29 September 2009

Special Diet - High In Aluminum. Surely That's Safe, Right?

Life's a little funky these days which means for you, dear readers, my blog gets less attention. None of it is really "blog material".
Fortunately, where I lack in new material, I have decided to make up in old - stuff you haven't read before because I did not happen to have a blog 10 years ago. I know, shocker, right? WhatDidIdoBeforeMyBlog?!?!? Just the thought gives me a tiny aneurysm.

I waited (wait?) tables for many many years. Eh, it FELT like many many years, because you age 4.5 times faster when you walk that much for 10 hours at a time for 4-5 times a week. No lie. I have no idea how people handle that for so long without burning out. You know... The Lifers? Those people amaze me in restaruants. All the drama, the b.s., The Ticked Off Customer Nights, the insanely self-absorbed managers and bar tenders, THE DRAMA... etc.
Digression.

At my first real waitressing gig (I was a to-go girl for Chili's before this), I worked at TGI Friday's. No, there was no flair. And I have a strict "No Birthday Song" requirement - it was one of the few questions I asked the potential employer during interviews.

Anyhooters...

One night I had the "party section". Not as fun as it sounds, not at all. To me, it was absolutely the worst section in the restaurant. It consisted of 3 "regular top" (4 seats) tables and one hella long table for 10ish. The good thing about this table was that a drink station was right beside it, so it meant not having to lug all those drinks out there and then refills were a breeze - anyways (geez my ADD is on fire today) - I had this table full one late Thursday evening.

I think I had one other table too.

The patrons were, at first glance, totally normal. Not too bossy looking (yes, bossy people - YOU LOOK BOSSY. Get a better poker face). About 8 people between... I'd say... 25 and 40. I began taking orders after bringing out drinks, and the first 4 were totally normal. Nothing too complicated or memorable, honestly. Then I came to a couple, man and woman, sitting across from each other. The woman looks at me with... almost embarassment, as she says "we have a rather unusual request".

I most likely laughed a bit and returned "I'm sure it's no big deal."

To which she begins to explain "Can we get all of our food on disposable plates, bowls and with to-go utensils? And could you wrap it all in aluminum foil?"

"Um. well. Of course, I'd be happy to help you... but see... we only have to-go spoons, forks and knives and do not have plates."

She laughs a bit and says "well, if you don't have disposable plates, could you just do this: Line a bunch of regular plates in tin foil. Still bring the to-go utensils and make sure that any food that is served to us is served on aluminum wrapped plates, bowls and platters."

My insides are laughing. I am trying to keep a straight face. I turn to the rest of the party that had yet to order and I ask if anyone else will be requiring their entire dining experience wrapped in foil. Two other people do - bringing my total to 4. That's 4 appetizer plates, 1 large appetizer plate, 4 salad bowls, and 4 main entree plates (at least). I told them I would do what I could and ran off to the kitchen area to laugh my butt off.

Aaron was the manager for the night, and he always had a really good sense of humor. There couldn't have been a better manager to "put this off on". He would not only DO it, but he'd most likely laugh with these people about it. I told him the story, and as expected, he looked at me all bewildered-like and then start laughing hysterically. (after, of course, he asked me 15 times "this is a joke, right?")

As soon as he was finished, *cough*Aaron*cough*, he took my notepad with written requests out to the table, dragged me along, and proceeded to get at least a mild explanation out of these people. I guess I never thought to ask...

He was blunt, yet charming, and all-around tickled and it showed. "So... you want my kitchen staff to wrap about 16 plates or bowls in aluminum foil before this food gets to you. Ok. Not a problem. But can I ask why?"

The answer would make us want to die laughing right there.

Without so much as a hitch, the women responded "We are on a special diet. It may sound silly, but we believe that the food's energy is part of what helps you lose weight. Ceramic plates are the worst for this so, everything we eat is served on aluminum foil. We even try to cook on it. Because the foil is reflective, the energy comes back to you."

Um. So. Because your food is served on something SHINEY you will magically not gain weight. Wait. You think you can eat WHATEVER you want as long as it is SERVED on SHINEY things? Bananas. That's absolutely ape crap.

Aaron laughed, of course, but agreed.

The food came out each time lined in aluminum. It looked bizarre, like these people were eating on a space ship or something. And I must admit, although it had to of been a pain for the kitchen staff, it made busing the table a breeze.

And I had a good laugh and a story to tell. Win.

28 September 2009

How To Stop A Child From Becoming A Murderer

Saturday I went through Conner's preschool folder. You know, the one with a week's worth of "art", which I must add is not his favorite thing to do. He just rushes through it, doesn't enjoy coloring at all. Typically, he just colors over peoples' eyes (creepy) and that's it.

Apparently, the assignment was to color something that corresponds with a Bible verse that I am assuming the teacher read aloud and explained (or I could assume he's that frickin' brilliant but then I'd have to pull him out of school because we can't have all the other kids feeling bad about themselves and honestly? I enjoy my 3 hours a day for 3 days a week without him. Call me selfish, but he's staying enrolled).

Here's what I found:


People!! Let's have one of those art meaning convos. K?

Here we have a slightly abstract mono-color in crayon medium. Notice the mouth-less face - clearly a nod to feeling oppressed as a young child with limited means of self-expression. The disconection between the head and body portray the artist's feelings of being incomplete or separated. The burning cross in the back ground must represent the burning cross this child might one day leave on the yard of some poor girl because she dare not go to the sock hop with him. Eh. Maybe not. But maybe it represents the target 'x' in a sniper's view and he's watched way too many video games.

The most prominent feature I'd like to point out are the eyes. ARE THEY BLEEDING FIRE? Did someone GOUGE THEM OUT? Are they firey hot eyelashes? WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY CHILD?

Do I keep this as evidence that I didn't screw him up rather he was BORN THIS WAY?!?

Sheesh kid. No "Catcher In The Reye" for you. Eat THAT oppression.

25 September 2009

Swoon. Grey's. (not a tv post) (more about me avoiding a speech pathologist)

Conner had his speech tested the week before last, and he had a few areas that came up as needing additional testing, which is NO SURPRISE TO THE PERSON TYPING THIS.

So, the speech pathologist calls last night to go over his results and sign him up for additional screenings.

I was mid Conner-Is-Getting-Stuffed-In-A-Box-And-Shipped-Straight-To-Tibet mode, as he had been A Pain the entire day.

Also noteworthy? Grey's Anatomy was on and DUDE! Why was she calling me during Grey's??

She asked if I had any questions, first, and why is it that when I start speaking to a speech pathologist my speech gets all slurry and I stutter and I develop some type of lisp?
Whatever, world.

Soooo. It's maybe 5 minutes into the conversation when I find Conner ramming his feet into Chase's rib cage, and my NATURAL reaction? Slap the first body part my hand comes in contact with. Hard.

And OF COURSE, all she can hear? One of those skin cracking pops that sounds like you just hit your child with a bull wip. You know. The kind that most likely just ACTUALLY hurt you more (as opposed to the kind that "emotionally" "hurt you more"). The kind of well-deserved pop that sounds a million times worse than it is.

Followed swiftly by a "hold on one second please... CONNER! Go! To! YOUR! ROOM!" and for some reason she took this opportunity to tell me she COULD call me back, to which I calmly replied "yes, well, Grey's Anatomy IS on, lady" no... wait.. I said "no no, this is fine. Conner is just acting out tonight, but now he's in his room in time out. Please continue. I'm sorry"....

So since she can't read minds, which I mean, I thought that was part of children's speech pathology, maybe not... she kept talking. Only, Conner got out of time out and found me walking away from his room so, without warning to the lady on the phone, I snapped "I am ON the phone and that means you DO NOT TALK and also? YOU!ARE!!SUPPOSED!!TO!BE!IN!TIME!OUT!!SO!MARCH!!IT!!!RIGHT!!NOW!!!!". (you know, the Parental Run On Sentence-Word in which each letter that has to leave your throat feels like a hot coal and you want to hurl a pair of scissors in your own eyes.)

Back on the phone, the lady is shoved an "i'm sorry" as I try and find the remote to turn up turn down my Precious Programming and she begins to insist that we talk again later. Only? She asks me to call her back between 9 and 930. Again? TV.

And of course, I forgot.
And by forgot? I mean I was watching tv.

(Yes, I have DVR. No, I don't care to watch Grey's another time. Also? It was acting funky because it was trying to record two things at once and I was afraid it would do what it did LAST time I defied God and chose to do something else when Grey's was on and NOT RECORD IT ALL THE WAY THROUGH.)

23 September 2009

My Top 3 Gross Things You Might Have Never Thought About But I'll Ruin. Except Santa. He's Been Ruined Forever.

And today: I'm feeding your OCD with my top 3 "Most Likely Absolutely Disgusting Things That You've Totally Never Thought About But Will Now Attempt to Sanitize". See? This is why I don't have a job writing titles for magazine articles.

Number 3: Santa
That's right. He's been whoring around small, disease-riddled varmint for two weeks by the time you drag your precious cargo bedazzled in their least hideous concoction of puke green and red plaid to the lap of this jolly-old soul.

Little do you think, before plopping your kids into his lap, just where that lap has been.
Gah-ross.

That kid you saw picking his nose and eating it about 10 kids in front of you? Same lap. Same white gloves. Same beard. Germs still a lingerin'.

The little girl that was there yesterday with her siblings who was, only hours prior, developing a mild cough that is now at home with full-blown AIDS swine flu? Yeah. She totally sneezed on her sleeve before hugging Saint Nick.

And now? You are sitting your children into one big pile of Awesomely Nasty Things.
Good job.

Number 2: Your credit cards.
Every time I am out on errands, I touch and touch and touch and touch and touch and touch and touch (I do a lot of touching) some more and then, the culmination of all the germs I've collected land in ONE place: my method of payment.

And then? I swipe it through the same place that all the people BEFORE me's culminated germs landed as well.
Freakin' great.

Think about this some more: the pharmacy.
That's where I go to get my prescriptions when I am dieing sick, and even when I spare the world my excessive germs by using the drive-thru service, what one item gets passed from my sick bubble to the store and back into my bubble?
The credit card (I use my own pen, pleaseandthankyou).

Wipe yours off with clorox wipes! EWWW!

Number 1: Birthday Cake

Ooh. That's right.

This occurred to me last year? I think?

For your consideration:
Conner was ALWAYS "sick", like always. We couldn't plan anything without being fully aware that the odds of us lugging a congested or snotty child around were pretty high (which meant we didn't do anything, not that we chose to expose the general population to his germy germs - DO THE SAME FOR ME).

But birthdays? Well... we just ranked how "sick" Conner was and decided that his occasional cough, lethargy and stuffy nose were just "ok" to be around since he was NOT contagious.

Fast forward: Candle Blowing and Song Time.
The cake.
One deep breath in from my soon-to-be 3-year-old AND the exhale - wooooooooooooosh - fire out.

Now, the cake has been SPRINKLED with my son's germs.

Who wants a corner piece?

21 September 2009

He Might As Well Of Brought Home Calculus. Or Meth.

Nothing is scarier than a 4-year-old boy with scissors. Except maybe, MY 4-year-old boy with scissors. Something about his genes armed with sharp, pointy things just scream "CUT YOUR FACE OFF, but it was an accident". See?



My uterus is trembling. It thinks he's coming back for revenge. Eek. Ers.

This year, as we progress into more Real School-esque Activities (note: as opposed to last year when it was just Structured Coloring), Conner has "homework". And yes, it's exactly how you remember the early days of homework.

Conner comes home with a work sheet. I pour vodka into my eyeballs. We sit at the table. He gets frustrated cutting out a straight line for the monkeys. I do a line of straight ground coffee bean with a rolled up piece of construction paper right off his syllabus (going to be a long night).. He screams because his number 2 (not that number 2) doesn't look like it's supposed to. I debate boarding school.

You know - EXACTLY like you remember homework.

Today, he brought home the Glue Suitcase.
Holy Moley, he brought home glue.

Let me tell you how much patience Conner has for this project:
*&@(#%$%@* ? m;*!@ #%!@&p;^$#(@JIUNY&  ^*;!@^#()P _!)(@#_)(+! +_($#&a!?

Understood?
Good.

Which, I have about 2.3 characters more than that, so I TOTALLY get it.
The instructions:




"Glue is very difficult for your kindergartener" - well, hot damn, why am I paying you? And all these instructions! I figured if they are calling the glue bottle "the baby", I could say "don't squeeze the baby" without getting a "WTF?" look from Conner. Which would make me WRONG. He DID give me the WTF Look and I asked "do you call this 'the baby' at school?" to which he replied "that's glue".

Oh, right.
Yeah.
FAIL.

And isn't gluing supposed to be fun? Who even USES liquid glue anymore? Don't they still have those glue sticks? This is akin to learning cursive writing. Who the f writes in cursive? We should learn our name in cursive and that's IT.

I remember fondly making glue puddles on my desk. Where's the opportunity to do that? Well, it's most certainly not in these instructions.

"Make skinny lines of glue close to the edge, not right next to the edge..." FOR SERIOUS? I get it, yes. But when I explained that to Conner it SOUNDED LIKE DUTCH.
"No, not in the middle, your teacher said for it to be close to the edge. Ok, that's ON the edge, a little farther out... no... that's still really close to the edge... farther in.. EP! That's kinda the middle again..."

And that's when you just ask "could you practice lefty loosy, right tighty for me?" - "now don't watch as mommy sniffs the glue."

Just be glad I didn't blog about having him learn to sign his name in his own blood drawn from last week's scissor suitcase. THOSE cherished memories will be forever in a scrapbook somewhere on my coffee table.... Ahhhhhhhh....

18 September 2009

The 26-Hour Check Up

Somehow, I'm not stressed out about any of the following...

I loaded both kids into the car and headed to Birmingham for Conner's REAL follow-up visit with the Pulmonologist ("lung doctor").
His appointment was for 2:45, so at least I was able to take my time and get out the door at a reasonable hour without having to wake anyone early (including moi), or shoving pancakes down anyone's throat because of The Time, or skipping on drying my hair (or putting on deoderant...) - I was able to do everything on a Ack! No! Panicking! Schedule, which rocked.

I packed up all of Chase's necessary nap time things - Panda ("Pandy"), his noise machine (if it were on in this room right now, this blog would look just like this - *drooooolssssssssssssssssssssss* "zzzzzzzzzzZzzzzz"...( it's like sleeping in the womb of a whale while she rocks you in the deepest part of the ocean, being serendaded by a 4-string quartet lead by Mr. Sandman AND you are on an IV drip of Xanax)., his books, etc. - important that you are keeping up here...

Chase was fussy, which he is normally not, but he is cutting a tooth (really late tooth-cutter he is) - so we stopped and had MILOS! with my mom before making the last 20 minutes of the trek to her house for Official Chase Dropping Off and Nap Area Set Up.

Plan: She'd keep Chase since he naps from 130 - 330 and I'd take Conner to Children's. Because Children's is the Haven of All That Is Nice to Parents, I figured I'd be out by 4, at my mom's to pick up Chase by 430iiiish and on the road and home by 7 at the latest (traffic).

*record scratches*

But, not so much....

Dr. Lungs was way McBacked Up, so there I waited. Thing is, waiting at Children's is somehow different because A) I know they FRICKIN CARE B) There are about 28 different tv's all set to child appropriate things C) Wagons. Hello? D) A shop that has CHOCOLATE! PUDDING! and E) Wifi for MEEEE

So, I really didn't notice that our 2:45 appointment wasn't "answered" until... um... almost 5?
Yeah.

In short, we upped Conner's meds and he is responding very well to them. He grew accustomed to his dosage a few weeks back and had fallen back into his "but! i'm tired!" routine, and then got sick - and I really had almost forgotten how "lazy" he used to be. Now? The medication has increased his lung function to "normal" and he has the energy a 4-year-old boy SHOULD have.
Yes, that means naps are almost completely gone... sigh... but he's healthier, so what more can I ask for?

They also put him on a nebulizer for his rescue albuterol. Which, in Conner Land, translates into him getting  to look like a fighter pilot when he gets sick.



Sweet, eh?
(Plane not included)
(Don't worry, I asked)

And some darling people are going to come to my house and track in swine flu teach me how to use it.

Speaking of flu, Conner got his flu shot there (almost a "requirement" of a pulmonology patient...) and he will also be first in line to get the swine flu vaccine. Yes, I am aware I am electing to give my kid known carinogens, but the flu would land Conner in a hospital bed. And I've already done Christmas at Children's once. Let's not repeat, mk?

"Fun" Children's Hospital Thing:
In all the rooms, and I remember this vividly from the NICU, they have these containers of wipes - alot like Clorox Wipes, but on some serious 'roids.




Once while spending unimaginable lengths of time in the NICU, I picked up a container and read the label (I am a confessed Label Reader). I was SHOCKED at what these things could kill and the outside was always marked with a bright yellow sticker that said "WEAR GLOVES".

Let's see if you can catch the most "really? WTF?" part of the label (this is just a product description from a medical supplier's website):

Super Sani-Cloth Germicidal Disposable Wipe contains 55% alcohol to achieve faster kill times.
Cleans, disinfects and deodorizes hard non-porous surfaces.
Kills a broader range of bacteria and viruses including: RSV and TB in 1 minute; HBV and HIV-1 in 2 minutes.
Proven effective against MRSA.


Well, RSV is a respiratory illness that is normally contracted before the age of 2 and can be very dangerous, even deadly to newborns, preemies or those with pre-existing conditions. I've stated before that I believe Conner's RSV not being caught by a certain screwy pediatrician is part of the reason he has asthma.

Next, TB - tuberculosis. We all know what this is.

HBV is Hepatitis B... and then...
HIV - yes, HIV! As in... "almost AIDS"... these wipes kill "almost AIDS"..

...and then there's MRSA, which is staph (and the "bad staph" too) and VRE which is a mutant version of a dangerous infection that is sometimes antibiotic-resistant. (it these wipes also kill the other common stuff too, like flu and colds and strep... etc.. but DUDES! THE AIDS??!? Awesome. (they should hand these out at frat parties) (or make them in condom form...) (and give THOSE away at frat parties)

I like to wipe down my life with these things every time I go to Children's (don't charge me, thanks). Yesterday, that inlcuded: my purse, my car keys, my computer, my cell phone, Conner's eyeballs, tongue, hands and lungs and everything in the diaper bag-turned-computer bag because NO ONE wants a hand job home-cooked meal.

Eventually, we got to leave but it was starting to rain and much later than I had planned.

We "shut that s**t down", one might say:



(Notice the locked-down windows and empty waiting room)

Conner proclaimed to me that he was "freaking STARVING" (direct quote), so I did what any good mother would - loaded him up on chocolate ice cream (it had been promised after The Shot).

Thing is, they had those pint-sized (that's 2 cups or SIXTEEN ounces) Blue Bell ice creams in the Shop at Children's? Yeah.. I set him up in his car seat with a spoon, lots of napkins, and specific instructions to put the top of when he got full so the rest wouldn't spill out. Eventually, he did put the top on and held it till we got to my mom's house...
And when I went to take it from him...
There were maybe 3 bites left.

Can't blame the kid.
He was freaking starving and all....

We stayed at my mom's, somehow had extra diapers for Chase and wipes and everything I really needed aside from clean underwear...
So we came home this afternoon, the kids are now napping, it's looking like it's going to rain again... and I'm blogging away.
And all that "change of plans" and "eek! sleeping away from home without notice and TWO KIDS!" and "waiting at the doctor's" and I? Well... I am apparently a Big Peoples now because I didn't even once REMOTELY freak out.

Maybe I'm still high from handling those wipes without gloves?

16 September 2009

Consider This My Christmas List. In September.

I've been kinda drained today and lately (mentally, emotionally, physically, and about 2 other things I don't know the names for), so I'm just going to do a post on the things I absolutely heart, totally recommend OR want so badly my face hurts.

First, there's Clinique. I've always been an advocate of their Moisture Surge Extender Thirst Relief.


It doesn't contain oil, doesn't clog pores, gives me an extreme amount of moisture without ever feeling heavy or even THERE for that matter. It's a little pricey (I buy the larger size - 2.5 ounces for $46.50), but I use this daily after showering and I literally use a tiny, tiny dot on 3 places (my chin, my nose and my forehead). Those itty bitty dots go a LONG way.

Also from Clinique, and brought to my attention via Glamour Magazine (this month's sanity is brought to you by Glamour...), is their new Superbalanced Powder Makeup (SPF 15).



This is a mineral makeup in a whole new way - it's not messy! See, it comes solid with a "grinder" on the top, so you simply shave off what you need for an application and apply starting in the middle of your face and working outward in circles. It provides moderate coverage (I find the coverage to be exactly middle ground between my covering powder [also clinique] and my liquid base [clinique again]). Great stuff!


Moving away from makeup and Clinique...

Booties.

Sigh.

These are from Steve Madden:
The "Jessi". I need a size 6. First person to buy them for me gets their choice of a home cooked meal or a hand job (no relatives, please) (on the hand job that is) (I'm JOKING mom) (everyone else - seriously, offer's there) (MOM! STOP READING!)

I have this purple and grey striped dress. It's a sweater dress. I've NEVER worn it... it's probably because it was missing it's Sole Mate (haha... get it?) (of course you do):


Pleaseandthankyou. I would never purchase these myself unless I had my own job and my own money, nor would I ask for them for Christmas because I like practical gifts ... but say I WON these shoes or I received them from a random stranger? OR they weren't 80 bucks? Yes, then I'd own these darling puppies. (Dear Steve Madden, send me these shoes and the ones above and I am forever your slave. Love, Amanda)

Moving on...

I had a dream a few weeks ago in which I had a mustard yellow patent-leather tote bag. The dream was not ABOUT a mustard yellow patent-leather tote, but it was something from the dream I remember vividly. Ok, really... I remember the whole dream, but this is the only thing from that dream that I was wearing/had with me that I don't actually own - and for some reason that seemed odd to me...
Ok, I'm odd.
But still.
I want that tote. And in my dream I used it to carry my computer. I do not own a laptop bag, but it would be useful... and I think what's more fun than a huge mustard yellow patent-leather tote for your laptop!?! Nothing.
So, I found the bag:
In full disclosure, I have to say that I'd take ANY bag that looks similar to this one. It just has to be:
- Mustard Yellow
- Patent Leather (or similar)
- and large enough to fit my laptop in

Commence The Googling.

And the purchasing.

I don't really prefer gift wrapping- kind of a waste. Just put it on my front doorstep.
Wait, don't you dare leave my purse in the rain! Bring it inside and put it in my arms.
Thanks.

Oh man, I have no reason to own this but it's fabulous:




Jessica Simpson. Swoon.


And then we have my final item for Wish Listing, bangles. And not just ANY bangles, but turquoise bangles.... and then these others I found that I loved loved.


Those were at Dillards. $25 bucks a pop! Absurd. Or maybe I'm just cheap. :)

Sigh.

15 September 2009

On Field Trips and Sharing Ketamine

Ugh. Field Trips.

I received an email last week (that said to reply by Sunday... and I replied yesterday... that's only 24 hours, I win) that informed me Conner's class would be taking a field trip to a local veterinarian's office tomorrow (Wednesday) and some combination in the correct order of the following things must occur:

1) If I were driving my child, I had to bring a copy of my driver's license and insurance and birth certificate and a lock of the child's hair and a fresh set of finger prints and an i.d. card with the outfit he'd be wearing and a recent photo and well... hell.. go ahead and make a flyer for that says "Have You Seen This Child?" - just in case, because it's best if we already have that on file to expedite finding your child.


2) If I were unable to drive my child, to have him or her dressed in the official Your Parents Pay Money To Go Here Tshirt and dropped off by 8:45 (...and school starts at 8:30... so yeah.. I kinda FIGURED to have my child there less than 15 minutes late...) (unless they are secretly just playing dodgeball all day and sending him home with pre-colored pages so it doesn't *matter* when he is dropped off normally) and the child's car seat.

No siblings are allowed.
In full disclosure, I find it necessary to remind/inform all of you that I live in a military-centric city and in the part of town where the majority of those military peoples have been relocated and ergo, don't have a army of acceptable babysitters or family to keep The Stray Child in the Middle of a Work Day. So, not being able to tote Chase around on my hip while Conner looks at puppies boggles my littlest brain pieces, especially if I stay all Out Of The Way.
Whatever.

So, I got my panties all bunched because A) I have to drive PAST the Vet to meet his class only to drive back to the Vet and then... um... wait in the parking lot for an hour and a half with Chase? Ha! NO!
or
B) Let Conner ride with! another! person!

Really, for you to understand the extent of The Freaking Out... here's The Crazy I *actually* made another complete stranger endure, she's the room mom:

[introductory, apology and confirmation of the crap I just talked about above]
 ...
Basically, I don't know what to do here. I hate to be that "over protective mother", but I mean.. there are mothers out there just like that women who drove her 2 kids and her brother's 3 to their death and no one ever even knew she was an alcoholic.
See!? I sound JUST like "that" mom!!
But hey... I'd rather be "that" mom with my children safe...
Anyways, I guess what I am saying is either:
A) Is there room for Conner in someone's car? And I can follow them to the Vet's office and critique their driving down to a T all the way there?? (JOKE!)
or
B) Is there any way I can drive Conner myself and know exactly when to pick him up?
She replied hours later, after surely calling her husband or her mom and having a good laugh at me, and replied offering to personally drive Conner (she had room). I mulled over it for a bit and replied with lots of "thanks" ... o.. and this:
I'm leaning towards letting you drive him, if that's ok with you. I figure if you are capable enough of organizing these emails and whatnot SURELY you aren't hitting the wine at 8 AM. :)
I mean, the smiley negates The Crazy, right?

But still! She didn't acknowledge that she in fact was not a raging alchy till the next email when she said "I promise I'll be sober at 8AM".

Well, that's all fine and dandy, Mrs. Room Mom Lady, but I think I noticed the field trip wouldn't begin till 845... how about 9? Will you be sober at 9? 

And we *are* going to a vets office. Can I get it in writing that you won't be hitting the ketamine and horse tranquilizer stash? If you do, can you a) call me to come get Conner and b) save some for the class (as in - other moms - I am in NO way condoning the use of horse tranquilizers on children... sheesh... what kind of mother do you think I am??!!?) (that's why they make Benadryl) (and rum)

Sharing is a corner stone to preschool, lady.





12 September 2009

Obligatory Labor Day Beach Post: Yummy Pics Included!

We stayed here:

....Which happens to be in Ft. Morgan, Alabama - interesting enough, a "barrier" peninsula. It's purpose is to protect the Port of Mobile (big shipping stuff, peoples). Basically... this thing is about a 1/2 a mile wide - you can see both the Gulf of Mexico if you look south and the Bay of Mobile if you look north. It seems positively insane to me that people would build homes there. With a 10 ft. storm surge, the entire thing doesn't exist (and this happens often with Tropical Storms and Hurricanes).



See that last tiny part that is mostly white? That's where we stayed, and it is, at some points, no wider than a football field (or less). Bonkers.

As a matter of fact, 24 hours into last year's Labor Day vacation, we were put under a mandatory evacuation and spent almost 8 hours driving what normally takes 4 to get back home. It was both scary... and totally awesome...... I'm a complete weather nerd.

Both the Gulf and the Bay are filled with Oil Rigs or Platforms or Those Things In the Ocean that Get The Good Stuff... and I say... BRING EM ON! From our beach house, I could count 30 on a clear day (and there was only ONE clear day... so.)
MORE!
OIL!
PLEASE!

Actually, for those who attempt to argue that these platforms are an "eye sore" and therefore we should depend on a bunch of Middle Eastern A-holes that hate Americans and hike up prices because They Can - they let me present to you, the Twinkling Of The Oil Rigs:

It really is pretty at night :) And nothing is more beautiful than domestic oil...


Sigh.

I had a difficult time getting pictures of Conner during this trip, but here are a few highlights:

I don't have a clue what's up with the gang signs or the dinosaur claws... it's just Conner These Days.

Annnnnyhooters...

Oh! And speaking of hooters - I have a 'Chase Tan Line' because well... he just isn't a fan of Things That Make Him Sandy or  Water That Makes Him Chilly. He's so my son. So, he spent a lot of time like this:


Like the Obligatory Boob Grab? He's smooth like that. I've GOT to get it through to him that I'm his MOM.

Here's his non-enjoyment of all things that could be possible annoyances to His Majesty:


No sand? No water? NO PROBLEM!




He gets overloaded often with high-intensity, highly-social situations - fried and totally overwhelmed. It's during those times he just says "screw you guys, I'm going to go chill". And so he does, without any help, I found him like this:

Like I said, he's my son....

I also got a big floppy beach hat! I've always wanted a big floppy beach hat! Target! On Clearance! Originally $20something, I snagged for $5ish! WOOT!


The End.

11 September 2009

O! The Sacrifice!

On the way home from the beach, I was a Girl On a Mission. I called at 8:30 AM just to make sure they would be serving food - and the nice lady on the phone confirmed they opened at 10.

Thank God.

I bypassed the infamous LuLu's - known for its fabulously fresh seafood and amazing sandwiches. She's also the sister of Jimmy Buffet.

Then, I kept driving right on past Lambert's - Home of the "Throwed" Rolls (bothers me they say "throwed"). Who doesn't want fresh, hot, super delicious bread being chunked at their face mid-meal? I want!!

And finally, I reached Mecca. Or really... something a lot like it. Something I've yearned for since leaving Birmingham, where this place was solely responsible for ALL the weight I managed to gain during Pregnancy Number 1... and pretty much the reason said weight stayed for the next year... (yum!)


Ahhh... Milo's. Be still my heart. If Heaven 'aint a lot like Milo's....


In Memory of those who perished on 9/11: Check out My 9/11 Story. Never. Forget.
A list of those lost that day from CNN.

10 September 2009

The Skinny on Being Too Thin

I know you are all going to totally hate my face for posting this, for making a big deal out of it, and for it even being my "problem" in the first place - but I have a big announcement:


I FINALLY GAINED SOME WEIGHT!

See?
The Hate.

Seriously though, I weighed myself this morning for the first time in a week - and like MAGIC I had actually GAINED WEIGHT. For the record, it's the kind of magic that makes you eat like a sumo wrestler and gain weight against the medical craziness that ensues, not the kind of magic that makes these things happen:

Either way: GOOD STUFF, PEOPLES.

Not that a trip on Falkor The LuckDragon wouldn't be fantastic, but I'm kinda totally thrilled that I no longer weigh something that begins with the number '8'.

Commence the hate.
Or.... don't....

You see, although many of you are purging your lunch right now in utter disgust with my insanely low number, I consider each of you blessed.

Some of you ARE your ideal body weight, and that extra carton scoop of Cookies-n-Cream ice cream doesn't make you lose sleep at night. And then I am completely aware of those of you who go all Silas from the Da Vinci Code on yourself for even THINKING about a bite of aforementioned yummy goodness in a carton.

Of course, we have the people in the middle too, who eat as they should and on occasion go ape crap on the Thanksgiving buffet and then exercise like good little peoples.
Kudos.

But what a lot of you don't have to think about is this - the stigma attached to being "fat" or "overweight" or "whale-like" is as intense but completely opposite to those of us who are overly thin.

I have a MEDICAL ISSUE right now, yet I get stares and looks from anyone who doesn't know what is going on. I go out of my way to cover up the thinner parts, but come on! It's summer! Sometimes, when it is/was 98 degrees outside, I have to wear shorts and a tank top. SORRY!

And it's those times that I get those looks and I know what the person is thinking "geez! she's anorexic! let's feed her!"

I absolutely, positively, DESPISE those comments and thoughts, but I also understand why they are even there. It APPEARS that I am not taking care of myself. That I'm not eating.

But the honest truth couldn't be farther from that thought - I am TRULY an obese person trapped in this overly thin shell. I love food! I cook a lot and think one of the most enjoyable things to do is find a new restaurant or food or recipe and try it.

The stigma associated with being thin gets me, but seeing myself at an unhealthy weight does something mentally that is difficult for other people to understand. I can explain it in only one way, a story:

The last time I got this thin, I was at Michael's brother's wedding in Chicago. At the time, I weighed 84 lbs. and didn't know why I was loosing so much weight. I kept eating and KEPT eating MORE, but the weight was falling off.
I had a dress for the wedding that fit a month prior, but when I went to try it on in the hotel bathroom an hour before the ceremony, I realized it no longer fit.
It hit me hard, for some reason - and I took the dress off without unzipping it and sat on the cold tile floor of the bathroom and started crying.
I had my knees bent and to my chest, and my arms folded with my head in them. My tears made a puddle on the floor, and it's then that I opened my eyes to realize that my entire body - all 84 pounds of it - fit on one small 12X12 tile in this bathroom with room to spare.
I told myself "In this great big world, at this moment, your entire body - your entire self - fits on a 12-inch by 12-inch tile. You practically don't exist."

Those are harsh words to think. They are harsh words to type. It still hurts to think that I was telling myself those things, but that's the gravity of the situation.

I didn't have an eating disorder, I don't have an eating disorder, but I look like I do.

I have to deal with the stigma associated with a disorder that I don't have.

And as hard as that is, I am a different person today dealing with this problem than the girl sitting on the 12-inch tile square of a bathroom floor in Chicago 3 years ago.

That doesn't mean I don't still despise every judging glance. It doesn't mean I don't sigh every time my size zero shorts fall off because I've worn them more than once. It doesn't mean that I don't get on the scale and pray for a higher number.

What it does mean is that I've learned to deal with it. That I want to be healthy... and by George...I'm getting somewhere!

Here's to 4 more pounds! And then some!

09 September 2009

Duck Duck, Wild Things and Girls Who Don't Like Bugs

At 10:15 on a Friday night, Conner entertained a set of 7 grown adults for an hour with a riveting game of duck-duck-goose.

It's a newly acquired "skill", this whole "play a game once at school and somehow retain the rules", and he was super stoked to have a room full of unfortunate souls willing participants.


He's been in an interesting stage lately. He brought a book to me on Thursday for the first time in his life... wanting me to READ it, not color ON it or rip it to teeny tiny pieces... We read Where the Wild Things Are - telling because it's about a boy who acts out and is sent to his room without supper (he always says "SUCKER, hehe... he wanted a LOLLIPOP!" sheesh).

While the boy is in his room for "time out", he imagines he sails to an island where the Wild Things live and they make the boy their King, but after "hours" and "days" and "weeks" of Good Wild Fun, the boy realizes he wants to go home where he is loved best. And he returns to his room, to find his dinner waiting for him - and it's still hot...


I read that book 20 times in an hour one day (TV! OFF!), and he memorized a version of what happens on each page and enjoys "reading" to you at night.


Supa dupa adorable.

And he's on this kick of telling the longest stories you've. ever. heard. One night, I listened to Conner tell Michael about his day at school. The story, no lie, consisted of one run-on paragraph for an entire 15 minutes.

It started getting to the Hour Of Way Later Than It Should Be For A School Night, so I walked to the door and poked my head in.
me: "Conner, you need to go to sleep."
Conner: "Momma, can I tell you something?"
me: "Of course, sweetheart"
Conner: "Girls do not like beetles. That is what I learned at school today"

Well, excellent. Those tuition checks are worth their weight in.... tuition checks...

**Update: I will not be taking him to the movie. I can't justify ruining the only book I can actually get him to read right now. If he sees the movie, he won't want the book anymore. Sorry, kid!

08 September 2009

04 September 2009

The Obedient Child Goes Potty

Ahhhhhhh, Chase... The Obedient One.

At night, if I am busy with Conner or Other Things That Must Be Done Before Bed, and Chase starts getting antsy, I tell him "Go ahead and go to bed, Chase". He will find Michael and kiss him or find Conner and wave "bye!!" (and receive his nightly tackle... er... "hug"). Then, he'll march to his bedroom and stand beside his crib. Sometimes, he attempts to crawl in. He'll give you 5 minutes, and then wander into the hallway. If I yell "go back in, I'm coming!", he'll make a u-turn and head back to his crib side, waiting on me.

He's the Child That Listens.

Today, Chase and I were reading in the playroom floor. Suddenly, he looked uncomfortable and starting pulling at his diaper. This has happened a hand full of times over the past month, and each time I let him take off his diaper (because it's really not an issue with Chase wanting to be naked for no reason).

I got up, walked out into the living room and he followed. As I made it into the master bedroom to get a new diaper for nap time, Chase followed. Since he was naked I said "go to the bathroom, Chasey", not wanting him to pee on the carpet.

I grabbed a diaper and unfolded it, placing it on the bed, when I turned the corner to the bathroom and heard what sounded like someone peeing. In. The. Toilet.

There he was. Standing in front of the Big People Potty, peeing into it better than Mike does.

I almost barked out a laugh. What?? Was?? He?? Doing??
He can't even SAY 'pee' much less understand that this is where that happens!
Oh geez.
I congratulated him and let him flush the potty, he was ecstactic to see the waters rush around "Waaawaa!" See? He can't even say 'WATER'. How the bananas is he potty training ON HIS OWN at 22 months?

I don't think I can allow such behavior. Who does he think he is? Potty training MALE at 21-month-old... that doesn't even exist. Pfft.

03 September 2009

300th Post: An Ode To Television

300th post! Wow... THREE HUNDRED posts.... that's um, a lot of The Crazy and The "Oh, Amanda... HUSH!". How do you peoples put up with my nonsense?
Oh.
That's right.
Because you have work, and my site isn't blocked.


No, seriously. That's all been proven by scientist in labs with SCIENCE and crap and NONE of them look like this:


I'm sure you've seen their work. Very prestigious.

But this post isn't about the giveaway (why are you STILL READING THIS?!?), although I really don't have a clue what is *it* supposed to be about. That's kinda how I roll.

Let's see... TV IS PICKING BACK UP. Praise Jesus. And cable.

I enjoyed Army Wives this weekend, which made me miss part of The Tool Academy 2 (for. shame. on. me). But, the tools are back and just as douchey as ever. Fantabulously so.

Speaking of Army Wives...
Dear Army Wives,
STOP MAKING ME CRY.
Thanks,
The Mom Job

I'm kinda under contract not to talk about Tool Academy. First rule of Tool Academy is not to talk about Tool Academy and secondly, I am really that other girlfriend that comes out to say "hey! that's not YOUR tool, it is MY tool, so get the eff lost, WHORE" that comes mid-season.
And I'm all pregnant with triplets that me and MY tool made in a gas station right after your graduation from Junior College.
And he also bought me a trailer because HE LOVES ME (he said it could be a double-wide if I keep stripping through my pregnancy to pay for his hair product... see? LOVE)

Sorry, VH1, you can sue me allllll you want. But, feel free to offer me my own reality show.

Which, by the way, won't be "Amanda Wants a Murderer". Megan kinda has the corner on that one. Who wants to bet he made it to the top 3? She's a WINNER AT LIFE.

Top Chef is rocking my face off. And making me hungry. Sooooooooooooooooo hungry. They've been using a LOT of fresh seafood to start the year off which only makes me want to hump the next person that offers me fresh seafood. And not just offer, but PONY UP... I'm thinking... some nice ahi tuna (die) and shrimp and ooooooo some crab. Yes, please.

And, I'd also like to thank Bravo for Flipping Out and the Rachel Zoe Project.

Rachel is frac-tastic. Love her. She's the perfect balance of totally insane and completely spot-on. Not many (if any) can do that. I watch that show after Top Chef, which leaves me wanting to eat a lot AND shop.

Who would NOT want to be her?


If you just said "not me", go ahead and de-friend me. No, really. She's amazing.

Last week, she actually managed to get up the balls to ask CHANEL to ALTER a haute couture gown. I mean, who else can do that? Not only does she ask to change it, she knows HOW it should be changed so that the American public doesn't go all "what the f' is Cameron Diaz WEARING" just because it's a little too "forward thinking". She asks Chanel to CUT. OFF. A. SLEEVE?!?!?!
I would have died. Right there. Period.


Now, as soon as Grey's Anatomy starts back and House, I will be good as gold.

01 September 2009

Giveaway Time! Over @ The Mom Job Review

Many of you recall unfulfilled promises of an amazing giveaway provided by Bed, Bath & Beyond, right?
Head on over to The Mom Job Review for a chance to enter the giveaway and win this:



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