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.

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.

I drive by this bus every day.

I thought I'd share with y'all.

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...  

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...

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.

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.

 

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. Must.get.life. or sleep. something like that.

Sorry.

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.
again.

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

Happy Rabbits!

My heart broke just a little this weekend.

 

Big O has decided he's too old for Eggs.

 

He was very sweet to his sister, he wasn't surly and "too cool", just told her she would have more fun than he would. 

 

He didn't want to dye eggs with us Saturday night, and didn't want to hunt the eggs on Sunday. 

 

He helped Little O find eggs when she was stuck, but didn't want to hunt them himself. 

 

My boy really IS turning into a teenager.  Right down to the desperately needs a haircut.

 

(sob!)

I need your help, friends!

So my twelve year old boy, light o' my life and the one that I lectured about classic rock while he was still in the womb, can totally kick my ass on guitar hero.

I bought him guitar hero in hopes of breaking the Pokemon fascination, and giving him something to connect to kids his own age. Well, Pokemon is not entirely gone, but GH is definitely IN. My happiness is only compounded by the fact that most of the GH songs are, in fact, kick ass, and far far away from the dreck I was afraid of my children getting into. (Little O may yet be my corporate-generated-band-of-the-week girl, but I will fight it for as long as I can...)

SO here's my dilemma. Big O has loaded his MP3 with the songs from the game. He has come to me, mortified, at the lyrics to one of the Rage Against the Machine songs, and confessed that he thinks I would not like it if I knew he was listening to it. (tee hee--Love my O) I want to build him a library of CLASSIC, EPIC albums that he should be familiar with.

Please, if you are normally a lurker, leave me something in the comments.

I started a debate in the office as to whether I should give him The Wall, or Dark Side of the Moon, or if Pink Floyd is just Smokin' music and I should keep it as far away from him as possible.

Which Rush album (can I pick 2, pleeease?)

In terms of a twelve year old, don't you think WAR would be more appealing than Joshua Tree?

Bob Marley, the Doors, even the Beatles can be greatest hits albums. But what MODERN albums belong (Other than Nevermind by Nirvana)? I would think Green Day would have to be in there--Are the Beastie Boys just an 80's sentimental favorite or a noteworthy reference?

Is it evil of me to make him write a report on each of these bands over the summer, one a week, as punishment for crappy grades? Mom's Version of summer school, since I WENT to summer school when I was a kid, and I know that he would meet all the WRONG kids and bond with them and become the central valley pre-teen I've been raising him NOT to be? Did that even make sense to you?

Help me, people-- give me your recommendations for a well rounded rock education.

Wednesday Hero

Sgt. Steve Morin Jr.
34 years old from Arlington, Texas
111th Engineer Battalion, 36th Infantry Division, Texas Army National Guard
September 28, 2005


From the time he finished high school, Sgt. Steve Morin Jr. made serving in the military his career.

"He always stood up for what he thought was right," Gwendolyn Michelle Morin, his wife, said. "He was a fighter. He would never give up." "He had called me to let me know what he was going to do that day," she said. He expected to be able to call her more often because of the missions he was being assigned. Sometimes they would go 11 or 12 days between calls.

Morin enlisted in the Navy after graduating high school in his hometown of Brownfield, Texas at 17. By 34, Morin had devoted 14 years to the Navy, served in the National Guard for two and planned to attend Officers Candidate School. Morin was still in the Navy when he met his wife. At the time, the two were working for a photo company; he was Santa Claus and she was an elf, she said. Both were attending Texas Tech University. "It was funny because we always kept running into each other. He would hang outside my classes and wait for me with a Diet Coke," recalled Gwendolyn. "He knew how to make me really happy."

Sgt. Morin died when an IED went off, overturning the vehicle he was riding in near Umm Qasr, Iraq.

"He's very strong willed, very determined. Humorous, a clown, but he was also very disciplined and very passionate about what he believed in," Gwendolyn Morin said. "He always wanted to serve his country."

These brave men and women sacrifice so much in their lives so that others may enjoy the freedoms we get to enjoy everyday. For that, I am proud to call them Hero.
We Should Not Only Mourn These Men And Women Who Died, We Should Also Thank God That Such People Lived

This post is part of the Wednesday Hero Blogroll. For more information about Wednesday Hero, or if you would like to post it on your site, you can go here.

Regardless of your opinion of this stupid war, honor the men and women putting their lives on the line, and appreciate every day that you live in this country. Bitching about traffic and the price of gas seems much less important when you think of how many lives are lost each day.

Has anyone seen a widget that posts the names of the soldiers lost in the last week/month/year? Even a counter? I've seen reverse counters to mark how much longer until Dubya pardons the entire Halliburton payroll as his last official act, but I'd rather have the names.

The devil has been cast out.

 

The fish is still with us.

 

Not, as it turns out, named Beelzebub, but a rather more prosaic Floaty.  It likes the top of the bowl, and it freaks the Honey out.

 

We're having a dietician come to giveus a pep talk for our weight loss competition.  I have a feeling she'll frown at my frantic shoveling of Mac'n Cheese last night as I was putting it all away.  It was heaven.  I used a hell of a lot less cheese than usual, and I was good the rest of the weekend, but pre bedtime secret eating?  Not so good.

 

I don't know if my bro is reading my blog and passing on, or if my Mom has read it, but my whining blog about the ice cream maker has yielded... wait for it... an ice cream maker.  I asked my mom what the occasion was, and she said "Well it's on your list every year and I can never find one."

 

Not even going to ponder how she figured out my whiny butt-hurt feelings about the whole ice cream fiasco.  But now I have to USE it.  In the middle of my diet challenge.  I am thinking there's kiwi sorbet in my future.  Maybe a giner peach or a blackberry sage (Republic of Tea, anyone?) Baking Bits had a strawberry and black pepper sorbet...

 

Must resist the ice cream!

 

 

Weigh In!

I shaved my legs today for the weigh in. 

 

Locks of love has not called me back yet, but considering my stunning lack of focus and committment, 3.8 pounds is a triumph, people.  I thought I was just gonna break even.  

 

I just flew my dork flag at work, we were talking about WILLING people into overlooking something, and I did the wave with my fingertips and said "These are not the droids you're looking for."   crickets.    Nobody got the reference, just Jen being strange again.  I'm used to it.  My dad called me the other night giggling, sharing a pun he had made at dinner with my mom.  In fine Dadd-i-o fashion, it was like a four part pun requiring back story and much explanation.  I AM my father's daughter.

 

Dork pride, baby!

 

(Have you read my horrifying faux pas at Dorkbloggers?)

ONE WEEK 'TIL WEIGH IN.

Next to me?

 

Wench is eating buttered popcorn, and it smells sooooo good.

 

I am paying for my crab ravioli last night with a lovely plate full of steamed asparagus.  In all honesty, I love asparagus, and it's perfectly done, not soggy at all.  A little salt and pepper...  Yum.

 

But it's not buttered popcorn.  Boo.

 

BUT...it's NOT buttered popcorn.  Yay!

 

I could go both ways on this one. 

 

The sun has only come out in the last week in my little armpit of California, so I have really been inspired to DO this thing for, um, about three days. 

 

Send your salad and water vibes my way, my friends, I am really more of a baked goods kind of girl.  Five pounds in a week has happened, but it won't be pretty.

Sunday Quizzez

See my brainscanner results

This came out verrry differently each time I varied my name.

This one? My geekery fails me. I took this test because Transformers tickeld me, but I know not what this is...


Which Colossal Death Robot Are You?
Brought to you by Rum and Monkey

Here's the Rum and Monkey Clarification:

In bars frequented by colossal death robots, you're always the quiet guy at the back who no-one ever bothers. And for good reason. You've fought in several nuclear wars, could beat the sun in a staring match, and have a chin larger than many articles of furniture. Morals are not a concept you understand, but strangely enough, nobody ever questions your judgement. Usually because they're dead. Even Judge Dredd wets himself when you turn up. Grrrr.


Maybe it's a cable thing...

I found this one funny because (being overly endowed)they did not list my size, the jerks~~

Your Celebrity Boob Twin:

Jenna Jameson

Who's Your Celebrity Boob Twin?

Wednesday Heroes

I haven't been posting Wednesday Heroes because I haven't been posting much, and I don't really want this to be the Wednesday Hero Blog. But shit like this just makes my blood boil.

I wish we as the American people could prosecute the people who send our troops over under funded and ill equipped, make no provisions for the long term consequences, and still sleep at night cashing in on their Earmarks. Right along with Halliburton and the other bullshit contractors raking in bonuses for doing shit jobs.


ARRRRRRGH!!!!!

********

On a lighter note, finally saw Transformers, and while I never watched the original cartoon, I thought it kicked ass.

That is all.

SATAN in a fishbowl the size of a grapefruit.

Freaking blogger lost my post!

So no poetic ode the chocolate lab, most noble of dogs, boon companions and killers of overpriced toys. (My brohter's mammoth sized lab got to sleep inside when it was freezing, and snuck into the pantry and ate....wait for it... a box of crackers and my brother's Silpat. HA! This is in the fine family tradition, since our dog when we were kids snuck into the garage and ate my father's wet suit.) I find it astonishing that both dogs survived--not so much for the eating of the Silpat as the PASSING of the Silpat, but definitely for the EATING of the wetsuit.

I am not a person who yearns for eighteen pets. I would love a dog for the kids if I didn't know that I would be the one scooping up after it. I scoop up enough non-smelly oozy things in my role as mom. Literally adding shit to the list is not high on my priorities. But I figure pets in all forms teach kids, and so I caved last weekend and bought a fish.

Big O has been down the aquatic path, and he learned about the sometimes brief lifecycle of a carp. I thought we should get something hardy for Little O, and so we bought a Betta. People keep those in their offices in tea cups for pete's sake. We could manage this...

Until I got home and googled how to set up your tiny new fishbowl. That's when I found out that I am Beelzebub for confining the noble Betta to such hideous living conditions. I think one website may have suggested that I might also live in a baby seal coat, with a steady diet of veal, and list michael vick as a friend on MySpace.

Our Betta seems okay in the wee bowl that I bought for Big O's cell model for seventh grade science. But I have yet to see it eat the pellets the pet store sold us. sigh.

Back to the pet store on Friday for a bigger bowl (One gallon of water per inch? I have to buy a TWO gallon tank for the stupid desktop fish? AND freeze dried blood worms?)

Would I get called in for a parent teacher conference next year if my kindergartner tells her class she has a fish named Beelzebub? Can I convince her that was Belle's full name in Beauty and the Beast?

Love My O's

Little O was feverishly pouring over the shiny box of Valentines we bought last night.

"Mama, do you like the girl with the purple hair?

Mama, this card says LOVE L-O-V-E, that's love, right Mama?

Mama, there are four boys names.

Mama

Mama

Mama"

Ah, life with a five year old. Then she threw this one out,

"Mama--THIS card is for Hannah! Mama, LETTERALLY, this card is FOR HANNAH! See? It has an "H". H is for Hannah."

This gives me high hopes for her vocabulary. We just have one thingle thing to get rid of...

Let Me Ask You a question...

Do you fight with your siblings?

The Honey gleefully threw me to the wolves over Christmas by announcing at the dinner table that my family doesn't fight. It's true. His siblings laughed and jeered and then saw that he was serious, and then they were just puzzled.

I thought maybe because there are seven of them and only two of us, but tonight I was talking with my sweet old landlady. Despite being in their fifties, her only two children are still locked in a bitter rivalry over their mother's affection--Who she loves more.

I have been mulling over this fighting thing in my head, and honestly, I can't think of anything that would be more important to me than my brother. That would SUNDER my relationship with him. We bickered when we were kids, but I have always known that my brother would have my back, keep my secrets, and give his left kidney, if it came to that. I would do the same.

When I look at the Honey's sibs, I think maybe it's that you have to agree with them. My brother and I don't agree on everything, but we don't feel the need to be RIGHT. We just move on and silently agree to disagree. The Honey's sibs can't rest until you convert to their thinking--if you fall prostrate on the floor and writhe in agony as you scream, "How could I have been so BLIND?" it will all be over much quicker, but none of them have really adopted this as a strategy. Instead they fight and snipe and talk a little shit. We talk a little smack in my family, but it's always in fun. The Honey gets himself in trouble with my family because his family gets mean and mine does not, and my family will stop laughing once they realize it's getting mean.

I am only raising two kids, but I am not raising them with the stability my parents gave me. I wish I was. I can't imagine my kids fighting as adults. It would break my heart. But I am sure that every parent raises their kids with the intention of a close, loving bond as the end result. The Honey and his sibs love each other, and would do most anything for each other, but how do I give my kids the gift of peace? With each other, with their future partners, their co-workers?

I guess that's part of the adventure, that you just don't know how it will turn out.