Nutcracker Bits & Pieces

What a magical night!

Two quick things:

-I've commented before about people wearing jeans and Home Depot shirts to the Philharmonic. Not appropriate. However, dressing like a fucking hooker is also not appropriate. My slightly snug and short dress looked like Mormon-wear compared to some of the get ups I saw around there. I wasn't even in the top 10 for Sluttiest dress.

-Philharmonic, you make a lot of money. Last night's tickets cost as much as admission to Disney World. You know what? That was fine, my child was just as excited and it was as magical to us as Disney is. However, I'm going to have to call shenanigans on making me purchase an $8 "Souvenir" booster seat so that my child could see the stage. You're the freaking Philharmonic--have a couple of boosters on hand.

It was a great night though. As soon as we got in the car, Big Kid kept saying "I can't beweive tonight is da night! We're gonna see da Nutcracker, it's gonna be so special! I'm gonna see da orchestwa, I dest can't wait!"

I did manage to traumatize him for life before the show even began. I forgot my sacred vow...never to let any living being see me in my Spanx. Poor Big Kid saw something he will probably never unsee. We were in the same stall, I had to go and as I lifted my dress his eyes grew wide and he whispered, "Why you got shorts on? You wore a dwess and shorts??"

"Uh, yeah. These are my underwear." His eyes grew wider at this revelation and he stood there quietly.

Then, it was time to get them back up. I began to do the Spanx shimmy and squat and as I started to roll them back up to boob level, he said, " I'm dest gettin' embawassed now. I'm feelin' a little bit embawassed," and averted his eyes. After LMAO, I assured him that I was a little embarrassed too and that I was sorry he had to see that.

Then the show started and we were immersed in the magic. Big Kid sat on the edge of his $8 Souvenir Booster and watched eagerly. He was a little disappointed that the ballet took up the whole stage and couldn't for the life of him figure out why the orchestra was being hidden in the orchestra pit, and spent a lot of the show determining what sounds were what instrument while I dreamed of being a ballerina.

Reasons I want to be a ballerina:
--I have a desperate desire to wear a short stiff tutu and ruffled panties.
--I have a desperate desire to be twirled, spun, and tossed around as if I weigh nothing.
--I have a desperate desire to find out what boy ballerinas wear under those tights.

And if I was a ballerina, I'd smack this ass every day:

and if that's wrong, I don't want to be right.

For the sake of my marriage and my criminal record, I probably shouldn't become a ballerina. I WILL be buying some ruffled panties though. No harm in some ruffled panties. And maybe a tutu, but I know that's a little weird.

Big Kid fell asleep about midway through the second act, although he did pop up, eyes closed, mouth still hanging open, to applaud at one point. I tried to wake him up before the very end, where the children actually fly away in the sleigh but he was O-U-T.

We managed to top the night off with some late night Steak N' Shake where my Spanx tried to tell me I'm getting too fat and I tried to tell them to shut the hell up and let me eat my fries and my hot fudge and caramel milkshake in peace.

All in all, a great night. Other than the lifelong traumatization of poor Big Kid regarding women's undergarments, it was wonderful. He woke up this morning talking about how it snowed on stage....probably the closest he'll get to real snow all season.

FYI...I spent a disproportionate amount of my Sunday morning searching for an ass picture of a boy ballerina, so you better like it.

Accidental Publishing

I just jotted down a conversation as I was having it with Big Kid and meant to save it as a draft so I wouldn't forget to tell you all later and I hit publish instead.

I deleted it, but those who subscribe via email may get a very strange, not in order, jumble of half a post and I thought I should explain.

:-)

MILF Wannabe Dress

So, my special occasion Target dress was a dress I had admired weeks ago but couldn't justify buying. Imagine my delight when I saw it later on the clearance rack, for only $13!! The only one left was a medium, and I remembered that the large was pretty big on me, so I figured it had all worked out perfectly and bought it without trying it on.

Hmmm, not my best move. Do I fit into the dress? Yes. I do. But it seems a little short and slightly snug. I had to drag the Spanx out and now it fits better, but it's still pretty short. I'm a fan of short too, because my legs made it through the massacre of childbirth relatively unscathed, but it makes me feel like a MILF-wannabe.

And I totally am a MILF-wannabe but I try not to be quite so blatant about it. Pairing the dress with a black blazer tones it down a bit, but still, a lot of leg.

That's what you get for $13.

Nutcracker Night

The Christmas tree is up, with minimal fighting and only 4 ornaments broken by little kid. Now we're just waiting to see which cat will puke on it or knock it over first. It's a tradition.

I'm getting ready to take Big Kid to the Nutcracker tonight. I have a pretty black dress from Tar-zhey and my sexy black shoes (that I never did take a picture of for you) and I'm going to talk Big Kid into wearing a sweater vest. That's my one dorky little boy weakness--sweater vests. Mr. Ashley hates them but 'tis the season and Big Kid is my date, so I get to dress him.

Hope you're all having a festive Saturday night!

Techno-Difficulties

Big Kid keeps singing these two techno songs. I can't tell you which two because I don't understand any of the words, but both are pretty popular right now.

We've heard them coming from his computer and he's been singing one of them for hours now. Mr. Ashley just politely asked him to stop and he said:

"I dest can't stop."

Mr. Ashley: Why not?

Big Kid: Because...I can't say dat word. It's a word kids can't say.

Ashley: What word? Something in the song?

Big Kid: I could whisper it.

Ashley: Okay.

Big Kid: (in a whisper) Fweakin'.

Ashley: Freaking? Is that part of the song?

Big Kid: No, I dest can't stop singin' it 'cuz her voice is so fweakin' bootiful. 'Cept I'm not sposed to say fweakin.'

Mr. Ashley: Yes, don't say that again and please knock it off with that song. At least for tonight.

Big Kid: I couldn't say it any udder way. See's dat good.

That's Why I Keep Him....

Being the little brother.

The other two are pretty cute too.

Attired

little kid wants to wear swim trunks to T-day dinner and Big Kid wants to go as "programs and Indians".

Tofurkey my Ass

Happy Turkey Day, my Turkeys.

I'm sitting here oddly emotional while watching the Macy's Day Parade. It's awesome how having kids brings magic back into your life.

The kids have been following Santa on Twitter and are excitedly waiting to wave at him and yell "Hi and I love you!"

Big Kid has a Turkey Day performance prepared for pre-dinner entertainment and it's really stinking cute.

I love these kids.

Wishing you a Thankful day from the Ashleys!

The Perfect Day

You know, I was just sitting here thinking it would be the perfect day if I had two stinky little people sharing one couch cushion with me, breathing in my face, demanding drinks, chugging them and burping near my ear, asking me to wipe their butts and fighting with each other....

Oh wait no, I was thinking the opposite of that.

I will pay someone $5,000 to construct an invisible electric fence around myself, my couch cushion, and my side table.

P.S. It must also be soundproof. So I guess we need more of a barrier than a fence.

There is a God

Ann Coulter's jaw is wired shut

One "Special" Soccer Team

So, today I finally broke down and went to check out this whole soccer business firsthand.

I think their team really has a good chance at winning....












....if they play against the Special Olympics Kids' league.
(and even then it'd be close.)

Two of our goalies left the box and were caught racing across the field with the rest of the team. At least two goals were made against our team BY our team. I can't even count how many times our team drove the ball down the field towards the wrong goal, so that the other team could steal the ball and score.

I just stood on the sidelines and LOL. Real loud.

We better keep contributing to the college fund. I'm not seeing an athletic scholarship in our future.

Gobble em up

I just offered to make those fucking turkey cookies for Big Kid's class tomorrow.

Why do I do this to myself every year?



...To show the Klass Mom who's boss, that's why.

Christmas Card

Big Kid just figured out the plan for the Christmas card (I'm pulling the photos for it now), and he's really ticked. He's reading this over my shoulder as I write and he's ticked I'm writing about him, and I'm kind of ticked I have to watch my mouth, he's about to go his room.

It involves photos of various shenanigans him and his brother have gotten up to over the year and he can't believe that I not only refuse to delete these unflattering photos, but that I would dare use them on our Christmas card...

I feel a little bad--but it's a super funny idea and I always do funny cards. I didn't know he'd take it so personally though....that's not very Christmas-spirit like to make your kid cry over being featured in the family Christmas card.

However, I am the boss, and it's the cheapest, easiest way, plus I've had it planned out all year. The Christmas card ordeal is usually not a collaborative effort, it's sort of a "what Ashley says goes since she does all the work" deal.

Would it be wrong to do it behind his back?

edited to add: He'll see the humor in it in a couple of years...

Could you repeat that?

Big Kid may have just called little kid a "little futter"--which is suspiciously close to "little fucker". When asked for clarification there was lots of backtracking and guilt and we couldn't get him to repeat what he said, what he meant, or where he heard it.

Lovely.

edited to add: Now he's claiming that he said "butter" and we're silly for thinking he said anything other than butter. Things that make you go hmmm.....

Things I Think Are Funny...

that the rest of my family is probably sick of:

1. Talking incessantly about Mr. Ashley's love of sausage. Any mention of the word "sausage" gets me saying, "Sausages...you love sausages, you love you some sausages. Sausage is good" in my best tard voice.

2. Because I hate walking around our house, if I'm taking the chickens out front, I just carry them through the house. Every.Single.Time, I turn their butts so that they are pointing at someone's face and say, "what? what? chicken butt"--sometimes I do it to everyone in the family.

3. Insisting that the defrost button in my car is actually a rocket ship button, complete with daily "3...2...1 BLAST OFF" announcement with rapid acceleration.

There's more, but these are the ways I most frequently use to annoy my family and amuse myself.

Hair and Stuff

Big Kid got his long, shaggy hair cut off yesterday. I was super sad, but it still looks good.

However, it's a bit of a dorky haircut. I'm thinking it needs to be a little shorter, like the type where you push it forward and it spikes up just in the very front.

Is that called something?

Sorry I'm so boring lately--such is life.

No Pill For It

There's Hope

As I was setting up Big Kid's Twitter account, he saw the picture I was uploading:

Big Kid: I dest took two bad pitchers.

Ashley: What do you mean?

Big Kid: Dat one and my school pitcher. I smiled like dis (recreates his goofy, teeth-baring grimace of a grin)

Ashley: No! They're both pretty good pictures. That one you were showing your missing bottom teeth. Your school one was...pretty good.

Big Kid: I dest need to stop smilin' like dat dough. I don't like it.

Ashley: (laughing)

Big Kid: Don't laugh. Dey aren't dat bad. You're makin' me mad now.

Presenting...

www.twitter.com/TheBigKid

He's already addicted--and full of himself. Where does he get it from?

I can't promise it will be exciting, but it may be interesting. Sometimes.

Big Kid on Twitter

I was thinking it would be hysterical to let Big Kid have a Twitter account.

Is this a bad idea somehow? I'm trying to think if this is irresponsible parenting in any way, because I'm not always the best judge of that, but I think it would be fun and good typing/spelling/reading/writing practice...and it would be fun.

I'd be there WITH him and I'd read any direct responses to him before he could. I wonder what he'd say in a 140 letters or less?

And then there were two....

My fucking chicken is gone.

Scarlett has disappeared without a trace, she was outside in the superyard baby pen an hour ago. I put them out there every day, open the house windows and go out there when I hear a commotion. I didn't hear anything at all, just decided to go out there and check on them and she is not there. I didn't hear anything, don't see any feathers, dogs were in, cats were in, she's just gone.

I'm so sad, frustrated and mad at myself. I'm having a real "can't do anything right" kind of week. Or maybe life.

Damn, how hard should it be to keep 3 chickens as pets? I should do the others a favor and put them on Craigslist.

And for the record, I fucking HATE living in the woods. We built out here because Mr. Ashley promised me a huge, well landscaped yard with paths and squirrel feeders. Ha ha freaking ha. Nary a path or squirrel feeder in sight, 6 years later. Nary a chicken coop either. Damn it.

Oh And...

little kid pooped in the bathtub today, but that paled in comparison to the rest of the excitement.

Poison Control

This morning little kid walked into the bathroom, took off his pants and diaper, peed in the potty, and came back out with his pants on. I was pretty impressed and figured he was ready to potty train so I'd let him give it a shot.

He did pretty well, jumping up and running to the bathroom when he had to go, no shenanigans, just doing his business and coming right back out. Naturally, I began to let my guard down and started to trust him and his maturity level in the bathroom.

He goes in there again and I hear some rustling around that I figured was him doing his business, then I hear a gasp and a terrible coughing and gagging fit. I jump up and run into the bathroom to see him standing there red eyed, panting and wheezing with a huge slug of snot creeping out of his nose when I'm hit with the sudden, unmistakable smell of bleach.

Unable to believe even he would do something so crazy, I grab his face and smell his breath and yep, it smells like bleach. In a total panic, I run around the house searching for the phone and fling open the cabinet door for the Poison Control sticker I oh-so-carefully applied when Big Kid was first born.

They answered before it even rang and I tearfully announced that my two year old drank bleach, wiping the snot slug away with one hand and thrusting my Coke at him with another while looking around for things I'd probably have to take to the Emergency Room.

"Ma'am, calm down, bleach smells pretty bad. It's unlikely a child would chug it, know what I mean?"

"You don't know this child," I replied panicked.

"Well, what did he drink from?"

Looking around, I saw a spray bottle in the sink and picked it up and smelled bleach. The top was on tightly, so he must have sprayed it into his mouth. I relayed this info.

"See? He couldn't have gotten much. He should be fine," she assured me.

"What if he sprayed it in his eyes? Could he go blind or something?"

"He's what? Two? I think he would be telling you his eyes hurt, rubbing them and screaming or something," she said in a practical manner.

"Oh, that is probably true."

"See? No need to take him to the hospital or anything, just give him a lot to drink, maybe a little lunch, he'll be fine."

"Are you sure? He had a ton of snot coming out of his nose just now. Not a normal amount, even for being sick."

"Yeah...bleach will clear you out like that, I'd think, I personally wouldn't try it. Trust me, go get him lunch and a drink, he's fine."

I was instantly reassured and super appreciative of her calm demeanor...but I did consider lying when she asked for our names. Because there's a good chance this won't be our last call. I'd like to think so, but little kid is full of surprises.

Later on when Big Kid came home, I was telling him about the ordeal and turned to little kid and asked, "What happens when you drink bleach, little kid? Tell Bubba what happens."

"Get Coke," he replied with a smile.

Wrong answer.

So I'm not so sure any lesson was learned. Other than we're (I'm) not ready for potty training. Not yet.

A Short Miracle

So, last night we tried the Miracle Fruit Tablets. They aren't exactly the same as the Miracle Fruit, which alters the taste of everything, these are just a pill extract that makes sour things taste sweet.

First, we went to the store and assembled a smorgasbord of sour stuff, including but not limited to:

Key Lime tarts, Kiwis, Strawberries and Pineapple, Apricot, Raspberries, a Lemon, Limeade, Lemonade, Sprees and Sour Life Saver gummies.

We each took one of the Miracle Fruit Tablets and let it dissolve on our tongues. A moment later I took a sip of my lemonade and it was the Best.Lemonade.Ever. Ever. Indescribable, my mouth is watering just thinking about it. It was just so perfectly sweet.

The Key Lime Tarts were weird, in fact, anything lime was. I could taste the whip cream and nuts but didn't really taste the Key Lime taste, it was just all sweet. Limeade just sucked. It wasn't sweet enough but with no sour taste it was just odd.

Kiwis and pineapple ROCKED. YUM! They tasted like the freshest, sweetest, most perfect fruits ever. Raspberries and apricots were good, the sour candies were great. The lemon tasted just like sweet lemonade.

However, all of this yummy heaven only lasted for about 10 minutes. It says 30-120 minutes, but not for Ashley. Mr. Ashley probably went 15 or so, but I knew exactly when the sour came back and was a little disappointed it wore off so fast. Also, you burn your tastebuds off without knowing it and your tummy hurts from eating so much sour stuff in such a short period of time.

So, it was fun and really cool and I'll eat the others in the pack too, but it wasn't earth shattering or anything. I'd still love to try an actual Miracle Fruit, or even better, attend a party, but all in all, it was pretty cool.

Exciting Day Here

http://twitter.com/AshleysCloset

P.S.

I'll be back to tell you about Miracle Fruit tablets once I'm done being Library Mom.

Why, oh why, did I volunteer to be Library Mom for a whole freaking year? Damn me and my library vendetta.

It's really more of a pain in the ass than it is fun. Between that and needing to get my expense reports done today, I just want to crawl back in bed and pretend I don't know Monday is happening.

Um, What are you doing?

little kid just pulled up my shirt, snuggled in, and was very clearly about to try to nurse.

He hasn't breastfed in over a year, nor are we ever around anyone else nursing a baby. I think it's funny he A.) remembers B.) clearly remembers it as a source of comfort. C.) thinks this is an option now.

Poor guy. Not happening.

Will it be a Miracle?

Mr. Ashley and I are about to try Miracle Fruit Tablets. The ones I bought for my birthday. In September.

So yeah, we're a little late on trying them, but I'll let you know how it goes.

Poor little kid

woke up and walked to the tank the mouse was in, looked in and said "Oh. Mousey died." and stood there looking real sad for a moment.

Then he pointed to the spoon of peanut butter in the tank and said, "I eat?"

Getting It Out

Dear Fed Ex guy,
I do not blame you for not wanting to get out of the truck while my dog was in the yard. Our big dog can look scary, that is the point. HOWEVER, you could have honked, and if that was too much effort, you could have just kept the package. Because putting it in a garbage bag and throwing it in the middle of my 200 foot driveway for the mailman to later run over and smash to pieces was really unfucking cool.

Dear Doctor,
I know you didn't do a chest x-ray on little kid because you remember him from last time. I don't blame you. HOWEVER, charging me $140 to put a stethoscope on his back and tell me he has a cough seems extreme. Maybe only because I'm broke and just did this 2 weeks ago, but it hurt. I'm sick too, but can't afford you. I was hoping we could get a definitive answer as to why my 2 year old has been coughing for 3 weeks. Instead, we'll just do more antibiotics. Not free ones this time. Thankssomuch!

Dear Wal-mart Employee,
I'm guessing you didn't graduate from Harvard, but I'm certain you can read the sign on the FAMILY restroom door. Just because you are as big as a family, doesn't entitle you to your own restroom. It's called a FAMILY restroom, not a HIDE IN HERE AND EAT SNICKERS BARS restroom. Not that you care, but little kid had crapped his pants and I found myself without a diaper. So I had to run to a Walmart, run to the baby aisle, and sit outside the FAMILY restroom while you did whatthefuckever in there for 5 minutes.

Within that 5 minutes, shit leaked all over his shorts, forcing me to drag his freshly diapered butt over to the clothing aisle for clean shorts once you finally allowed me access to the FAMILY restroom. Just so you know, the Bargain Board would have me arrested for some shit like that. That's practically grand theft over there, even if you do plan on paying. What if your card gets declined? What if the power goes out? What if there is a fire and everyone vacates the building and you stole a diaper and some shorts? So thanks, not only did you significantly influence the direction my day was going, you also made me a Bargain Board criminal.

Dear little kid,
Tomorrow I'll be asking your "teacher" if she can keep you full time. Because I cannot.

Dear Baby Mouse,
I'm sorry I killed you. I have good intentions, they just don't get me very far. If it makes you feel any better, and it probably doesn't since you're dead, but I think I killed that baby chick last month too. I should probaby just stop trying to "help" animals.

Alrighty then, there's more but who has the energy? Not me.

Tomorrow's got to get better.

Cake Topper

My dumb ass fed the baby mouse milk and he died in my hand soon afterwards. Right before that, he was doing great. He even tried to run away from Mr. Ashley.

So now you know, baby mice can't do cow's milk.

It's par for the course for my day.

I'm a mouse murderer.

The Mouse

Well I came home (from the fucking AFTERNOON FROM HELL--unmedicated Ashley would have cried, for sure) and the mouse had moved to the other side of the cage.

When he squeaks, I give him pedialyte from the syringe and he drinks it and stops squeaking.

I'm thinking that I'm confused between what a critically injured mouse looks like and what a baby mouse looks like.

Are his eyes half open because they aren't fully open yet? Does he squeak frantically every hour or two because he's hungry? Does he not eat peanut butter because he drinks milk?

I don't know. He has hair, but he's smaller than my thumb--tiny, tiny. I'm having a hard time even getting a decent photo. He's perfectly content (or too busy dying to care?) to sit in my hand and he can walk.

So, there will be no murder happening in the Ashley household tonight.

I stole the heat lamp from the chicks (it's 85 degrees out--they will deal), I have the spoon of peanut butter in there, and a shallow thing of pedialyte and water but I plan on syringe feeding him often. I wish I had some baby formula. Would cow's milk be an okay substitute?

What a mess. Trust me when I tell you my plate is plenty full without attempting to nurse newborn mice back to health.

No Progress Report

The mouse is not looking good. At this point it feels cruel not to kill it, but I just can't think of how to do it without traumatizing myself. Putting it in tupperware in the freezer or burying it is all I can think of and I don't want to do either. :-(

Mr. Ashley says he'll take care of it when he gets home, but that's a long time to be suffering.

I don't even like mice but it is such a soft, tiny little thing.

Stupid fucking Murphy.

So I Have a Mouse

Fuck. It's looking more alive than not all of a sudden, but still not 100% alive. I'm glad I didn't kill it though.

So does anyone know baby mouse first aid? His mouth is hanging open, I did drop some Pedialyte into there but I'm not really a doctor, I just play one on the internetz.

Vets? Nurses? Smart people? Are you in the closet?

I have a business meeting at noon, so be quick about it. If it's still alive when I get home, you'll get pics of pure adorableness.

edited to add: He closed his mouth! He also moved himself to another spot, not far, but still. Please mousey mousey, don't die!

Euthanasia

Murphy just brought a baby mouse up into the yard. I'm pretty sure it's neck is broken and I know it is dying a slow, painful death. I wish I was brave enough to put it out of it's misery, but I'm not. I keep going out there hoping it's dead but it's still lingering.

:-(

Still Sick & Not Funny

But I thought this was.

By the way, Obamas, I have your puppy. His name is Murphy and I've been keeping him for you. Don't worry, I haven't trained him or anything, that's your job.

A few tips:

--Michelle, you're going to want to make sure you don't leave your favorite shoes on the floor, unless you only want one of each pair. Purses too. Pretty much anything leather, it needs to be put up.

--Girls, he eats doll hair and anything fuzzy. I don't know why.

--The White House is fenced, right? Good. Otherwise, I can include his ground stake.

--You may want to consider tile. Like, seriously consider tile.

Don't worry, he'll be waiting for you on January 20th, I'll even throw in a bowtie or something to spiff him up a little. I think it will work out great. You need a puppy, I've got a puppy.

A congratulations and thank you gift, we'll call it. I'll even pay for shipping.

Morning

I'm sick and Big Kid barfed on me and I backed the Durango into something this morning.

I want to make it funnier than that, but just can't.

Maybe later.

Totally Her

I often get "press release" sort of emails about new websites and sometimes I click the link, but to be honest, a lot of them suck so lately I barely bother.

I got one the other day though and I think the site is worth recommending. It's called Totally Her and they have different sections and all kinds of articles. I've found several cute ideas for work and for my own kids in their parenting section, if I ever find time or desire to do craft stuff with them.

(Come on now, would you want to do crafts with little kid? That's what I thought.)

I started following them on Twitter too, because I'm a Twittering (Tweeting??) fool and it looks like they do contests and stuff as well, and I know some of you love contests.

So there we have it, a new website that ended up in my inbox that looks good and made it into the Closet. Proof that sometimes it does happen!

(I know how hard it is to launch a new site, I'm not a total grinch.)

Monday and Tuesday

I am getting sick and my bedroom tv has died.

Both of these events are tragic. I don't even watch tv, I love having it quiet while I'm working and while the boys are here they have their crap on, then Mr. Ashley comes home and wants to watch his crap and then when everyone is in bed and I'm trying to fall asleep, I watch some tv. In bed. In my bedroom. But now I don't have a bedroom tv and I'm getting sick. Tragedy of tragedies.

little kid is sounding suspiciously pneumonia-ish as well, so we'll be back at Urgent Care tomorrow to figure out what his deal is. Let's hope it's not an expensive deal. I need some sort of tv in my room, it's non-negotiable.

Both kids ended up in our bed last night because they weren't feeling great. This NEVER happens.

Around 1am, I heard "Mumum? Mumum?"

I walked into little kid's room and he said, "Ca see."

"You can't sleep?"

"Yeah. Nee cank."

"You need a drink?"

"Abubu."

"Apple juice?"

"Yeah."

So I took him to bed with me instead of fighting with him about going back to his. "It's night night time, so go to sleep," I told him.

"K........where yaya?"

"Daddy's sleeping. Shhhh."

"Oh."

(several minutes of silence)

"Mumum?"

Since he's whispering, I ignore him and keep faking sleep.

"Mumum?" This time I feel his breath on my face and I crack my eyes open to see him leaning over my face. "Mumum?"

"I'm sleeping. Go to sleep."

"Oh."

He rolled back and forth, squeezing one of us and then the other for the rest of the night. It was sweet, but not very restful.

I didn't even know Big Kid was in bed with us until Mr. Ashley rolled over and Big Kid popped up.

I did go and d0 my Library Mom duties yesterday even though Big Kid was home sick. Here are some things I've observed about kindergartners:

1. Their shoe laces are always untied. Parents--DOUBLE KNOT THEIR LACES. I take four groups of kids to the library and back, and with every single group I have to stop to tie at least half of their shoes. This is at 9:40 in the morning, if you were double knotting I wouldn't have to do this.

2. Being the line leader is their number one priority in life. Them not being line leader is as devastating to them as being unable to pay the bills is to one of us. They are hard core about this line leader shit. Also, the same kids race to the door and are first in line every time. I finally had to intervene and start assigning line leaders, but I always forget which two went last week and squabbling ensues. I invented two new jobs, the Library Card Holder and the Caboose, but the Cabooses are all onto my scam, they know they're at the end of the line and they all hate it.

Sometimes I assign sandwich pieces, and call them bread or peanut butter or jelly and being bread was slightly more appealing than being a caboose, but we'll see how long that lasts.

3. They are serious about their books. You would think these kids were choosing a book to have branded on their bodies for life, with the very long and involved selection process they go through to choose one. Some of them make me crazy. JUST PICK ONE. You can pick another one next week. I secretly suspect that several of them know that this is irritating and are doing it on purpose, but I can't prove that.

4. They have as much drama as highschoolers. So and so likes so and so, so and so won't play with me, so and so's shoes are weird, and on and on and on. They are living in their own little world and it's all very serious to them. Also, they want me to know all about it. A lot of it is seriously boring too, some of it is funny, but most of it is just not that interesting.

So there you have it. That's how I spend an hour every week. Yay me.

Epic Laziness

I missed you all today but I'm really tired.

So read this and just pretend I wrote it.

Ashley's Infomercials

Someone is complaining that the audio book post I did should be labeled as "editorial coverage" and that it's not fair to make you all read infomercials without you knowing it.

So to clarify, with product reviews--I get nothing but the product (if I want it). So a product may get a sentence, a paragraph, or a whole post.

Big Kid LOVES Brown Bear, Brown Bear and you can bet if you send me a really cool product that both my children adore, you're probably going to get a pretty good review. Same thing happened with First Juice, my kids freaked over that stuff. We buy it now, and we'll be buying Batter Blasters from here on out.

There's no reason to label this as "editorial coverage"...no one paid me to do it and I'm providing an honest review. I will not, EVER, do a free product review on a product I wouldn't recommend to you all. I've actually turned free stuff down because I didn't have faith that I wanted to write about it.

So, you may have to suffer through a few infomercials in the future, but you haven't up until now. I am giving you my honest opinion when discussing these products, if I don't have a good opinion, you just won't be seeing it.

For Your Reviewing Pleasure

I've gotten some really cool stuff in the mail lately to review for you all. I feel lucky that so far, it all really has been stuff worth telling you about.

The other day I got a box on my doorstep that said "REFRIGERATE IMMEDIATELY" and had dry ice inside. Inside was "Batter Blaster"--a fan-freakin-tastic idea. It's pancake batter in a whipcream-like can. So, you get easy pancakes with almost zero clean up. The pancakes end up really good too, my boys were thrilled to have "home made" pancakes so many days in a row!

Usually, (okay always) when I make waffles, the batter ends up dripping down the side of the waffle iron. Which means we don't have waffles a lot because I don't like hand cleaning the iron but Batter Blaster was the right consistency and much easier to aim, and even I was able to make waffles without making a mess.

I really and truly love this stuff. The fact that it's organic gives it additional bragging rights, I can pretend like I'm a really good mom while I'm making no-mess pancakes that require very little effort.

I also got a "Mr. Beams" stair light. In my typical procrastinator style, I waited forever to put the batteries in it and nagged Mr. Ashley to install it for me. Finally, once I really looked at it, I realized it was something I could easily do myself. It's a motion activated light that will run on it's batteries for over a year. I was going to put it in the boys' hallway, but we usually leave their bathroom light on anyway, so I decided to put it right outside of my bedroom door. This was a way better decision because now I don't kick toys or slip on Hot Wheels if I have to head to the kitchen in the dark. I have seriously come to love this thing, as much as one can love a nightlight-like device. It's cool that it comes on by itself and it was so easy to install.

I've got some other stuff to review, a book and a children's CD among other things, but you all know this stuff takes me a while. For no good reason, really. It looks like excellent stuff, so stay tuned.

This post made me remember, Neatnik Saucer Winner, if you're out there, I never got your address. Would you email it to me if you're reading this? I'll track you down if I don't hear from you, but maybe you are out there.

Instead of

cleaning the house, I'm looking for goats on Craigslist. Pygmy goats.

I think it's very logical to have some goats if you have some chickens, acreage, and a husband who doesn't weed eat enough. Plus, I think it would be fun for the Closet.

And of course I would need two, one would be lonely and could only weed eat so much.

Earlier today I was researching plastic surgery, which isn't very likely to happen any time soon.

I'm pretty much just trying not to clean the house.

Charming Chicks

Today I picked up a thing of worms for my chickens, mostly because I couldn't believe there were containers of worms on the shelf at the convenience store I had stopped at, and because I wanted to give my girls a treat.

I thought this would be pretty straightforward, I would set out the container of dirt and worms, they'd dig the worms out and eat them similar to the manner in which a pelican swallows a fish. Quick and painless.

Instead, I set out the container and they tried to run into the house behind me. I shooed them back out and directed them back to the container and they lined up and stared at me expectantly. I picked up a small stick and stirred around until I saw some worms and set it back down.

Chicka immediately snatched one up, Ha! I thought, They get it! She proceeded to shake her head back and forth frantically. The other chicks noticed she had something and began to shriek and chase her. She began to run, also shrieking, while thrashing her head and the worm back and forth while they attempted to snatch it. They corner her and start pecking and she tosses the worm aside and throws down into a full on chicken fight, a flurry of wings and shrieks. Within seconds they all forget about the whole ordeal and start pecking at chicken feed, as the worm crawls away behind them.

This has been repeated at least 30 times in the last hour, and the area is littered with tortured and dying worms. A few have been eaten, so it's not like they don't like them, they just keep forgetting.

I think next time we'll just skip the worms. That's no way to die and the chicks are just as happy with a piece of bread.

Dear Republicans,

You are not moving to Canada. I keep hearing this, time and time again, and I just need to point out that this is not a well thought out plan.

Canada has universal healthcare, gay rights, and they make Obama look like the King of Conservatives. Trust me, you would hate it there.

I suggest you research other options or just wait it out until we're both standing in the bread lines and I have to ask to borrow your pliers to pull my own teeth out, then you can say "I told you so!"

In the meantime, please stop threatening the Canadians in this way. They are perfectly happy living up there in their so-called Socialist nightmare. I'd wait until there are actual signs of true Socialism here before fleeing to a Socialist country to escape that fear.

Just my opinion, but if you need help packing, let me know.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Today I am proud to be an American.

Am I disgusted with the blatant homophobia and racism that some think they have carte blanche to spout today?

Yep, for sure.

Aren't I always proud to be an American?

Yep, for sure, but today I was glowing with that pride.

I keep hearing the naysayers say, "Nothing is changing. I can't wait until you all realize that nothing will ever change" and that's annoying because first and foremost, since when is it such a crime to have some hope? Lord knows these people don't have a crystal ball or we wouldn't be where we are now, so since it's inevitable, how about we just give it a chance and try to hope some things will improve?

Secondly, Things Have Changed. So much has changed. The majority of Americans actually felt inspired and have hope. In a country globally renown for their complacency, close mindedness and selfishness, people stood in line and voted for what they believe in.

Young black men interviewed at one polling station wore suits and ties to mark the occasion with the respect they felt it deserved. Young people turned out in droves not only to vote, but to campaign and get involved. People requested absentee ballots which they filled out on their death beds; one woman even rode in an ambulance and had to vote from a gurney--but she was not missing out on her chance to be heard as an American.

A young, inspiring minority ran a positive, savvy campaign--and won. Regardless of the issues, from a marketing standpoint it was all sheer genius. It was a grass roots campaign that raised an extraordinary amount of money, much of it from people struggling themselves. It also raised hope and awareness about the power of politics.

Seeing President Elect Obama stride onto stage with his two darling girls and his beautiful wife, cool and calm, looking out at a SEA of people--old white people, young black people, Jesse Jackson and Oprah pressed against college students and "average" Americans, all with tears in their eyes and hope in their hearts, was a feeling I am unable to describe.

Our votes and feelings counted and we got to see that democracy does work. The White House is no longer reserved for the "Good Old Boys"--it's reserved for whoever runs the best race, whether they be black or white or woman or man.

McCain's concession speech reminded me of why I liked him in 2000--where was goofy, grandpa-like McCain in this campaign? The venom was unnecessary, it didn't work and did nothing but stir up hate and fear. I was proud to be supporting a candidate that spent more time talking about his ideas instead of spending that time insulting his opponent's.

We're going to have a black family, two little girls, and a puppy in the White House.

Things have changed.

A Little LOL

Racism prevails

All Men Created Equal

...unless they like other men.

Gays, I'm sorry you can't rejoice as fully as the 53% of us who want to dance in the streets. I'm sorry that "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" doesn't apply to you wanting a family of your own.

Personally, I don't think you're being Gay just to annoy the rest of us or because you're some kind of perv. I don't think you woke up this morning and decided to just drop the whole Gay thing since you didn't get your way. I don't think Jesus would hate you or wish you unhappiness.

And if you ever want to borrow little kid and pretend he's yours at a football game or take Big Kid to the theater or something, just get a hold of me and we'll work it out. I know it's not the same as having your own little butts to wipe full time and I'm truly sorry for that.

We haven't come *quite* as far as I had thought, but we're working on it. I know I'm a boring, straight, married, white mom--but I'm in your corner on this and I've been thinking about your community today.

People suck.

WOOO-HOOOOO

Wooo-hooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!

YAY YAY YAY!!! I want to wake up my whole house! I want to go outside in the yard and cheer! Someone give me shot of Jager, the night has just begun!

(kidding, I'm tired, but so excited that major celebration seems in order)

Congratulations America! Congratulations Obama Family! Thanks for sucking so bad, Sarah Palin.

Too Soon?

Is it too early to re-enact the scene from Annie that I like?

You know, the one where we do a kick line through a mansion and slide across marble floors and carry Obama around in a chair singing, "We got Obama! We got Obama? Yep, we got Obama!" back and forth to each other?

'Cuz I'm in the mood for some tap dancing.

I guess it could wait until the morning.

Obama's Got Ohio

?Election?

Is McCain president?

Californians,

Regarding proposition 8, I'm sure you're all totally sick of hearing about it by now. But the reason you should vote no for proposition 8, regardless of your opinion on gay marriage, is that it wants to add stuff to your state constitution. You can't just go adding stuff willy nilly to constitutions. It's best just not to make a lot of changes, they aren't intended to be malleable documents.

It's also a civil rights issue. It would have sucked pretty badly if someone somewhere along the way had definitively decided that only white men could own property or vote.

The Gays aren't going anywhere. Maybe we're not all ready to fully accept that now, but I don't know if it's a good idea to state that it will never, ever be accepted. Just my opinion on this Election Night Eve.

It Might Not Be Fun

I "Twittered" (Tweeted? Twitted? WTH? I don't know) earlier that I was bringing Big Kid to vote with me tomorrow.

He knows the lines will be long, he knows it will be boring, but he also knows he will be a part of history for doing so.

Yesterday Obama was on the television screen and I asked him who it was and he said, "Dat's Bawack Obama. He's gonna be pwesident" and my heart swelled with pride (and keep your own political b.s. out of it, it's my proud moment.) I was also impressed he knew Obama's full name.

We tried this "lesson in voting" thing 2 years ago when it was my life mission to vote out some of our corrupt county commissioners. It was an important election to me but I had no sitter, so I put little kid in the sling and took Big Kid by the hand and marched on down to our precinct.

While there in line, a volunteer reaches over and puts a sticker on Big Kid's shirt. At the time, such an offense was punishable by death in Big Kid's super quirky 3 year old world--the combined offense of someone touching his stomach and putting something on him without permission was the straw that broke the bored, dramatic camel's back. So he bursts into tears, rips the sticker off of himself and throws it on the ground.

As I'm apologizing to the volunteer and turning to ask Big Kid to pick it up and get himself together, some old guy leans down into his face and says, "You are not leaving that there, young man, you'd better pick it up. Now."

Dude--don't get involved. First, don't talk to my kid, that's my job. Second, Big Kid doesn't put up with some shit like that, so way to go on exacerbating the situation.

As I give Mr. Helpful the evil eye and tell him I've got it under control, Big Kid starts wailing. Freaking the fuck out crying. Totally loosing his shit. So, baby in sling, I grab his hand, ask the person behind me to hold my place, and take him outside for a talking to. It takes a minute, but I calm him down.

We go back in and Mr. Helpful turns around and gives Big Kid a dirty look...making Big Kid cry again. The guy's wife tells him to knock it off, I tell him he needs to mind his own business, and the offensive sticker volunteer comes around with a plate of cookies and everything seems fine.

Then the line creeps past the soda machine. Big Kid wants a drink. Big Kid is so thirsty from that cookie, he has to have a drink. Big Kid's throat hurts. Big Kid just needs a drink so, so bad. He starts to cry (and he WAS being a total butthole, not denying that at all) and Mr. Helpful turns around with a sneer on his face, totally escalating the situation to instant hysterics.

At this point, I'm near tears and deciding I just have to leave. A volunteer walks up and offers to take me into the voting room and just skip me in line and let me vote. Nice!

I have to wait a moment while the person ahead of me finishes up and Big Kid, still crying, makes a break for it, running to the other side of the auditorium. The volunteer says she'll watch him, it's fine, that I really should go ahead and vote. I look at her skeptically and she promises to at least bar him from any exits and tells me she's a mom and she understands. For some reason (looking back on it, I have no idea why I didn't leave way back in the beginning of this story. That's how bad these county commisioners were, I still hate those bastards), I took her up on it.

I'm sitting there, little kid in the sling, hurriedly voting when I hear a "MEOW!"...A familiar "MEOW!"...Big Kid's "MEOW".

I look over and see him crawling through the legs of the voting machines. I hiss at him to "COME HERE NOW" and get a stubborn, evil glare in response. At this point I knew the whole room was watching and would probably give me a standing ovation for spanking his ass, but I had been beaten down and humiliated enough. He won.

"Here Kitty, Kitty," I whispered, patting my leg, "Come to momma, good kitty, come on."

He scurried over, in front of the legs of bewildered voters, and ended up in my booth giving himself a pretend cat bath as I finished up voting.

...then I took him in the parking lot and spanked his butt, and you non-spankers, feel free to write a letter to whomever you please about it, just make sure to include the anecdote above. No regrets there, my friends.

So, he can only do better this time.

The moral of the story is, if I can get out and vote dealing with some shit like that, for a local election--your ass better get out and vote. Even if you're voting for Bush's third term, the most ridiculous VP ever, and more war, you get ZERO bitching rights if your ass doesn't stand in line tomorrow. Also, don't get complacent with the polls--it's not over until your brother counts the votes. Your vote DOES count.

This is what it means to be an American. Vote for Something.

That's Right, Bitch

Mr. Ashley: No, little kid, you didn't eat any dinner, you don't get sherbert.

little kid: Waaaaaaah, waaaaaaaah. Noooooooooooo.

Big Kid: Dat's right, bitz. No serbert for you.

(Mr. Ashley and I look at each other in unbelieving shock and horror)

Mr. Ashley: What did you say, Big Kid?

Big Kid: I said, 'Dat's right, bitz, no serbert for you!'

Mr. Ashley: Bits? With an 's' on the end?

Big Kid: No, a "c-h" blend on the end. Phonogram would be "Ca, cee, Cha" (with accompanying hand movements) Bitz. Kinda like "betcha" but no "ah" at the end and an "i" instead of an "e".

(Me trying not to laugh, Mr. Ashley still in complete shock and horror)

Mr. Ashley: Don't ever say that again.

Big Kid: What, bitz? I can't call him a bitz? It's dest like "betcha".

Mr. Ashley: No, no, you can't. Don't ever say it again...(to me) Stop laughing and don't you dare write about this.

Chicks

I can fulfill the chick request since I was just outside chilling with them yesterday.

Scarlett & Chicka

Chicka Chicka Boom Boom

Nugget

The Girls

Lil and her chicks

Weirdstock, NY

One week ago today, I was in Woodstock, NY for cousin Julie's wedding (which will get it's own post, because it was special and deserves it's own spot).

First, let's talk about Woodstock, NY. It's...weird. Very weird. My Californian aunt used this adjective to describe every single thing in town. Multiple times. I think we all know that I fit in quite well among the weird, but I'm not sure I can recommend it to those of you huddled on the extreme right side of the closet. It's a VERY liberal town. They love The Gays. They smoke The Pot. They hate The War. They eat The Tofu. They do not trust The Government. They love The Buddhists, The Christians, and The Athiests equally. They are voting for The Obama.

I loved it. Except for the fact that I COULD NOT get a good meal in this town. What the hell. On our way to the Albany airport my mom and I stopped at a Ruby Tuesday because I was ravenous for something normal that had some flavor and was part of a franchise.

Here is a quick photo essay, for those of you who might like to visit, and for those boring souls who would not like to visit but would like to take a look:

In the town square.

Peace Flag Shirt. Originally created in 1968 to protest the war. Back by popular demand. Funny how fashion repeats itself. Sad how history repeats itself.

Lots of these sorts of people around. I think they just forgot to leave after the concert in 1969.

Is it awful that I found humor in an old lady in a wheelchair underneath a "Grateful Dead" banner? Yes? I know, I'm going to hell. I'll see half of you there.

Inside of the monastery. "Weird," my aunt said.

Outside of the monastery. I thought the concrete truck was very profound. Buddhists need expansion too.

Really, a charming town. No traffic lights. Philosophical or just plain funny bumper stickers everywhere. A shaving cream fight in the town square every Halloween. Very live and let live. The leaves and the Catskill Mountains were GORGEOUS. You'll see some more in the wedding post.