When Babies Find Markers

The budding artist's first masterpiece. Her own face. It's like one of those tribal tattoos.

I couldn't pick just one photo 'cuz she's just that cute! And brilliant.


And yes, the marker was washable! Hooray!

Signs That I AM My Mother

1. Quin cannot find one of her favorite high heeled dress up shoes. After she asks me six times where it is and I tell her each time that I do not know, I finally tell her that I have eaten her shoe and she will have to wait until I poop it out before she can play with it again. (Now she keeps asking me to go to the bathroom and get her shoe out of the toilet. Ruh Roh!)

2. Peevers loves to nurse when we take a bath together. I subversively try to keep my breasts under water and laugh at her when she repeatedly dips her head into the water while trying to get ahold of my nipple. Good times. Good times.

3. Gabe became insanely emotional when I told him he could not have a piece of fudge after school. He told me that he was very very sad. I told him that being sad about fudge is good for his heart and will make it grow big and strong. Then we had a contest to see who could make the saddest face. I won.

4. Both of my older children know that making up new words to a song is a sure fire way to make new friends and gain influence. Even Quin, not even three yet, can sing a great alternate to Twinkle, Twinkle involving her potty chair and her brother's favorite toy that is clever enough to win her an audience at the White House.

5. The kids were fighting over which seat they sat at the kitchen counter. Without even pausing, I implement a system in which their assigned seat is determined by even and odd days on the calendar. Gabe gets the pole position on odd days and Quin does on even. (What they hell am I gonna do when all three are fighting over something?) I tell Gabe that he gets the odd days because he is so odd.

6. You have probably heard half these stories from me already because, like my mom, I think every good story bears repeating. And repeating. And repeating.


* I should say that neither my mom nor I are half as evil as this post may seem to indicate. All of these examples should be seen in a light of the good natured ribbing the kids knew they were all along. If you still don't think it's funny then..I wouldn't joke that way with you. Gosh!

The Best Thanksgiving Snake

It was a quiet Thanksgiving. The after dinner entertainment was provided by Otto.


He's "The Best Snake Ever" according to Quin and now even according to Cynthia, who was initially a bit nonplussed by the after dinner program.


We ate. We drank. We played with a snake.

Who wants to come next year?

Mermaids Don't Wear Underwear

Quin has recently discovered the joy that is Walt Disney's Princesses. I have tried to channel this interest into more alternative ass-kicking Princess types but alas, the marketing geniuses at Disney have Quin's number. She pretty much embodies their demographic for girly girls.

So I relented and dragged out my favorite Disney Princess classic, The Little Mermaid. Quinlan's immediate rapt response to the under-the-sea sugarfest: "She's a mermaid mama! She's so pretty!"

Hubby has always enjoyed this film as well. In fact, we watched it together on one of our first dates. The movie prompted a long standing feud between us in which I insist that the Little Mermaid was washed ashore stark naked after her transformation by the Sea Witch. Hubby insists that the Little Mermaid must be wearing underwear at least, since she has a sea shell bra thingy. This makes no sense because in her normal mermaid form, she has no damn legs and therefore, no CROTCH. I'll admit there is some confusion as to where merpeople hide their most private nether-regions. Obviously, they must have some naughty tingly bits somewhere or there would be no little merpeople, but I still contend that you need a crotch in order to wear underwear. I mean, what's a little mermaid to do as she dresses; scrape off her scales, slide legless underwear over her flippers and then reapply scales? I think not! The girl/fish has no underwear. Period. Hubby is dead wrong on this one.

Hubby seemed to have a generally different take on the film now that he is a parent to three and a father to two girls. Gabe remarked that Ariel father was being mean and Hubby staunchly defended Triton and told Gabe that Ariel should be in BIG TROUBLE for disobeying her father and chasing after boys and what not. I'll bet he'll insist all the more blindly that Ariel is wearing underwear because he cannot stomach the image of his innocent little girls running around after "princes" sans drawers. It's always tough being confronted with your daughters' inevitable sexuality. Poor Hubby.

But Quinny loves the Little Mermaid now and wants me to sing the "Mermaid Song" to her daily, if not hourly. She also has latched onto the song "Edelweiss" from The Sound of Music, so we watched part of that yesterday too. Gabe just likes the Goatherd song but Quin calls all the girls and Maria "princesses" and asks to watch Leisel dance around the gazebo with the telegram boy over and over.

Hubby is so screwed when her hormones kick in.

Why I'm A Humongous Slacker (At Blogging That Is)

They say that most bloggers just bonk out/blog out/poop out within the first year. I am ashamed to say I can see how that happens. I think of myself as too good of a writer with too much to say to let that happen, but just look at my thread count for the month; pitiful!

I've been feeling plenty guilty for blogging so infrequently lately (and not just because some of you have been nagging me with pleas for new entries). Here is the list of reasons (excuses) I've been compiling in my mind:

1. I assume ya'll are tired of hearing about poop and vomit. It is a recurrent theme in my life but it seems so frequent and redundant lately that writing about it seems a bit boring and would be like rubbing my own face in it (figuratively). So, I haven't been writing about the many poop and vomit related escapades in my life recently (and always). It has nothing to do with squeemishness over poop and vomit, just its ubiquity.

2. I'm not totally freaking out for once. This may seem backwards, but freaking out feeds me or something. The more I freak, the more I write. So, now I just stay home and clean up poop and vomit and I have nothing to rant on about. Go ahead and call me Drama Queen. I will smear some poop on you.

3. I now have a TiVo in my bedroom and I can chill out and watch Starting Over or some other silly guilty pleasure to numb my brain. Okay. That's totally pitiful. But honest.

4. I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THE DAY GOES! I swear, I have a list of projects and books to read and my birth initiative to get off the ground here in Georgia and yet every day flies by with my being proud if I just managed to feed the kids a healthy dinner, read to them before bed, or empty the freakin' dishwasher, much less paint the bathroom (also on The List) or blog.

5. You've heard all my standard rants already. I've been known to repeat myself. To excessive lengths. Just ask Hubby. So, I'm trying to actually have something to say before I sully the internet with my ramblings. Maybe I'm setting the standard too high.

6. Since only like three of you comment with any frequency, I don't really feel like I know what you guys want me to blog about. I mean, I don't blog to please anyone, BUT it is gratifying to write things that you know others are enjoying. So gimme some love, people!

7. I have been a lot of trouble with my internet connection and frequently get booted off mid post, so I am anxious about writing some huge and definitive essay on, say, The Quality of Poop Expressed by a Potty Training Two Year Old, only to find it lost to the ether forever. Heartbreaking, I tell you.

8. The worst thing is: THE CONSTANT INTERRUPTIONS! Seriously, since I started this post, two and a half hours ago, I have been delayed by the neighborhood children arriving (damn school holiday breaks), the phone ringing, the dog barking to be let in, the neighborhood children ravaging my house, changing a poopy diaper, kicking the children out of my house, the dog barking to go out with the kids, an adult neighbor arriving to chat, making lunch for my children, kicking the neighborhood children out of my garage, putting Quin (already asleep on the sofa, naked, amidst the bedlam) in bed for her nap, the dog barking to come back in, nursing Peevers to sleep, and trying to get Gabe occupied working on some school work. So, I need to REALLY REALLY have something to say in order to break through the chaos and interruptions and write a nice juicy blog entry.

So, inspire me, hire me a doorman, or comment already, and maybe you'll get some sugar from me in the form of more frequent posting. And quit sending me harrassing emails. I have access to copious quantities of poop and vomit.

Cutest Photo Montage Ever!

The kids and I went to Ellen's house, which is more "in the country" than my subdivision in order to take the kids tromping around in the woods behind her house. It was raining all morning but we decided a little water wouldn't hurt them (our kids are tough, I tell you) so we put them in galoshes and headed into the woods.


All the way to the creek, we wove a tale about the "Root Children" who live in the forest and kept a look out for signs of their presence. We entered their territory through a secret arbor and saw other signs that they had been there in the placement of fallen trees and little nests.



The kids were loving the story and kept looking for "Root Children" as they played.

They splashed in the creek. They fell in the creek. They filled their galoshes with water. They picked up trash (Ugh, yes, even in the deep woods there was trash). The babies watched them contentedly. The big kids got drenched up to their waists (up to the neck in Quin's case) and still continued to giggle and play. My kids acquitted themselves well as the backwoods rednecks we secretly are and I was proud. There is nothing sweeter than filthy clean-living munchkins in my book.

We finally dragged their sodden bodies out of the creek and up the hill to the house, dumped the water out of their boots and threw them in the bathtub.

Gabe has been telling me that he wants to go back to "Noah's Secret Woods" to look for the "Little Guys" again soon. Maybe tomorrow. Sigh. This makes me so happy.

You may also have noticed I (and the kids) have made new friends. Isn't life grand?

For more photos of the Secret Woods Adventure, click here.

Things That Go Bleargh in the Night

Last night, dark stillness was interrupted by the cry of a child.

Here's the cool part: Hubby got out of bed to go investigate.

Prior to moving to Georgia, we ALL slept in "the family bed," which was really two beds pushed together on the floor of our bedroom. But now, the big kids sleep in their own bunkbeds and seldom get up for anything. We, in turn, sleep in our own humongous bed with only Peevers to contend with (and she is way easy)! And, our bed is not even on the floor!

And the coolest thing about all these changes: When big children cry in the night, Hubby gets up to contend with them since he is closest to the door and I am attached to Peevers.

But the REALLY REALLY cool part: Hubby got up and figured out what was wrong (Gabe had puked in his bed) and then went ahead and got Gabe settled on the sofa and STRIPPED THE BED AND PUT THE SOILED BEDDING IN THE WASH AND BEGAN TO WASH IT!

What a great morning! Even though I have a puny child home from school today, I am just so thrilled that the Mommy Default Button wasn't depressed during the night, I am celebrating anyway.

Let's Have a Little Debate, Shall We?

1. Why do nerds in teen movies think they have ANY chance of getting the hot and popular boy/girl?

Remember the 1986 film, Lucas? Corey Haim was the adorable (think: puppy) nerd with hugely oversized glasses to match his hugely oversized crush on blandly lovable Kerri Green (who you will remember as the "it" girl from Goonies, NOT Martha Plimpton, who I actually adore.) Lucas was your classic undersized weakling academic misfit who hung out with his fellow outcast, Winona Ryder (!) with whom he may actually have had a slight possibility of hooking up. And yet, he foolishly goes out for the football team in order to impress the popular girl.

There are so many things wrong about this premise.

I have hung out with many a nerd/outcast/non-jock type in my teen years and we (I mean, they) hated the freakin' jockish and popular crowd. Because, as a whole, the popular sect are all a bunch of entitled jerkwads, who even if they deign to act civilly on occasion, are worthless when it comes to actually having a rewarding conversation. No self-respecting outcast actually wants to hang out with a bunch of popular assholes. I mean, give me a bunch of goth skaters and art geeks over the vapid loveliness of the richies any day. Plus, nerds are smart enough to calculate that they have no real chance to fit in with this group.

Even when they all give Lucas the big slow clap (you know, that gradually increasing, emphatic jock clap) in the end of the movie, it was more like: Man, dude, We can't believe you were stupid enough to take off your helmet right before you caught the big Hail Mary pass and then allowed the other team to tromp on your skinny neck like that just to get a stupid football jacket. We admire your admiration of our superiority and your sacrifice to us. Now please give us the space our superiority demands already. And try to stay away from our wimmin folk. That is what a slow clap means, people.

As an adult and a parent, I think I will be totally concerned if my children begin to run a bit too mainstream. Thus runs the path to Madness and Sheeple-dom. This is not something to which you should aspire, people! (Remember Mr. Pine and his purple house? Anarchy! That's the ticket.)

2. And this leads me to another point. Why are movie nerds so transparently not really very nerdy/unattractive? And why do they become "attractive" once they dress up conventionally and fit it with the ridiculous jock group? Glasses can be wicked cool people!

I am thinking of She's All That, with Freddie Prinze Jr. and Rachel Leigh Cook. She was this totally cool and brilliant art nerd who for some reason didn't realize that she just needed to get contact lenses and some Abercrombie clothes to fit in with the glam crowd. Of course, her makeover is delivered, My Fair Lady style, by Freddie Prinze Jr. himself, who naturally falls in love with his Eliza now that he has fixed her up. Why the hell can't he fall in love with her in her original interesting modern goth get up? For that matter, why did Eliza Doolittle have to "be a lady" before Henry Higgins found her acceptable? It's class warfare being taught to teenagers on the big screen with the main-est of the mainstreamers cast in the roles of royalty. I call bullshit! NO more elite status for Sheeple! Let's give credit and elevated status to those who are willing to be different!

And how about Can't Buy Me Love (1987) with the coolest nerd in history, Patrick Dempsey. He pays to get Pygmalioned by his beautiful and shallow neighborhood hottie, and she actually learns to love him, blah blah blah. I guess this one has a little twist, because they both learn to reject the "go with the crowd" idiocy of their crowd and "be themselves" and so on, but they both still end up as attractively styled blandly mainstream version of "themselves".

Pretty In Pink is the only movie I can think of where the outcast doesn't have to change into a Sheeple Girl to get the guy. BUT, they originally had her NOT get the cool guy and had to change the ending to make it happy enough to please audiences and furthermore, I still cannot see Molly pining after this dopey Rich Boy in the first place. Just because she hangs around with Duckie (which, hubba hubba, who wouldn't want a little Jon Cryer action anyway!?) doesn't mean she can't attract any interesting guys. She is a strong, interesting, attractive girl. She wouldn't be sitting home crying every day in the real world. She'd be like, "These high school guys are dorks. Let's go get coffee by the college and pick up some cool art students." I know this. Really. This is what we did in high school when the guy pool seemed to be drying up.

3. I must stop watching VH1's I Love the 80's 3D or you will be subjected to many more posts like this one.

4. Oh yeah, and why do I LOVE to watch these movies, even though they push all my buttons? Gah!

Mr. Pine's Purple House

Welcome to Suburbia! (Hell, that is.)


This is where I live. Scarier than the last week of Halloween photos, no?

This setting and home are so terrifyingly unlike my usual taste that it is taking me a while to really settle into that "homey" feeling.

I had a British book when I was kid, called "Mr. Pine's Purple House" which featured a row of identical houses much like this. The protagonist, the aforementioned Mr. Pine, could never find his house in the eerie conformity of his neighborhood and retaliated by painted his house bright purple. Of course, this inspired others near him, and soon the row of houses looked like something from the San Francisco hills. It was my early introduction to anarchy. Thanks Mom and Dad!

Sadly, I am bound by community covenances as well as strapped by a lack of cash, so my house will never be purple. I'd never go for that option anyway. I'd love to do some kickass landscaping and add a bunch of trees and shrubs (A Shrubbery!) and such out front, but that will have to wait for a bit. But in its defense, it has a nice large lot, tons of trees out back, and a great school district. So, there you have it.

The inside of the house is much more personalized. I have plans for more creativity inside eventually as well. I have prepared a flickr slideshow for those of you who want a peep inside for now. Enjoy.

THAT'S IT????

I FINALLY WIN BIG AND THAT'S ALL I (DON'T) GET???

I've got a whole freakin' bag of freakin' Tootsie Pops because it's the classic give away for cheap-os. All the public give-aways feature bags full of Tootsie Pops and freakin' nasty ass Dots! NO MORE POPS! NO MORE DOTS! I WANT MINI CANDY BARS!

Okay. I think. I've had. Enough candy. Today.



Ummm.....I knew it was an urban myth all along.

My life is pretty pedestrian these days, so I gotta take my thrills where I can.



I'm gonna post pictures of my new house tomorrow.



Oh yeah, and I went to IKEA for the first time today and that was pretty damn cool. Be grateful I didn't bring my camera and you aren't treated to photo after photo of gleaming rows of merchandise. Because it was lovely. And I am broke, so it seemed extra lovely. Sigh.

Perhaps I'll go sifts through the Dots and Pops for more chocolate now.

I'm a Wiener!

I was just eating some of the kid's Halloween candy and I was opening a Tootsie Pop. Without even thinking about it, I opened the wrapper all the way up to search for The Indian Shooting a Star on it. Weren't you supposed to win something if you got a Tootsie Pop wrapper that had The Indian Shooting a Star on it? It seemed like such a big deal when I was kid. The action is so deeply ingrained that I am still searching for The Indian in my 30's!

AND HE WAS THERE! What do I win? Tell me! Tell me!

Self Portrait

I have been experimenting a little with self portraits. I am considering participating in Self Portrait Tuesday. In the meanwhile, I am having some difficulty because my camera lens is too big and fancy for me to just hold out my camera at arms length to capture myself. I have been getting around this by playing with the mirror.



This early attempt is blurry, but seemly.


Here, I am training (in vain) to get the angle right in the mirror and am looking at my own reflection rather than the camera.



And now I'm like, "Screw it!" and I'm being silly.

So, that's me. I told you that you couldn't see my boobs! That's my other web site.*

*Holy cows! I was gonna put in a fake URL for sluttymoms.com as a joke and then I checked and there totally is one and you totally DO NOT want to go there. Well maybe you do, but my mom and many of my more conservative readers do not. Really.

You Wanna See Something REALLY Spooky?

This is exactly what Gabe will look like if he becomes a Goth Teen. Eeeek! (Just like his Mom, back in the day. Awww!)


We went to "Spooky Science Night" at his school and he copped a typical cool kid attitute and didn't want to wear his costume. He perked up at my idea of scary black eye makeup.


As I was applying the makeup, he squeezed his eyes shut and squirmed and whined and protested that I was TOUCHING HIS EYES! I tried to explain that you can only make "black eyes" by touching the eyes with makeup and had to fight with him to finish the second eye.


After he viewed these digital images outside his school he said, "Black eyes, yuck!" and I said, "Tough, suffer."

Gila Monsters

More photos from the Zoo.



Peevers checks out the Gila Monster.



Gabe and Quin cavort on the Gila Monster.

Are you all bored of photo week yet?

Any requests?

No, you cannot see my boobs.

Don't Be Scared

Gabe insists on being a ghost for Halloween. He has a whole box full of dress up clothes including Batman. For a while he was asking to be a "toilet paper mummy". When we moved, I saved an old sheet to make him a kick-ass mummy ensemble. But now he is set on being a simple ghost. It's an easy costume, but it almost feels like I'm cheating by simply cutting a few holes in the sheet and throwing it over his head. I tried to bribe him with promises of "spooky makeup around his scary eyes" if he dressed as a mummy, but he wasn't interested.



So, here he is, at the zoo, in costume. He was kind of a big hit in the sea of store-bought superheroes and princesses. People would point and giggle and say "Oooh! What a scary ghost" and he would respond "It's just me!!" with a five year old's scorn and derision. He was also stumbling around knocking into people because he wasn't keeping the eye-holes in place.

It did occur to Hubby and me that he was only lacking a pointy cap to make a much less acceptable Halloween costume which would have the potential to get us driven from the zoo and perhaps the entire state altogether.



Quin wasn't into dressing up that day either. They have four separate opportunities to dress up in their costumes, so we'll see what the rest of the week brings. They are pretty cute though, no?

Pumpkin Baby

Peevers at the Zoo in her "Trick or Treat" outfit. She is looking just like Gabe at this age.

Photo Week Entry 2: Fat Lip

Quin fell down so many times yesterday I think she may be brain damaged. Seriously. She was wandering around crying "I bonked my head" at least 20 times yesterday.


At one point Hubby was mowing the lawn and I was going to the bathroom and my neighbor came into my house carrying Quin because she was crying and BLEEDING all over my driveway. She had split her lip pretty good. This is how it looked a few hours later. It looks about the same today. Poor little pitiful chicken baby.

It's Photo Week at I-C-B!

In celebration of my finally finding my CF card reader and getting my camera up and operating again, I will post a new photo (or more) every day this week. Don't miss out on the fun people!


Here is Dr. P and Otto. He is a Red Tailed Boa. (Otto that is.)


And here is Gabe petting Otto. Proof that snakes are NOT, in fact, slimey.


And here is Quin's filthy little face expressing her glee in petting Otto, who is, in her words, "The best snake ever!"

Ya'll come back now, ya hear!

Saturday Night Drama

Quin has enough temporal amnesia that when she untied her balloon and it drifted up to the ceiling of Kid's Land, she fussed and then forgot that she had ever had a balloon within three minutes.

Gabe held on to his balloon all afternoon. He left it in the car when we went grocery shopping "to keep it safe." When we got home with the groceries and he got out of the car he suddenly let out a small cry of dismay. I looked up just in time to see his balloon floating above the van, free and taking off fast.

Instantly, I started putting positive spin on the situation.

"Wow! Look where your balloon is going! It's going on an adventure up into the sky!"

His eyes began to fill with tears.

"Look honey! Your balloon is going to float up high into the sky by the airplanes! Maybe somebody on an airplane will see your balloon!"

His lips continued to quiver and his cheeks got blotchy as he protested. "But, I don't want an airplane to get my balloon! I forgot that my balloon would float away!"

I swear, his heart was totally breaking over this balloon. I tried to distract him with helping me bring in the groceries but he kept returning to the subject of the balloon. He was trying so hard to process his loss.

"I miss my balloon, Mama! Maybe my balloon will fly up by an airplane and a boy in the airplane who is sad will open his window and get it. That's a great idea I think."

And now, fifteen minutes after being being tucked in bed, Quin is fast asleep, but Gabe came out with tears streaming down his face.

"Mama, I need to say goodbye to my balloon."

After I assured him that he could draw a picture of his balloon tomorrow and many other assurances of how he will not have to spend the rest of his life balloon-less, I convinced him to stop crying and go to sleep.

Such a tender heart, that boy. And such a penchant for drama. My Good God Gertie! A balloon! A simple yellow latex balloon! What will happen when his first girlfriend breaks up with him?

More Adventures in Bureaucracy Land

Idiotic Woman at County Health Services Office: Okay! We have your child scheduled for his mandatory vision and hearing test next week. Is there anything else I can do for you?

Me: Yes, I need to know where I can pick up a vaccination exemption form while I am there.

IW@CHSO: I'm sorry ma'am. We don't do that.

Me: I believe you do. I need the form or card which allows me to provide an exemption from vaccinations.

IW@CHSO: Oh! We don't do exemptions, but we do provide vaccination services and forms.

Me: Yes, I know that. That is why you will also have the exemption allowance form as well.

IW@CHSO: I'm sorry ma'am, we DON'T do that here.

Me: Georgia law allows for a medical and a religious exemption. I need the form which your office should provide for the school. Just like the eye/ear/dental exam I just scheduled with you.

IW@CHSO: You'll have to ask the school about that then.

Me: And they told me to ask YOU.

IW@CHSO: But ma'am, we don't do that.

Me: I understand that you personally are not aware of such a thing, but I need you to find out because I have been referred to you as the source of the form I need. You may need to ask around your office.

IW@CHSO: (pretty pissed at this point) Ma'am, we DON"T DO THAT!

Me: Well then, can you tell me who does?

IW@CHSO: NOT US!

Me: But you are the Department of Health who administers the state-wide vaccination program?

IW@CHSO: (defiantly) Yes, Ma'am.

Me: But you don't have the state mandated vaccination exemption form or any information on where I can get that?

IW@CHSO: No, Ma'am!

Me: Fine. I'll call around some more.

IW@CHSO: (click. No "have a nice day", "sorry I couldn't help you", "good luck", nothin!)

Can you imagine if I didn't know my state rights or have lots of information backing my decision not to vaccinate? How quickly would I just give in and get the freakin' poison injected into my son just because all other avenues were closed to me and the state is united in trying to make me look like some jerk off for not following all the other sheeple? Arggghhh!


* Edited to add: I did make some more calls to people who actually HAVE sent a child to school in Georgia without vaccinating and I found out that THERE IS NO FORM. So, the IW@CHSO was somewhat right, because, true true, her office doesn't DO that. But you'd at least think she could tell me: There is no form. You just write down on a piece of paper that you are not vaccinating due to X reason. That's it. Finito.

I'm not sure this lackadaisical approach is a good thing, because you can clearly see where it can lead to further confusion over the issue. You see, most states have a designated procedure which a parent can follow, rather than just be bounced from one under-informed bureaucrat to the next until they give up, prove they know what said bureaucrat does not, or set the office on fire. Georgia appears to operate under the "Stun Them With Our Stupidity" principle.

I'll tell you how it goes when I bring my little "manifesto" to Gabe's school. Bwah-hahahaha! Can you tell I'm just itchin' for a fight?