Friday, December 25, 2009

Box 'o poo

After we Christmased it up this morning Kenny was smart, he gave me cash with instructions that I could only spend it on clothes and shoes, we piled into the car for our trip to the big city (IE a town that has Starbucks). A few blocks from Kenny's grandmother's, I spotted a marquee outside of the area pet groomer.

(Here is where I should have a picture, but I forgot to go back and take one.)

Holiday Puppies
Maltesnickerdoodle (or something similar)

"What the fuck is with the designer dogs? Those idiots know they are paying $1500 for a breeder's nightmare, right? That shit is a mutt."

"Hey, Kenny, I once had part lab, part shar pei. Want to know what we called him?"


"Hell no. I paid $60 whole dollars for him at the SPCA. AND that was a Sharpador! Can you believe I got a Sharpador for $60. A steal if you ask me."

"If we mix our boxers with a cocker spaniel, do we get a cockbox?"

"You might, but I am pretty damn sure if we mix our boxers with a poodle with get a boxepoo."

"Which if you think about it, is essentially what all of those designer dogs are."

(That's pronounced box 'o poo, if it helps.)

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Grandma and the Reindeer Have Issues, Apparently.

I have, apparently, traumatized my children. It started off simply. I wanted to go to Santa's Wonderland.

The mecca of Christmas lights. Amazing. Awe inspiring. Like Jesus rising from the dead awesome.

So we set out at 5pm, an hour before the display even opened. Trying to beat the crowd.

Instead, we sat in a line for hours. Thirty minutes of which we were stuck next to a dead deer. I suppose I could have distracted the children. Pointed out the trees. Asked them to count the number of cars in line. Instead, I started to sing "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer." Jill is smarter than I give her credit for. She made the leap quickly from Grandma getting run over by a reindeer to Grandma retaliating.

The next 27 minutes were spent examining the dead deer through the window, trying to determine exactly which reindeer had been lost, while Emmi who may have found it all funny made dead reindeer sounds and faces. For the record, it was not Rodolph. No red nose.

Finally we moved beyond the deer. By 10:30, after two port-a-potty trips and three chicken finger baskets from Layne's, we finally made it to the entrance. The holy grail. Angels singing. Hallelujah. The lights!

"Girls aren't the lights so pretty?!" I exclaimed.


Six total hours in the car to go to a light display thirty minutes from our house and both kids fell asleep.

But at least they got to see a reindeer.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Smile Politely.

Christmas Party Day. There are always those couple of sad kids whose parent never show up to anything. They latch on to any parent who shows them any sign of attention. I know by now to give one polite smile and move on. Quickly. Otherwise, you are trapped. Suckered into an hour of my-mommy-doesn't-love-me-but-you-will-do.

I sat next to Emmi as she attempted to smear icing on a cookie. Half her cookie had icing the other sad half had none. Finally I guided her hand along. We couldn't have sprinkles sticking to only one half of that cookie, could we?

From the other side of Emmi a little voice says, "Can you help me?" I look around. She was clearly speaking to me. One polite smile. One quick quide of the hand. But? The rule was broken. I had made contant. The floodgates were open.

"I miss my mommy." I know better than to take the bait and respond to this. I say nothing.

Louder this time, "I miss my mommy." Still I say nothing.

Determining I will not respond to that one, she changes tactics. "Want to know where my mommy is?"

Crap. A direct question. I could ignore her. I could pretend I didn't hear her. But I don't. Of course I don't.

"Where is your mommy, sweety?"

She smiles at me proudly. "Jail."

Shake your what?

For some people I am talking to you MODG a lot of thought goes into whether or not they want to be a parent, have the responsibility of a child, and if they are ready to make that shift in their lives. I am sure a lot factors into this decision. Financial security. Relationship stability. So on. But I do wonder, do any of these people, prior to making this momentous decision ever sit themselves down and subject themselves to an hour of children's programming? If so, I think we might have a lot less babies around here.

My least favorite or favorite depending on my mood episode of Mickey Mouse playhouse came on this morning. There is just something inherently wrong with a half dressed, hip waggling duck with a lisp singing, "Shake your peanuts." Go ahead. You sing that with a lisp. While shaking your hips. Tell me you do not think what I think, especially with an elephant trunk dangling from a tree in the background.

And don't even get me started about the Imagination Movers. I will admit, they scare me a lot less than The Wiggles God even saying "The Wiggles" gets that damn fruit salad song stuck in my head and those Doodlebops. Four grown men singing to little children. Has anyone run a background check on these clowns?

One hour of this shit, and it is no wonder I seriously consider running away everyday by 8am.

Well that, and the fact that my children are generally engaged in some argument along the lines of "She touched me" "No! My hand is just near her!" by that point in time.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

A sunny shade of mustard and eggs.

I still haven't gotten over the whole SOMEBODY GOT SHOT IN MY HOUSE thing, but I am trying. We have been here since October, and still boxes were everywhere. All of the walls were a lovely shade of white, and our microwave didn't work. What the hell? How the fuck was I supposed to cook with no working microwave? I decided this weekend was get the dead people germs off my walls house remodel weekend.

So far we have half of the new appliances installed and the entry, dining, kitchen, and living room painted. Progress? I guess. Except, I can decide if I like the color. Opinions....

Things you should keep in mind and use your imagination for...

1. Let's pretend I have already swept and mopped my floors today. Or this week.
2. The God awful dirty window coverings are being replaced by wood blinds. Although, I hate to admit it, but those do block out a lot of cold and heat.
3. The tacky white fan will soon be replaced. As will the gold doorknobs. Antique bronze will be the finish for the fixtures and faucets in the main rooms.
4. The red in the art niche looks pinky. In fact, it is a dark red glaze in a linen finish, because I am fancy like that with mad painting skills. No. Make that skillz. The other art niche will match by the end of today, but I got tired.
5. The white wall leading up the stairs will not remain white. We have a khaki color (nope not the same khaki from our other house, but practically. Just a different name.) we are using for the hallways.
6. The dining room will have an accent wall in the same metallic green color (you do know about my obsession with Ralph Lauren paints, right?) of our old dining room. If you never went in my old house, you have no clue what I am talking about. Too bad for you.
7. I couldn't take better pictures, because then you would see just how messy my house is right now. We couldn't have that.
Also, I joked on the way home that I was going to pick a random neighbor to come check it out and give their opinion. When we got to our door, a package had been accidentally left at our house. I went to deliver it to the very neighbor I had made jokes about inviting over. He opened his door, and his living room was THE EXACT SAME COLOR. Is this a sign that I should keep it? I think my ghostie set that up.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Things that are awesome.

A list of things I find awesome.

1. Going to a fun Christmas party.

2. Hearing a little rumor, while at said Christmas party, about a shooting on our street last year involving two doctors.

3. Me, being obsessive, coming home to search the news reports.

4. Finding the article online about an estranged husband shooting his wife's new man in the driveway of her house before driving back home and shooting himself.

5. Seeing the name of the woman involved and recognizing it, because her mail still comes to the house.

6. Living in the house where the man got shot.

For clarification sake, he lived. But still creepy.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Fashion Faux Pas....Wednesday

The other day I was catching up one some episodes of The City, watching Olivia and Erin bitch at each other over who didn't do what for some TV shoot.

You know the episode. The one where they showed what a girl thinks looks good, and then they show the guy's perspective.

It got me thinking about all the times that Kenny has said, "Does she think she looks good?" Cause ladies? All that fashion and frills? That is so you impress other girls. Not guys. In fact, men think we look ridiculous half the time.

Or at least Kenny does.

It was then and there I decided Kenny should be put to work saving all of us from certain embarrassment. Without his consent, I committed him to contribute words of wisdom once a week.

So begins Fashion Faux Pas Fridays, on um Friday, where Kenny will tell you just how stupid we are for wearing shit like this.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Why Men Are Not Mothers.

Two am this morning, I woke from a crazy dream in which I was actually Emmi trying to learn to read. It took a few seconds for the dream to fade, before I realized what woke me was a nasty migraine. One that had probably been in full swing for at least an hour untreated while I slept. Trying to get back on top of this one would be almost impossible. I took the first round of medication, waiting the appropriate fifteen minutes to determine if I needed to up the dose. The pain increased. It was then I decided this was not a migraine. Oh no. It was an aneurysm. Do you even get a headache or have any symptoms? It had to be. I never woke up with migraines. The pain often stayed steady with the first round of medication, but never increased. I could no longer put my head on my pillow due to the pain it caused. Nausea had long since set in. Something was really wrong.

It was then I woke Kenny. "My head. Something is really wrong," I was barely able to gasp out. Pain shot through my head with each word. I was dying.

Kenny reached over, patted my head, and went back to sleep.

Fine then. See what happens next time you are dying.

Obviously, I was not actually dying. It was jut a migraine. One that is still hanging around this morning, although it is down to dull throb. And I should probably give him credit for getting up an hour later to get me third dose of medication.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Snow Day

It snowed in Houston yesterday, which means the world shut down. Half the schools had early release. Employers let everyone leave at noon. For a few snowflakes. But here? Just 45 minutes north of Houston. The looked at those kids, told them to put their coats and boots on and suck it up. Then they took them outside to play all day.

While the parents decorated the halls for Christmas yes Christmas, you can say Christmas here at this school, the kids sipped hot chocolate in class, ran in and out chasing snowflakes, and Christmas music piped through the halls. By the time Kenny and I had strung lights down the entire Kindergarten hallway, Emmi had her fill of the cold. She was over the snow, and refused to go out again. Her first real snow over and done with. She was decidedly not a fan.
I, however, was still in awe. I count the number of times I have been in snow on one hand. Maybe two. No more than that, though. I ran around outside taking pictures that is snow, not rain, I swear, until I remembered snow is cold. And? I don't much like cold.

But it sure is pretty once every five years.