An Update on Misery

After that God-sighting, things began to look up.  Actually, there were several more mis-haps, none of which bothered me in the least.  Which is wierd.   

Case in point:  I broke the dryer.  Broke it.  You know the little doohicky that clicks when you close the door so that the dryer will turn on?  You know that little thing?  Well, when I was pulling some sheets out of the dryer, they snagged on it and bent it up.  So I thought “I’ll just bend it back down.”  So I did.  Yep, I bent it down and it snapped right off.  “Uh-huh” I said to myself.  So I just figured I’d take some tape and tape it back on there.  And what do you know but it worked.  And also, Dad, I did not use duct tape.  I have not sunk (sank?  sunken?) to that level.  Although I’ve come close a few times.  Anyway, the tape is only a temporary solution, but whatever.

Then I began to try restoring all the files I lost on my old computer.  It took me about three hours but I was finally able to re-download my accounting program free of charge.  Then I began restoring the data files…that only took about 4 hours to complete.  But you know what?  They are all there.  And you know what else?  So is that folder full of pictures that I couldn’t find last night.  Carbonite, I think I may love you…

So in the midst of all this computery stuff, my friend Jenny brought me some Nutella to indulge in.  Isn’t that nice?  Only I can.not.get.the.top.off.  I’ll have to have The Man loosen it in the morning or I’m going to go insane with the drooling. 

I threw together a really nice roast chicken with herbs and artichokes, asparagus, kalamata olives, tomatoes, garlic, onions and white wine.  Then we headed out the door to t-ball.  We were in such a rush to leave, and Henry still did not have his cleats on (even though I’d told him to get ready like a million times) so I told him to just grab them and I’d help him tie them when we got to the field. 

So we get to the field, and he hands me the shoes.  Well what do you know but he didn’t get a matching pair.  Not only that, but he managed to get two left shoes.  One was his left shoe from last year which is too small now, and one was William’s left shoe.  So on his left foot I put the too-small left shoe, and on his right foot I put the too-big left shoe.  And I said how does that feel?   And he said fine, I can wiggle my toes and everything.  And I said then get on out there and play ball.  No one will notice (that your mother is a moron).  And I just laughed.  Kate and William looked at me like I was losing my mind. 

I remember this one family that used to go to church and the kids were always a mess…bedhead, and socks that didn’t match, and shoes untied…you know the ones I’m talking about.  I remember thinking that I would never be like that mother.  Nope.  Not me.  I would have it together. 

I just sent my child out onto the field to play ball with two left shoes on, neither of which actually fits.  And I did it knowingly.  And I laughed.  Now, I am that mother.  

Closing the book on this day…

PS…don’t forget to enter my giveaway!

Spicy Apple Juice–Not a Recipe

One day your daughter will tell you that the apple juice hurts her tongue.  And you will think she is nuts.  And then the next day your son will tell you that the apple juice is “spicy.”  You sniff it, cautiously, hoping not to vomit.  And then you will say “Henry, you’re crazy.  You asked for that juice, now you drink it.” 

Never mind that the apple juice container has puffed up and is weebly.  And never mind the pfffffffffft sound you get when you open it.  Yeah, don’t worry about that.at.all.  It smells normal, so that’s clearly all that matters.  Clearly.

On the third day your daughter will tell you — again — that the juice hurts her tongue.

That, plus the pfffffft, and the weeblyishness are all holding hands in your brain now.  Interesting.  Now you will taste the juice.  Vomiting is a good possibility here.   

And then you realize the reason for the children’s early morning buzzes for the past two days.  (Totally kidding.  Don’t get all freaked out.  No one was buzzy.)

Please, if your juice bottle is puffy, and you hear the pffffffft, discard.  

P.S.  I ate three baggies of chips while writing this.  Which has nothing to do with the apple juice fermentation but I thought the chip-eating should be documented.

The Thesaurus Is Not Terribly Useful.

So yesterday was s.t.i.n.k.o. pretty much.  I think it started off with the coffee. 

We’re out of cream, so I had to drink it black.  Which I can do, but I don’t prefer it.  In fact, I don’t really like it at all unless it’s paired with a bowl of ice cream.  Or chocolate.  But I’ll drink it just to avoid the certain headache that I will get if I don’t drink it.  (And yes, I know I’m an addict.  Leave it.)  Now that Ella drinks skim milk along with the rest of us, I can’t even use whole milk as a back-up to cream.  And I ate all the ice cream, so there’s none of that, either.  (Once I used cool whip as a substitute for cream…not good, just fyi.  I do not believe there is anything dairy about cool whip.  ((Which would explain the “nondairy topping” label I guess.))  Anyway, the cool whip melted into an oily looking substance which floated atop my coffee.  So instead of black coffee, I had black coffee with oil.  Which imho is decidedly worse than just plain ol’ black coffee.  So I won’t be doing that again.) 

After the bad coffee, we did a science experiment where I was an idiot and took a piping hot glass out of the dishwasher and put ice into it and actually said (yes I did) “I hope it doesn’t crack.”  And then it cracked.  So I said “wow kids, look at that, bla bla bla.”  I taught them all about how to crack a glass.  Enriching their lives, that’s what I do.

And then one of the children, who shall remain nameless, was a complete pill for pretty much the entire afternoon.  The source of frustration?  A duplo lego window.  After several hours of fretting over this duplo (I do not even want to elaborate on the ridiculous nature of the problem) we tried to sit and do some enrichment activities.  I told you, I am all about the enriching.   

Anyway, for one of the activities, we were working with colors.  Two colors to be specific, garnet and fuchsia.  Which incidentally, fuchsia was misspelled as fuchisa.  (I find it ironic that “enrichment activities” sent home from school for summertime fun would have misspellings in them.  But anyway…)  Fuchisa was humorous.  For the rest of the activity, I called it fuchisa (foocheezuh).  And Kate thought I was just terribly funny.  But the other, aforementioned child did not.  Moving right along…)

So the aforementioned child didn’t know what garnet and fuchisa were, and I wanted him to figure that out–I didn’t want to give him the answer.  So being the very clever person that I am, I decided to teach them how to look a word up in the thesaurus.  Oh yes, Roget’s thesaurus!  I love the thesaurus, seriously.  I use it nearly daily, to be honest.  (I’m actually not kidding).  So anyway, we couldn’t find garnet in the thesaurus, so I figured we would try fuchisa.  So I go to the index.  And I’m looking up fuchsia…and I get to the fu words and lo and behold what do we have but no fuchsia. 

Let me tell you what they DO have, in lieu of fuchsia.  They have “f*ck.”  They have “a f*ck.”  They have “f*cked up.”  They have “f*ck off.”  They have gathered together what seems to be every single variation and expression you could come up with that includes the f dash dash dash word for our reading pleasure.  (Really Roget?  Seriously?) 

I tried to strategically place my hand over the queen mother of all cuss words, but Kate was standing there with her nose about three inches from the page all engrossed in how you look up a word (she is so much like me) and I couldn’t cover them all and I quick closed the book and said “well this thesaurus is useless.”  And that was pretty much a big fat “F” in the Good Mom Department for me.

Then Ella woke up screaming which is always fun.  So I drank some wine.

The end.

What I learned this week. Take note.

1.  When your child (who is having a severe reaction to an immunization) tells you “Hey mom, my pee was pink!” it will also happen to be the only time he has flushed the potty without you reminding him in the last month.   

2.  Since you didn’t actually SEE the pee, you have to google what pink pee indicates.  It indicates blood in the urine, which is what you thought in the first place.  So you google causes of pink urine.  Which brings up lots of scary kidney problems that you can’t pronounce.

3.  Google may or may not be a fear-monger.

4.  When you call the pediatrician’s office to discuss pink urine, they will not calm your fears.  The freak-out is detectable in their voice, though they try to hide it.   

5.  Little boys might not actually have pink pee when they say they do.  But then again, they might.  Hard to say. 

6.  “Pink” has many shades.

7.  When googling the causes of pink urine, you will find that eating fresh beets can cause your urine to turn pink.  Interestingly, canned beets do not have the same effect.  Also, not everyone who eats fresh beets will have pink urine.  I am curious to know how this subject comes to be discussed.  Unless I’ve had a LOT of alcohol, I can’t imagine bringing up the color of my urine at a social event.   

8.  Ella needs a daily nap.  Enough said about that.

9.  Ella is still cute as a button when she’s really cranky. 

10.  A glass of wine takes the edge off.  Okay, I already knew that.  Whatever.

11.  You can rejoice all you want when a weekday baseball game is rained out.  But be prepared for the make-up game.  Because it’s coming.  And the new date and time won’t be any better than the original. 

12.  T.G.I.F.  Okay, I already knew that, too.  Whatever whatever.

That’s pretty much all I have to say.   Visit Musings of a Housewife if you are inclined to learn more.  Hopefully no one else is posting information on urine and beets.

What Are You People Looking For, Anyway?

So I’m kind of analyzing my traffic.  I always find it interesting to see what people are looking for and how they end up here in my spot. 

I’ve done this before, and frankly, the results were disturbing.  I understand that my content is what is driving the results and thrusting you good people at me.  But seriously, ”black booger in child?”  Really?  I mentioned that like one time.  Can we just let it go?

And for another thing, why are people running searches on black boogers in children? 

What exactly is it that you want to know about a black booger? 

For the life of me I can’t figure that out. 

Moving right along…

So.  (If I had a drum, you’d be gettin’ a roll right now…) Here are the top five results of my latest search engine terms:

-no small thing (well okay, that one makes sense.  Does this mean that people are actually looking for me?!)

-dirty socks (it’s still there.  I will never outrun it, I guess.) 

-language sample (Okay, again, this one makes sense.  Good.  On the right track.)

-barbie, or some variation of it, including naked barbie, barbie parts, barbie heads and barbies without heads.  Oh, and let’s not forget ‘disfigured barbie’.  You people are sick.  (And all because of one, albeit one entertaining, photo).

-freckles.  (Because I love freckles.)

So what have I learned from this? 

Well, it seems the level of sophistication of my reader pool is not so much improving as it is shifting.  Shifting from physically gross (no offense to those of you with the black boogers or the sweaty socks), to downright creepy.  

And that perhaps–just perhaps– I may want to adjust my blog fodder.  Like, no more booger talk.

And a question arises.  Why are so many people searching “dirty socks?”  I mean, it’s number two on my all time search terms. 

So people are looking for dirty socks. 

Well, maybe not dirty socks, per se… 

Are y’all trying to figure out how to wash them?  If so, soak ‘em in a little borax and cold water, then normal wash.  Problem solved.   

You’re welcome.

Oh, and whoever you are out there looking for “punishment with socks,” I think you need to seek help.  That just doesn’t sound good, on any level.

Useful Information

Tiny little chocolate chips will melt on heated leather car seats.   

If you happen to sit on one of those tiny little chocolate chips, it will make a rather large smear-o-chocolate on one’s rear end. 

No one that you come into contact with for the next four hours will tell you that you have a smear-o-chocolate running across your rear end. 

That is all.

Spud

I must preface this short story with the following:  Ella says ONE word, and that one word is “mama.”  Of course there is no better one-and-only word to have in your repertoire, so I am content to hear her say mama and nothing else.  However, she does call her father Mama, which is annoying, too.  We have tried to get her to say dada, with no luck.  Now on to the story…

After the kids went to school today, Ella and I had a couple hours to burn here at the house, so we got out the potato head and put together the crazy fellow you see here.  In the past, Ella has not taken notice of the fact that there is an actual face on the potato.  But that all changed this morning.  When I was done creating my masterpiece potato face for her, I showed it to her.  It was like a lightbulb went off in her precious little noggin, and she smiled and said “Daddy.”  No, I’m not kidding.  

Of course I laughed and told her how smart she is (is that so wrong?) and pinched her little cheeks.  And I couldn’t wait to get this posted so that Daddy could read it.  Is that so wrong?  

 

Smile Daddy!  I love you!

Got Fat?

Darling, innocent William approached me today, and asked in a very curious tone

“Hey Mom, do you have any fat?”

Me:  “Do I have any fat?”  Wasn’t sure if he meant, like, to eat, or what he was talking about.  Then I feel a couple of little fingers give me a pinch around the midsection.  Ooooh.  That kind of fat. 

Darling innocent boy again:  “Well, like any extra fat, stored up.” 

Here it comes…

“You know, like Daddy has right here?”  (again squeezing the muffin top)

The man did mention a few weeks ago that he wanted to lose 10 pounds.  Better get right on that, honey.

Search Engine

So I was checking my blog to see what search terms people have been using to find me, and for the last week, here is what I’ve got:

-dirty socks

-black booger in child

-mens durty white socks (their misspelling, not mine)

-writing lines punishment

-can’t sleep, bugs on me

-barefeet dirty

-how to take small ball out of ear

-popcorn in nose

Ooookay.  So I’m just kind of wondering what type of impression I’m giving off here.

Why I Can’t Sleep at Night

This is an essay entitled “Why I Can’t Sleep at Night.”  And I mean other than the baby waking, or the child who had the bad dream, or needs a drink, or has to go potty, or is throwing up in the hallway.

Imagine, my friends, the following scenario:

You’re asleep.  You’ve been asleep for about an hour.  You’re just gettin’ to the good stuff in your dreams.  You are awakened by the sound of your husband flinging back the sheets and jumping out of bed.  Then you see–through your half-opened fuzzy eyes–him swatting the back of his ear.  Somewhat like a dog might.  I don’t even remember what I said to him, but he told me there was a bug in his ear.  I looked, and there was no bug. 

He asked me to look again. No bug. 

He’s still swatting at his ear.  I think he may have knocked a screw loose.  I’m tired.  But okay, let’s go in the bathroom and have a closer look in the light. 

I’m yanking his ear all around, trying to get a good look in there.  Way down in there.  I see nothing.  No bug.  He swears there is something in there.  He says he can hear it.  Again, concerned about his sanity.  So I get this brilliant idea to take a capful of peroxide and dump it in there to flush out whatever is (not) in there. 

Fantastic.  I take out the peroxide, pour some in the cap, dump it into his ear, and oh.my.word.  Out it comes.  The spider.  There was a spider in his ear people.  A SPIDER.  IN HIS EAR.  So far down in there that it was no longer visible.   

He was afraid that it may have left something in there, like an egg sack or something.  So he took the handy dandy bulb syringe and flushed his ear out with more peroxide.  He thinks he saw a leg come out.

With the ordeal over, I crawled back in bed, pulled the sheets up (Waaaay up.  Over my ears.) and closed my eyes.  But any thoughts of me drifting back to sleep went down the drain with that spider.  I spent the remainder of the night tossing and turning and feeling like there were lots of bugs on me. 

And that, my friends, is why I can’t sleep at night.