If you ever want to guarantee yourself some quality fun time, just do the following: Get a new little cell phone for the kids -- and then tell em they aren't allowed to use it for anything fun.
About a week ago I got one of those Pay-as-You-Go phones so that when the kids go out with friends or to an activity we can contact them.
Although they are normally unable see a huge pile of trash, stains on their clothes, or, say, a baby lying on the floor -- they instantly detected the 1 1/2 inch x 3 inch piece of black technology lying on the black table in the dark room.
"Whose phone?" a hopeful, Jason-toned voice asked.
We began:
"It is not YOUR phone... it is not your sister's phone... it is OUR phone, and you we will give it to you to use when you go out and we want to get a hold of you."
BIG SMILE ON FACE
We continued...
"...You will call us, we will call you. That is it."
A smile remains.
We went on...
"... You will not give the number to Patrick, you will not give the number to John...."
Smile begins to waiver slightly.
"... you will not text message. We call you, you call us. THE END."
The words "you will not text message" were the winners.
I watched as Jason's face formed a cartoon-mesh of colors and then slow-motion melted to the floor in a disappointed puddle.
Ah, good times... good times.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Random Bits
In a salute to my attention span and ever-decreasing ability to focus on anything that doesn't involve closing my eyes, I shall spout tiny random thoughts at you:
* How is it possible to go through an entire roll of paper towels in one day -- even without the semi-mandatory massive spill of something sticky?
* When getting set up to take some pictures, Sarah suggested she be my lighting tester. We need some better pics of her anyway -- since, as self-appointed lighting tester, 98% of her pics are in a fuzzy blur of not-right bounce light. I agreed, but looked at her blazing pink striped shirt and religious (aka holey) jeans and said I'd want her to change clothes. "But I'm cute." she said sincerely.
Ok.
So now we have pics of her in a bright pink shirt and torn jeans. And, yeah, she looked cute.
* Here is some totally cute for ya: Sarah decided that on Valentines Day she needed to make a special meal for her dad and me. She made us stay out of the kitchen, and only whispers and clatters were heard for many hours. 84 pots and a roll of paper towels later, hubby and I were permitted into the kitchen where we found a candle-lit table, silk flowers, a dinner of pork chops, and, to add to the elegance, diet pepsi and dr. pepper in wine glasses.
* I officially hate Calliou. (http://pbskids.org/caillou). What an annoying little snot. The whiny little Weeble-Wanna be is supervised by an army of stepford parents, teachers and neighbors and lives in a world where he does nothing wrong.
One episode saw Calliou "accidentally" drawing in a Library book. "That's ok, Calliou" said the Librarian... "...I can clean it."
Nooooooooooooooooo.
It is NOT ok. The point is not whether or not she manages to fix his mess, the point is he needs to be told NOT to do it!
Jason and I like to joke that a future episode will show Calliou setting the local mall on fire with gasoline and a blow torch, and then having his parent's say "It's OK Calliou, we knew you were just trying to keep your sister warm."
* STATUS UPDATE: The bike has moved. Don't know when. Don't know how. But it moved. Or finally disintegrated into a pile of rusted dust. Not sure which.
* Jason very kindly greeted his father yesterday with "Bappy Hirthday" and then took off to hang with his friends while the rest of the family did birthday stuff together. He then came home, played some video games, had some cake, and shrugged when his behavior was pointed out to him.
* On the Jason note:
These things are impossible to remember:
-- taking out the trash
-- bringing home a school status report
-- his father's birthday
-- what a trash can is
-- what a laundry basket is
-- what clean dishes vs dirty dishes look like
These things are easy to remember:
-- The release date and spec details of the upcoming Nintendo DSi.
-- DS Guitar Hero Gameplay: "That song is: 'yellow, yellow, yellow, red, blue, long red, blue blue, long yellow, red, red, red, yellow, green, green, long blue, long blue, yellow, long red, green, green, yellow, long yellow, red, blue, long green....'"
* Why does every perishable item have to go on the middle shelf of the refrigerator?
* How is it possible that I can purchase the Extreme Mega Pack of pens at Sam's Club (ie, about 4,694 quantity) and then have nothing to write with two days later?
* If nobody ever uses my black sharpies... then where are they living? Did they form a commune somewhere outside a farm in Utah?
* How is it possible to go through an entire roll of paper towels in one day -- even without the semi-mandatory massive spill of something sticky?
* When getting set up to take some pictures, Sarah suggested she be my lighting tester. We need some better pics of her anyway -- since, as self-appointed lighting tester, 98% of her pics are in a fuzzy blur of not-right bounce light. I agreed, but looked at her blazing pink striped shirt and religious (aka holey) jeans and said I'd want her to change clothes. "But I'm cute." she said sincerely.
Ok.
So now we have pics of her in a bright pink shirt and torn jeans. And, yeah, she looked cute.
* Here is some totally cute for ya: Sarah decided that on Valentines Day she needed to make a special meal for her dad and me. She made us stay out of the kitchen, and only whispers and clatters were heard for many hours. 84 pots and a roll of paper towels later, hubby and I were permitted into the kitchen where we found a candle-lit table, silk flowers, a dinner of pork chops, and, to add to the elegance, diet pepsi and dr. pepper in wine glasses.
* I officially hate Calliou. (http://pbskids.org/caillou). What an annoying little snot. The whiny little Weeble-Wanna be is supervised by an army of stepford parents, teachers and neighbors and lives in a world where he does nothing wrong.
One episode saw Calliou "accidentally" drawing in a Library book. "That's ok, Calliou" said the Librarian... "...I can clean it."
Nooooooooooooooooo.
It is NOT ok. The point is not whether or not she manages to fix his mess, the point is he needs to be told NOT to do it!
Jason and I like to joke that a future episode will show Calliou setting the local mall on fire with gasoline and a blow torch, and then having his parent's say "It's OK Calliou, we knew you were just trying to keep your sister warm."
* STATUS UPDATE: The bike has moved. Don't know when. Don't know how. But it moved. Or finally disintegrated into a pile of rusted dust. Not sure which.
* Jason very kindly greeted his father yesterday with "Bappy Hirthday" and then took off to hang with his friends while the rest of the family did birthday stuff together. He then came home, played some video games, had some cake, and shrugged when his behavior was pointed out to him.
* On the Jason note:
These things are impossible to remember:
-- taking out the trash
-- bringing home a school status report
-- his father's birthday
-- what a trash can is
-- what a laundry basket is
-- what clean dishes vs dirty dishes look like
These things are easy to remember:
-- The release date and spec details of the upcoming Nintendo DSi.
-- DS Guitar Hero Gameplay: "That song is: 'yellow, yellow, yellow, red, blue, long red, blue blue, long yellow, red, red, red, yellow, green, green, long blue, long blue, yellow, long red, green, green, yellow, long yellow, red, blue, long green....'"
* Why does every perishable item have to go on the middle shelf of the refrigerator?
* How is it possible that I can purchase the Extreme Mega Pack of pens at Sam's Club (ie, about 4,694 quantity) and then have nothing to write with two days later?
* If nobody ever uses my black sharpies... then where are they living? Did they form a commune somewhere outside a farm in Utah?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
IPODs are Not Essential For Life (unless we are talking about mine, that is)
MEMO
DATE: FEBRUARY 12, 2009
TO: JASON & SARAH
FROM: THE MAD STEPMOTHER
*********************************
Please be advised that, despite information from friends to the contrary, IPODS and their accompanying earbuds do not provide energy, nourishment, or the increased ability to obliterate colorful cartoon creatures who breathe acidic fire.
Therefore, it is important to note that you will not fall into an instantaneous coma if the earbuds are removed, or the IPOD is (gasp) turned OFF.
It is especially essential to consider this when you are being spoken to by another member of your family. Additionally, if the author of this Memo (aka Mad Stepmother) has to again repeat herself a 4th time because the 8th Chapter of Harry Potter is more important that whatever trivial thing she might be mouthing, you will then become witness to her head popping off.
In case you are wondering: this is not a good thing.
Such an event would no doubt render your IPODs unusable, as it is often hard to turn them on after they have accidentally been through the garbage disposal.
Thank you for your consideration to this matter.
I know I can count on your kind cooperation.
DATE: FEBRUARY 12, 2009
TO: JASON & SARAH
FROM: THE MAD STEPMOTHER
*********************************
Please be advised that, despite information from friends to the contrary, IPODS and their accompanying earbuds do not provide energy, nourishment, or the increased ability to obliterate colorful cartoon creatures who breathe acidic fire.
Therefore, it is important to note that you will not fall into an instantaneous coma if the earbuds are removed, or the IPOD is (gasp) turned OFF.
It is especially essential to consider this when you are being spoken to by another member of your family. Additionally, if the author of this Memo (aka Mad Stepmother) has to again repeat herself a 4th time because the 8th Chapter of Harry Potter is more important that whatever trivial thing she might be mouthing, you will then become witness to her head popping off.
In case you are wondering: this is not a good thing.
Such an event would no doubt render your IPODs unusable, as it is often hard to turn them on after they have accidentally been through the garbage disposal.
Thank you for your consideration to this matter.
I know I can count on your kind cooperation.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Countdown Part 2
Thanks for tuning into another Vicious Biatch Broadcast.
In our last report we told you how the kid's mom called last night asking to visit them this weekend.
Unable to discuss it with my husband at that time (he works night shift and was asleep), she said she would set her alarm for 9:00am this morning and call him then.
It is 11:50am.
We're still waiting.
This is what she does EVERY time.
"I'll call back to make final arrangements..." then she never calls back.
Luckily, I never told the kids she called.
And, for better or worse, we are telling her that the kids cannot meet with her this weekend because they have plans.
Which they do.
No lie.
But THIS TIME we are not going to cancel their plans just in case she decides to show.
(deeeep breath again)
In our last report we told you how the kid's mom called last night asking to visit them this weekend.
Unable to discuss it with my husband at that time (he works night shift and was asleep), she said she would set her alarm for 9:00am this morning and call him then.
It is 11:50am.
We're still waiting.
This is what she does EVERY time.
"I'll call back to make final arrangements..." then she never calls back.
Luckily, I never told the kids she called.
And, for better or worse, we are telling her that the kids cannot meet with her this weekend because they have plans.
Which they do.
No lie.
But THIS TIME we are not going to cancel their plans just in case she decides to show.
(deeeep breath again)
Monday, February 9, 2009
Countdown
If I was a vicious biatch...
(Which of course, I'm not)
(Really...I'm not)
(I would never say or do mean things. Ever.)
I would never, say, tell a teacher at Jason's school that I thought we might as well only send him during the last week -- because those are the only grades that matter and that it is stupid that he can have a D all semester and then pass with a B or C just because of one project or test...
(deeeeeep breath)
Where was I?
Oh yeah... if I were a vicious biatch... then I would now begin a new rant about the kids' mom and how she had BETTER DAMN WELL NOT LET THEM DOWN AGAIN this weekend.
The good news is she still has a job. And it seems to be the same job she got a couple months ago.
This is definitely GOOD.
Hopefully it shows she is growing some new focus and responsibility.
The bad (?) news is she just called and wants to see the kids this weekend.
(incredibly deep sigh)
(tapping teeth with pencil)
(typing... deleting... typing... deleting...
Ok.
Well.
Anyone who has read this blog on any semi-regular basis knows that she has left them staring out the window forlornly the last times she has planned a visit. She schedules it... the kids cancel plans and anticipate the weekend... then... we never hear from her again and she won't answer her phone (assuming she has one).
This afternoon, upon answering the phone and hearing her visitation request, every atom in my body imploded with the desire to scream "Hell no!" followed by "Oh, so you plan to actually SHOW UP this time?"
But no.
I am not a vicious biatch.
I'm not.
I am hoping my husband will do the duty for me.
But I doubt it.
He'll give her onnnnnne moooore chance (again).
Keep tuned to this Station for Updates as they Happen.
This is your Vicious Biatch Broadcast... signing out.
Good night.. and have a sucky tomorrow.
(Which of course, I'm not)
(Really...I'm not)
(I would never say or do mean things. Ever.)
I would never, say, tell a teacher at Jason's school that I thought we might as well only send him during the last week -- because those are the only grades that matter and that it is stupid that he can have a D all semester and then pass with a B or C just because of one project or test...
(deeeeeep breath)
Where was I?
Oh yeah... if I were a vicious biatch... then I would now begin a new rant about the kids' mom and how she had BETTER DAMN WELL NOT LET THEM DOWN AGAIN this weekend.
The good news is she still has a job. And it seems to be the same job she got a couple months ago.
This is definitely GOOD.
Hopefully it shows she is growing some new focus and responsibility.
The bad (?) news is she just called and wants to see the kids this weekend.
(incredibly deep sigh)
(tapping teeth with pencil)
(typing... deleting... typing... deleting...
Ok.
Well.
Anyone who has read this blog on any semi-regular basis knows that she has left them staring out the window forlornly the last times she has planned a visit. She schedules it... the kids cancel plans and anticipate the weekend... then... we never hear from her again and she won't answer her phone (assuming she has one).
This afternoon, upon answering the phone and hearing her visitation request, every atom in my body imploded with the desire to scream "Hell no!" followed by "Oh, so you plan to actually SHOW UP this time?"
But no.
I am not a vicious biatch.
I'm not.
I am hoping my husband will do the duty for me.
But I doubt it.
He'll give her onnnnnne moooore chance (again).
Keep tuned to this Station for Updates as they Happen.
This is your Vicious Biatch Broadcast... signing out.
Good night.. and have a sucky tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Where Are You?
Arrrrgh.
Sarah wanted to call her mom today because it is her mom's birthday.
So she called the new cell phone number we just got about 2 months ago.
"This phone is not in service."
So we said "Well try [guy she is currently with]."
HIS phone is disconnected.
Again we have NO WAY to get a hold of the kid's mother. Not for good news... not for bad news... etc.
I understand she has problems paying her bills, but if she is going to keep letting phones be turned off, can't she at least borrow someone's phone for two minutes? All she has to do is call and say "Hey kids, my phone is off, if you need to get a hold of me, leave a message at "X" number." ????
This is so frustrating.
What if one of the kids got hurt or sick?
She doesn't even have partial custody, but still, as their mom we would want her to know. But repeatedly she let's herself be cut off entirely from them.
All I can do is sigh.
Sarah wanted to call her mom today because it is her mom's birthday.
So she called the new cell phone number we just got about 2 months ago.
"This phone is not in service."
So we said "Well try [guy she is currently with]."
HIS phone is disconnected.
Again we have NO WAY to get a hold of the kid's mother. Not for good news... not for bad news... etc.
I understand she has problems paying her bills, but if she is going to keep letting phones be turned off, can't she at least borrow someone's phone for two minutes? All she has to do is call and say "Hey kids, my phone is off, if you need to get a hold of me, leave a message at "X" number." ????
This is so frustrating.
What if one of the kids got hurt or sick?
She doesn't even have partial custody, but still, as their mom we would want her to know. But repeatedly she let's herself be cut off entirely from them.
All I can do is sigh.
Cause I'm a Blond
I've always thought Sarah was a pretty intelligent person, but lately I've begun to wonder. It almost seems as her brain is now encapsulated in her blondness like the tootsie roll at the center of a tootsie pop.
Witness this mornings conversations:
HER: If school is two hours late what time do we have to leave?
ME: (one eyebrow raised like Spock) Uhhmmm... if you normally leave at 7:15 you'll leave at 9:15.
HER: Oh. I wasn't thinking.
ME: I know.
(then... a bit later)
HER: They just announced that school is closed two hours late.
ME: (looks at her)
Witness this mornings conversations:
HER: If school is two hours late what time do we have to leave?
ME: (one eyebrow raised like Spock) Uhhmmm... if you normally leave at 7:15 you'll leave at 9:15.
HER: Oh. I wasn't thinking.
ME: I know.
(then... a bit later)
HER: They just announced that school is closed two hours late.
ME: (looks at her)
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Snow Snow
We had actual snow here today.
Not just dandruff-sized flakes that floated down with just enough abundance to tease... but real snow.
Golly.
In response to this winter milestone, Donny had to be terrified. All was good and fun for about 3 minutes.. until he saw the snow gathering on the tips of his shoes. Then, suddenly ... "WHAAAAH!! A MESS!!!"
Um.
Ok.
Now the question is, should I be glad I am instilling a sense of orderly cleanliness in my child -- or I should be worried I have created Howard Hughes (but without the money)?
Jason's response to the snow was to prove it isn't a big deal by taking the trash out in his bare feet.
Yeah.
Any other time he would, at minimum, throw his sandals on or say "I caaaan't, I don't have my shoes!"
But today... bare feet were fine. Snow and freezing rain and all.
I'm so proud.
And, in case anyone has been following and wondering... here is the status of the bike that is NOT being destroyed by being left outside:
I'll put up another pic when Spring hits and it is still in this exact location.
Not just dandruff-sized flakes that floated down with just enough abundance to tease... but real snow.
Golly.
In response to this winter milestone, Donny had to be terrified. All was good and fun for about 3 minutes.. until he saw the snow gathering on the tips of his shoes. Then, suddenly ... "WHAAAAH!! A MESS!!!"
Um.
Ok.
Now the question is, should I be glad I am instilling a sense of orderly cleanliness in my child -- or I should be worried I have created Howard Hughes (but without the money)?
Jason's response to the snow was to prove it isn't a big deal by taking the trash out in his bare feet.
Yeah.
Any other time he would, at minimum, throw his sandals on or say "I caaaan't, I don't have my shoes!"
But today... bare feet were fine. Snow and freezing rain and all.
I'm so proud.
And, in case anyone has been following and wondering... here is the status of the bike that is NOT being destroyed by being left outside:
I'll put up another pic when Spring hits and it is still in this exact location.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Silence is NOT Golden
Maybe I should make Sunday my day to list everything that has pissed me off recently. But I have a feeling it would be the same ev-er-y damn week.
For now, I'll just let you know what that sound was.
It was my head popping off.
And the reason is... because I am forced to have the conversation below every day.
I wish I could say this is a kid-only problem, but quite obviously they have learned this habit from their father.
THE SCENARIO:
I ask a member of the family to do something.
I get no response or indication that my voice did anything other than bounce off the walls.
I wait.
I ask again.
Again, no response.
The next thing that happens is I raise my voice in the attempt to break their computer/tv/video game coma.
They either then get pissed cause they heard me and wonder why I am asking the same thing 3 times.
OR
They get mad cause they didn't hear me and no wonder why I seem to be mad out of nowhere.
I am then forced to ask:
"How am I supposed to know if you heard me or not?"
It doesn't seem to register that if I don't get a respone, how am I supposed to the difference between being heard (but ignored) or not being heard (due to media-coma)?
Later. Rinse. Repeat scenario daily.
For now, I'll just let you know what that sound was.
It was my head popping off.
And the reason is... because I am forced to have the conversation below every day.
I wish I could say this is a kid-only problem, but quite obviously they have learned this habit from their father.
THE SCENARIO:
I ask a member of the family to do something.
I get no response or indication that my voice did anything other than bounce off the walls.
I wait.
I ask again.
Again, no response.
The next thing that happens is I raise my voice in the attempt to break their computer/tv/video game coma.
They either then get pissed cause they heard me and wonder why I am asking the same thing 3 times.
OR
They get mad cause they didn't hear me and no wonder why I seem to be mad out of nowhere.
I am then forced to ask:
"How am I supposed to know if you heard me or not?"
It doesn't seem to register that if I don't get a respone, how am I supposed to the difference between being heard (but ignored) or not being heard (due to media-coma)?
Later. Rinse. Repeat scenario daily.
A Kid's Point of View
This happened quite a while ago, I admit... but it still kinda sets the tone for the daily mentality, so I thought I'd share.
Here was the conversation:
ME: You guys need to do your chores, it isn't that much. Nobody likes doing chores. Do you think I like doing MY chores?
SARAH: YOU have chores?
ME: Uhhh, yeah... what do you think I am doing when I do dishes and laundry and vacuuming and stuff?
SARAH: I thought you were just cleaning the house!
(facepalm)
Here was the conversation:
ME: You guys need to do your chores, it isn't that much. Nobody likes doing chores. Do you think I like doing MY chores?
SARAH: YOU have chores?
ME: Uhhh, yeah... what do you think I am doing when I do dishes and laundry and vacuuming and stuff?
SARAH: I thought you were just cleaning the house!
(facepalm)
My Scary Valentine
I am really not sure what to say about this.
It just... frightens me. With that same creepy crawly feeling you get when you walk in the dentist's office knowing you haven't flossed since 1984...
It just... frightens me. With that same creepy crawly feeling you get when you walk in the dentist's office knowing you haven't flossed since 1984...
Saturday, January 24, 2009
The Careful Care and Feeding of Sports Equipment
< /on > sarcastic bitterness
Ok.
Carefully evaluate this sentence and see if there is anything confusing about it:
"If you leave your bike outside all the time, you will ruin it."
Did I stump anyone?
Did I toss out words with too many syllables?
Was I vague?
Did I speak in the English tongue?
In the interest of full-disclosure, let me state the other method in which I have tried to convey this message:
"Jason, put your bike away. If you leave it out all the time it will get ruined by rain and sun and ice and snow and rain and sun...."
Anyone?
Anyone?
Bueller?
Wait.
What was that?
You say you UNDERSTOOD what I said???
That is astounding.
Because I have to say, I thought it was possible I speaking some rare Hungarian dialect. After all, I have said that phrase repeatedly over the past...oh... year.
Yet the bike never gets put away.
And now... guess what?
(Oh common... you can do it. Put your thinking cap on.)
Yep.
Chain rusted and fallen off.
Yesterday Jason said in an oh-so-innocent voice: "Should I just put my bike out for the trash?"
Of course I wouldn't let him, and I again pressed that if he had just put it away....
But NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (Steve Martin voice)....
I just don't understand. Never being put away is NOT the reason the chain is now rusted, broken, and fallen off. It just BROKE! Apparently I don't get it... the chain just rusted and broke. It has nothing to do with the fact it lived outside in every possible weather condition.
(clear throat)
Oh... and in case you are wondering.... the bike is still lying on its side in the yard -- in the same exact place it has been for the past several months.
I guess a rusted chain isn't enough.
We're gonna go for something REALLY big... like fully-corroded handlebars and a split-open seat.
I would ponder the reason he doesn't care is that he will now just use his skateboard... but he has already ruined that (and his sister's) using the same "Putting things away is too boring" method of sports-equipment care.
It's too bad adults and/or stepmothers are so dumb.
Otherwise they might do something useful... like provide advice on how to keep a bike from being destroyed.
sarcastic bitterness < /off >
Ok.
Carefully evaluate this sentence and see if there is anything confusing about it:
"If you leave your bike outside all the time, you will ruin it."
Did I stump anyone?
Did I toss out words with too many syllables?
Was I vague?
Did I speak in the English tongue?
In the interest of full-disclosure, let me state the other method in which I have tried to convey this message:
"Jason, put your bike away. If you leave it out all the time it will get ruined by rain and sun and ice and snow and rain and sun...."
Anyone?
Anyone?
Bueller?
Wait.
What was that?
You say you UNDERSTOOD what I said???
That is astounding.
Because I have to say, I thought it was possible I speaking some rare Hungarian dialect. After all, I have said that phrase repeatedly over the past...oh... year.
Yet the bike never gets put away.
And now... guess what?
(Oh common... you can do it. Put your thinking cap on.)
Yep.
Chain rusted and fallen off.
Yesterday Jason said in an oh-so-innocent voice: "Should I just put my bike out for the trash?"
Of course I wouldn't let him, and I again pressed that if he had just put it away....
But NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (Steve Martin voice)....
I just don't understand. Never being put away is NOT the reason the chain is now rusted, broken, and fallen off. It just BROKE! Apparently I don't get it... the chain just rusted and broke. It has nothing to do with the fact it lived outside in every possible weather condition.
(clear throat)
Oh... and in case you are wondering.... the bike is still lying on its side in the yard -- in the same exact place it has been for the past several months.
I guess a rusted chain isn't enough.
We're gonna go for something REALLY big... like fully-corroded handlebars and a split-open seat.
I would ponder the reason he doesn't care is that he will now just use his skateboard... but he has already ruined that (and his sister's) using the same "Putting things away is too boring" method of sports-equipment care.
It's too bad adults and/or stepmothers are so dumb.
Otherwise they might do something useful... like provide advice on how to keep a bike from being destroyed.
sarcastic bitterness < /off >
Friday, January 23, 2009
It's Raining Frogs
Twenty minutes ago I wouldn't have been surprised if the roof opened up, thunder roared, and frogs started raining down in my kitchen.
The Scene:
Sarah and I were innocently preparing a lovely chicken pot pie using my oh-so-nifty DS Cooking Trainer. We were approaching a critical stage of preparation -- that delicate balance between simmering and boiling -- when... suddenly... the clouds parted.
In the interest of clarity, I shall list the disasters in the order of their appearance:
(1) I reach in the fridge to grab milk for the pie filling and accidentally pop the top of the sideways-laying apple cider jug. It commences to spew fruity stickiness over every shelf (it was on the top of course) and form an impressive puddle on the floor.
(2) Donny, seeing the fridge door open, runs over and starts pointing and yelling "Gee GUT! GEE GUT!!!!". Having no clue what he is saying.. and in the midst of trying to remove every item from the fridge, I attempt to ignore him.
(3) He comes closer to the puddle and I have a sudden flash of sticky toddler footprints filling the house. (Because, of course, the time a toddler would decide to run through every room of the house at an unprecedented pace is immediately after stepping in something difficult to clean.)
(4) Sopping paper towels in hand, I try to block his path. "GEE GUTT!! GEE GUTT" he is crying....
(5) In the other room, baby Thomas starts to howl.
(6) Sarah and I try to block it out while alternately grabbing items from the fridge, soaking up cider, moving "GEE GUT" Donny away from the fridge, and rushing over to stir the pot-pie filling before it boils over.
(7) "GEE GUT!!!" "GEE GUTTTT (crrryyyyyyyy) GEE GUTT!!!!!"
(8) "Whaaaaaaaahhhhh" continues to emanate from the other room.
(9) "GEEEEEEEE GUTTTTT!!!!!!!!"
(10) Paper towels... water.... lysol wipes... stir pot...
(11) Helpful husband in other room: "Can you bring a bottle out here for Thomas?"
(12) Sarah starts on the bottle. I juggle the fridge and the stove.
(13) "Donny!! What do you WANT!!!!??!?!?" I ask him, my head ready to pop off.
"GEE GUT!!" he cries tearfully again and again...
(14) "Where is the bottle?" Helpful husband yells.
(15) (whimpering tears) "Geeeee gutttt!!"
(16) I look at the counter. Somehow the bottle that was in progress has been abandoned. I grab it and rush to put formula in it.
(17) (sad crying) "Gee guttttttt!!" he points at the lower shelves of the fridge.
"Cheese?" I ask hopefully as I grab for a bottle ring and nipple? "NOOOOOO!!! GEE GUT!!!" Sarah pushes him away from the puddle of stickiness yet to be tackled.
(18) I quickly sigh and attempt to put the top on the bottle. It bounces off and lands..... right in the middle of the cider puddle.
(19) "WHAAAAAHHHH" Thomas yells.
(20) "GEE GUT!!"
(21) "Sarah, stir the pot!"
(22) "Where is the bottle???"
(23) "Donny get away from there!!!"
(24) "GEE GUT!!!"
(Let us pause to reflect on the fact that Helpful Husband was, at least, holding Thomas. Jason, however, continued to sit in the middle of the living room on the Wii Fit Balance Board complaining that there was too much noise for him to concentrate on not blowing the Zen-candle out with his butt.) (It's something you gotta see.)
RESUME SCENE:
(25) "GEE GUT!"
(26) "Donny, get away... I don't know what you want!" I search for another bottle nipple.
(27) Bottle finally ready, I deliver it to Helpful Husband and screaming baby Thomas.
(28) I toss cider-soaked, two-year-old fridge food into the trash and stir the pot.
(29) Donny continues to point frantically at the lower shelves of the fridge. "GEE GUT!!!" he cries pitifully.
(30) Fridge now more or less cleaned out, Sarah works on pouring the milk (remember, this is how it all started) in the pie-filling pan and stirring.
(31) "Geeeee guttt"
(32) I stand over him. "What????? What do you want!!??? Show me." He points.
(33) "Cheese?" I ask again. "Noooooooo."
(34) He points again.
(35) I pause. There is no way that THIS is what he has been trying to say....
(36) "Yogurt?" I ask tentatively?
(37) "YETH!!!" he says happily... stopping to wipe tears from his face, happy that mommy has stopped being such a moron.
(38) "Sarah, put that stuff back in the fridge now."
(39) I stir the pot and head to the table with yogurt and a spoon. Donny stands by me helpless, too traumatized by his efforts to eat at his seat -- he needs to sit in my lap.
(40) Donny in lap... Thomas being fed.... an entire roll of paper towels decimated... fridge being re-loaded... and pot being stirred... (oh yeah, and Jason not disturbed from his Wii-Fit)... the clouds finally begin to dissipate.
Sarah is now clasping her head and asking for a tylenol.
I think I'll join her.
And I'll add a wine-chaser.
The Scene:
Sarah and I were innocently preparing a lovely chicken pot pie using my oh-so-nifty DS Cooking Trainer. We were approaching a critical stage of preparation -- that delicate balance between simmering and boiling -- when... suddenly... the clouds parted.
In the interest of clarity, I shall list the disasters in the order of their appearance:
(1) I reach in the fridge to grab milk for the pie filling and accidentally pop the top of the sideways-laying apple cider jug. It commences to spew fruity stickiness over every shelf (it was on the top of course) and form an impressive puddle on the floor.
(2) Donny, seeing the fridge door open, runs over and starts pointing and yelling "Gee GUT! GEE GUT!!!!". Having no clue what he is saying.. and in the midst of trying to remove every item from the fridge, I attempt to ignore him.
(3) He comes closer to the puddle and I have a sudden flash of sticky toddler footprints filling the house. (Because, of course, the time a toddler would decide to run through every room of the house at an unprecedented pace is immediately after stepping in something difficult to clean.)
(4) Sopping paper towels in hand, I try to block his path. "GEE GUTT!! GEE GUTT" he is crying....
(5) In the other room, baby Thomas starts to howl.
(6) Sarah and I try to block it out while alternately grabbing items from the fridge, soaking up cider, moving "GEE GUT" Donny away from the fridge, and rushing over to stir the pot-pie filling before it boils over.
(7) "GEE GUT!!!" "GEE GUTTTT (crrryyyyyyyy) GEE GUTT!!!!!"
(8) "Whaaaaaaaahhhhh" continues to emanate from the other room.
(9) "GEEEEEEEE GUTTTTT!!!!!!!!"
(10) Paper towels... water.... lysol wipes... stir pot...
(11) Helpful husband in other room: "Can you bring a bottle out here for Thomas?"
(12) Sarah starts on the bottle. I juggle the fridge and the stove.
(13) "Donny!! What do you WANT!!!!??!?!?" I ask him, my head ready to pop off.
"GEE GUT!!" he cries tearfully again and again...
(14) "Where is the bottle?" Helpful husband yells.
(15) (whimpering tears) "Geeeee gutttt!!"
(16) I look at the counter. Somehow the bottle that was in progress has been abandoned. I grab it and rush to put formula in it.
(17) (sad crying) "Gee guttttttt!!" he points at the lower shelves of the fridge.
"Cheese?" I ask hopefully as I grab for a bottle ring and nipple? "NOOOOOO!!! GEE GUT!!!" Sarah pushes him away from the puddle of stickiness yet to be tackled.
(18) I quickly sigh and attempt to put the top on the bottle. It bounces off and lands..... right in the middle of the cider puddle.
(19) "WHAAAAAHHHH" Thomas yells.
(20) "GEE GUT!!"
(21) "Sarah, stir the pot!"
(22) "Where is the bottle???"
(23) "Donny get away from there!!!"
(24) "GEE GUT!!!"
(Let us pause to reflect on the fact that Helpful Husband was, at least, holding Thomas. Jason, however, continued to sit in the middle of the living room on the Wii Fit Balance Board complaining that there was too much noise for him to concentrate on not blowing the Zen-candle out with his butt.) (It's something you gotta see.)
RESUME SCENE:
(25) "GEE GUT!"
(26) "Donny, get away... I don't know what you want!" I search for another bottle nipple.
(27) Bottle finally ready, I deliver it to Helpful Husband and screaming baby Thomas.
(28) I toss cider-soaked, two-year-old fridge food into the trash and stir the pot.
(29) Donny continues to point frantically at the lower shelves of the fridge. "GEE GUT!!!" he cries pitifully.
(30) Fridge now more or less cleaned out, Sarah works on pouring the milk (remember, this is how it all started) in the pie-filling pan and stirring.
(31) "Geeeee guttt"
(32) I stand over him. "What????? What do you want!!??? Show me." He points.
(33) "Cheese?" I ask again. "Noooooooo."
(34) He points again.
(35) I pause. There is no way that THIS is what he has been trying to say....
(36) "Yogurt?" I ask tentatively?
(37) "YETH!!!" he says happily... stopping to wipe tears from his face, happy that mommy has stopped being such a moron.
(38) "Sarah, put that stuff back in the fridge now."
(39) I stir the pot and head to the table with yogurt and a spoon. Donny stands by me helpless, too traumatized by his efforts to eat at his seat -- he needs to sit in my lap.
(40) Donny in lap... Thomas being fed.... an entire roll of paper towels decimated... fridge being re-loaded... and pot being stirred... (oh yeah, and Jason not disturbed from his Wii-Fit)... the clouds finally begin to dissipate.
Sarah is now clasping her head and asking for a tylenol.
I think I'll join her.
And I'll add a wine-chaser.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
My New Assistant
Ah ha!
I have aslave flunky assistant today!!!
We have warned Jason on numerous occasions that his tendency to oversleep and race for the bus exactly 14 seconds before it arrives is going to get him into trouble.
We are O-V-E-R the "I didn't hear the alarm"/"The alarm didn't go off"/"I had the alarm set for PM instead of AM"/and other various "It's not my fault" excuses.
I've told him the "user error" alarm issue has run it's course, and he needs to start setting more than one alarm if he has such problems.
After all he only has, like, 3 or 4 clocks. Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, we kept giving him more clocks in hopes THOSE alarms would work.
It's to the point where he's had more warnings than Brangelina has kids.
He's had so many warnings, in fact (all unheeded), that we finally had to tell him that he and he alone is now responsible for getting himself up for school. We are not going to continue to be his alarm clock after he ignores the one he has set.
He was told if he misses the bus we are not going to take him to school. (I know, this sounds great... but wait....)
AND... we will not give him a note, therefore anything he missed that day will get a failing grade.
(Or so we assume. With this "No Child Left Behind" bullcrap they might just give him an "A" on everything anyway. ...But that is a rant for another day...)
He also, of course, does not get to sit around all day drooling in front of the tv.
So, this morning... the school bus came and went... and he was still downstairs sawing logs.
So now, I have an assistant.
He (with supervision) is in charge of the babies.
He is gonna feed, change, and rock the baby.... change and get food and such for the toddler... watch SPROUT channel all day, and, in general get so annoyed by the fact he is the all-day babysitter that he will not want to "accidentally" oversleep or miss the bus again.
I've already gotten a few sighs and "woe is me" looks from him... so the plan may be working.
We'll see.
Maybe I should go get a massage....
I have a
We have warned Jason on numerous occasions that his tendency to oversleep and race for the bus exactly 14 seconds before it arrives is going to get him into trouble.
We are O-V-E-R the "I didn't hear the alarm"/"The alarm didn't go off"/"I had the alarm set for PM instead of AM"/and other various "It's not my fault" excuses.
I've told him the "user error" alarm issue has run it's course, and he needs to start setting more than one alarm if he has such problems.
After all he only has, like, 3 or 4 clocks. Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, we kept giving him more clocks in hopes THOSE alarms would work.
It's to the point where he's had more warnings than Brangelina has kids.
He's had so many warnings, in fact (all unheeded), that we finally had to tell him that he and he alone is now responsible for getting himself up for school. We are not going to continue to be his alarm clock after he ignores the one he has set.
He was told if he misses the bus we are not going to take him to school. (I know, this sounds great... but wait....)
AND... we will not give him a note, therefore anything he missed that day will get a failing grade.
(Or so we assume. With this "No Child Left Behind" bullcrap they might just give him an "A" on everything anyway. ...But that is a rant for another day...)
He also, of course, does not get to sit around all day drooling in front of the tv.
So, this morning... the school bus came and went... and he was still downstairs sawing logs.
So now, I have an assistant.
He (with supervision) is in charge of the babies.
He is gonna feed, change, and rock the baby.... change and get food and such for the toddler... watch SPROUT channel all day, and, in general get so annoyed by the fact he is the all-day babysitter that he will not want to "accidentally" oversleep or miss the bus again.
I've already gotten a few sighs and "woe is me" looks from him... so the plan may be working.
We'll see.
Maybe I should go get a massage....
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
I am a Super Hero
Mothers of the world, you are served notice: We have a Special Power.
This Special Power enables us... and ONLY us... to:
(1) See potato chips, cookies, and other food bits on the floor. ("I didn't SEE it!");
(2) Know when there are clothes in the washer that need to go into the dryer ("I didn't know they were there!");
(3) Know when dishes in the dishwasher are dirty or clean ("How am I supposed to know if they are clean or not?");
(4) Point out carpet stains ("I haven't seen that before!").
These examples clearly indicate that our Powers include spectacular enhancements in normal senses -- including heightened vision (which involves a complex internal chemical reaction known as "looking".)
I promise to use this power only for good.
This Special Power enables us... and ONLY us... to:
(1) See potato chips, cookies, and other food bits on the floor. ("I didn't SEE it!");
(2) Know when there are clothes in the washer that need to go into the dryer ("I didn't know they were there!");
(3) Know when dishes in the dishwasher are dirty or clean ("How am I supposed to know if they are clean or not?");
(4) Point out carpet stains ("I haven't seen that before!").
These examples clearly indicate that our Powers include spectacular enhancements in normal senses -- including heightened vision (which involves a complex internal chemical reaction known as "looking".)
I promise to use this power only for good.
Monday, January 12, 2009
School For Scandal
Amazing how different siblings can be.
Like apples and onions.... flowers and weeds... Hyundai and Mercedes... Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes...
Sarah is always concerned about how she is performing in school. She came home today talking about the studying she needed to for her end-of-marking-period finals. She asked me to quiz her in vocabulary over the next two weeks, and said her main homework was to study.
However, here is the conversation I had with Jason:
ME: Jason, aren't you going to study for all these tests you have coming up?
JASON: (with cocky attitude) Don't need to.
ME: I'd better see "A"s on all those tests then.
JASON: (silence... cocky look continues)
LATER....
I tell his dad about the brief convo...
DAVID: Jason, shouldn't you be studying?
JASON: No.
DAVID: Why not?
JASON: Cause when I study I do terrible!
Yeah.
Ok
Right.
That is why he currently has a D in science, a probably similar grade in English, was last seen failing tech-ed (of all things), and is repeating Algebra this year.
This kid probably has an above-average IQ.. but he won't show it to anyone cause he doesn't care about doing a smidgen of work. Not when it is too easy... not when it is semi-challenging... not when it is hard.
Like apples and onions.... flowers and weeds... Hyundai and Mercedes... Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes...
Sarah is always concerned about how she is performing in school. She came home today talking about the studying she needed to for her end-of-marking-period finals. She asked me to quiz her in vocabulary over the next two weeks, and said her main homework was to study.
However, here is the conversation I had with Jason:
ME: Jason, aren't you going to study for all these tests you have coming up?
JASON: (with cocky attitude) Don't need to.
ME: I'd better see "A"s on all those tests then.
JASON: (silence... cocky look continues)
LATER....
I tell his dad about the brief convo...
DAVID: Jason, shouldn't you be studying?
JASON: No.
DAVID: Why not?
JASON: Cause when I study I do terrible!
Yeah.
Ok
Right.
That is why he currently has a D in science, a probably similar grade in English, was last seen failing tech-ed (of all things), and is repeating Algebra this year.
This kid probably has an above-average IQ.. but he won't show it to anyone cause he doesn't care about doing a smidgen of work. Not when it is too easy... not when it is semi-challenging... not when it is hard.
Where for art thou... umbrellas?
Somewhere in the deepest, darkest jungles of the greater Maryland area (cough...Sarah's locker... cough) is a stack of umbrellas that used to belong to me.
Oh how I miss them.
Where oh where art thou, umbrellas? (Sarah's locker)
I hope to see you again someday.
Is your new home (Sarah's locker) friendly? Can you open all the way? Do you get a refreshing drink of rainwater now and then?
One day I hope you will make your way home from your hiding place (Sarah's locker) and rest your humble selves in my closet once again. I think of you frequently, especially when vast amount of water pour from the sky and your comforting presence is no longer around to shelter me.
Maybe you will re-appear as you magically did last year -- when you suddenly manifested yourself in the hallway on, strangely enough, the last day of school.
How odd that was.
Sigh.
Oh how I miss them.
Where oh where art thou, umbrellas? (Sarah's locker)
I hope to see you again someday.
Is your new home (Sarah's locker) friendly? Can you open all the way? Do you get a refreshing drink of rainwater now and then?
One day I hope you will make your way home from your hiding place (Sarah's locker) and rest your humble selves in my closet once again. I think of you frequently, especially when vast amount of water pour from the sky and your comforting presence is no longer around to shelter me.
Maybe you will re-appear as you magically did last year -- when you suddenly manifested yourself in the hallway on, strangely enough, the last day of school.
How odd that was.
Sigh.
The House of the ....oh... never mind.
There are times when I have nothing to do (like from 2:28pm to 2:32pm last Thursday) when I ponder various oddities of the household.
For example: Why am I the only one who seems to know where things get put away?
ME: Why is that bowl on the counter?
ONE OF THE GUILTY: Cause I don't know where it goes.
ME: Why didn't you put that blanket away?
OOTG: I don't know where you keep it!
ME: How come the soup mixes are behind the baby food?
OOTG: Because I didn't know where to put it.
...you get the idea.
So my question is: Does no one else live here???
Am I the ONLY one that gets items out of the pantry? (The mysterious, yet continuous, disappearance of chips and snacks would say "no".)
Does no one else ever open a cabinet to search for a glass or pan? (Again, the precarious pile of plates and pans would suggest someone with a particular skill at Jenga is in there frequently.)
These are the issues that mom-kind ponders.
I am sure there is some taxpayer-funded study going on somewhere to explain this phenomenon. Perhaps in the same departments as the Scientists researching the reactions of cell-phone transmissions when in contact with ant-poop.
For example: Why am I the only one who seems to know where things get put away?
ME: Why is that bowl on the counter?
ONE OF THE GUILTY: Cause I don't know where it goes.
ME: Why didn't you put that blanket away?
OOTG: I don't know where you keep it!
ME: How come the soup mixes are behind the baby food?
OOTG: Because I didn't know where to put it.
...you get the idea.
So my question is: Does no one else live here???
Am I the ONLY one that gets items out of the pantry? (The mysterious, yet continuous, disappearance of chips and snacks would say "no".)
Does no one else ever open a cabinet to search for a glass or pan? (Again, the precarious pile of plates and pans would suggest someone with a particular skill at Jenga is in there frequently.)
These are the issues that mom-kind ponders.
I am sure there is some taxpayer-funded study going on somewhere to explain this phenomenon. Perhaps in the same departments as the Scientists researching the reactions of cell-phone transmissions when in contact with ant-poop.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
The House of the Blind
Shhhh... don't tell my husband about this post. I'd really rather not have to find alternative living arrangements.
I mean... what if they didn't have Wi-Fi?
Ok.
So.
When unpacking the artificial tree this year, the box disintegrated into a mass of uncoordinated duct tape. Therefore, when storing it away, we had to resort to sectioning the tree off into several outdoor trash bags.
For about six days now I have been asking my husband to take aforementioned bags out to the shed.
For about three days I have been asking Jason to do his trash-duty chore.
The response I get from both:
"You didn't remind me."
OK.
Can someone please tell me why this requires a reminder?
(Jeepers, I have been so blinded by the monoliths that I didn't even see that paper plate on the floor until I looked at this pic.)
I'll be back later.
After I've banged my head against a wall for 2 or 30 minutes.
I mean... what if they didn't have Wi-Fi?
Ok.
So.
When unpacking the artificial tree this year, the box disintegrated into a mass of uncoordinated duct tape. Therefore, when storing it away, we had to resort to sectioning the tree off into several outdoor trash bags.
For about six days now I have been asking my husband to take aforementioned bags out to the shed.
For about three days I have been asking Jason to do his trash-duty chore.
The response I get from both:
"You didn't remind me."
OK.
Can someone please tell me why this requires a reminder?
(Jeepers, I have been so blinded by the monoliths that I didn't even see that paper plate on the floor until I looked at this pic.)
I'll be back later.
After I've banged my head against a wall for 2 or 30 minutes.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
No Library for You!
Well, the kids sure benefit at home when their mom lets them down and/or pisses me off.
Yeah.
She didn't show AGAIN.
Didn't call.
Didn't answer her phone.
Therefore, in a show of solidarity, and because I couldn't get them to a Movie Night event at the church (since we didn't know until she didn't show that she wasn't gonna show), normally-restricted-for-everything Jason got to have some quality Wii time, and is currently out at a friend's house.
Sarah is also Wii-ing at the moment, and may go to a quarter auction with me tonight. (Kinda like bingo where you win stuff like Tupperwear, Avon, and Pampered Chef -genre items.)
ANYWAY... to continue my rant on their Bio-Mom: Can you believe it looks like I can't get them a friggin library card?
Why, you ask?
Because Bio-Mom... many years ago... took 5-year-old Sarah's card and borrowed books she never returned.
I am not tryin' to be ultra-picky here. We all forget to return library books on occasion. And we all go "Sh*t!" when we realize we now have to fork over some green because of it.
But we aren't talkin' one or two books here.
We are talking about HUNDREDS of dollars worth of fines for who knows how many books.
I guess it makes sense, though.
If she can't be responsible for her kids, how can she be responsible for a library book?
Yeah.
She didn't show AGAIN.
Didn't call.
Didn't answer her phone.
Therefore, in a show of solidarity, and because I couldn't get them to a Movie Night event at the church (since we didn't know until she didn't show that she wasn't gonna show), normally-restricted-for-everything Jason got to have some quality Wii time, and is currently out at a friend's house.
Sarah is also Wii-ing at the moment, and may go to a quarter auction with me tonight. (Kinda like bingo where you win stuff like Tupperwear, Avon, and Pampered Chef -genre items.)
ANYWAY... to continue my rant on their Bio-Mom: Can you believe it looks like I can't get them a friggin library card?
Why, you ask?
Because Bio-Mom... many years ago... took 5-year-old Sarah's card and borrowed books she never returned.
I am not tryin' to be ultra-picky here. We all forget to return library books on occasion. And we all go "Sh*t!" when we realize we now have to fork over some green because of it.
But we aren't talkin' one or two books here.
We are talking about HUNDREDS of dollars worth of fines for who knows how many books.
I guess it makes sense, though.
If she can't be responsible for her kids, how can she be responsible for a library book?
Friday, January 9, 2009
Uh Oh!
I have learned there are two kinds of tired when dealing with toddlers:
The kind where you let them eat M&Ms for breakfast so they don't scream,
and
The kind where you don't care how much they scream, because it has no effect on your already dead senses.
Once again, toddler Donny decided the middle of the night would be a great time to watch TV. And because I wasn't starting to close my eyes until almost 3:00... I was up til 4:00.
Alas, letting him yell until he calms down doesn't work well at that point, because:
(a) I still can't sleep for listening to him through the monitor; and
(b) There is danger of reaching Defcon 1 when/if he then wakes the baby.
He did provide me with a good laugh a minute ago though.
He tosses Jason's DS down the stairs via the catdoor and then seriously said "Uh oh!"
As daddy would say "Uh oh my butt-oh."
Hope it isn't broken.
Cause I am the one who let him hold it while I was on the phone.
It would kinda suck (for me) if I had to get a new DS for a kid who is on video game restriction 363 days of the year.
The kind where you let them eat M&Ms for breakfast so they don't scream,
and
The kind where you don't care how much they scream, because it has no effect on your already dead senses.
Once again, toddler Donny decided the middle of the night would be a great time to watch TV. And because I wasn't starting to close my eyes until almost 3:00... I was up til 4:00.
Alas, letting him yell until he calms down doesn't work well at that point, because:
(a) I still can't sleep for listening to him through the monitor; and
(b) There is danger of reaching Defcon 1 when/if he then wakes the baby.
He did provide me with a good laugh a minute ago though.
He tosses Jason's DS down the stairs via the catdoor and then seriously said "Uh oh!"
As daddy would say "Uh oh my butt-oh."
Hope it isn't broken.
Cause I am the one who let him hold it while I was on the phone.
It would kinda suck (for me) if I had to get a new DS for a kid who is on video game restriction 363 days of the year.
Dinner Time Talk
A typical conversation in most households, I am sure:
Scene: The dinner table
Me: Sarah, why haven't you eaten most of your quiche?
Sarah: I guess I am not really hungry.
Me: Are you sure it isn't that you think it has eggs? It only has two. It is mostly bacon, cheese and a bunch of other things you like. [Note: She claims to not like eggs. Then again, she also says she doesn't like chocolate... but put some M&Ms in front of her and she will scarf them down.]
Sarah: No! I am just not that hungry. I'm full.
Me: Alright.
(pause)
Sarah: Can I have some candy?
Scene: The dinner table
Me: Sarah, why haven't you eaten most of your quiche?
Sarah: I guess I am not really hungry.
Me: Are you sure it isn't that you think it has eggs? It only has two. It is mostly bacon, cheese and a bunch of other things you like. [Note: She claims to not like eggs. Then again, she also says she doesn't like chocolate... but put some M&Ms in front of her and she will scarf them down.]
Sarah: No! I am just not that hungry. I'm full.
Me: Alright.
(pause)
Sarah: Can I have some candy?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Who's The Mother?
96% of the time, in writing or in person, my goal is to be as amusing and/or sarcastic as possible.
But there is no way to find humor in this.
Anytime I think I am a crap stepmother to Jason and Sarah (which is 98% of the time), I have only to be reminded of their biological mom's habits.
She is, shall we say, not the responsible type.
As I write this we are again in the dark as to whether or not she will see the kids this weekend -- even though she is the one who prompted the get-together.
Recently it had seemed she was getting better with not making false promises. She can be famous for "I'll call you soon. I have a birthday present for you." and then finally finding time 3 months later with only a card in hand.
But over the past few months, although she was never less than two hours late to pick them up, she eventually showed for arranged meetings.
In fact, when she said she had money this year for Christmas gifts we were pleasantly surprised. For the first time since I joined the family, we didn't buy gifts for the kids and put her name on it. (It was just too sad to think the kids would have nothing that was supposedly from their mom.)
Two weeks out from Halloween she told the kids she'd be coming over to take them trick-or-treating. Since Thomas was only a month old at the time, this was perfect for me. I really didn't want the kids running around the neighborhood by themselves. I can totally see Sarah running off into the street without a glance in any direction other than towards the candy.
As Halloween came closer, we kept trying to get their mom on the phone to find out when she would arrive and if she was taking them to her place (a rented room) for the weekend.
Her pay-as-you-go phone was disconnected. Again.
So we waited, assuming she would realize that the kids were anxiously wondering what time she'd arrive on Halloween.
No phone calls.
About 2 days before Halloween we managed to call around enough to get the main number for the house where she rents a room -- in the hope the owner would get a message to her.
Still nothing.
The day before Halloween she calls: She'll be here around 5:30.
Halloween day.
It is 5:30.
We wait.
Knowing she is never on time, I am not thinking much of it... but know it will be getting dark and trick-or-treating will be starting soon.
I tell Sarah she can call her mom to check.
No answer.
6:00.
6:30.
Another phone call made.
No answer.
7:00.
Finally I tell them to call friends, make a pack, and travel together around the neighborhood.
So off they go.
When they come back, the kids are still wondering if they are going to go stay overnight at mommy's house.
They call again.
No answer.
About 9:30ish the phone rings.
It isn't their mom.
It is a friend of their mom's.
"Sorry... she can't come." he says.
That is it.
The entire message.
Nothing more.
Jason is about in tears, but trying to hide it. Sarah just hangs her head and takes her packed overnight bag back downstairs.
I am PISSED.
I call my husband (who is at work) and rant.
We are both so globally pissed that we decide to take the kids to Dave & Busters the next day.
The next day, she calls.
"Sorry, she says. I was sick."
She then talks and tries to make nice with them.
"SHE WAS SICK!!!" Jason spouted happily after the call -- thrilled to have any reasonable-sounding explanation.
"Sick, my ass." I tell my husband later. "More like she went to a Halloween party and got wasted."
He agreed the scenario was more probable than anything else.
If she was sick, he said, she would have known at least a couple hours in advance of the pick up time. And, she could have called herself.
[Deep breath. Two months later this still pisses me off.]
Ok.
Moving on.
She was supposed to then pick them up a couple days after Christmas and spend several days with them.
All week up to Christmas Sarah would spontaneously say: "I can't wait to go to mommy's house after Christmas."
She spends a week leading them on... "I'll pick you up over the weekend." then... "I'll pick you up Monday or Tuesday..." then... "I'll get you Tuesday or Wednesday..."
By the "Tuesday or Wednesday" answer (which came on Tuesday) I was, again, thoroughly pissed.
And I did what I should not have done, and bitched about her in front of the kids.
When Jason got off the phone and told us the newest timetable, I grunted angrily.
"What?" Sarah said.
"I am just so tired of your mom leading you on like this" I ranted "I am tired of her letting you down."
"She isn't letting us down!" Sarah defended, "She is going to come get us!"
But I knew better.
I knew this scenario was not going to end well.
History told me that they would get a call (if they were lucky) on about Friday saying "Sorry, I can't come after all." and that would be that.
But after Sarah's defense of her mom, one could only hope she would be right.
After all, how in the world do you sit a child down (again) and explain to them they need to learn not to count on their own mother?
(Past occurrences by her go overlooked by them. Every explanation is accepted.)
On about Wednesday (New Year's Eve) morning, the timetable was now "Thursday or Friday" and the kids were continuing to plan what to pack and were doing laundry to take with them. During the "Thursday or Friday" call they excited discussed with her what video games they might play, and what board games to bring.
"I'll call you later to tell you when." their mom says.
Sarah, knowing her mom's tendency to not call, said "Well what time can we call you if you don't call first??" 7:00pm that night, she said.
When the kids were out of earshot I turned to my husband: "Call her back right now and tell her to make a f***ing decision and stop leading them on!!"
But he didn't. He is not the confrontational type. And I guess having to deal with her means having to pick battles.
And I can't do it, because who knows what stuff she would start to say to them about me. She has true power to damage the relationship we have and are still working at.
So all day the kids again waited for a phone call telling them when their mom would pick them up... with the next day being a possibility.
7:00 came.
No call.
Sarah calls.
No answer.
Many more phone calls are made throughout the night, with no answer.
Finally, at about 11:30pm on New Year's Eve, they call again and she picks up. "We called to say Happy New Year and find out when you are coming to get us."
I then overhear the rest of the conversation:
(Quiet voices) "Oh..... uh huh..... yeah..... oh... ok... yeah... yeah.... yeah.... uh huh..."
I knew what it meant.
And I was ready to explode.
She wasn't coming.
She was "sick" again.
Of course this time, "sick" probably meant she was planning to get trashed that night and would be too hungover to deal with them the next day. And, I theorize (cause I am nasty and bitter this way) that the lack of decision phone calls was her waiting to see if she was going to be invited to a party.
And now... here we are again.
After the post-Christmas let-down she then called and said "How about if I get them NEXT weekend."
My husband said OK, as long as she told us exactly WHEN she would get them, and exactly WHEN she was bringing them back. (As opposed to her usual answer of "Sometime in the afternoon" or "Before bedtime."
All week long she has promised this.
Yesterday morning my husband called to find out when they'd be picked up.
She said she would call back.
Today, my husband tries to get her on the phone again.
No answer.
He tries a couple hours later... into the evening.
No answer.(Any of this sound familiar?)
And, here it is 2:30am into the day they are supposed to be picked up, and we have no idea what time she might come by, or indeed, if another excuse is in the works.
There are other events the kids could participate in tomorrow night and over the weekend, but we can't RSVP without saying "Well, we don't know... they MIGHT be at their mom's."
I told my husband that if she called tomorrow and said "I'll be there in an hour" that we should say "Sorry... but we asked you for a time and you never got back to us. We tried to call and got no answer -- so the kids made other plans."
If she then dares to complain, we can easily bring up the last two times she said she was going to pick them up, and never showed.
Which, knowing her, will involve "But that wasn't my fault." excuses.
Hmmmm.
I got pretty bitter re-hashing all this.
In fact I want my husband to agree with me RIGHT NOW that we should tell her "Sorry, they made other plans."
But, their mom is their mom and they are always going to want to see her.
And she isn't going to change.
But it again makes me wonder: Who is really a mom, here?
The one who they often "hate" because it feels like she is constantly yelling at them to clean up their messes and do homework? (aka me)
Or
The one who can't be depended on -- but whom they worship?
I know I need to be a better mom to them.
I know it.
Some of their habits (created and ingrained from the time when she had custody) just make me I-N-S-A-N-E. And I sometimes pop.
But surely I have to be better for them than her?
Right?
The postscript to all this might be the saddest part:
Even though the kids excitedly chatted and packed for previously planned visits, this week they haven't said a word.
They haven't mentioned going to visit her.
They haven't talked about what to take.
They haven't asked to call her.
They haven't packed a bag.
But there is no way to find humor in this.
Anytime I think I am a crap stepmother to Jason and Sarah (which is 98% of the time), I have only to be reminded of their biological mom's habits.
She is, shall we say, not the responsible type.
As I write this we are again in the dark as to whether or not she will see the kids this weekend -- even though she is the one who prompted the get-together.
Recently it had seemed she was getting better with not making false promises. She can be famous for "I'll call you soon. I have a birthday present for you." and then finally finding time 3 months later with only a card in hand.
But over the past few months, although she was never less than two hours late to pick them up, she eventually showed for arranged meetings.
In fact, when she said she had money this year for Christmas gifts we were pleasantly surprised. For the first time since I joined the family, we didn't buy gifts for the kids and put her name on it. (It was just too sad to think the kids would have nothing that was supposedly from their mom.)
Two weeks out from Halloween she told the kids she'd be coming over to take them trick-or-treating. Since Thomas was only a month old at the time, this was perfect for me. I really didn't want the kids running around the neighborhood by themselves. I can totally see Sarah running off into the street without a glance in any direction other than towards the candy.
As Halloween came closer, we kept trying to get their mom on the phone to find out when she would arrive and if she was taking them to her place (a rented room) for the weekend.
Her pay-as-you-go phone was disconnected. Again.
So we waited, assuming she would realize that the kids were anxiously wondering what time she'd arrive on Halloween.
No phone calls.
About 2 days before Halloween we managed to call around enough to get the main number for the house where she rents a room -- in the hope the owner would get a message to her.
Still nothing.
The day before Halloween she calls: She'll be here around 5:30.
Halloween day.
It is 5:30.
We wait.
Knowing she is never on time, I am not thinking much of it... but know it will be getting dark and trick-or-treating will be starting soon.
I tell Sarah she can call her mom to check.
No answer.
6:00.
6:30.
Another phone call made.
No answer.
7:00.
Finally I tell them to call friends, make a pack, and travel together around the neighborhood.
So off they go.
When they come back, the kids are still wondering if they are going to go stay overnight at mommy's house.
They call again.
No answer.
About 9:30ish the phone rings.
It isn't their mom.
It is a friend of their mom's.
"Sorry... she can't come." he says.
That is it.
The entire message.
Nothing more.
Jason is about in tears, but trying to hide it. Sarah just hangs her head and takes her packed overnight bag back downstairs.
I am PISSED.
I call my husband (who is at work) and rant.
We are both so globally pissed that we decide to take the kids to Dave & Busters the next day.
The next day, she calls.
"Sorry, she says. I was sick."
She then talks and tries to make nice with them.
"SHE WAS SICK!!!" Jason spouted happily after the call -- thrilled to have any reasonable-sounding explanation.
"Sick, my ass." I tell my husband later. "More like she went to a Halloween party and got wasted."
He agreed the scenario was more probable than anything else.
If she was sick, he said, she would have known at least a couple hours in advance of the pick up time. And, she could have called herself.
[Deep breath. Two months later this still pisses me off.]
Ok.
Moving on.
She was supposed to then pick them up a couple days after Christmas and spend several days with them.
All week up to Christmas Sarah would spontaneously say: "I can't wait to go to mommy's house after Christmas."
She spends a week leading them on... "I'll pick you up over the weekend." then... "I'll pick you up Monday or Tuesday..." then... "I'll get you Tuesday or Wednesday..."
By the "Tuesday or Wednesday" answer (which came on Tuesday) I was, again, thoroughly pissed.
And I did what I should not have done, and bitched about her in front of the kids.
When Jason got off the phone and told us the newest timetable, I grunted angrily.
"What?" Sarah said.
"I am just so tired of your mom leading you on like this" I ranted "I am tired of her letting you down."
"She isn't letting us down!" Sarah defended, "She is going to come get us!"
But I knew better.
I knew this scenario was not going to end well.
History told me that they would get a call (if they were lucky) on about Friday saying "Sorry, I can't come after all." and that would be that.
But after Sarah's defense of her mom, one could only hope she would be right.
After all, how in the world do you sit a child down (again) and explain to them they need to learn not to count on their own mother?
(Past occurrences by her go overlooked by them. Every explanation is accepted.)
On about Wednesday (New Year's Eve) morning, the timetable was now "Thursday or Friday" and the kids were continuing to plan what to pack and were doing laundry to take with them. During the "Thursday or Friday" call they excited discussed with her what video games they might play, and what board games to bring.
"I'll call you later to tell you when." their mom says.
Sarah, knowing her mom's tendency to not call, said "Well what time can we call you if you don't call first??" 7:00pm that night, she said.
When the kids were out of earshot I turned to my husband: "Call her back right now and tell her to make a f***ing decision and stop leading them on!!"
But he didn't. He is not the confrontational type. And I guess having to deal with her means having to pick battles.
And I can't do it, because who knows what stuff she would start to say to them about me. She has true power to damage the relationship we have and are still working at.
So all day the kids again waited for a phone call telling them when their mom would pick them up... with the next day being a possibility.
7:00 came.
No call.
Sarah calls.
No answer.
Many more phone calls are made throughout the night, with no answer.
Finally, at about 11:30pm on New Year's Eve, they call again and she picks up. "We called to say Happy New Year and find out when you are coming to get us."
I then overhear the rest of the conversation:
(Quiet voices) "Oh..... uh huh..... yeah..... oh... ok... yeah... yeah.... yeah.... uh huh..."
I knew what it meant.
And I was ready to explode.
She wasn't coming.
She was "sick" again.
Of course this time, "sick" probably meant she was planning to get trashed that night and would be too hungover to deal with them the next day. And, I theorize (cause I am nasty and bitter this way) that the lack of decision phone calls was her waiting to see if she was going to be invited to a party.
And now... here we are again.
After the post-Christmas let-down she then called and said "How about if I get them NEXT weekend."
My husband said OK, as long as she told us exactly WHEN she would get them, and exactly WHEN she was bringing them back. (As opposed to her usual answer of "Sometime in the afternoon" or "Before bedtime."
All week long she has promised this.
Yesterday morning my husband called to find out when they'd be picked up.
She said she would call back.
Today, my husband tries to get her on the phone again.
No answer.
He tries a couple hours later... into the evening.
No answer.(Any of this sound familiar?)
And, here it is 2:30am into the day they are supposed to be picked up, and we have no idea what time she might come by, or indeed, if another excuse is in the works.
There are other events the kids could participate in tomorrow night and over the weekend, but we can't RSVP without saying "Well, we don't know... they MIGHT be at their mom's."
I told my husband that if she called tomorrow and said "I'll be there in an hour" that we should say "Sorry... but we asked you for a time and you never got back to us. We tried to call and got no answer -- so the kids made other plans."
If she then dares to complain, we can easily bring up the last two times she said she was going to pick them up, and never showed.
Which, knowing her, will involve "But that wasn't my fault." excuses.
Hmmmm.
I got pretty bitter re-hashing all this.
In fact I want my husband to agree with me RIGHT NOW that we should tell her "Sorry, they made other plans."
But, their mom is their mom and they are always going to want to see her.
And she isn't going to change.
But it again makes me wonder: Who is really a mom, here?
The one who they often "hate" because it feels like she is constantly yelling at them to clean up their messes and do homework? (aka me)
Or
The one who can't be depended on -- but whom they worship?
I know I need to be a better mom to them.
I know it.
Some of their habits (created and ingrained from the time when she had custody) just make me I-N-S-A-N-E. And I sometimes pop.
But surely I have to be better for them than her?
Right?
The postscript to all this might be the saddest part:
Even though the kids excitedly chatted and packed for previously planned visits, this week they haven't said a word.
They haven't mentioned going to visit her.
They haven't talked about what to take.
They haven't asked to call her.
They haven't packed a bag.
What the...?
Since the 2 year old and the 3 month old took turns keeping me up all night the other night, I employed Jason to watch the awake Donny while baby Thomas and I slept.
No matter how much I may fuss about Jason's habits and priorities, one thing is sure: he is good with the babies. If he did everything with as much patience and responsibility as he shows when taking care of the little ones, we'd have no issues.
(And, yes, we tell him this all the time. Any opportunity for postive reinforcement...)
Anyway... so I come out into the living room after my nap to find Jason twisted into the arm chair... face on the seat, arms long at his sides, butt up in the air. In short, the same position newborn Donny was put in by the NICU nurses.
Then he lets something drop out of his mouth and onto the floor. A cork-sized, bullet-shaped piece of metal of some sort.
I knew I had to ask.
Even more, I knew I was supposed to ask.
"What was in your mouth?" I said.
"Magnet."
I sigh.
"Well, that is really smart." I said in my best sarcastic voice, shaking my head.
I swear sometimes.
How old is he : 13 years -- or 13 months?
It is truly hard to tell.
No matter how much I may fuss about Jason's habits and priorities, one thing is sure: he is good with the babies. If he did everything with as much patience and responsibility as he shows when taking care of the little ones, we'd have no issues.
(And, yes, we tell him this all the time. Any opportunity for postive reinforcement...)
Anyway... so I come out into the living room after my nap to find Jason twisted into the arm chair... face on the seat, arms long at his sides, butt up in the air. In short, the same position newborn Donny was put in by the NICU nurses.
Then he lets something drop out of his mouth and onto the floor. A cork-sized, bullet-shaped piece of metal of some sort.
I knew I had to ask.
Even more, I knew I was supposed to ask.
"What was in your mouth?" I said.
"Magnet."
I sigh.
"Well, that is really smart." I said in my best sarcastic voice, shaking my head.
I swear sometimes.
How old is he : 13 years -- or 13 months?
It is truly hard to tell.
Fake Out
I thought maybe I had finally done something right.
Jason wore his coat to school yesterday.
Then it hit me.
His hoodie was in the washer.
Jason wore his coat to school yesterday.
Then it hit me.
His hoodie was in the washer.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Jagged Little Pill?
Anytime me or hubby goes near his room as if they are threatening to go in, Jason leaps three feet into the air and flashes in before us to block the path or magically "find" what was hopelessly lost (aka the colored pencils his sister needed) a moment before.
Some might say this sends up red flags that I should be dipping test sticks in the toilet to check for drugs. Or that I should employ a Drug Swat Team to run a comprehensive search.
However, in Jason's case, I think it more likely that his drug of choice will make itself known in the form of potato chip bags and candy bar wrappers. Or, of course, the Gameboy that he has "lost" -- so that we can't confiscate it during this time of Video Game Restriction.
Some might say this sends up red flags that I should be dipping test sticks in the toilet to check for drugs. Or that I should employ a Drug Swat Team to run a comprehensive search.
However, in Jason's case, I think it more likely that his drug of choice will make itself known in the form of potato chip bags and candy bar wrappers. Or, of course, the Gameboy that he has "lost" -- so that we can't confiscate it during this time of Video Game Restriction.
Wii Fitness (not)
Ok.
The 11 year old is whippin' my butt on Wii Fit.
Obviously, something must be done.
I could exercise and try to keep up with her... or.... I could permanently restrict her from video games for failing to notice the Cheerio she dropped under the refrigerator.
Hmmm.
Decisions, decisions...
The 11 year old is whippin' my butt on Wii Fit.
Obviously, something must be done.
I could exercise and try to keep up with her... or.... I could permanently restrict her from video games for failing to notice the Cheerio she dropped under the refrigerator.
Hmmm.
Decisions, decisions...
Baby, It's NOT Cold Outside
The Season: Winter
The Temperature: 36 degrees
The Coat: Hanging on Dining Room Chair
WHY WHY WHY WHY does 13-year-old Jason REFUSE to wear his coat?!?! Whhhhyyyyy??
Why is it cool to walk around with blue lips and a permanent shiver while declaring "I'm NOT cold."
And, why is it that although it is NOT cold at 36 degrees (and no coat), it IS cold when it is 47 degrees and he is told to go outside and clean up the leaves?
These are the issues that perplex all mankind (and parents of teenagers).
The Temperature: 36 degrees
The Coat: Hanging on Dining Room Chair
WHY WHY WHY WHY does 13-year-old Jason REFUSE to wear his coat?!?! Whhhhyyyyy??
Why is it cool to walk around with blue lips and a permanent shiver while declaring "I'm NOT cold."
And, why is it that although it is NOT cold at 36 degrees (and no coat), it IS cold when it is 47 degrees and he is told to go outside and clean up the leaves?
These are the issues that perplex all mankind (and parents of teenagers).
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The Vast Pit of Crap
The older kids were given a usual mandate yesterday afternoon: clean up the downstairs.
The downstairs, to those not in the know, is otherwise known as the Vast Pit of Crap (aka the place where the pull out everything they own, do science experiements until everything multiplies, and then put nothing away).
This morning, in the mood to be daring, I peered down the stairs.
As Jason was chattering about Pokemon, Star Wars and the Redskins all at once, I say, in my most pretend-patient voice, "Jason, I told you guys three times yesterday to clean up theVast Pit... downstairs."
No response.
In fact, I think he paused with his Random Ramblings only long enough to pick up one of the toddler's toys with his toes.
Oddly enough, I took his non-responsiveness as a sign he wasn't listening to me.
Therefore, about 24 seconds after he dissapeared downstairs I told my husband that perhaps one of us (aka HIM) should again declare the downstairs a Biohazard Area and tell them to clean it up.
"He heard you" hubby said, "as he went downstairs he told Sarah to get off the video games and clean."
"Then how come I hear him shooting off Nerf darts?" I dared to venture.
"He's probably shooting them at her head so she'll shut off the game."
Reasonable answer.
However, about 14.2 seconds later, Jason is again upstairs wandering aimlessly.
"So," I said "you told your sister to clean the downstairs and then you came back up?"
"WE FINISHED!" he declared, offended.
"You've been down there for 38 seconds -- how could you have cleaned up?"
He then listed a variety of items that I had indeed spotted from the top of the stairs, and had now vanished from view.
Since my standard policy is to try to avoid the downstairs unless I am in the mood to put everyone on Everything-Restriction-Until-The-Age-of-43, I decided to take his word for it.
This, of course, means that everything -- from shoes to Harry Potter cards -- is now shoved in a non-viewable corner or moved to a Jenga-like pile on the entertainment center.
Just for fun I may peek downstairs later.
Just for fun.
The downstairs, to those not in the know, is otherwise known as the Vast Pit of Crap (aka the place where the pull out everything they own, do science experiements until everything multiplies, and then put nothing away).
This morning, in the mood to be daring, I peered down the stairs.
As Jason was chattering about Pokemon, Star Wars and the Redskins all at once, I say, in my most pretend-patient voice, "Jason, I told you guys three times yesterday to clean up the
No response.
In fact, I think he paused with his Random Ramblings only long enough to pick up one of the toddler's toys with his toes.
Oddly enough, I took his non-responsiveness as a sign he wasn't listening to me.
Therefore, about 24 seconds after he dissapeared downstairs I told my husband that perhaps one of us (aka HIM) should again declare the downstairs a Biohazard Area and tell them to clean it up.
"He heard you" hubby said, "as he went downstairs he told Sarah to get off the video games and clean."
"Then how come I hear him shooting off Nerf darts?" I dared to venture.
"He's probably shooting them at her head so she'll shut off the game."
Reasonable answer.
However, about 14.2 seconds later, Jason is again upstairs wandering aimlessly.
"So," I said "you told your sister to clean the downstairs and then you came back up?"
"WE FINISHED!" he declared, offended.
"You've been down there for 38 seconds -- how could you have cleaned up?"
He then listed a variety of items that I had indeed spotted from the top of the stairs, and had now vanished from view.
Since my standard policy is to try to avoid the downstairs unless I am in the mood to put everyone on Everything-Restriction-Until-The-Age-of-43, I decided to take his word for it.
This, of course, means that everything -- from shoes to Harry Potter cards -- is now shoved in a non-viewable corner or moved to a Jenga-like pile on the entertainment center.
Just for fun I may peek downstairs later.
Just for fun.
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