Last week when I was getting my hair *did*, I ran across a little snippet in a parenting magazine that I found very interesting. (Yes, I *did* try to use some of my time effectively and better myself as a person... that is, once I ran out of Jon & Kate gossip. OMG...could those people BE more of a trainwreck?!)
Anyway, the little article mentioned that siblings who squabble will grow up to be closer to one another. So the article's suggestion was to not 'step in' and to let the kids bicker. It will force them to work things out, develop their relationships, and that when they are adults, they'll have a better friendship, and will come to rely on each other for support.
And I have to say that *is* probably the case. If not for any other reason than that they have to depend on each other...
Because their mother has had to be committed to the insane asylum as a result of all the bickering!!!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Doesn't it just give you the warm fuzzies?!
For a little 'mini' project at school, Davis has to make a collage of pictures from his life.
And I definitely call it a 'mini' project because it did not require 14 trips to Hobby Lobby and/or Michael's, it did not cost me a week's worth of Starbucks for the cost of the supplies, and I will not have to deliver it to the front door of the school, leaving my van running to open the door for my child as he precariously balances it against his chest, all the while saying a silent prayer that it makes it to his classroom in one piece.
So a collage of pictures? No problem. We've got pictures...(boy, do we have pictures)...and I majored in 'Collage' in college. (okay, well maybe not, but I *did* take an art elective at UT, and my semester final was... you guessed it. A collage. So, technically, I'm over-qualified for this gig.)
Looking back through pictures of Davis when he was little was making me a bit wistful.
Thinking back to when he was tiny, and still had his pacifier. (I'm not sure I have very many pictures before the age of 18 months without it planted firmly in his mouth.)
Or when we cut his baby fine hair at a year old so that it would be a 'spike do'. Omigosh... those are still some of my favorite pictures.
Or the pictures of him being 'big brother' at the very mature age of two years old, and he would ask to "hode Wibby"... awww!
With every picture, I was saying, "Oh, Davis! Look at you! Oh, you were so little! Look, Josie... look at this one!"
Josie was sitting at the table, working on her homework, catching quick glances of all the pictures I was holding up of her brother, and she says, "Yep. That's really hard to believe."
Me: "That he was ever that little?"
Josie: "No. That he was ever cute."
Niiiiice...
And I definitely call it a 'mini' project because it did not require 14 trips to Hobby Lobby and/or Michael's, it did not cost me a week's worth of Starbucks for the cost of the supplies, and I will not have to deliver it to the front door of the school, leaving my van running to open the door for my child as he precariously balances it against his chest, all the while saying a silent prayer that it makes it to his classroom in one piece.
So a collage of pictures? No problem. We've got pictures...(boy, do we have pictures)...and I majored in 'Collage' in college. (okay, well maybe not, but I *did* take an art elective at UT, and my semester final was... you guessed it. A collage. So, technically, I'm over-qualified for this gig.)
Looking back through pictures of Davis when he was little was making me a bit wistful.
Thinking back to when he was tiny, and still had his pacifier. (I'm not sure I have very many pictures before the age of 18 months without it planted firmly in his mouth.)
Or when we cut his baby fine hair at a year old so that it would be a 'spike do'. Omigosh... those are still some of my favorite pictures.
Or the pictures of him being 'big brother' at the very mature age of two years old, and he would ask to "hode Wibby"... awww!
With every picture, I was saying, "Oh, Davis! Look at you! Oh, you were so little! Look, Josie... look at this one!"
Josie was sitting at the table, working on her homework, catching quick glances of all the pictures I was holding up of her brother, and she says, "Yep. That's really hard to believe."
Me: "That he was ever that little?"
Josie: "No. That he was ever cute."
Niiiiice...
Thursday, October 8, 2009
So much for my lucky pen.
A few days ago, I was getting my hair highlighted, and my hair takes an insanely long time to process (could be that I love those ashy blonde highlights so very much, but my hair is so dark that it takes frickin' forever).
Anyway... I had taken my little blog notebook with me, harboring terrific and wonderful plans to get a bunch of little mini blogs written, or maybe to finish the chapter I've been writing for the last two weeks (no the chapter is NOT that long... it's just THAT good. Okay, well maybe its not that good... this particular chapter takes place in a Gymboree. The play place, not the store. Like that makes a bit of difference.) Okay, now I'm just rambling.
So, I took my iPod & my notebook, and I'd even brought along my lucky pen. (Yes, I have a lucky pen. And yes, I *know* I need a laptop if I'm ever going to become a 'serious' writer... donations can be sent in care of 'PlanetLinson'. ;)
Big plans, people. A bunch of little witticisms. Some intriguing insights. A few hilarious, yet true, anecdotes.
Big plans.
And then...
Well, then I noticed the stack of 'People' magazines on the table in the waiting area.
So, yeah. There's that.
Anyway... I had taken my little blog notebook with me, harboring terrific and wonderful plans to get a bunch of little mini blogs written, or maybe to finish the chapter I've been writing for the last two weeks (no the chapter is NOT that long... it's just THAT good. Okay, well maybe its not that good... this particular chapter takes place in a Gymboree. The play place, not the store. Like that makes a bit of difference.) Okay, now I'm just rambling.
So, I took my iPod & my notebook, and I'd even brought along my lucky pen. (Yes, I have a lucky pen. And yes, I *know* I need a laptop if I'm ever going to become a 'serious' writer... donations can be sent in care of 'PlanetLinson'. ;)
Big plans, people. A bunch of little witticisms. Some intriguing insights. A few hilarious, yet true, anecdotes.
Big plans.
And then...
Well, then I noticed the stack of 'People' magazines on the table in the waiting area.
So, yeah. There's that.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Pay attention, people!
Today's post has one specific purpose... I mean, other than to entertain the millions (gah!) who read it, of course.
Today's blog is to send a birthday hug to one of the greatest friends I've ever had.
My friend... who is not pitching a fit that her husband is flying out on her birthday to come visit us in Texas.
My friend... who listens to me throw my own personal pissy party over the phone on occasion, without ever pointing out the obvious (which is that on any given day, she's thrown more challenges than I have to deal with in a year)
My friend... who has one of the best laughs I've ever heard.
My friend... who is one of my biggest cheerleaders. (I *will* finish that novel, just so she can read it!)
My friend... who is one of the most loyal people I've ever known.
My friend... who 'gets me'.
My friend... Jen Levine.
Happy birthday, sistah friend. I love you, and I hope you have a wonderful birthday. You deserve it.
(you ALSO deserve another weekend trip to come visit me, but I won't push the issue just yet. We'll let the boys enjoy their weekend first! ;)
Today's blog is to send a birthday hug to one of the greatest friends I've ever had.
My friend... who is not pitching a fit that her husband is flying out on her birthday to come visit us in Texas.
My friend... who listens to me throw my own personal pissy party over the phone on occasion, without ever pointing out the obvious (which is that on any given day, she's thrown more challenges than I have to deal with in a year)
My friend... who has one of the best laughs I've ever heard.
My friend... who is one of my biggest cheerleaders. (I *will* finish that novel, just so she can read it!)
My friend... who is one of the most loyal people I've ever known.
My friend... who 'gets me'.
My friend... Jen Levine.
Happy birthday, sistah friend. I love you, and I hope you have a wonderful birthday. You deserve it.
(you ALSO deserve another weekend trip to come visit me, but I won't push the issue just yet. We'll let the boys enjoy their weekend first! ;)
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Demise of an appliance
I think I may have mentioned in previous posts that my boy has a sense of humor. A snarky, sarcastic little sense of humor. I’m really not sure where he gets that from.
Shut up.
Today, for example, I was ironing some clothes. Of course I was wearing my high heels and my pearls at the time, frying up some bacon, and waiting for Ward to get home from work so we could talk about the Beaver.
Shut up.
No really. I *was* ironing. I actually don’t mind ironing. I even iron t-shirts.
I don’t like wrinkles, and I don’t like to send the kids off to school in wrinkled clothes. It’s just my ‘thing’. I may have forgotten to feed them breakfast, but they look damn spiffy.
So anyway, I was ironing (yes...t-shirts), and Davis wanders by and says, “Is that a new iron?”
Me: “Yes. We had to get rid of the old one.”
D: “Why?”
Me: “It kept sparking when I unplugged it because the cord was coming apart from the plug.” (I have a tendency to pull it out of the socket by the cord… bad habit, I know)
So then Davis puts on this fake, sad little frown, and says in a quiet voice, “Awww, but he was so young.”
I busted out laughing at this point, and said, “Well we’d had it for about 5 years.”
(which, incidentally, is a long damn time when you yank it out by the cord)
Davis just shook his head, and said, “Only 5 years... but… I guess he was a lot older in iron years. Right, Mom?” *grin*
‘Iron years’. What a frickin’ crack-up. ;)
Shut up.
Today, for example, I was ironing some clothes. Of course I was wearing my high heels and my pearls at the time, frying up some bacon, and waiting for Ward to get home from work so we could talk about the Beaver.
Shut up.
No really. I *was* ironing. I actually don’t mind ironing. I even iron t-shirts.
I don’t like wrinkles, and I don’t like to send the kids off to school in wrinkled clothes. It’s just my ‘thing’. I may have forgotten to feed them breakfast, but they look damn spiffy.
So anyway, I was ironing (yes...t-shirts), and Davis wanders by and says, “Is that a new iron?”
Me: “Yes. We had to get rid of the old one.”
D: “Why?”
Me: “It kept sparking when I unplugged it because the cord was coming apart from the plug.” (I have a tendency to pull it out of the socket by the cord… bad habit, I know)
So then Davis puts on this fake, sad little frown, and says in a quiet voice, “Awww, but he was so young.”
I busted out laughing at this point, and said, “Well we’d had it for about 5 years.”
(which, incidentally, is a long damn time when you yank it out by the cord)
Davis just shook his head, and said, “Only 5 years... but… I guess he was a lot older in iron years. Right, Mom?” *grin*
‘Iron years’. What a frickin’ crack-up. ;)
Monday, October 5, 2009
Dora the Demon
Dora the Explorer scares the crap out of me.
There. I said it.
The television show itself is harmless. Libby likes to watch it, and has learned enough Spanish to be able to tell me what color ‘la manzana’ is (roja!), but fortunately not enough to know what that lady keeps yelling at her kid in the parking lot at Chick-fil-A.
For her part, Dora is a smart little cookie… an adventurer… dare I say it? ‘A wise Latina’… hollah, Judge Sotomayor.
And her monkey? Boots? Well, with his knee high red leather boots, he’s always clapping, singing & dancing at the end of every episode like it’s his own personal Broadway show. Yep, while Reverend Falwell was ‘outing’ Teletubbies, Boots the Monkey escaped the clutches of the Grumpy Old Troll (hmm… I *do* see the similarities) and was even singing about it… ‘Lo hicimos…We did it!’
I mean… I’m just sayin’.
So I’m cool with the show…what I am referring to is the demonic looking giant Dora head on the side of my bathtub.
For some inexplicable reason, we got this for Libby for Christmas last year (another of those drunken eggnog moments, I guess), and it has been freaking me out nightly ever since.
For starters, Dora is just a head and torso. That, in and of itself, is a wee bit freaky. You’re supposed to wash and style her hair with the little comb. Libby, however, prefers to make her ‘swim’ in the tub, pulling her through the water like some unfortunate shark attack victim.
Secondly, this sucker is big… we’re not talking some petite little doll. Her head is easily the size of a cantaloupe, and she has long dark hair (all the better to get synthetic hair clogged in my drain!)
She originally came with suction cups to hook onto the the side of the tub. And can I just tell you? There’s nothing like the thud of a head in the bathtub at 2 in the morning to just ruin a good night’s sleep.
So we took off the suction cups, and there she sits on the side of my tub, startling me on my walk to the potty in the middle of the night. A head silhouetted in the moonlight. *shiver*
Why not just move her? Frankly, I’m a little afraid that if I do, I’ll forget that I did. And in the middle of the night, my sleep-addled brain will be unable to remember whether I moved the doll… or if…*gulp*…it moved itself.
I saw a movie like that once, and to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past her. Dora…Chucky’s crazy@$$ bilingual cousin.
She will cut you.
There. I said it.
The television show itself is harmless. Libby likes to watch it, and has learned enough Spanish to be able to tell me what color ‘la manzana’ is (roja!), but fortunately not enough to know what that lady keeps yelling at her kid in the parking lot at Chick-fil-A.
For her part, Dora is a smart little cookie… an adventurer… dare I say it? ‘A wise Latina’… hollah, Judge Sotomayor.
And her monkey? Boots? Well, with his knee high red leather boots, he’s always clapping, singing & dancing at the end of every episode like it’s his own personal Broadway show. Yep, while Reverend Falwell was ‘outing’ Teletubbies, Boots the Monkey escaped the clutches of the Grumpy Old Troll (hmm… I *do* see the similarities) and was even singing about it… ‘Lo hicimos…We did it!’
I mean… I’m just sayin’.
So I’m cool with the show…what I am referring to is the demonic looking giant Dora head on the side of my bathtub.
For some inexplicable reason, we got this for Libby for Christmas last year (another of those drunken eggnog moments, I guess), and it has been freaking me out nightly ever since.
For starters, Dora is just a head and torso. That, in and of itself, is a wee bit freaky. You’re supposed to wash and style her hair with the little comb. Libby, however, prefers to make her ‘swim’ in the tub, pulling her through the water like some unfortunate shark attack victim.
Secondly, this sucker is big… we’re not talking some petite little doll. Her head is easily the size of a cantaloupe, and she has long dark hair (all the better to get synthetic hair clogged in my drain!)
She originally came with suction cups to hook onto the the side of the tub. And can I just tell you? There’s nothing like the thud of a head in the bathtub at 2 in the morning to just ruin a good night’s sleep.
So we took off the suction cups, and there she sits on the side of my tub, startling me on my walk to the potty in the middle of the night. A head silhouetted in the moonlight. *shiver*
Why not just move her? Frankly, I’m a little afraid that if I do, I’ll forget that I did. And in the middle of the night, my sleep-addled brain will be unable to remember whether I moved the doll… or if…*gulp*…it moved itself.
I saw a movie like that once, and to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past her. Dora…Chucky’s crazy@$$ bilingual cousin.
She will cut you.
Friday, October 2, 2009
No time! No time!
Well, hell's bells, people. What did you expect?! It's the freakin' week before the Hairy Man Festival.
No time! No time!
Blogging? Nope.
Laundry folding? Nope.
Making dinners that don't have 'hot dogs' as the main ingredient? Nope.
Don't worry. I still love you. I *do*!! Now, stop shaking your head at me. Seriously. I'll be back in the swing of things in no time. (ha! I just said 'no time' again! I'm so clever.)
And if you don't know about the 'Hairy Man Festival', I'll tell you all about it. Another time. Because right now...
No time! No time!
Toodles... :)
No time! No time!
Blogging? Nope.
Laundry folding? Nope.
Making dinners that don't have 'hot dogs' as the main ingredient? Nope.
Don't worry. I still love you. I *do*!! Now, stop shaking your head at me. Seriously. I'll be back in the swing of things in no time. (ha! I just said 'no time' again! I'm so clever.)
And if you don't know about the 'Hairy Man Festival', I'll tell you all about it. Another time. Because right now...
No time! No time!
Toodles... :)
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