Daily "Special".

Some snippets of random conversations in my house. I have a feeling if my house were bugged, and some van was outside with guys listening to our family interact, they would eventually throw their headphone-listening-device thingies down on the floor, speed away from our home as quickly as possible, muttering something about morons and unfit parents.


Me: "Do you still love me, hon?"
Hubs: "Of course, why do you ask?"
Me: "Oh, I just feel like all I do is nag you lately."
Hubs: "But you've always been a nag, why are you asking that now?"
..........

Ella: "Mommy, I feel a little sick today. My toes feel sick."
Me: "Well, then, we had better get you back into the bed for some more rest, huh? (wink wink)"
Ella: "No, actually I think that the best thing for sick toes, Mommy, is to rest in your bed while I watch Cinderella and have a big bowl of ice cream and a Diet Coke."

***Lest you think I feed my child sugar and soda for breakfast, we do not keep ice cream in this house and the child drinks about as much Diet Coke as I do coffee okay bad example you get the point on to the next snippet.
..........


Ella: "Mommy, why are Cinderella's sisters so mean to her?"
Me: "Because they don't like her."
Ella: "Why?"
Me: "Because they're mean girls."
Ella: "Why?"
Me: "Because they're apparently jealous of her and feel threatened by Cinderella's beauty and grace, weren't you listening to the narrator?"
Ella: "Why?"
Me: "Because I said so."
Ella: "Mommy? That is not a good answer. You need to work on that."
..........

Ella: "Mom???"
Me: "Yes, Ella?" (As I play with Charlie in a silly voice, making ridiculous noises and faces to make him laugh.)
Ella: "You are embarrassing."
..........


Hubs, reading to Ella: "...and all the little girls put on their...tuh tuhs? TUH tuhhhs? What the hell is a tuh tuh, hon?
Me, laughing hysterically: "Do you mean TUTUS??? God help us all, did you actually finish the second grade where they were supposed to teach you to read?"

*This actually happened a while ago, but I thought it was too good not to share. And should you think that I am out to embarrass only the husband I'll leave you with this gem: Me, reading an article about dogs: "It says here that dash-unds are good pets around kids." Yes, I realize that it's actually pronounced DOX-un. I'm still hearing about it from him. As in, "Hey, look at that cute little dash-und over there! What a sweet little DASH-und. Dash-und!!!"
..........

Ella, trying to understand how tadpoles turn into frogs: "So, let me get this right. God reaches into His purse, pulls it out, and throws the magic sparkles on the tadpoles, and they turn into big frogs?"

Me: "Yep. That's right." Please, God, let this be the end of the conversation as I do not happen to have four hours to spare to explain biology to my three year old.

Hotter Than A....Well, I Don't Know What. But It's Hot.

It's June. And it's already 93 or 94 degrees here. Factor in the heat index (today's was 102), and the humidity, my GOD, the humidity, and you've got one miserable mommy. I don't think it would be so bad if Charlie were a bit older, but I am hesitant to keep him out in the sun for very long in this horrid heat. So, we've been hanging out at home, and playgroups, and the park for a few minutes here and there. And? It's really sad, but the reason I haven't posted a blog entry since Wednesday is because the laptop makes my legs hot when I use it, and my legs are already hot because it is NINETY FOUR FLIPPING DEGREES here in June.

Pictures! YAY!

We've been at birthday parties...



And at home making fish faces while we watch Nemo...



And watching Charlie be stinkin' cute.

Reading? Pssshhh.

Who needs books when your library has a puppet theater and a huge fountain? I remember when I was a kid and going to the library meant actually picking out a few books to READ. But now? We park in the parking garage and Ella races ahead of me to jump on the escalator, and when we enter the library she says, "Mom, can we just go upstairs to the kid room and play in the fountain outside?". Between the indoor cafe, children's theater, and long rows of computers, this is not the library of my childhood. At the ripe old age of three Ella knows how to scan her library card and check out books herself and also how to get our parking ticket validated without my help. But of course, nothing is the same as it was back then. This is made clear to me on a daily basis when my three year old says things to me like, "Mom, can we just DVR it and watch it later when we can fast forward the commercials?" and "Can you turn on the computer so I can go to Noggin.com?".

Six Random Things That Make Me Happy.

* When my favorite coffee mug makes its way to the front of the cabinet in Cup Rotation and I get to use it. It is the perfect size, shape, and I can fit my whole hand through the handle when holding it. And it's pretty. Perfect.

* Bedtime. And nap time. And generally any part of the day when I get to sit down for a few minutes and not hear a baby screeching or a three year old asking "Why?" a trillion times.

* Peanut butter fudge shakes from Sonic. They're like crack, they're so good.

* Listening to Ella sing this song in the car. Even though I hate this song with a white-hot passion that is not even able to be explained in words. But when it comes on the radio her face lights up and she knows almost all of the words. (Okay, I can't get the stupid link to work, but it's that vomit-inducing song Say Hey I Love You by some dude that's trying to sound Haitian.)

* So You Think You Can Dance. Shut up, I know.

* When I have a really, really great book waiting to be read and I get a few uninterrupted moments to sit down with it. Currently re-reading The Secret History by Donna Tartt for the (literally) five millionth time. I have a bit of a love affair going on with that book, I think. You know it's a great book when you decide to re-read it and you gently stroke the cover and whisper, "Hello, old friend."

Zsa Zsa Gabor Lives Here.

My mom: "Hey, Ella, wanna go to McDonald's and get some chicken nuggets for lunch?"

Ella: "No, Mimi, why don't we just go back to your house and fix some brie cheese with crackers and some slices of apple, peeled? Okay?"

..............................

Jeez. The only thing she lacked in that statement was a nice long "daaaaaahhhhling" throw in for good measure at the end.

What We Keep.

I was in the kitchen cooking spaghetti one night when I had an abrupt flashback to my childhood: Dad in the kitchen, cooking spaghetti, singing "O Sole Mio" in an over-the-top, Disney cartoon way as he cooked and I did homework at the kitchen table. He probably didn't think to himself at the time that I would remember this fondly, if at all, since I can vividly recall rolling my eyes and saying "Daaaad. Stop it." when he did this. As I realized that I had somehow shoved this to the back corners of my memory, I wondered what else I could remember of my childhood if I sat down and thought about it. And, oh, lots of things came flooding back, big and small memories alike. Some of them were of big events that I'm sure my parents planned and planned for: the trip to Disney and meeting Cinderella. Visiting Pa and Nana and their freakishly large dogs and seeing my very first movie in a theater (The Little Mermaid) on that trip. Driving to Kansas City to stay with family friends, and The Great Chicken Pox outbreak that started during that trip. But I was surprised that the overwhelming majority of my memories were of small, seemingly inconsequential things that my parents probably don't even remember doing or saying: The warbly Italian opera my dad sang every time he cooked spaghetti. The way my mom always smelled of her perfume (Anais Anais. I will never ever ever forget that smell for the rest of my life.) and other peoples' cigarette smoke after she and Dad went out to dinner and she came in to kiss me goodnight when they got home. Long car rides home with my dad after dance class during which we listened to Simply Red and Crowded House and always always listened to Paul Harvey's The Rest Of The Story on the radio. Curly fries and lemonade for lunch at the swimming pool with Mom. Digging up all the wild onions in our backyard with my brother because we were going to sell them and get filthy rich except all we got were about a hundred holes in the yard and pissed off parents that had to fill in said holes. I could go on and on about all of the tiny snippets of good memories from my childhood that were probably completely unplanned. I mean, I doubt my mom said to herself while dabbing on her perfume, "I am going to wear this particular scent and my daughter will remember it forever and ever amen." I doubt my parents schemed to fill our childhoods with curly fries and bad opera. But I remember. And this got me to thinking about what Ella and Charlie will keep of their childhoods. Not the big, grandiose things that we as parents plan for them like vacations and new bikes and expensive things that we think will bring them happiness. But the small idiosyncrasies of our everyday life. Will Ella remember that every afternoon Mom turned on her ipod and held Charlie in one arm and her hand in the other and danced around the living room like an idiot? Or will her memory choose for her the long walks to the playground on a summer morning? The smell of coffee first thing in the morning, waking her up? There's no way to tell yet what will stay with her, good or bad. And that's a little bit scary as a parent. Chances are they will not remember how lovingly Mom prepared picnic lunches and made sure to cut off the crusts on the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Or maybe they will, I don't know. So I'm trying to remind myself to give myself a break, because the big stuff that I think is so important to do to make memories with them while they are small will probably not stand out so much as the little stuff that was busy making a memory for them when I wasn't even looking. So I will keep on making pancakes, and dancing with my kids, and taking long walks with them, in hopes that what they keep will be good and bring a smile to their faces in twenty years, the way my memories of childhood do for me.

Who's A Cute Little Streetwalker?

Evidently it only takes about two minutes for a three year old to figure out how to break into Mom's makeup bag, find the most hideous shade of eyeshadow (that I never use, thankyouverymuch), and smear it all over her eyes. Bless her heart, she thought she looked so fancy. I didn't have the heart to tell her it looked more like she had pink eye than she did a fancy lady.

Apparently when I say "Make a fancy lady face", that translates to "Close your eyes halfway and purse your lips so you look like you've just drunk a fifth of vodka".

Tweedledum and Tweedledumber.

Turns out? I am not all that much smarter than the rednecks I was mocking yesterday. At least they were having a conversation about sunscreen, whereas I was completely oblivious to the fact that my shoulders and back were busy turning a lovely shade of dark, dark, almost-purple red. Stupid Rednecks: 1. I'm-So-Much-Smarter-Than-Them smarty pants me: big fat sunburned ZERO.

Also, the husband? Not much smarter than me, I'm afraid. I have no clue how we have collectively managed to keep two children alive. While I was writhing in pain on the couch last night, he was nice enough to go out to the drug store to pick up some emergency aloe for my burns. Awwww, what a good hubs. When he got home, I assumed the position: face down, tank top straps pulled off, get your mind out of the gutter I just wanted some aloe put on my back. So he pulls the bottle out of the bag, and I am all ready to see some sweet relief in the form of sticky, globby green aloe gel, and he pulls out.....aloe and cucumber scented LOTION. LOTION. Seven dollar lotion that has about 0.0054% aloe in it. I almost cried. His argument? "It says aloe on the front, it's the same thing." I slathered it all over my back anyway, as it seemed a better option than the Bath and Body works mint hand cream in my bedside table.

I told hubs that next time he needs deodorant, I'm going to just buy him some air freshener. Because it SAYS "freshens and deodorizes" on the front. It's the same thing.






Not aloe. NOT ALOE!!!1!

Makes Me Proud To Be From Tennessee.

Conversation overheard today at the splash pad. Enjoy.

Mom 1 (with a cigarette dangling from her lips, while drying off her kid): "Do ya think I shoulda maybe put sunscreen on Junior's lips? Do ya reckon that lips can even get sunburnt?"

Mom 2 (also had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, also had a rainbow tube top on and a lovely tattoo of what looked to be either an eagle or a scary, fictional monster from a Harry Potter movie on her shoulder): "Nope, lips can't get burnt. It's 'cause they got all that melanoma in 'em."

They hopped in their 1991 Chevy Corsica with the rebel flag bumper stickers and drove away. Probably to pick up some PBR and Cheetos.

Now, I'm almost certain that she meant to say melanin, but that doesn't even make sense, either. So she was just pretty much making stuff up. Or hell, maybe she DID mean to say melanoma, and the kid already had lip cancer, so why bother with the sunscreen. Who knows. I didn't know if I should laugh, or just be proud that this woman even knew what melanin was enough to even get CLOSE to the word. All I know is that it's moments like these that makes me extremely proud to be from the South.