Mom

 

I got a lot from my mother, but it was always tempered with a bit of my father.  I got her tactlessness, but I got my father’s storytelling to soothe over ruffled feathers.  I got her sense of humor, but I got my father’s as well.  I got her need for acceptance and a social circle, but I got my father’s independent lone wolf style.  I got her body type with long legs and hour-glass shape, but I got my slightly larger bone structure, my smile, my cheeks, my nose from my father.  I got my mom’s blonde hair, but I grew into my father’s curls.  I began with my father’s impatience with books, but I grew into my mom’s love for reading.  I had just enough of my mother to have us butt heads, and just enough of my father that she never understood where I was coming from.  We had turbulent times.

I grew up with the story of how much I looked like my father hanging over my head.  When my father’s dad beheld me for the first time, he looked over at my mother and jokingly asked, “Did you have anything to do with this?”  Learning to live with the sense of humor that made my father’s family notorious in two states, my mom answered, “I don’t know.  I had her c-section.  It could be his mistress’s down the hall.”  And I grew up leaning towards my father because I understood him.

In college, where people met me before my parents, they always would tell me how much I looked like my mother.  I was slowly getting rid of the childish resentment of how “cool” my mom was and how all my friends “loved” her.  People in college would say, “Wow.  You look just like your mom.  She’s so cool.  That’s where you get it.”  While I started liking her, I was shocked to here her say, “We’re friends now.”  I gave her a look of disbelief as she still gave me chores, a curfew, and her nagging.  She looked at my face, and said, “Well, maybe not just yet.”

Then I grew up some more.  I broke my heart; I fell in love again; I graduated; I faced the realities of life; and then I got pregnant.  I started calling two or three times a week.  Then when Evan was born, she stayed with me for three weeks, calming me when I couldn’t bring him home right away, holding me when I cried my baby blues, helping me with the new baby I was so terrified to ruin.  I remember crying as my parents drove away, leaving me with a three-week baby, crying like I cried when they drove away leaving me alone at college for the first time.

My mom confided in me a story that she hadn’t told anyone, when I was pregnant with Evan, believing I would have a little girl like my mother who willed a daughter over the protest that the eldest boy always had a son first in my father’s family.

The night of my birth, my mom held me, all alone as my dad had gone in search of food.  She looked down at the baby girl she had dreamed of for so many months, so many months before with the trying that seemed to take forever.  She started to cry.  As my mom sobbed, her heart was torn, forcing her thoughts out of her mouth.  “She’s going to hate me one day.”

No, Mom.  I never hated you, even when I was an angry, hurt teenager.  But I’m glad that we are finally friends.

 

Even though that means I know a little too much about Dad and your . . . um, personal life.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you wonderful moms!

The Rocket Man

Yesterday we went to a 50’s diner, and on the way out, my dad put the boys in a coin-operator rocket, circa God only knows.  As the rocket bounced around like a mechanical bull, I watched the boys, wondering if the fries, chicken nuggets, and chocolate milk shake were about to make a reappearance.  Evan looked especially sick as he was already running a mild fever. 

When the boys were hauled out, poor Evan held his crotch.  My mother looked at him with concern.

Grandma: Evan, sweetheart, are you ok?

Evan: Grandma, it hurts!

Grandma: Where?

Evan: Here.  (He pointed to his crotch.)

Papi: Want to ride again?

Grandma: I think he hurt his testes.

Evan: I hurt my testes, Papi!  Let’s ride again!

At this time, I was doubled over in laughter to my mother’s disgust as she shot me dirty looks over Evan’s head.  I got control of myself, straightened up, and wiped the tears out of my eyes.

Me: Evan, love, we’ll come back it do it another time.

 

***

 

This morning.  My BFF (How cool does that sound?  And a million teenagers roll their eyes.) had taken pictures of the rocket ride and was showing Evan the pictures on her camera.

Evan: And there’s the yellow rocket where I hurt my testes!

 

Nod if you think Evan will say that every time we visit that diner.

Like a barnacle: Or why are you in my bed AGAIN?

Hark! Glad tidings I bring to moms and dads.  Peace.  Good nights to toddlers and preschoolers!  There is hope for Evan is finally learning to sleep through the night.

If there is one thing I have learned from parenting, it is that never judge another parent.  (Ok, there are cases like neglect, abuse, feeding a twelve month old soda, taking young children to an R rated movie at 10 at night deserve some judgment, just not the every day problems.)  I don’t know why that mom won’t stop her kid’s temper tantrum.  I don’t know why that dad has decided to feed his son ice cream for lunch.  I don’t know why that mom is pushing a four year old around in a stroller. I just don’t understand the situation.  So why is my almost four year old son still trying to sleep in my bed.

I know there are a few of you out there that have toddlers and preschoolers that don’t sleep through the night.  When I first learned about such children when I was pregnant with Evan, I thought obviously the parents did something wrong.  Now obviously there’s something wrong with the kid.

Evan was a normal baby waking up in the middle of the night for his feedings, and in my exhausted state, I began to leave him in our bed after the first feeding of the night as I had no energy to get out of bed and put him back in the bassinet, which was at the foot of the bed.  I remember there was a night of two hour feeding all night long.  But as he was weaned, he still woke up in the middle of the night, wanting comfort, wanting his mommy, wanting to be in mommy and daddy’s bed. 

Imagine the complete stupidity and hopelessness I felt when I realized that when I had Sean I would be dealing with TWO babies up during the night.  Luckily, Sean would eat ever hour on the hour through the evening and then sleep until four.  When people asked me how the baby slept for me, I would say, “Fine; it’s the toddler that wakes up all night.”

During these years, we hoped for a resolution to naturally move on it own.  He’ll sleep through the night when he’s weaned.  He’ll sleep through the night when he has solid foods.  He’ll sleep through the night when he learns to run himself out.  He’ll sleep through the night in his own bed.  He’ll sleep through the night when he starts playing hard, if you reduce his nap, if you move his nap earlier, if you force him to go back to bed every time he tries to get into yours.  The last one was the only one that met with some success, and it was sporadic. 

A friend of mine confided with me that her eldest did not sleep through the night until her daughter was five.  FIVE!  My friend said her daughter would talk, sing, count, and recite her ABC’s lying in my friend’s bed as my friend tried desperately to get sleep for the next day.  Then one day, the daughter just slept through the night and then every night after.  (And yes, I scoffed because I was still pregnant with Evan.  Fate is a bitch.)

For the last three years and twenty-two months, I have slept with a child who likes to snuggle against me, pushing me towards the edge of the bed.  He snuggled so close it felt like a barnacle growing from my back.  Heaven forbid that I face him.  If I faced him, he would pinch and play with my hand, messing with what loose skin he could find, keeping me awake.  If he was smart, he would slide into our bed quietly taking the middle of the California king, where I wouldn’t know he was there until the morning.  Many nights he wasn’t so smart, so I would march him back to bed until he gave up or move in quietly.

So two weeks ago, Evan slept through the night.  We were amazed.  The next night I sent him back to his bed, where he stayed.  The next night he slept through the night again.  I made up a chart, telling Evan if he slept all night for seven nights he would get a toy.  He wanted a robot.  He only woke up one night, and that was because he had peed so much it ran out of his diaper soaking him.  I changed him, put down a towel, and sent him back to bed, where he stayed.  I didn’t count that against him, so he earned his robot.

While he slept through the night after the end of the week, I’ll admit we had a rough night last night, but he does have a fever right now.  I have a feeling we’re over the hump.  Or maybe it’ll have to be a two week chart or a month chart as they say three weeks and the habit is gone.

If you’re child doesn’t sleep through the night, have hope.  I really think they’ll grow out of it.  But I sympathize with you because I bet your kid has to snuggle right up against you like a barnacle.

Evan’s sushi roll

I love spicy tuna hand rolls!  I would kill for a good one.  Mmmm.  Of course, they come second to a good hamburger, but I assure you, it’s a close second.  You can imagine my delight when we noticed Evan’s sushi set had a tuna hand roll.  Well, it’s not quite spicy, but we can make it work. 

If you don’t know what’s in a tuna hand roll, it’s tuna and cucumber or avocado with some sort of spicy herb that I can’t find the name of wrapped in rice and seaweed to make a cone for your hand.  With spicy tuna, the ground of the tuna with spices to make it nice and hot.  A great spicy tuna is heaven. *

 

Mmmm. Plastic hand roll.

Evan: This is a spicy hand roll.  The black is seaweed.  The white is rice.  The red is spicy tuna.  And the green is guacamole. 

Um.  Not quite the right ethnic group or continent.  But the right vegetable, so close enough.

 

*I understand not everyone can stomach or understand the delight that is eating raw fish, which I get because I would never have believed as a kid that I would eat raw fish and want to go back.  With that said, I have never got food poison from eating sushi.  That is usually fried shrimp.  And I believe you shouldn’t knocked until you tried it, but then I don’t think you’ll ever get me to try blood pudding or brains of any kind.

Can someone say therapy?

I’m writing the night before because I told my mom and grandma that I would help make some Polish cookies that I have no idea how to spell, but as you need many hands to make it reasonable to actually bake, I, of course, volunteered.  When I said Tuesday afternoon, I meant like 3pm, after naptime, after blogging time.  When I said Tuesday afternoon, my mom and grandma assumed 1pm or so when the boys were napping at my parents house, so that I would come over for lunch, put the boys down, and hang out with my dad while my mom plays computer games.  Super.

I was going to write a post about the different schools we’re looking at and write the pros and cons.  Then I realized you might not understand the horror that is for me to send my child to a private school, or to the private school I went to.  So I felt I should explain myself.  Just so we get this straight, I feel like I had to go through the fire to become the ceramic piece I am today.  But fire is fire, and it sucks to be in there.

First off, I don’t remember much from grades three to sixth.  I’m sure you’re thinking, “Fae, that was a long time ago.”  Well, by the time I was in high school I couldn’t remember them.  I could remember pre-kindergarten up to third grade with clarity, but I had few memories of those years, which makes me think I blocked it all out.

Fourth grade was the year my best friend of three years left me for the popular group, and I remember my mom pushing me to join.  I remember trying by going through with a dare of kissing a boy.  It just gave them more ammunition to make fun of me.

I got a new best friend, but she left before junior high.  She didn’t even tell me she was leaving.  Everyone else knew but me.  I heard it from my mom who accidently heard it from another mother.  I cried for hours.  When I asked my friend, she shrugged it off and spent the next few months making fun of me like the popular girls.

During this time I had a bully.  Yup.  Do you know how rare it is to have an older female bully?  Girls tease in packs, and usually they don’t keep tormenting a younger girl.  But I was lucky.  Unfortunately so was the girl.  She was the niece of one of the other teachers, so it was always my word against hers.  She always won.

During these years, if I stepped out of line, danced to a different tune, the popular girls would ignore me, setting the example.  After a few days of being alone, I would cave and march to their drum, killing the last friendships I had.  Those friendships were with two boys.  Because they were boys, they weren’t swayed by the female orders, so I was shunned into cutting off my own allies.  I’m not proud of that, but I did go to high school with one of the boys and was able to make amends.

In sixth grade with all the bullying and teasing, I came home crying most days.  My mom went again to the teacher.  I remember the teacher telling me how she was teased as a girl.  As though that was to make me feel better.  As though that was a reason to let the kids do it.  As though that was a justification.  I was also told boys only tease girls they like.  No.  Boys that tease are mean snots who should be taught manners.

I hated my life.  School was hard for me as I struggled to teach myself to learn.  Sports were hard for me as I didn’t have natural talent but tried any ways.  Popularity was elusive because I was poor.  In this vain, I would like to point out that the reason uniforms are good is because they make the playing field equal, disguising the poor kids and the rich kids is BS.  Kids notice shoes, jewelry, hairstyle.  Kids find ways to make some one the loser.

Seventh grade my life changed.  I remember very well.  First off they divided the class of thirty-two into two classes for the harder subjects of math, science, and grammar.  For the other four classes we were one large class.  To divide us, they took out math scores and divided the class in half.  I missed the other class by two points.  My mom was pissed.  She went in charging into the office to ask what kind of moron isn’t up to date on child psychology to do a stupid move like that, making the kids feel stupid, making the math teacher think they were stupid.  The powers to be assured my mom the class was going to be taught the same.  My mom was not satisfied with that answer until she talked to the new teacher, who promised her he would teach them the same.  And the crazy thing was he taught like a college professor, and this right-brained, word-slanted kid GOT IT.  I actually understood math for the first time ever.  I got it enough to actually tutor some other kids.

In the beginning of the school year I was in the bathroom with a friend before a volleyball game.  My bully was there hair spraying her bangs even higher for the game.  When she noticed some dry hairspray clogging the nozzle, she let out an “eww” and wiped it on my friend’s shirt.  She apologized to the girl and said she thought the girl was me.  She started to come closer with the spray bottle.  I pushed her twice at the shoulders, sending her into the paper towel dispenser.  For a second I was amazed that I did that and that the move my father taught me actually worked.  The second wore off as I saw her glare at me.  I grabbed my friend’s hand, dragging her behind me as I ran back to the courts to where the grownups were.  I didn’t want to die.  My bully never bothered me again.

This was the year I gained more teasers.  A boy, who was held back, took special delight on tormenting me about my braces.  But I studied the source, thinking this kid is Ugly.  He was pasty white, overweight, and didn’t brush his braces so there was crud all over them.  Then he was not the brightest penny in the fountain.  My problem was he sat next to me, where he would whisper insults at me during class.

Several months into the year, the girls started shaving their legs, and it scared the crap out of me.  One of the girls showed us a long hideous cut on her leg where, she explained, she tested the razor to see if it was dull.  As an adult, I know better, but as a kid who didn’t know a thing, I was freaked out and disgusted.  It wasn’t long until the boys noticed I wasn’t shaving.  They pounced.  When the girls found out about the boys teasing me, they pounced.  I was miserable.

Then one day a boy, that I had known since I was four years old, handed me a razor and told me to go shave my legs in the bathroom.  I handed it back, patted his cheek and told him to go first.

The teasing intensified.  A few weeks later, he handed the razor to me again.  I just handed it back.  When I got home, I cried and cried.  My mom got the story from me and was on the phone, demanding the principal.

Now that I’m older I realized that if he hadn’t brought the razor to school, no one would have done a thing.  Because he brought it to school, he brought a weapon.  The idiot still had it in his backpack the next day.  But my mom demanded justice.  I had been tormented long enough.  I had to submit a list of my tormentors.  My mom was in the principal’s office for an hour. 

Finally the principal called me in, and after she heard me out, she called in the boys.  The boys, who weren’t part of the razor joke, were warned and forced to give an apology.  No detention.  Though I received detention if I talked in mass.  The other boys were forced to call their mothers, mothers who had known me since I was four or six years old.  THOSE mothers were righteously pissed.  While those boys had to write an apology saying they would never do it again and received detention, their mothers forced them to call me and apologize as well as tell my mother how sorry they were.  I remember one mother telling my mom that her son was stupid with hormones and she didn’t know what got into him, and then the mother threw The Look at the boy, who cowered.

Then it dawned on me.  These were mean boys.  These were mean girls.  Why the heck (because I didn’t cuss when I was a good Catholic school girl) did I want to be their friends?  They could go to hell.  So I went to school not caring.

Oh, and they tried to make me care.  The popular girls gave the order to ignore me.  After the first lunch where no one said a word to me, I starting bringing a book.  For two weeks, no one said a damn word to me.  F- them.  Finally one of the girls disobeyed the order.  As she was new, she was not ruled by the absolute authority.  She was slightly outcasted because she was not just Hispanic, she was Greek and Japaneese.  She was slightly outcasted because it was assumed she had no money, she had a strange name, and no one had seen her father.  It turned out she was the richest kid in my class (not the school, my brother was best friends with the heir to the third richest man in Mexico.  Weird)  because her father was a specialist food taster in Japan, where it turns out they take their marketing and food very seriously.  And this girl spent her summers in Greece with her grandparents.  Um, go figure.  This girl liked me because I made her laugh.  The ice thawed a bit.

My eighth grade year I didn’t care.  My mom had tutored me in algebra because we got a new math teacher mid-year because the old one was fired because all the kids blamed him for their failure though they were the ones not doing their homework.  This new teacher took two days to teach my “slow” class a concept versus the one day the “smart” class did.  In eighth grade I was one of eight kids able to do the algebra that was expected.  I was put in the smart math group. Oh and the best friend who dumped me in fourth grade, well, she was one of those eight, but she declined it so she didn’t look too smart for the popular girls.  I couldn’t care less about my peers.  F- them.  I told my mother if she was going to send me to the Catholic high school with the rest of them, then I would get myself expelled within the first week.  I didn’t know what I would do, but I would do it.  If I couldn’t get expelled, I told her, I would commit suicide then spend anymore school years with those evil kids.  She let me go to public school as long as I stayed in Honors English.  Fine.

While all the other kids that I would join a gang or do drugs or screw a bunch of guys, I only thought nothing can be worse than the hell I just survived.  After the first week, braving the fights only to gain the respect of the kids who tried to fight me and finding my own nitch, I was ok.  Though I did hear some of those kids DID do drugs and DID screw a bunch of guys.

The moral of the story?  Well, first off I know why those boys did what they did at Columbine.  I could have done it too, if I was forced to stay with my tormentors.  The second, the principal that was there when I was a kid is there now.  I didn’t see anything on bullying policy like in the other two schools.  I do know Columbine changed a lot of minds about how to deal with bullies and teasing, but I don’t want my kids to go through what I did.  I don’t know why I was singled out; I just know that I was.  I also know as boys they have a better shot than a girl.  Boys aren’t harassed as much, especially if they play sports, but I don’t want to test the theory. 

So while I try to make up my mind, I can’t seem to shake the ghosts of the past.  I think I would kill the little punk that hurts my kid.

The Interrupter

 

Every morning it’s Sean who gets up at 6am to wake his Mommy up to get her to come with him to watch cartoons, to get him juice.  The other day he actually handed me my sandals.  This morning it was Evan, who cuddled in bed with me.  A few minutes later Sean came into the room, babbling.

Evan: Look, Mommy!  Seanny is looking for me!

Me: Really?

Evan: Yeah!  Seanny are you looking for me?

Sean: Um.  Uh.  Oh.

Evan: I think that’s a yes!

I think we need to stop acting like you actually can interrupt Sean

 

(Quick, early post today because we’re checking out a couple of schools today.  Can’t wait to find time to read.  Wish us luck.)

Mother’s Day Crafts

Mother’s Day is coming, and I thought I would post some crafts for kids to do for their grandmas or their moms.  These are pretty easy to do, and depending on the ability of your child depends on how much a child can do.  Even babies can help shake the scrub or the bath salts.  I guess this would be a great time to promote my new blog Faemom Crafts.  And it has pictures!  (What?  I just learned, and I got to entice you guys some how.)  Enjoy!

 

Facial/Body Scrub

(This is a very easy and very simple scrub.  The boys like to shake things up.  They also helped pouring in the ingredients.  This is an excellent scrub to use or to give as a gift.)

Things you need:

Equal parts of

• Sugar
• Salt
• Dry oatmeal

And a container to put it in

Mix the sugar, salt, and oatmeal in a bowl.  Put the scrub into a nice jar. 

To use the scrub: Just wet skin, rub the scrub on, and rinse.

 

Bath Salts

(This is another easy gift to make.  The boys love shaking and smooshing until all the salt is colored.  You can use Epson salts or regular salt for this.)

Things you need:

• Salt (as much as you want to make the salts)
• Food dye
• Essence or oils (editable oils work as well as the oil for making soaps and candles)
• Zip lock bag
• A jar

Have the child pour in the salt into the bag.  Help the child drop some food coloring into the salt as well as the oil.  Securely close the bag.  Have the child shake and smoosh the bag until all the salt is colored.  Pour into a nice jar.

 

Coffee Filter Carnations

(My mom is quite fond of carnations, so I had the boys make a few.  This is easy.  Evan perferred to make white carnations, so all his hard work on staining them was for nothing.  Of course, the flowers still looked pretty and made it a no mess project.)

Things you need:

• Coffee filters
• Markers
• A bowl of water
• Paint brush
• Smock
• Green pipe cleaners

Have the child color the filters with markers.  Have the child paint the filters with water.  Let the filters dry.  When the filters are dry, take three and fold them in thirds.  Put the filters together, fluffing them and arranging them to look like a carnation.  Twist a pipe cleaner around the bottom, leaving a good length for the stem.

 

Picture Frame

(I wanted to have the boys paint a picture frame like they did for their Daddy, and I thought about making the whole frame.  The boys loved painting and decorating their frames.  I’m still trying to get them to add stickers, but no go yet.)

Things you need:

• Popsicles sticks
• Glue
• Smock
• Paint
• Paint brush
• Optional: glitter pens, glitter, stickers, buttons, anything you want to decorate with

If you have wide popsicle sticks, use two for each side of the frame.  If you have thin popsicle sticks, use three for each side.  Create a square with the popsicle sticks, overlapping two sides.  Glue the sticks together at the overlapping of the sticks.  Allow the glue to dry.  Have the child paint the frame.  When the frame is day, have the child decorate the frame more if s/he would like.

 

Bookmarks

(Both my mom and mother-in-law are huge readers, so I thought this was a wonderfully easy project to do.  The boys love decorating with stickers, but you can use anything else you would like.)

Things you need:

• Cardstock
• Scissors
• Stickers, crayons, markers, paint, stamps, anything you want
• Clear contact paper
• Optional: hole punch, ribbon

Cut the cardstock to a size you like for a bookmarker.  I cut mine about 6 by 2.  Have the child decorate the bookmark.  Cover the bookmark with contact paper.  If you would like, punch a hole at the top of the bookmark and tie a length of ribbon through it.

Innate knowledge

I was cleaning, and the boys were playing with each other.

Evan: Look, Sean, a baby Uriel!

I whipped my head around to see what Evan was talking about.  Evan was flying his plastic red dragon in front of Sean.

Me: What did you call your dragon?

Evan: It’s not a dragon!  It’s a Uriel!

Me: Do you know what a Uriel is?

Evan: It’s a dragon!

I smiled.

Now if you have studied some metaphysics, you might have run into the archangels.  (Because everyone gets interested in metaphysics- Oh, wait, maybe it’s just me and wanting to know everything.  Aka nerd.)  One of the archangels is Uriel.  So I wondered where Evan picked the name up.  Strange.

An Evan compliment

I think I mentioned in a post a while back about how little I take to pretty myself up.  I like to delude myself into thinking that I have tons of natural beauty, but really I only have a half an hour to get ready in the morning.  Now that I actually have a facial and dental routine, it’s really taking up time.  If I’m honest, I really don’t give a crap.  Yet a couple of weeks ago, I did up my hands and feet all pretty with nail polish and everything.  Granted the blue nail polish on my nails started chipping two days later, which is why I don’t wear nail polish anymore.  Then a few days later I had this conversation.

Evan: Mommy!  Your toes are blue!

Me: Yes, it’s nail polish.

Evan: Yes, but now they look like your fingernails!  They’re chippy!

Wouldn’t you know the smile he gave me was like he had told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world? 

Thanks, kid.

A Meme thanks to Polymer Clay Snails

What’s your current obsession?

1. Isn’t it obvious?   In fact, I’m embarrassed to admit I’m obsessed with reclaiming my position as number one Hottest User and number one Hottest Blog on the Mom Blog Network, which I need help getting over because the bloggers in those positions like Bad Mommy Moments and The World According to Me and Parenting by Dummies are excellent blogs.

 

What’s you favorite color and why?

I love bright blue.  Not the electric blue but the blue raspberry slurpie blue.  I think it’s a fun color, cheerful, happy, delightful.  I’ve painted tons of stuff with the color, including a few kid furniture pieces.

 

What are you wearing today?

I’m wearing a grey t-shirt with the symbol for Leo that I got a Wal-Mart.  I’m wearing denim shorts that aren’t too short but aren’t any where near my knee.  I don’t usually wear shoes.  Right now, due to the sudden breaking of my Pandora bracelet, I’m only wearing a silver necklace with a tree charm to represent family, hoop earrings, a pair of studs, and a friendship anklet to make my BFF and I friends forever because obviously I’m 28 going on 12. 

Why is today special?

It’s Friday.  We’re working on Mother’s Day Crafts for the blog.  I have to go get birthday party supplies, and hey, we might go get some pizza.  Really, is there anything better than a pizza Friday?

 

What would you like to learn to do?

How long can this list be?  I’d like to learn to work on cars because that just seem so sensible.  I would like to learn to draw because that would be so artistic.  I would like to learn the secret to getting published because that would make things so easy.  I would like to learn how to get Evan to eat more vegetables and fruits because that must be a secret.  I would like to learn to speak another language because my tongue is just too English.  I would really like to learn to dance and play pool really well because those would make me look badass.

 

What’s for dinner today?

That is an excellent question.  I plan to mooch off my family again tonight because my husband would hate to miss turkey dinner left-overs.  I am contributing the appetizer as usual.  I plan on bringing a chocolate-peanut butter apple dip, if it is still good.  If not, I’ll have to whip up something.  Any ideas?

 

What’s the last thing you bought?

An oil change.  Does that count?  If that doesn’t, we went to the dollar store and got a bunch of stuff for party bags.  They also had Master Monkey’s staff, so I had to buy two to see which son would kill the other.  I also got a toy Virgin Mary because that’s just funny.  The craft supplies I meant to buy were forgotten in the need to get a temper-throwing Sean out of there.

 

What are you listening to right now?

Kung Fu Panda because my boys decided not to nap today.  Awesome.

 

What’s your most challenging goal right now?

Either finding and getting Evan into a pre-kindergarten/preschool for next year OR getting my stuff together to file and get more organized before I get another late bill.

 

What do you think about the person who tagged you?

I think Nydia’s really cool.  She’s got such talent, and she’s so creative.  It’s people like her that makes me glad for the blogosphere because I know I would never have met her without it.   So check out her website/blog Polymer Clay Snails.

 

 

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?

If I’m thinking practically, it would be here in Tucson, Arizona.  If I could dream, it would be in Maui.

 

Favorite vacation spot?

My favorite spot so far has been Maui, but since I haven’t been on a vacation since my honeymoon, almost six years ago, I would settle for anywhere remotely interesting with a hotel with maid service.

 

What would you like to have in your hands right now?

I like Nydia’s idea of a huge check.  Enough to satisfy my practical side and pay all the bills and get rid of all our debt and still have some left over for some fun. 

 

What would you like to get rid of?

Again, Nydia has it right when she mentioned five pounds and a bunch of flab.  Of course, I need to lose more than five pounds.  I would also like to get rid of all the bachelor furniture we still hjave hanging around our neck.

 

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?

For only an hour?  Then I would go to a pool and swim or a nice quiet spot to blog or read.  If I have more than an hour, then I would go to Maui  . . . for a week.

 

What super power would you like to possess?

Telepathy and telekinesis.  I don’t know how many times I wish I could send mental messages or do three things at once.

 

What’s your favorite piece of clothing in your own closet?

In my closet?  Not my dresser?  Well, that limits all my t-shirts, jeans, and shorts.  I’ve got some really cool skirts and dresses. . .  I do have The Dress that makes me drop dead hot, but I don’t think I can fit in it anymore, but I won’t give it up. 

What’s your dream job?

I want to be a writer.  I love sci-fi and fantasy.  I would love to write graphic novels.  Or I could write fairy tales.  *sigh*  I just want to write.

 

If you had $150 now what would you spend it on?

Probably Sean’s birthday.  If I could dream, it would be more books.

 

What do you find annoying?

Wells Fargo.  They insist that because they took out the payments before deposits, I had a negative balance, even though I transferred the money without a negative balance.  So they stole 35 bucks and told me it was my fault.  They suck.

 

Describe your personal style.

Easy and fun.  I’m a t-shirts and jeans/shorts girl.  But I have fun shirts like fairies and bright colors, and my new one is a She-Ra shirt.  Come on, that’s cool.

 

What fashion show would you want tickets to?

Fashion show?  What’s that?

 

Who’s closet would you want to raid?

This may sound kind of silly.  But I totally loved how they dressed the character Dharma in that show Dharma and Greg that was on the air several years ago.

 

 

What are you most proud of? 

Nydia stole the easiest one.  I’m most proud of my boys, but if we’re talking about accomplishments, that would be going to college.  I got in on scholarships.  I graduated with a semester more of credits.  I graduated with honors.  I kicked ass.

 

The beautiful bloggers I’d like to know about are:

Whomever wants to do this because I won’t force you, but if you decide to do it, let me know so I can read all about you.  But I think I will go out of my way and tag Ink at Inkatopia because she SO LOVES giving out homework that I thought I return the favor. 

Now the rules of this tag:

1. Respond and rework: answer the questions on your blog, replace one question you dislike with a question of your own invention.

2. Tag 7 other people you would love to learn more about.