am confused.

or not.

Childhood bipolar diagnosises? IS that even how you'd spell that? On Frontline they were talking about the four thousand percent increase in bipolar diagnoses of children since someone noticed the similarities in symptoms between bipolar and ADHD cases. NO, that was not a jenism, they said four THOUSAND percent. Well, if it hadn't existed before, I could see it being a big number, but MAN.

I admit, I am talking out of my ass, the second most uneducated individual not currently an elected official. When I went to school, I studied fun things like writing, and early childhood education. I am not a fan of more meds in general. But I'm also not Tom Cruise. There really can be better living thru chemistry (That was a real book title, by the way). But anti psychotic drugs for four year olds? Two year olds?

I am not speaking, however, from that rare state of bliss, parent of the perfect child, straight A student, everything was NOT super peachy keen throughout my baby's life.
Big O was an intense child.
He still can be.

But when he was two, three, four, it was ROUGH, people. We had a battery of tests to see if he was autistic, if there was something we could pinpoint to make his life easier. He did not warm up to everyone, he threw magnificent, horrific tantrums, and let me tell you, it wasn't for lack of spanking. That was tried, too. They just pissed him off more.

I read a book when he was about four, I think it was called the Highly Explosive Child (?), and while the kids in the book were older, it really described him so well. It was so on point compared to other books I had read. The book offered solutions and strategies to help cope with these behaviors, but there was one problem- The book said, basically, that we should always offer Big O choices, to give him some sense of control, and avoid any situations where he might explode. By giving him whatever it was that he wanted. Anyone seeing the flaw?

Life doesn't work that way. Several of the strategies were useful and saved my ever-loving sanity. But a lot of it was, um, crap. My role as a parent/mentor/guide-- whatever you'd like to call it-- is to help my beautiful boy get ready for the rest of his life, dealing with the rest of the world, which doesn't always offer choices. Sometimes it just hands you a big bowl of shit and tells you to eat up.

His school was okay about his issues at the beginning, but as he got a little older and became more resistant to authoritarian commands they got fed up quick. The fact that he's big for his age just exacerbated the issue. My third grader got asked to leave his school and all of his friends.

I wonder, if I had been offered those magic pills would I have given them to him? Because his grades? Rotten, but I blame myself and his father for not instilling the study skills he needs. He struggles. But I sure love the kid he's become. I wouldn't change him. I do not judge the mom of that four year old I saw on TV, because I was the mom of a four year old a whooole lot like hers. But I'm sad for her. What if she misses out on a kid like mine?

We'll talk about horrifying effects of untested drug regimens on tiny bodies on another post. You may have guessed my opinion.

The other day I got an email from someone that I adore, but have lost touch with. She asked me why I hadn't ever told her how much FUN she'd have being a mom. Gawd, that killed me. Because to me, I gushed about my kid. I had to consciously refrain from talking about him nonstop. He was(is) magic. Even throughout the exhausting drama of tantrums, night terrors, and pure chaos, Big O was my everything--easily the best thing that ever came of my meeting his father (Big O's aunties are also a glorious gift, though).

I sometimes wish the Honey could understand how far my boy has come. He sees those flare ups of temper and sullen moods as huge disrespectful slaps in the face. Having lived through true drama, I write a lot more of it off to the hormonal tidal wave that is hitting Big O. I worry more about his small circle of friends and the bitter cold loneliness of being different in junior high. I feel the need to give him a lot of leeway emotionally because I was a lonely kid, too. But I always had a best girlfriend and I just don't know how boys function. Does he NEED a best friend like I did? His dad's life is such a yo-yo course of ups and downs, and it seems like he's been walking the dog on a low patch for quite a while now (whew--that was a yo-yo reference that just fell totally flat, wasn't it?). My boy needs me to be up for him. I'm not saying I'm blind to his faults, or that I have no expectations of him, but there has to be a place of balance. Somewhere between military school and walking him into junior high every day and reciting his affirmations together.

Sunday the Honey figured out why I don't blog as much anymore. It's because he's home at night now, and I'm not alone. He's right. But I'll make time for this, eke it out of my day somewhere, because it was really nice to have this chat with you. I've missed it.

m'kay, now I'm creeping MYSELF out. or sleep. something like that.

Thursday, April 3


I've been away. Still reading, just not writing.

Remind me to tell you about the quinceanera that I will be selling body parts to help pay for.

Or the Honey's (super secret) birthday plan.

Or the Nazi usher at the Wiggles Live.

Or Little O's picture day hair.

I still want to talk about my blog party (I think it's time for another one, but my gawd, I can barely POST anything, let alone host a link fest.)

Or Big O's musical education...

yeah. soon.

just not tonight.

I suck, but not in a way that would make the Honey any happier. (When is steak and BJ day again?)