It ain’t for wimps

The Husband thinks he can do my job.  It’s a point of contention between us, especially when he throws it out in a middle of an argument.  Obviously it’s times when he’s not thinking rationally.

Today he was working in his office while I tried to get the boys to clean the HUUUUUGE mess they made of their toys and the family room.  Evan was sent to time out because he didn’t listen when I told him “no” when he decided to take apart the potty training seat.  Sean was sent to time out because he stopped in the middle of putting toys away to fling the basket he was filling with toys around, making a giant circle of strewn toys.  After time outs were done, I noticed their nails needed clipping, so I started on Evan as I repeatedly told Sean to put the toys in the basket with The Husband’s commenting “It puts the lotion in the basket.”  Yeah, not helping.  Then it was Sean’s turn to get his fingernails done.  Apparently Sean feels that cutting his nails is the same thing as pulling them off with needle-nose pliers and loudly protests the whole thing.  After trimming ten fingernails and ten toenails, the noise fell to just crying.

The Husband: (still from the office) Wow.  That’s rough.

Me: So you still want custody of the children?

The Husband: No.

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

I’m learning so much

Last week I had a lot of fun coming up with things I learned over the week.  I thought I would do it again.  Besides I’m running late because we were at the park with some of Evan’s friends.  You know, trying to make my child more socially ready for kindergarten.  So here are the ten things I learned this week.

1. My children are mooches.  Open some kind of snack and they will be asking for some.
2. My children actually use “please” and “thank you” when they want something real bad, like someone else’s grapes or M&M’s.
3. My grandma warned me that children and husbands will make a liar out of you every time; she told me to see what happens the first time I tell someone Evan doesn’t like to eat something.  Apparently, I’ll turn around and find him eating it.  So who’s going to invite us over so Evan can eat broccoli?
4. I really think my grandmothers are going crazy.  I’m hoping it’s not hereditary.
5. The Husband cannot remember to throw out his tea bags.  CAN NOT REMEMBER.  But he’ll toss out the bread crusts I was drying for bread crumbs.
6. Tell a four year old if he gets the room cleaned in ten minutes he can have a bowl of marshmallows, and he’ll get it done in seven.  Sweet.
7. My mom likes to talk during story time.  I feel like a hypocrite.
8. My old college roommate has figured out how to name my child.  She just keeps randomly telling me the name she thinks is perfect, and I’m starting to believe her.
9. If a Yoda figure doesn’t have a head, children will still play with it.
10. According to one cleaning/organizing book, you’re suppose to vacuum every day.  Let that digest.  Then have a good laugh.

Some advice for Spammers

Spammers seem to be getting more intelligent, or at least writing like they’re more intelligent.  Instead of writing Viagra a thousand times or talking about nude pics of some celebrity or other, they’re writing sentences, even paragraphs.  But there are a few things that are bothering me.

Take “Conceive a Baby Boy” and what s/he said, “Good Website! I wondered if I might be able to pages and use a few things for a school assignment,” referring to my post Project Womb: The Hope for Pink Booties.  I’ll give you props for actually targeting a relative post for your site because I did check it out, since you tried to post three times with different emails and IP addresses.  Of course, you wrote the same comment using the same name and website. 

But let’s just take a moment and believe you, instead of assuming you’re trying to sell books or pills or magic potions.  Let’s assume that what you meant to say was “I wonder if I might be able to copy and use a few things for a school assignment.”  First off, I’ll have to assume you’re in high school or college, but by college, students usually say a class assignment.  Either way, I doubt your teacher would be impressed that you sited some random blog that didn’t even site the actually scientific studies or papers on this statement.  You’re better off finding your helpful information for your school assignment in a scientific journal or any website that has an .edu instead of a .com.  Don’t believe me?  Go ask Ink, Evenshine, Beth or Naptime.  They’re actually professors.  I’m just a girl who graduated with Honors.

Then there’s “Blogs” who wrote “Wow! Thank you! I always wanted to write in my site something like that. Can I take part of your post to my blog?” on Wanna Laugh?  While I’m completely flattered, I know it’s not my best writing.  It was actually endorsing one of my favorite bloggers (not saying too much because I’ve got like a dozen of them) Not Drowning, Mothering on her chance to get a Bloggie.

But at least, Blogs, you asked nicely.  And the answer is NO.  I know I don’t have a fancy little sign or a clever saying about stealing my writing, but that doesn’t mean it’s out for grabs.  See one of the things they taught me at my fancy, little college (see the “with Honors” sentence) is copywrite law because, you know, it’s important for all writers to know.  Just so that you’re clear on this before I hunt you down and have some big, ugly dude serve you papers, I’ll explain a little of copywrite law, just for you.  See, I don’t need to write a disclaimer because under US law, where I’m writing, it says that the moment I write something, whether it’s in a word processor, on a blog, or on a cheap cocktail napkin in a cheap motel by the airport, that writing is MINE.  Anyone who takes it is a thief.  (The Husband would like to add that this is called “Implied copywrite” because he paid lawyers a lot of money to teach him that; while, I paid a school a lot of money to learn that.)  Most countries will support the copywrite laws of the originating country.  Except China.

But if you’re in China, let me just write something to get me thrown off their internet servers, so we don’t have this little chat again.  China, I hope you’re listening.  First off, I don’t really care for your reasoning that “you’re developing” so you can go off and pull some horrible little tricks.  Like stealing copywrited material.  Or what the hell you’re doing to your environment.  Sure, we developed nations pulled a lot of the same crap, but we learned our lessons.  We regretted doing that stupid sh*t, so we’re warning you.  And you sound like a sniveling little brother when you say you did, why can’t we.  Besides we didn’t try to torch ourselves in the grand fashion you’re doing.  It’s like you simply don’t give a f*ck when it comes to your people or your future.  Honestly the way you’re going, the way you’re acting, you’ll never be a “First World Nation,” you’ll be a laughing stock.  The crazy part is that someone once told me that you believe that you are just underneath Heaven, that everyone must reincarnate to become Chinese before making it through the pearly gates and off the wheel of suffering.  So you’re destroying the best part of earth?  Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.  Second, if you truly believe you’re right under heaven, you obviously never been to Maui because that’s truly paradise.

So Conceive and Blogs, that’s just some helpful advice to send you on your way.  You can THANK ME LATER.

THANK ME LATER Thursdays are brought to you by Parenting by Dummies and the Letters F and U.

My Worst Parenting Mistake

I was about eight months along with Sean.  It was a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon.  The Husband and I were exhausted and decided to take a family nap with Evan.  Well, Evan woke before we were ready to end out nap.  He crawled out of the bed and down the stairs.  Not unusual.  He just usually played with his toys, drinking his juice, waiting for his Mama. 

But five minutes later, we heard him crying for me.  Not a pain cry.  But a panic, distraught cry.  We both jumped out of the bed and rushed out the door.  The first thing we noticed was the front door was open.  I jumped back into the bedroom because I had only a bra and pants on.  I threw on a shirt as The Husband ran down the stairs, jumping the last couple.  I flew down the stairs at top pregnant running speed.

The crying continued.

We ran out the door.  But there was no Evan.  The crying was further away.  The Husband started searching.  I calmed down (Focus, Fae, focus) and listened.  The crying continued, but it was behind me and distant.  So I turned around and followed the sound. 

The Husband yelled that the garage door was open and ran to check it.  I went back inside following the noise. 

To find Evan crying on the back porch at the locked French doors.  He couldn’t get back into the house.  I opened the doors and threw my arms around him.  The Husband came around the side of the house, informing me that the back door from the garage to the backyard was propped open.  I picked up Evan and held him.

The Husband: I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.  Fae, he could have ran out in the street and been hit by a car.

Me: No.  He wouldn’t have.  Evan doesn’t go in the street.

The Husband sighed with relief.

Me: But there was a yard sale on the street earlier, and there are a lot of strangers.  Someone could have taken him and been gone.  How would he have stopped them?  Or he could have wondered down the street and become lost.  Or he could have eaten any rat poison that might have been left out.  If the lock on the tool cabinet isn’t locked, he could have gotten into any of the cleaners or poisons in there.  Or he could have tried to get something out of the pool or decided to go in it and fallen.  We don’t have a pool fence yet.  There is a lot of trouble he could have gotten into.

The Husband’s face lost all color.

The Husband: I’m calling the pool fence company right now.  Where’s that number?

Me: Let’s also promise to check the doors to make sure he can’t get out without us.

I’m happy. I’m feeling glad.

Jane at They Call Me Jane has a Tunes for Tuesday post every Tuesday.  It’s really neat, so I suggest you check it out, though most of you may read her already.  So in honor of Jane, I’ll tell you what’s been playing in my head for days and days and days.

I’m happy.  I’m feeling glad.

I’ve got sunshine in a bag.

I’m useless, but not for long.

My future is coming on, is coming on.

Yup, Gorillaz’s “Clint Eastwoord” circa summer 2001.  (I’d imbed the video, but I’m not that tech suave.)

I think I mentioned Evan has learned to sing the refrain, and now he has learned there’s a music video.  A CARTOON music video.  So we have to watch it and play it over and over and over.  The kid even does the woo hoo’s in the beginning.  If I didn’t like the refrain so much, I would be bother by now.  The Husband feels like it’s mold growing on the inside of his brain, but he learned earlier that one single negative comment from Daddy will turn Evan’s opinion.  Luckily, The Husband doesn’t want to do that and has forced himself to enjoy the song.  Of course, The Friendly Giant (my baby brother, aka the best uncle in the world, aka the number one person in both of the boys’ eyes) loves the song, so I think Daddy’s opinion wouldn’t hold much water after The Friendly Giant plays it off his computer.

The best part of this is that Sean is now singing it.

I’m glad.

I’m sunshine.

I’m glad.

I’m sunshine.

Which is sing to the tune.  It’s hilarious and adorable all at the same time.  Sooooo, I’m happy.  I’m feeling glad.  I got sunshine in a bag.

Martini, any one?: A book review

So a couple of weeks ago, I had this thought that I should go borrow some organizational books at the library.  You know, since I said I become more organized.  I was hoping the books would tell me that half the bills and stuff I was filing I could throw out.  Still hoping.  But while I was at that, I decided I should pick up some parenting books too, since organizing and parenting go hand in hand.  Or maybe I feel like perhaps I’m missing some easy parenting trick that everyone  else knows about because they read the books.

And wouldn’t you know?  The first book I picked up was tongue-in-cheek.  God, I can’t even take parenting seriously.

The Three-Martini Playdate: A Practical Guide to Happy Parenting by Christie Mellor was pretty funny and gave a few good tips.  Mellor encourages the readers to take on a more hands off approach to parenting which was popular in our grandmothers’ or perhaps our mothers’ time.  Mellor has you agreeing over the joy of saying no to your child and the joy of early bedtimes for children.  She has you laughing at yourself over things you’ve done that she is making fun of in her book.  Like the first time we took Evan out to someone’s house.  My God, we packed for an army. 

The only complaint I have is that she broke out of her voice when talking about too much television.  I thought she would play it tongue-in-cheek like she had the rest of the book, like when she suggested teaching children to make martinis.  Instead she was matter-the-fact about how too many children watch too much TV and that it’s bad for children.  Which I agree, but I was hoping she would make it funny when she talked about it. 

So if you want a fun parenting read, this is the book for you.

And yes, I have two more books I can write reviews on. Is any one interested?

It’s Friday

And I wish I had something.  But I didn’t write last night, and I won’t have time today because either I’m going to nap during my free time (because of heartburn and children I was awake most the night) or I’m going to go to the library with out tornadoes (because I have two hours to kill while Evan is in school because I’m going to Muffins for Mom, ooooh).  Of course, I thought I would have time this morning, but the boys are trying to kill each other earlier than usual.  It’s because they’ve been up before 5.  Nice. 

Oh dear God, stop antagonizing your brother and EAT!  Both of YOU!

Ten Things I Learned This Week

1. Chocolate.  I need lots of it.  All I want is chocolate or ice cream.  I figure this is the last time I’ll ever not have to worry about my weight, so I’m indulging.
2. I’m more competitive with my brothers than I thought I was.  I was so sure I grew out of competing with them when I was in college.  But all it took was my mom to beg us to get Farmville Farms so she can have more neighbors and my baby brother kicking my ass in points to make me want to play the damn game all the time.  Of course, I don’t have time for a new obsession.
3. I apparently cut tomatoes “wrong.”  I didn’t know there was a right way.
4. I apparently cube hard boiled eggs in a weird way too.  Isn’t it nice to have moms around to correct you?
5. Pregnancy shirts show way too much cleavage, which is something I forget until I wear them again.  I get it.  I’ve got a nice rack.  The only reason to show it off is for guys to ogle.  They aren’t ogling a pregnant woman’s breasts.
6. When I’m pregnant, food doesn’t get to my mouth all the time.  It lands on that big tummy or worse down the shirt with the low cut cleavage.  Do you know how annoying it is to have a popcorn kernel in your bra?
7. My sons want to be the same Jedi.  The obscure Kit Fisto.  And he happens to have a green light saber, so they’re still fighting for it.
8. Evan is afraid of sharks.  Hmmm.  But he knows exactly where the Jaws DVD is and brings it out to ask questions.  Sharks aren’t that big, Evan.  Sharks don’t eat people.  I don’t know why that shark is going to eat that woman.  Wait a few years, and we’ll watch it, and I’ll show you were it’s wrong.
9. Sean has a bladder like a steal trap.  The kid doesn’t pee after a dry nap for an hour or two.
10. When husbands become fathers to children who miss him and he misses them, he feels guilty for being away and brings them presents.  He’s no longer required to bring the wife something.  Not that I’m complaining, but some chocolate would have been nice.

Child Labor

I’ve been making some small adjustments to my cleaning regime.  Things like do dishes as you cook or do the breakfast dishes during lunch.  The crazy one is to actually pick up as soon as the activity is over.  I know, I was not meant for this homemaking business.

The funny thing is the boys are catching on.  Sure, they don’t pick up most of the time when they’re done playing with someone, but they pick up without bitterly complaining.  I watched Evan today do his “push-ups” on The Husband’s yoga mat that he left out, and when Evan was done with it, he rolled it up and gave it to The Husband to put away.  I don’t know what shocked me more, the push-ups or the picking up of the yoga map.

While Sean is not to keen on picking up, he can’t be left out.  Evan’s drop used to be set the table, but Sean would run and do it before Evan, so now Evan puts on things I think he can carry.  He’s only dropped the hot dogs once.  I started requiring Evan to help clean off the table, and Sean trots behind Evan carrying his own stuff.

Then there’s the morning chore chart for the boys.  It’s a brilliant idea when I remember to use it.  Yesterday Evan checked the abandoned chart on his door and started to race up the list (Because my boy is all about doing things backwards, like writing his name.).  He checked off the chores with a crayon, moving to one chore to the next without any reminding or coaxing.  The boy made his bed without me saying anything.  I just watched, pointing out Evan did more around the house than The Husband, who sipped his tea.

Yup, things are going great.  If I can keep this up for another fifteen years or more, I’m writing a book on parenting.

Me, Ready?

I’m ready for the baby.  I’m tired of waiting.  I want to get this over and done with.  Let’s roll.

But in reality, I’m not.  There’s no way I’m ready.

I’ve never been inpatient for a baby to be born before this.  With both Evan and Sean, when people asked if I was ready, if I couldn’t wait, I would pat my bulging tummy and say, “Not yet.”  But rather than feel like I could wait until everything was perfectly ready to the point of refusing to believe those are actually labor pains, I feel like saying “Just give me the baby already.”

First off, there are the medical issues of having a preemie.  I am more than happy to wait and let the kid cook at his own rate.  Now I would feel guilty for every minute I devoted to the hospital and not with the other boys.  Time management would be a huge issue.  That doesn’t mean if the little character came early that I wouldn’t be done there every second I could.  I just would worry about the boys during such an issue.

Second, the house is no where ready.  We’ve decided to stay with our little rental for another year, saving money for a potential house purchase next year.  Now we have to reorganize the master to accommodate a new little guy.  Thank God it’s a master suite, something The Husband and I didn’t like originally.  We have to pull out all the baby stuff from the garage and my parents’ house.  Not to mention, I really would like our carpets and furniture cleaned and a half of dozen other things that would be nice to have done before the little tike comes to take all our time and energy.

Third, I have to buy stuff for the baby.  Our diaper bag is on its last legs, even though The Husband keeps trying to convince me that we could pull it out for another baby.  Um, no.  I don’t want a hole in it.  I have to buy Evan a booster seat, so the baby can have his.  Heck, the water proof pad for the basinet is under Sean’s sheets, so I need one of those.  Not to mention, I need to get us a little more organized so I’ll need more racks and stuff.  Yeah, I have a list.

Fourth, we don’t even have a name yet!  Sure, The Husband has all sorts of names picked out, but there’s not one that sounds just right.  Nor have I really looked.  Two kids, a house, a blog, and now a Farmville Farm (completely not my fault, I’m doing it only for my mom), I just never seem to have time to read, much less look for names.  Maybe I should do a contest?

So with all those reasons, why the hell am I “ready” for this baby?  Why do I feel like I’m waiting around for the main event?  Hell, I’m in complete denial for the first hours of labor because I’m so NOT ready.  So why do I feel ready now?

Maybe I really have flipped.