The Saga of the Uppity Bath Towel

This is the tag on my bath towel.  My basic, run-of-the-mill, dry-myself-off-with-it-everyday bath towel.  I had never really read it until today.  Do you see what this tag says?  "Machine wash blah-blah, delicate cycle..."  Delicate cycle?  Seriously?  Who does this towel think it is fooling?  Delicate cycle, indeed.  Self important piece of terry cloth.  Or, so I thought.

Then I kept reading, to the bottom of the tag where it says, "do not iron."  Hahahahahahahahaha.  Do not iron! As if there was ever a chance aytch-ee-double-ell I was going to iron my bath towel.  Now, I know the towel is just a joker.

~~~~~~~~~

 Hubband's parents are coming to visit this week, so I may not be around much.  Or, I may be around a lot more than usual.  It could go either way.

The Week in Kids, #4

This week... 

There is not much to report.  It is as if these children know that they are my greatest source of material and they are entering contract negotiations. I expect to hear from their agent/lawyer/father any day now.  I am prepared to play hardball.

Also this week...

Samuel's school had their open house.  Nana stayed with Jonah and Cate, and Hubband and I took Sam.  He was soooo excited to have us all to himself, and so proud to show off his work (like the bunny ears above) and his friends.  Then we took him out for a special treat.  It was a Sam date.  His smile just melted out hearts.  A lot of kids are nice, but one at a time is very sweet too. 

Also this week...

We've had beautiful Spring weather for the most part and we are taking advantage of it, as you can tell from the pictures.  (Big shout out to Grandpa Bill (my dad) for getting us the swing set, and putting it up.)  One day it was even so hot, I dressed them in their water clothes and chased them around the yard with a hose.  Squirting them, not beating them, in case that wasn't clear.

Also this week...

There was cake.  It is funny, when my kids want cake for breakfast I say, "No."  Then my kids ask me, "Why not?"  And, I have no real good answer.  I am a fraud.  I want cake for breakfast too.  I'll admit it.  I mean, if they are going to eat cake at some point in a day, does it matter at what point.  (Unless sugar on an empty stomach makes your kids puke, which it does not mine.  Big surprise, huh?)  So, this week there was cake, but not for breakfast.  I swear.

Also this week...

Jonah said, "Mommy, you are such a beautiful a-hole."  And he said, "a-hole" not the derogatory phrase.  I know where he gets this bull-s.  I must stop listening to talk radio in the car.

Hubband and I were hugging, or huggsing as Sam calls it, when Sam ran up, threw his arms around our legs, and said, "I like this.  I like this."  Oh, c'mon.  That made you say "aww."

Catherine started saying "apple," "bus," and "ball."  Bus and Ball sound exactly the same, but she points in a different direction.

See you next week!

Grandma Christine (Hubband's mom) is coming to visit next week.  These children, if they know what is good for them, will start acting cute again.  And, they are not getting a penny more.  I don't care who their lawyer is.

My First Award

I won.  An award.  For my blog.  THIS blog.  It is true.  Yipee!

This is the Honest Scrap Award.  Yes, at first I thought it was the Honest Crap Award too, but it is not.  This is for real.  The Honest Scrap Award is "for bloggers who put their heart on display as they write from the depths of their soul."  I would like to humbly (yes, a stretch, I know) thank Kate over at Calamity, Kids, and Other Stuff for passing it to me.  She really is full of heart and soul, that one.  No, seriously.  Go over and check her out.  But not yet.  I have Honest Scrap business to attend to.

You see, with awards come obligations.  I am to pass the award on to another worthy blogger, which I do at the end, and I am supposed to write ten honest things about (my favorite subject) me.  Note, it says honest.  I had to  break a sweat, but this is my list.

1.  I had twenty-one paying jobs between the ages of seventeen and thirty-five.  Some were concurrent.

2.  I have lived in twenty-five different houses/apartments in eight different towns.  Eighteen of those houses and five of those towns have been since adulthood.

3.  I am really good at trivia games.  Scary good.  But I have never been able to beat my mother at Scrabble.  I am waiting for her to get old and lose her mind.

4.  There are at least a dozen people who knew me, before I knew Jesus, who would tell you I am a psychotic bitch, and in all fairness to them, from their perspective, I am.  Or, rather, was.  That was life BC.  I'm different now.

5.  I love television.  I don't mean that I love watching television , I just love the medium, its potential for telling a story.  It is a great way to tell a really long story in short bits, that a movie can not do.  Yes, it is true that so much on television these days is, as we call it around here, "carp, that troublesome fish."  Reality TV is CARP, that troublesome fish.  Cable news is CARP, that troublesome fish.  But if you are going to do something like the show Lost, TV is the only way.  I love Lost.  Maybe that should be it's own number.

6.  I wish I were a red head.

7.  I would love to write for television.  In high school, I took an aptitude test that said I would be best suited as a teacher, lawyer, or television producer.   I have been a teacher.  I have been a lawyer.  I am just sitting at home, waiting for my career as a TV producer to take off.  If I'm producing, I will hire myself to write as well.  You see, it is a brilliant plan.

8.  I wish I could time travel.  But, only into the past and only me.  If everyone could do it, it would get too complicated.

9.  There are no photos of 40-year-old me on Facebook, or anywhere else, standing around in a bar, with blood shot eyes, wearing a low-cut, too tight dress, surrounded by similarly aged and clad women, holding up a shot glass of an eighty proof liquid, desperately pretending it is the best time I've ever had, and for this, I can honestly say, I am quite blessed.  Because there, but for the grace of God, and a husband who has not left me, go I.

10. My children are feral.

Now, for the BEST part.  I get to pass the award on to someone else.  I know so many awesome bloggers, but I am going to limit myself to two. 

Drum Roll Please.....

The Honest Scrap Award is getting passed to Susie at Laundry Woes, and Carolyn at Fruit of the Carolyn.

Congratulations ladies!  I love your blogs.  They inspire me, and now my readers can be inspired by you as well.  (I hope your ISP can handle all the traffic.)

Eggs, sideburns, and bacon?

My son's teacher must thinks I am bi-polar.

Most days when I drop him off at school, I manage to get dressed in my street clothes (those un-stained, un-torn articles that I save for leaving the house and immediately remove upon returning home), comb my hair, maybe even wear a little lipstick. I chat with the teacher for a short while, as the other students get off the bus, hug my boy, and depart.

Some days, I arrive wearing baggy sweats and clogs. Hair, pulled back, but uncombed. Oatmeal and banana stuck to my person somewhere. Teeth unbrushed. No lipstick. Maybe some of yesterdays mascara smudged under my eyes. I do not talk. I do not even really stop. I slow down, unfasten the child from his car seat and roll him out the open door. I let out a low growl and drive away. These days, I have a migraine.

If I am lucky, I can tell a headache is coming, though I am usually powerless to stop it. Sometimes, there is a dull tension in my neck, and I know. Sometimes, the warning is not pain, but some other neurological difficulty, like last week when I was giving Hubband a hair cut and I got really frustrated because I could not get his "hashbrowns" straight. It might have been easier to cut sideburns (and remember what they were called) if I was not getting a headache.

My migraines are usually not debilitating. Usually. Which is a good thing, since they can be triggered by sinus trouble, of which there is no shortage this time of year.  I am averaging about one a week so far this Spring.  Yipee.

So if you ever see me out, clothes dirty and unmatched, wearing slippers, yogurt in my hair, driving a gold "ball and chain" (that's  migraine for station wagon), it is safe to assume my head hurts.

All the Yiddish I know...

This is my 100th post.  Five months, and one hundred posts into this crazy idea of Hubband's, I think blogging has made me a better person.  Seriously.

First, it has given me an outlet for all the grown-up things that rattle around in my head.  I love my children, but they just don't get me.  And, at their ages, I really would not want them to.

Second, it has made me live my life more fully and with more attention to detail, because I never know where great blogging material will come from.  (Unless I go anywhere with my friend Jennifer, in which case she will spoon feed it to me and then tell me I am brilliant.)

Third, because blogging has changed my life in the two previously mentioned ways, I have had to make time for writing and living, leaving less time for housework, which is just as well because I was taking it too seriously.  Now I have made it my goal to lower the bar for housewives everywhere.  (More on that in another post.)

Fourth, blogging has made use of something about myself that I always knew, but until now, never appreciated.

I'm a kvetch.

In case you don't know, kvetch is a Yiddish word that means "a complainer".  I wanted to say that I "like to kvetch," but once I started to write this post, I realized that all the Yiddish I know, I learned from the Dick Van Dyke Show, and that perhaps I should look it up, so as not to embarrass myself.  Well, according to Yiddish Dictionary On-line, kvetch is a noun.  It has a verb form, kvetchn, but I am not sure how to use it.  I have heard it used several times in the way that I want to use it, but I am not sure that it is correct, so I won't use it that way.  For now.  I wonder if there is a Yiddish word for tangent.  Anyhoo...

The other day I posted a story about the breakfast dishes.  It was riveting, I assure you.  In it, I implied that I have been so busy doing dishes, raising kids, etc. that I have not had the time to look up and even notice my life, let alone enjoy it.  Well, Vince, a frequent commenter, called me on it.

He said, "You seem to be saying that the business of marriage and breeding over the last 6 years had kept you so busy that you did not see the pure fun of what you had created. But then I realised the why of reading your blog IS that joy you have. And while you might be grinding your teeth while the lawyer is scraping poop from the walls you are mostly on a cloud of delight."

While I would never use the phrase "cloud of delight" to describe anything that was not edible, I have to admit, he has a point.  I love it when my life stinks.  I love it when things go horribly wrong (so long as no permanent damage is done).  Why?  Because there is good material in there, and I am a kvetch.

There are people, like my friend and fellow blogger, Jordan who can always see the bright side (even when she has to bathe in cold water at six o'clock on a Sunday morning) and when there is no obvious bright side, she makes one.  This is not as obnoxious as it sounds.  She is a genuine delight, really.  I love this about her.  But, that is not me.  I'm a kvetch.

But, I am a happy kvetch.  I actually like complaining.  I like looking at the darker side of things, and lightening them up, by making them funny.   There is nothing ugly about this, or even all that negative.  Kvetching (if I may be so bold as to make a verb and then a gerund out of a Yiddish noun), and all the things in the world worth kvetching about, bring me joy.  Great joy.

Does this make me a bad person?  Maybe.  But, it makes me a better blogger, and blogging makes me a better person (see above).  Or, maybe blogging just makes me a better kvetch, which makes me a better blogger which makes me a better person.  Oh, I'm dizzy.

 This is clearly 'kvetch' being uses as a verb.  

And, the guy who wrote this book probably knows what he is talking about.  

I feel better now.

Thank you all for coming.  I hope you will be here for 100 more.

The Week in Kids, #3

This week...

Gimme Boobies

Jonah and Samuel both brought home new vocabulary from school.

I was not moving fast enough getting Sam his yogurt, so he reached out and said, "Gimme, gimme, gimme."  What manner of obnoxious is this?  I gave him a withering stare until he stopped, and then walked him through proper asking procedures.  He has tried it a few times since, but if I stare at him long enough, I usually get a polite, "Please."

Jonah, bless him, is growing up.  Sunday at breakfast he held two small biscuits up to his chest and said, "Look.  Boobies."  Hmm.  I figured a withering stare would be more attention than this deserved.  So, I casually asked, "Where did you learn that?"  "Some boys at school," he said.  And then, rather sheepishly, "But it is not polite."  "No, it is not," I said.  I never looked away from pouring the orange juice.  I guess he didn't quite get the response he was expecting.  (Yes, I have a sense of humor about these things, but he does not need to know that.)

Also, this week...

Adventures in Yogurt

I know, the bangs are ridiculous.  But I'm telling you, she moved.  It had to be done.  This is her before shot.

Also this week...

Toddler Games

Samuel has created a few new games to play with mommy.  One is the repeat game, where he says a few random syllables and then expects me to repeat them.  This is actually more fun than it sounds, because my kid is just so gosh darn cute.  He has started playing the game with our emerging talker, Cate, too.  Which is priceless, and educational all around.

And there is "Cry kiss?"  "Cry" is how he says, "Can I."  So he says, "Cry kiss forehead?  Cry kiss eyebrow?  Cry kiss glasses?"  And my favorite, "Cry kiss pumpkin?" by which he means my nose.  This makes him laugh every time, because he quite clearly knows that my nose is not called a pumpkin.

Okay, maybe the kid has to be your own for this stuff to be interesting.

See you next week.

Theme Thursday -- Breakfast

This is a Theme Thursday post.

This week's theme is BREAKFAST.  That made me think of this song.  Click the title to have a listen.  Or at least skim the lyrics.  They are quite clever.  "None of us knew his checkout time would come so soon, but before his brain stopped waving, he composed this tune."  C'mon.  You gotta love that.  And just remember...they don't serve breakfast in hell.

Breakfast

by Newsboys

Hold the milk, put back the sugar

They are powerless to console

We've gathered here to sprinkle ashes

from our late friend's cereal bowl.

Breakfast Clubbers, say the motto

that he taught us to repeat:

You will lose it in your gym class

if you wait `til noon to eat.

Back when the Chess Club said our eggs were soft

every Monday he'd say grace and hold our juice aloft

Oh, none of us knew his checkout time would come so soon

But before his brain stopped waving, he composed this tune:

Chorus

WHEN THE TOAST IS BURNED

AND ALL THE MILK HAS TURNED

AND CAPTAIN CRUNCH IS WAVING FAREWELL

WHEN THE BIG ONE FINDS YOU

MAY THIS SONG REMIND YOU

THAT THEY DON'T SERVE BREAKFAST IN HELL

Breakfast clubbers, drop the hankies.

Though to some our friend was odd,

that day he bought those pine pajamas

his check was good with God.

Those here without the Lord,

how do you cope?

For this morning we don't mourn

like those who have no hope

Oh, rise up, Fruit Loop lovers -

sing out sweet and low

With spoons held high

we bid our brother, Cheerio!

Lyrics: Steve Taylor / Music: Peter Furler
© 1996 Dawn Treader Music (SESAC) / Warner Alliance Music / Soylent Tunes (ASCAP), Dawn Treader Music admin. by EMI Christian Music Publishing. Warner Alliance Music / Soylent Tunes admin. by I.C.G.

This is a Theme Thursday post.  Click the link to see what everyone else had to say.