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Thanksgiving, explained.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

This morning, Hugo asks, “What’s Thanksgiving?”  So, instead of rehashing the whole story about the Indians and the Pilgrims and Plymouth Rock, I decide to go for the short version.  “It’s a day when we give thanks to God for all that we have.”  I’m met with dead silence.  I continue, “People usually get together with their families and eat a lot of food, usually surrounding a very large turkey.”  More silence - perhaps a little grunt of acknowledgment, but the disgruntledness was quite evident.   I continue, “This year, we’re going to Tylen’s house.  Auntie Kitty will be there, Franny will be there, Gramma will be there, and even Mommy’s Grandpa!”  I get a brief, curt nod and a very disappointed “Oh.”  I press on, “They have a great parade on TV.”  Crickets…  “And lots of football too.”

“FOOTBALL!?!?!???!!!!!      I just luuuuuuuv Football, Mom!!”

Typical.

Filed in food, holidays, Hugo, family | Comments (1)

Hark! The herald Leah blogs…

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

So, we put up our Christmas decorations, including tree, this past weekend.  And a big double thumbs-down to you if you just mentally commented, “Before Thanksgiving?!?!”  Yes, before Thanksgiving- just me and every department store in the nation.  But it was quite festive, nonetheless.  Kudos to my family for putting on an excellent rebel pre-Tday Christmasdecorathon.  We had the crackling fire, the carols in the background, and (thanks to the token string of lights with its unfindable dud which ruins the whole string) a bit of yuletide frustration to go along with it.

In other news, I’ve booked myself a trip to Disney World for this December.  Say what you want.  Just know that my fingers are in my ears and I’m humming.  So anyhoo… I’m going to Disney World, and tre excited.  (That’s French-ish for very excited.)  We’ll be hitting up Mickey’s Very Merry Christmas Party while there, which includes a complementary cocoa and cookies and fake snow that Hugo thinks we’re building snowmen with.  I mean, snowMickeys, naturally.

So, another thing I did this weekend was butcher Brody’s mop top.  I was going for the Troy Bolton/Zac Efron (aka Hottie Hottie… love ya, zacky baby!) look, but ended up more with the Jim Carrey/Dumber (or was he ‘Dumb’?) look.  Whatever.  Again, not listening to your criticisms right now.  It’s cute, my pathetic attempt at hair dressering.  But thankfully, my children are so stinkin attractive it doesn’t matter what I do to their hair.  Praise the Lord!  And speaking of, I’m totally winning several brownie points in heaven for being overly prepared and non-procrastinator-like for his coming birthday.  Cause I have my christmas decor already up, you know.

Filed in Disney, Brody, bonding time/ qt, family | Comments (1)

Potty mouth

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

I recently got a hold of the 2009 edition of Birnbaum’s Official Guide to Walt Disney World.  The crisp pages, the smell of fresh ink, and the newly updated WDW photographs is almost too much to handle.  Happiness, my friends, can be found in the glorious pages of Birnbaum.  And if those pages don’t leave you completely inspired and feeling giddy and youthful, then I remain completely uncertain of the future success of our friendship.  So what’s it gonna be?  … no pressure.

So in other news,  I am calling all the Moms out, whom have ever said they love their children equally.  Liars!!!  I, for one, do not agree with that bogus politically-correctism.  No, quite simply, I love Brody more.  (…this week, anyhow - next week the tables may turn…)  Hugo challenges me and makes me have to think real hard, and come up with clever, stimulating responses and profound life lessons and thought-provoking blahbeddyblahblah.  Brody, on the other hand, eats food and gives drippy wet, open-mouthed kisses.  He occasionally cries, but rest assured, it’s probably because he just wants a hug or needs a cracker refill - both of which I have in abundance.  Patience and clever mind games - not so much.  That and, Brody doesn’t crawl into my bed at 6:30am and kick me in the ribs and make me share my pillow with a singing Uniqua doll.

I also have to print/type a retraction.  Or revision.  I can’t decide which.  Anyhoo… A few eons ago I posted something about Hugo being a sooper pooper.  (Yes, I believe that to be the ridiculous spelling I used as well.)  Well, we’re unfortunately back to the holding-of-the-poo-until-it’s-uncomfortably-clogging-our-bowels phase of potty trainingdom, which sucks. I’ve decided I’m just going to put out an ad when it comes time to train Brody - “Stubborn 3-year-old refuses to poop on toilet.  Need toileteer extraordinaire to coach until successful.  Thankless job.  No experience necessary, probably wouldn’t help anyway.  Patience and rubber boots a must.  $500 obo.”   But over the weekend little H was trying so hard to hold it in.  Everytime he’d need to go to the bathroom, you’d hear the smallest, most miniscule trickle of pee as he strained to keep his cheeks clenched while relaxing his bladder.  Tricky.  Requires a high level of precision muscle control.  A level that little H had mastered until Sunday night, when the entire weekend’s worth of chewed up gobbledy-gook could no longer be contained.  Before bed, Hugo goes to have one final pee:

“Maaaaawwwwwwmmmmmeeeeee?!?!??  I pooped on the carpet!”  <Sniffle, sniffle>

Andrew and I rush upstairs. There, behind our weeping and still peeing Hugo, was a tree branch.  Yes, the poo was the size of a log of slice-and-bake cookie dough, but with the exact opposite odor.  Andrew picked it up, (I’m honestly not sure if I would’ve been strong enough to lift it) and plopped it into the toilet with much gusto and backsplash.  Little H finally acquiesced and let the other ones (yes, there were many to follow) fall into the water directly.  Poor thing, he was so upset - but it was all I could do to keep from rolling on the floor with laughter.  Ok, so, at least there’s one reason to love Hugo more. =)

Filed in Disney, Brody, Hugo, family | Comments (1)

Tough work

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Lemme just put it out there that being a mom is a hard job.  So, to all you nay-sayers/idiots, if you think it’s easy, you are a very very misinformed individual.  And why did I sign up for the job then, you ask?  Excellent question.   When I figure that out, I will get back to you.  Don’t hold your breath.

Last night during bathtime, Hugo was begging me to wash his hair first, before I did Brody’s.  Because when you’re a boy, everything is a race, everyone is a competitor, second place is the biggest loss of your life, and taking turns, sharing, and compromises are just so obviously absurd that they are never to be considered.  There is one fatal flaw to the competitive mind of the young lad, however.  This flaw?  The Mommy power.

The Mommy power clearly states that I have the power to do and say what I want, when I want, with no further explanation than, “Because I’m the Mom”.  This power arises after having abstained from beers for a period of about 9 months, having endured countless jabs to the intestines, and watching my boobs balloon up like Pam Anderson and shrink back down to some less-than-Diaz little nubblings.  So in the spirit of heartily abusing said power, and to watch him pout, I dare (yes, dare…) to wash Brody’s hair first.  Da, da, dun!!!  The following conversation ensues:

H:  MawwwwmmmmEEE!  I toldcha to wash MY hair firrrrssst!  I wanna be firrrssst!

M: Well, I’m doing Brody’s hair and then I’ll do your hair, Hugo.

H:  But whyyyyy you do Brody first???  I wanted you to do meeeee firrrssst!

M: Because I’m the Mom and that’s what I wanted to do.

H:  When I grow up I want to be the Mom.

M: No, you’ll be the Dad.  Boys grow up to be Dads.  Girls become Moms.

H: Ok, well I’ll be a Dad before Brody bees a Dad.  Can I be the Dad first, Mom?

M: [AHHHHH! Shoot me NOW! ]

Filed in parenting, Hugo | Comments (1)

Smiling through the salty mucous

Friday, October 24, 2008

Hugo brought home a runny nose.  And now we all suffer.  We’re like a sniffle symphony over here at camp Luck.  We’re literally dripping with boogers.  And we run the gamut of boogie-types– from clear liquidy to crusty yellow that take up residence on the outer rim of nostril, that are so satisfying to pluck off.  We have no other symptoms besides severe headaches caused by negative pressure from our repeating snorting.  It’s possible I even skewed my balance a little bit from a particularly forceful snort I had yesterday.  Good times.  And does it annoy anyone else that one nostril is always clogged while the other one is free and clear, and then you go to snort the running goo from your clogged nostril and all you do is suck in air from the clear nostril side, while the goo hits your upper lip from the clogged side???  Geez, that one always gets me, man.

In other news, I’ve been rejected from every orthodontics program in which I applied.  Here’s where you empathize. [Empathy, empathy…]  This is perhaps a blessing from God.  Or, at least, that’s how I intend to look at it.  I’m working on my “glass half-full” kinda thing, ya know?  See, my theory is that my purpose is to save someone’s life via a dental filling somewhere down the road, and if I go into ortho, I’d be killing that person.  And that’s some heavy stuff that I don’t want to mess with.  So, for God’s great plan, I will be a general dentist.  And 4 years ago, (pre-lofty ortho dreams) that’s exactly what I wanted to do.  Then I got braces on the brain, and now I’m back to drill and fill. It seems I’ve come full-circle…

Filed in doctorhood, annoyances, teeth | Comments (1)

Whodunnit?

Monday, October 13, 2008

You know that rule that you had with your girlfriends about boys?  The one where like, if you dated a guy, even if just one date, or shucks, even if you just liked him from afar and he had no idea you even existed… there was still that unspoken rule where your friends now knew that your “claimed” man is completely and forever-more, off-limits… till the end of time.  No, sadly, no one is after Andrew - I’m not that lucky. =P  I’m just using that to draw a profound parallel for you:

Baby names.

It isn’t, but should be, modeled after the boyfriend rule.  I won’t shake any fingers (yet) at anyone (meanies) who are using (illegally stealing) an already thought up (preassigned to my unconcieved child) baby name.  I’m a little grumpy.  The name in question was like, a major forerunner before ‘Brody’ finally edged him out by a very slim margin.  (think Phelps 100m Fly kinda slim, not like Usain Bolt 100m kinda slim - which, if you were watching the same Olympics I watched, was not so slim at all)  Anyhoo… the only reason our close second runner-up name didn’t get second runner-up name spottage (more commonly known as the middle name) was because it just didn’t flow together all that great, wasn’t fitting with the carefree-California vibe of ‘Brody’, and simply - we just liked it better as a future first name for our next son.

So much for that.  So now, it’s being used for another.  And poof, just like that, another insanely genius idea of mine is pilfered.  Sigh.   So now, in true boyfriend rule terms, this means I get to act like a monster rebel and hate the name with the fire of a thousand suns as if I never even liked it in the first place.   SO there!

Filed in what's in my brain, annoyances, parenting | Comments (3)

Money from the Bank

Thursday, October 9, 2008

So the other day, as Andrew scanned the bank account and saw an eerie resemblance to that of Merrill Lynch (or gee… Fannie, Freddie, Wachovia, AIG…  pick any, really), he decided to seek out new opportunities of income.  Naturally, his first thoughts went to sperm donation.  Interesting.  Decent dollar/ml ratio, like liquid gold.  Renewable resource, green.  All natural, eco-friendly.  An errand, not a job.  Huh, clever.

I think he was mostly kidding.  I think.  So naturally, I then came back with - “I get more money for my eggs.”  True statement.  Plus, I get put in the special ‘Doctor’ category where all the ultra-expensive braniac eggs go.  Maybe for more money, maybe just bragging rights - either is incentive enough for me.

But we came to the conclusion that we weren’t donating for the right reasons.  And, knowing that it then means a very likely possiblity that my genetic code will be pulling halvsies and creating mayhem in that poor unfortunate soul who is likely to have horrible hair, a big fat ugly laugh, and a propensity for doing too much.

And don’t get me started on what Andy’s DNA would do…

Filed in money, Andrew | Comments (0)

Her can’t explain grammar

Sunday, October 5, 2008

So, Hugo’s currently got the most active imagination - always telling stories and lots of pretending.  Today he builds a mountain of clothes on top of our bed (gee, thanks, kiddo…) and asks me to jump in to have a beach party with him.

A whaaaa?  Beach party?  Eggg-xactly.  Whatever.  I go with it.

He preceeds to pile up more and more dirty clothes…  (yes, sadly, we have A LOT) Then the following conversation ensues:

H: I’m making a really really big beach party for us, Mom.

M: Oh good!

H: See, you just pile up the clothes and you see it getting very very bigger.

M: It’s getting bigger?

H: No, it’s getting VERY very bigger.

M: You say ‘big’, Hugo, not ‘bigger’.  It’s getting very very BIG.

H:  But it’s getting bigger, right?

M: Yes.

H: Uh huh.  It’s getting lots and lots of bigger. VERY very bigger!

M: No, not quite.  Sort of.   You just need to say ‘big’ if you say ‘very’ first.

H:  Uh huh. It’s the most extremely bigger beach party of all time!   You can say that, Mom.

Filed in parenting, Hugo | Comments (1)

I’ll bite

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

hsmcereal.jpg

Hugo said it was, quote: My most favorite cereal in the whole wide world!

Filed in Disney, food, Hugo | Comments (3)

Jibber jabber

Monday, September 29, 2008

I think it’s funny to watch men push around Bugaboo strollers or tote around Petunia Pickle Bottom diaper bags.  Cause you know those poor guys are but mere slaves to their Baby-Mama’s horrible taste in baby fashion, but they go along with it because at least said items come with a huge-ungo price tag, and what guy doesn’t want people to think that he’s ballin’ like that?  These are things I think about on my morning commute after I tune out the redundant NPR folk that have said for the 100th time how our economy is one flush away from going down the pooper.

In related news, Master Hugo is like, a sooper pooper.  So much so that he’s now braving the bed sans pull-up.  And, (cross my fingers, wink, wink) we haven’t yet had any pre-pubertal “wet dreams”, so to speak.  Not that we won’t, cause I’m sure we will.  Heck, even I peed in my bed once or twice as a kid.  You know, having a great dream, then dream yourself to walk into the bathroom… dream you orient your flow above the water and blah-dow! warm moisture. Ew.  Then there’s the whole clean up/change clothes/wash sheets… all when you’re dog tired, and just want to get back to that great toilet dream.  Childhood is rough.

So, I’m like totally ready for baby #3.  I kinda feel like, “well… how much worse can it get?”  Too bad we’re dirt poor from the first two and I’m not really ready to give up beer right around Oktoberfest-ing time.  Plus I should probably mentally prepare myself for the inevitable 3rd boy.  Not that I’m opposed to boys- the more boys I have, the more “unwinding” days I’ll need at the spa.  And the more bossing around I get to do.  I just love being bossy.

Filed in boredom, parenting, Hugo, family, pregnancy | Comments (3)