Saturday, October 31, 2009

Yay for the Great Pumpkin!

It worked! I'm a genius. A genius who slept til 9 this morning!

little kid told me that he was coming to snuggle us and then he remembered the pumpkin might come to life and bite him. Then he stopped and made a scared face and shivered, and then ran back to his bed where he stayed until Big Kid told him it was safe.

He recounted this tale to me about 14 times this morning and I told him how proud I was of him.

Now I have to think of other objects that could come to life and bite him, so I can sleep in every weekend!

Friday, October 30, 2009

The Great Pumpkin

I told the kids that if they woke up too early tomorrow and got out of bed, the Great Pumpkin would bite them with his fangs.

They seemed skeptical but I insisted that they sleep in tomorrow for their own safety, promising to come get them when the danger has passed.

Let's hope it works!

Thursday, October 29, 2009


little kid has recently become obsessed with Hummers. He spotted one in traffic the other day (they are everywhere in my city, which is ironic since we don't have a hill or mountain or dangerous driving condition in sight) and started asking what it was.

"A truck," I answered.

"What's it called? I know iz a truck, what's 'at truck's name?"

"A Hummer."

"A Pumper? Wow, Pumpers look so cool, mumum!"

"Haha, no Hummer. With an "H" sound. I guess they are cool, real Hummers are used in the army because they are bullet proof and can climb mountains and stuff."


Now I can't drive anywhere without hearing, "A Humper, mumum! Look at da Humper!!" several times from the back seat. If we see one in a parking lot, he begs to approach it for a closer look. I don't correct his mispronunciation because it's so cute and funny, and because I think Hummers are kind of lame (overcompensating much, men-with-small-penises?). I may start calling them Humpers myself.

little kid swears he will have a Humper or a Monster Truck or a Monster Truck Humper one day. He probably will.

He also loves motorcycles. A neighbor of ours has a Vespa and I pointed it out and said, "Look at the motorcycle!" and he said, "At is not a motorcycle, at is a scooter. Totally different, mumum, it is." I have no idea where he learned the difference between a scooter and a motorcycle. He's right though, it is totally different.

We have another neighbor with an orange Lotus and little kid points and screams, "MUMUM--'ere goes da cool guy in his wotus! Hey cool dude!" as he waves. I think the neighbor enjoys the attention (or why else would he be driving a bright orange Lotus?) but it's a little embarrassing for me. I believe I told you all about the time we were out to eat and little kid spent the whole time staring at the guy next to us, who had driven up in a yellow Ferrari, and whispering "At is a bad dude. One baaaaad dude."

I guess it works out because he gives these people the attention they bought and paid for, and he gets to admire their rides, but it has led to some awkward encounters.


As I'm sure all of you know, I have been Desperate (with a capital D) for a good break from little kid for the last couple of months (at least). Mr. Ashley's been working 2 or 3 Saturdays a month lately and little kid has been especially naughty, and I'm just overwhelmed and tired.

I have been pleading with Mr. Ashley to please let me drop little kid off with his old babysitter for just one day--I could clean the house and attempt to find shreds of my sanity to piece back together. Mr. Ashley has repeatedly insisted that we didn't have the money for this type of luxury. I asked if he had bail money for whatever happened when I finally snapped and he laughed it off. I cried. I told him I was very serious and he said he knew and that when we could do it, we would. Soon, he promised.

So I've been waiting, asking on a weekly basis if we had the money, even applying to part-time or freelance jobs daily in the hopes of accumulating some money so I get could a break when needed.

This weekend I told Mr. Ashley that NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) was approaching and that I planned on doing it (but not by the rules, of course, because I like to complicate things) and that if I didn't get a day off this week to get us caught up on laundry and general housekeeping, that I would not be doing house work for all of November and we would be in a sad state of affairs by December.

Oh, and that I still badly needed a break from little kid.

And he said yes! Hallelujah, he said yes! I have hoped and dreamed for this peaceful day of cleaning for so long and finally he said yes!

So I emailed the babysitter Monday night. We normally email, so when I hadn't heard back yesterday, I was in a panic. I went to call her and realized her phone number is stored in the address book of a paid email account I had just closed. I thought it was in my phone too, but I guess not.

So I have no phone number for her (and she's a police man's wife, so they are unlisted). And I have little kid. And a messy house. And a violin lesson for Big Kid (and little kid has been banned from those, so I'll wait with him in the car while Big Kid goes in).

And I am so bummed! And so panicked that she'll never check her email and I will have lost her. Also, today was Big Kid's Fall Party at school (at 8:45 am which I thought was weird) and when he found out I wouldn't be able to stop by (because siblings are not allowed) he cried. Which made me want to cry because *I* am the one who should get to cry! *I* am the one missing out on the Fall Party and a clean house and the violin lesson and a day of semi-relaxation!

I sent Big Kid to his party with a big bag of fun treats for his friends, and I have a good new book to read during the violin lesson, and I'm pretty used to my messy house, and I'm trying to look on the bright side of things...

but it still really sucks!

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Very Important Parents

Last night Big Kid had a school concert. I was very excited to see him sing. Then I realized that the other parents were all excited to see their kid sing too, and were determined to videotape and photograph throughout. I quickly realized that the set-up was not conducive to getting good video or photos, so after the 2 quick shots I took, I retreated politely to my seat to watch as the show began.

However, the other parents were so excited that they didn't want to sit down. You see, they couldn't get their photos and video if they were sitting down. They shouldn't have to pay the $10 for the school-shot copy of the DVD, they would just go ahead and film it. Also, two photos of their child surrounded on stage by their class was not enough, they needed to capture every moment, presumably for a flip book re-enactment of the event.

A few knew that standing would be impolite, so they raised their cameras over their head and shot continuously from there. Unfortunately, much like a human head, a pair of hands and arms with a camera can easily block the view of the person behind you.

Several parents thought it was okay to stand on or around the videographer's platform. Half of the room was sitting behind this platform, and couldn't see their child if they happened to be in the center of the stage--but hey, the platform parents got to see their kid, right? That's what's important, right?

The polite camera people jostled each other in the side aisles and blocked all of the exits.

I glimpsed Big Kid, in a narrow V created by a fat guy's head and the arm of an overhead camera holder, by leaning dramatically to my right occasionally, careful not to block the view of people behind me. I hardly saw him at all.

He was by far the cutest kid there too, and once he spotted me, he began winking at me with an enormous smile, utilizing half of his face to do the winking since he's still new at it. It was hysterical and adorable and I would have loved to have seen it more than three times.

There was a mom with a camera in baggy capris, crocs and an ugly shirt up on the video platform and after she turned around several times and noted the dirty looks I was giving her for obviously blocking my view by standing somewhere she shouldn't, I almost snuck up behind her and kicked her knees out. I thought about it, I probably would've gotten a standing ovation from everyone sitting behind us.

If she knew how big her butt looked from the back, I assure you she would have taken her seat willingly. I should have taken a photo of that and posted it here, that's what we'll do next time. These people must learn and are incapable of getting a clue like the rest of us, so we're going to have to find new ways, like posting their big, rude asses online for public mocking.

If you are a music teacher who organizes stuff like this, for the love of my sanity, please permit the parents to get 5 minutes of picture taking on stage prior to the show and then tell them no photography allowed, make them sit in chairs, and let them buy the video. It's a fundraiser and a crowd controller and absolutely worth $10 not to have strangers fantasizing about breaking each other's legs during the show.

I look forward to actually seeing the performance once I purchase the video. From the glimpses I got, Big Kid is clearly a rock star in the making.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Stupid Adults

Someone (Annie) just left the following comment about the Balloon Boy hoax:

Couple of things: Mom and dad met at acting class; clearly they didn't learn how to act. And I live in Colorado, and at some point I think the stupid balloon actually went over my house, and they should most definitely pay our state back! How unfair for my taxes to be spent on this crap!! Also, I would like an apology. I was a MESS all day as I watched the ENTIRE thing unfold on tv. I hate them.

(Hope you don't mind me using your comment here, Annie, it reminded me of something that has been nagging at my brain lately.)

I was also worried sick about Balloon Boy. I have a 6-year-old--I was nearly out of my mind with anxiety about how that boy's mother must be feeling, and what that poor little boy's (most likely) last moments would or will be like.

Then to find out we had all been duped? That national media eclipsed presidential speeches to cover a hoax so these asshats could hopefully get a reality show? That those parents instructed all of their kids to lie to authorities, media, neighbors and friends? Fuck them. I don't have any more eloquent way of putting it.

That same week, some mommy blogger (and I won't link to her--her site is monetized and we should not give money to melodramatic attention whores) insisted that airport security had taken her baby out of her sight--tweeted it, asked people to retweet it, cackled over how she was going to sell the story to publishers...and then TSA released video proving that her child had been next to her all along. The video was doctored, she claimed.

Okay,'re so important that a government agency is going to edit security footage to conspire against you to protect their reputation on Twitter? It seemed doubtful.

In response, TSA released unedited footage from ALL 9 CAMERAS, with all 9 time-stamped and showing her baby right next to her. So she went "on vacation" and came back admitting nothing but pointing fingers and screaming, "you're mean" at people who had believed and repeated her story and were now understandably angry at her outright lies and her audacity to continue it so.

So, people are crazy and you don't need a license to have kids. Also, new media gives crazy people a world stage and we give them a willing audience. But unfortunately, all this nonsense (and these are just 2 recent examples, there's child-related craziness all over the place) erodes our human desire to help the vulnerable. It rightfully turns us all into skeptics for next time. It makes us less likely to get involved in someone else's plight, and that's really sad.

The pedophile-scare-craze is also contributing to the erosion of caring (and I have the same fears every other parent does, it is a terrifying thought). When I was in elementary school, our church pastor and his wife would regularly have groups of girls spend the night at their home. There was nothing weird about it at all, just a loving, childless couple who enjoyed entertaining kids in their home. Can you even imagine allowing that in this day and age though? It would seem highly unnecessary at best, sinister at worst.

I recently read about a guy who spotted a clearly lost and crying child in the mall, but since it was a little girl and he was an adult male by himself, he didn't feel like it was appropriate to approach her, just in case someone thought he was trying to take her. He kept an eye on her from afar until a woman passed and then asked her to go help the little girl. So, we're creating an environment where a grown male can't even approach a lost and terrified little girl without being scared of being accused of something untoward. There's something not right about that.

It means our kids are missing out on the joy of being surrounded by people who care, or at the very least are concerned for their immediate welfare. That makes me sad for them. A lot of us had childhoods enriched by other adults--teachers, neighbors, coaches, etc. I read an account from someone who had befriended the school janitor when she was a child. Her father was molesting her and one morning the janitor asked how she was and she blurted out the terror she was living. He took her to the guidance counselor, who called the police, who ended her ordeal. This day in age, janitors wouldn't/shouldn't befriend random little girls.

I guess there's no real answer or solution. It just sucks that so many adults are too stupid to trust, and it's making normal adults fearful and skeptical of others.

It sucks that they (the crazies) are hurting our kids one way or another.

Sunday, October 25, 2009


Today while I was at Catfish's baby shower (which was great), Big Kid was waiting by the front window for me and reminding Mr. Ashley that I had told him I wouldn't be long. When I came home, he threw himself in my arms and then asked me to come see the additions he had made to his art gallery (he has claimed one dining room wall and a roll of tape and made it his own).

I admired one particular piece entitled "Hello Jello" and offered one dollar for it. He thought about it for just a moment before saying, "I don't wanna sell it, but I do want your dollar, so I'm gonna sell it and make anudder one 'zactly like it." Future art dealer in the making, that one!

Tonight before he went to bed, he hugged me and said, "Mom, I wish everyone in da world was dest like you. But all lookin' different. But like you on da inside."

Damn. I seriously couldn't even begin to make this shit up. He is so awesome with the compliments. I wish everyone in the world was like HIM. It would be a much nicer place to live.

Questions about Death

"Mom, what happens when someone lives alone and dey die?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do dey get buried?"

"Uh, well, they usually have friends or family that notice they're gone and those people call the police and then arrange for a burial or cremation."

"What's cremation?"

(Oh shit, why did I bring up cremation?? That was so unnecessary! I so suck at this whole parenting thing!!)

"Cremation is, uh, when a dead body is turned into ashes."

"Ashes? What do you mean?"

"Like what's left over from a fire."

"Wait mom, how do dey do dat? Make da body be ashes? I don't like dis. Why?"

"It's nothing to feel weird about. Your body is just a shell, it's your soul that matters. Your soul goes up to heaven and then your body is just a used up shell. Like, you know when a snail changes shells? When you find a snail's old shell, it's just an empty shell--there's nothing special about it. You could break it up into a million pieces and no one would care because the snail moved on. You know?"

"Yeah. Mom?" he asked, his eyes looking watery, "When I die, will I be dead forever?" He took a deep, shuddering breath and started blinking rapidly.

"Uh--no. No. You'll be in heaven. Your soul will leave it's shell and go up to heaven and be with everyone you've been missing who died before you."

"Will I die before you do, mom?"

"God, no. No way," praying he wouldn't realize that this would mean that he'll be forced to eventually deal with my death.

"Oh, good!" he said with relief.

"Will I be dead when da two fousands are over wif?"

"What? When it becomes the year 3000?"

"Yeah, whatever comes after two fousand."

Unsure of how to answer, I hesitantly went with the truth. "Yes, you'll be gone by the year 3000."

"No!" he exclaimed, looking shocked and scared.

"Wait! I did my math wrong! Mama's so bad at math. It will be the year 2100 when the 2000s are over, and you'll still be alive then. You'll be alive, but really old. Probably chasing little kids off your lawn and telling younger people what the internet was like when you were 6."

"Whew," he said, looking relieved.

I'm not sure what the preoccupation is with death lately, but discussing the subject with a 6-year-old is like skipping through a field of land mines. After the last "whew" I quickly excused myself to the bathroom, where I hid until it was safe to come out.

Random and unorganized

Sorry I've been MIA all weekend. I've felt kind of crappy and my thoughts aren't organized enough for blogging.

(That's foreshadowing to clue you in that this will be a sub-standard, unorganized post)

We took the kids to a hockey game last night. It was their first and little kid has been dead-set on being a hockey player for some time now, although he has never seen the sport. He loved the fighting (who doesn't?) and kept yelling "You wanna piece of me? You wanna piece of my team?". Then, much to the horror of everyone sitting around us, I bought both boys cow bells. The look on people's faces when I pulled them from my purse and presented them to the kids was well worth the ridiculous $16 cost. Our team sucks, so they didn't get to ring their bells as much as they'd like, but I was a hero in their eyes (and everyone sitting next to us can go suck it).

Big Kid was snuggling in bed with me the other night when I was watching Dateline. It was near the end and I didn't think he would pay attention, so I didn't turn it. Bad move on my part because it was about a murder case, and Big Kid didn't even realize people killed other people, and of course he paid attention.

"What happened to dat lady, mom?"

"Oh. Uh, she died. It's sad."

"She died?!? How? From sickness? An accident?"

"Well, no. It's really, really sad, but someone killed her. A bad person. That doesn't happen a lot." I lied.

"MOM! NO! NO! Tell me dat din't happen! Not to her! Why?" he asked, eyes filling with tears.

"Oh babe. I don't know why. She didn't want to see her boyfriend anymore and he got mad and did a horrible, horrible thing. Maybe they were fighting and it was an accident."

He started crying. "How could he do dat?? How? I can't believe dat happened to her. I'll never forget her, mom. I'm so sad for her."

I was so pissed at myself for accidentally exposing him to that. I spent the time before bed trying to calm him down and assure him that she was now safe and happy up in heaven.

"You know what, mom? I'm gonna build a machine dat makes it so no one dies ever. 'Cuz I hate dat, I hate dat people die and I don't like heaven. My machine would also bring back Heidi Louise and dis lady here and no one would have to be sad." I told him that was an awesome idea and that he should definitely add that to the list of machines he's planning to invent.

To finish up this awkward post, here are some links:
Salvador Dali and his pet anteater (Dali puts the 'awe' in awesome, I'm a huge fan.)

Dogs and children (Don't leave them alone together or this could happen.)

$13-an-hour secretary job gets 500 applications (Oddly, this made me feel better about being rejected or ignored for the 30+ part time jobs I've applied for)

Photos of pollution in China (Wow.)

To Andy Warhol, From Mick Jagger (I know it's probably not cool to think so, but I believe Andy Warhol was a bit of a hack. Don't get me wrong, I now enjoy the iconic art like most people, but more for the "pop culture" aspect than any talent on his part. Back then I would've been calling bullshit, though.)

What does Marcellus Wallace look like (I really love Pulp Fiction. I've seen it a million times and would watch it again right now. It's on my top 5 all time favorites list. I've seen everything other than Inglourious Basterds by Tarantino, and I truly think he's a genius.)

This is who I want to be in 40 years (No explanation needed.)

Hitler without the mustache (I think his mustache was partly responsible for all of the evil-doing)

What would Jesus Do (not this, he was like a liberal and a socialist! Gasp!)

Damn, I have a ton more but this seems like too much. Either it's been too long since I last did links, or I've found a lot of cool stuff since then. I like to include all the newly found stuff because I'm highly unorganized and anything that isn't at the top of the favorites list eventually gets forgotten and lost because I can't remember if I shared it before or not. Oh well.

Have a happy Sunday! I have Catfish's baby shower today (Today, not last weekend!)

Thursday, October 22, 2009

On Again Off Again

little kid and I are no longer friends.

I mentioned to him that he's said this before, but he swears he means it this time.

You see, I'm ruining his "dzert" by not allowing him to open and sample random cans from the pantry. I told him he could choose some canned fruit to have with his lunch and he told me that I ruined his nice day and marched off to his room.

It's so sad to be him. So very sad.

He just came back in here to reaffirm that I have ruined his nice day and to confirm that we're no longer friends, and I assured him that I heard him the first time and thought the whole situation was unfortunate for everyone.

He was doing well behavior-wise for a couple of days. Between the promise of a Jeep ride and being allowed to wear his Batman muscles before bed each day, he really tried hard to stay on track and avoid getting strikes. That's all starting to fade though. He's losing more and more and caring less and less.

Interestingly, he has met his match at the little preschool class he goes to. He goes to the park for one hour a week to learn "math". The first week he came home and told me that his friend hit him. He was confused and offended, so I pointed out how much it sucks to be bullied (hoping he'd make the connection).

The second week he came home and told me that his friend ruined his rocket ship. He said he built a rocket out of blocks and his mean friend came and knocked it over. I pointed out this kid didn't seem like a nice friend and how much it sucks to have your stuff destroyed by others (hoping he'd make the connection).

The third week he came home and told me his "emeny" had called him a "teat and a wiar". "A cheat and a liar?" I asked, "Really?" Yep, he answered. I asked if he was cheating or lying at the time, and how it made him feel when the boy said that. Then I pointed out how much it sucks to have someone call you names (hoping he'd make the connection).

This week as we pulled into the parking lot, there was a police car out front. "Is dat a cop? Why's da cops here? You see da cop car? What's he doin' here? What's dat cop doin'?"

(We do not refer to the police as cops in our family, but we do watch Cops and I recently got mirrored aviator sunglasses and a new repertoire of "I'm a bad cop" type jokes. So, it is our fault, but accidentally.) After 32 "I don't know"s I finally answered that maybe he's there to take all of the naughty babies to jail. I waited for his reaction.

"Den my mean fwiend is really gonna be in twouble! I'd say he's goin' to jail!" he said happily, clearly not making the connection.

As I've typed this, he's come back out and reclaimed half of my couch cushion. "I thought we weren't friends?" I reminded him.

"I'm tired of not bein' your fwiend," he answered.

"I know the feeling. You need to be a nicer friend to me sometimes. You remind me of that mean boy from your class."

"Hey, hot lips!" he says angrily, since he has picked up 'hot lips' as an insult somehow (and I have no idea where he got that from, that one is not my fault, I swear), "You're da one who wuined my dzert! Sometimes you'z a bad fwiend too, woman!"

Friendship come and gone twice in this post alone. It's a frustrating way to spend the day.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Me and My Bike

So, I'm trying to get back into the habit of riding my bike.

The thing is, I'm not a great bike rider. That old "You never forget how to ride a bike" thing is just not true in my case. I just recently re-learned to ride a bike when Mr. Ashley bought me mine for Mother's day, and I fell once. Or twice. I'm embarrassed to admit that but it is true.

I'm also convinced that all approaching cars WANT to kill me. Not just accidentally might, in my head my seemingly nice neighbors are all just waiting to snap and kill an innocent bike rider. Or I convince myself that I'm going to lose control and crash as they pass, forcing them to run me over. I can't really believe I'm admitting that, as it makes me sound especially crazy, but I'm trying to give full disclosure into the bike riding situation (and we all know I'm an over-sharer).

But then I was on a roll with it. I was going pretty far and really liking it. Then summer came and it was hot and rainy and humid and I was over it.

I just got an mp3 player and want to start bike riding again to escape the house and to listen to my This American Life's podcast in peace. I went on a ride the other day and had a great time, until I realized that I had lost some of my previously gained stamina and was further from home than I would've liked. And had to ride back home into the wind. It sucked. I walked my bike a little of the way, and as neighbors passed, just hoped they would assume it had broken--because what kind of adult walks their bike?? An adult with really shaky legs, that's who.

Anyway, pretty sure I just answered my own question by typing out the above, but I got a baby bike seat at a garage sale...this is a terrible idea, correct? Bike riding will be much more difficult with 35 extra lbs attached, correct? It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I know it would be fun for little kid, but the reality of it is setting in and I'm thinking it's a bad idea.

It is, right?

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Crazy New Idea

You know what totally crazy thing I've been thinking about a lot lately?

Adopting a baby girl from China.

This is not a new thought, but it has recently resurfaced. The other day Mr. Ashley and I were out at lunch when I said, "You know what I would like to do?"

"What?" probably thinking I wanted ice cream.

"Adopt a baby girl from China, or maybe Korea. In a few years."

"What?? Really?" he asked, appearing confused and worried.

"Yes," I answered, "I would love a little girl but I don't really want to be pregnant again."

"No?" he asked, looking a little surprised and disappointed.

"No. Not really. Ever. To get all fat again and have big leaky boobs and do the whole hospital thing and the hormonal post-partum thing? Breastfeeding again? Yeah, making babies is cool but it's really hard on me. I don't know if I want to do it again. Also, the world feels scary to me right now. I don't know if I'd want to bring new people into it."

"Oh. You really think you could adopt?"

"Yes! She would be my daughter no matter where she came from. Do you think you could?"

"Yes," he said cautiously, "I'd love her."

"I think the adoption experience would be neat. We would go to her country to get her, we would study her culture, we would all be so lucky to have each other. It would be as amazing but totally different from having our own."

Mr. Ashley looked a little worried. I think he was remembering the persistence I showed in wanting a Hedgehog. "Yeah. How much does that sort of thing cost?"

"A lot. Like $25,000 or so." I believe I saw a combination of relief and slight disappointment--or maybe it was fear that I'd find a way to make it happen. (although this may have been in my imagination, he could have been pondering his sandwich for all I know.)

"That is a lot. I don't know how we'd..."

"I know. I know. There's a tax credit. I could write a book about it. I know, I really do. It probably won't ever happen. But one day if it was possible could we consider it?"

"Could we name her Bailey Madison?"

"I'm over the middle name. I kind of like Amelia or Emilia. Or something else."

"No. You said Bailey Madison when we met and that's what I've wanted ever since."

"Yeah, but since then the name 'Madison' got popular. Your friend named his kid that."

"That's what I want. If we have a daughter, I want that to be her name."

So...we're already fighting about names. I think this is a good sign.

I also think the probability of me coming up with an extra $25,000 or so in the next decade are pretty slim, but it is fun to think about (and obsessively research...)

Monday, October 19, 2009

Dear Lindsay Lohan,

Drugs are bad....mmmmmkay?

You are 23 years old. You do not look like you are 23 years old, you look like you died 23 years ago and someone recently dug you up to drag you around weekend-at-Bernie's-style.

Are you aiming to be the next Courtney Love, without the talented dead husband?

You need:

1. to be quarantined
2. rehab
3. a sandwich

You make me puke in my mouth a little and I'm certain you smell bad.

Regrets (you gotz 'em, lolz),

Custody Agreement

I just gave Mr. Ashley full custody of the kids.

It's been that kind of day.

I'm not moving out or anything. I'm just pretending they are not my responsibility. They are in their room yelling for me, and I keep reminding him that I gave him full custody. He wants child support and I told him I'd get right on that, but as of right now, they are screaming for me, Mr. Ashley is yelling that I'll be there in a minute, and I'm pretending I can't hear any of it.

Friday, October 16, 2009

Where the Wild Things Are

Oh, guys. Where the Wild Things Are was so good. So, so good.

After school I took the boys to the book store to read and purchase the book. We have a shabby soft cover somewhere but I was afraid it wouldn't stand the test of time and I couldn't find it anyway. I wish I had videotaped little kid's reaction to hearing the book for the first time because it was magical. His eyes were wide, scanning the illustrations, his little mouth in an "O" shape or in a wide smile. So sweet.

We were lucky enough to see this at the super swanky new theater in my city. The leather recliners were more comfortable and bigger than the couch cushion I usually share with the kids. I was able to drink wine throughout, which was unbelievably awesome. I sat right next to an alone, fat, mouth-breathing gum chewer who I know bought his tickets and reserved that exact seat at least 2 days ahead of time and he didn't bother me a bit because we each had so much space. Also, I could tell he was a dork like me who was a huge fan of the book and a few times I even felt like hugging him. (But I didn't, because that would've been weird and gross.) We did look at each other and grin several times.

I really don't even know what to tell you. If the costume and set designers don't win academy awards for this, then justice has not been done. I've never seen anything like it...every minute was a visual treat. It's just insane the emotion and character development of the monsters and how they were EXACTLY like the character illustrations in the book.

Also, Max Records, who played Max, was magical. At first I thought he was too old for the character, but he was a fantastic little actor who was full of emotion and who was so everything beautiful about little boys in one tough-but-vulnerable, medium-sized package that I was completely in love. I was especially touched by how much he's like little kid. He is naughty and mad and out of control and wonderful and imaginative and sweet and funny. The mom was great too, and the two of them together brought me to tears.

However, I didn't cry like I thought I would. It was beautiful and nostalgic and wonderful in every sense of the word and I did tear up at least twice, but for those of you who are afraid you'll cry the whole time because you did during the commercials, you won't. Also, it wasn't that scary. There's one scene near the beginning where the monsters gather in a circle and threaten to eat him--and that's a little scary, I might take a little scaredy-cat to the bathroom around then, and then one more where the main monster gets mad and chases him, but it was way less dark than I had anticipated. The monsters were mostly funny and endearing.

Before the movie began, I was worried I would feel let down since I had built it up so much in my mind, but that didn't happen. It was better than I had even hoped. The kids were entranced, Big Kid almost wet his pants because he didn't want to miss a minute. At the beginning, there's a rough ocean scene with Max in a sailboat and the waves are crashing and the cinematography was all crazy and our seats were vibrating with the sound, and Big Kid kept looking at me and saying, "Impressive. Are you impressed? I'm really impressed." Yep, I was impressed.

little kid sat at the edge of his seat, occasionally grabbing my arm and squeezing it or kissing my hand and smiling. As the movie ended, there was a slight hesitation and then someone began clapping. Slowly, shyly, the whole theater began clapping. I would say 85% of the theater stayed until the credits ended. Big Kid complained that it wasn't long enough.

When we got home we made a monster pile on the bed like in the movie, and talked about our favorite monsters and favorite parts and the boys begged me to read the book again. Mr. Ashley raved about the cast and I went on and on about the music and the visual effects and it's trueness to the book. I was wondering how they'd do it, with the book being a short picture book, but they did it. They didn't stray from the original concept, they just filled in a lot of blanks.

This seems ridiculously long, but I seriously loved this movie. I think childless people would love it, I think people who haven't read the book would love it, I really can't imagine not loving it. Even if you can't sit in a plush recliner and drink wine while enjoying it, you'll still love it.

When we got home, I told Mr. Ashley that if we had a 3rd child and it was a boy, I'm naming him Max Atlas and he said he would go for Max. He also didn't object to Atlas. This feels like a victory, even if I don't really plan on having a 3rd child.

Anyway, go see the movie and report back. Pronto.

Balloon Boy's Bubble Pops

So Balloon Boy says they did it for the show. Color me shocked.

You know what needs to happen here?

Dad needs acting lessons. Wolf Blitzer needs a set of balls. Parents need to pay back the state of Colorado. Everyone involved needs their parenting and journalism licenses permanently revoked.

That poor kid.

Maurice Sendak

I keep hearing about Maurice Sendak telling parents they can go to hell if they're worried about Where the Wild Things Are being too scary. All kinds of hub-bub about this...I've even seen a mommy blogger calling for a boycott. Here's the quote in question:

Asked, "What do you say to parents who think the 'Wild Things' film may be too scary?" the Post said Sendak replied: "I would tell them to go to hell. That's a question I will not tolerate ... If they can't handle it, go home ... Do whatever you like, but it's not a question that can be answered."

You know what I have to say about that?


People, do NOT ask artists to dumb things down to protect your precious snowflake's delicate sensibilities. This is where the "parenting" part of your job comes in. If your kid is going to be scared, don't take them or wait for the DVD so you don't waste the money. If you take them anyway and are surprised to find out they are's not Maurice Sendak's problem. It just sucks to be you that night. It happens.

A big part of any type of art is the emotion it elicits. A big part of childhood is feeling the thrill of emotions--including fear. Yeah, scared kids suck. I spent 4 years without seeing a fireworks display because they made Big Kid absolutely nuts. Was I confronting Disney World about finding a quieter, less frightening way to end their evenings? No, I hid huddled in hallways with both hands over a wide-eyed Big Kid's ears. And it sucked.

So, good for Maurice Sendak! I think it only increases his awesomeness. It was a dumb question in the first place...making sure your kids aren't frightened is not his job. His job was to create a movie following the same vision that inspired the book. Which was supposed to feel a little scary.

And if you don't like it, you can go to hell.

Judge Big Kid Presiding

The other day we were in the car and Big Kid suddenly said, "Why don't we go to church?"

A feeling of guilt, and I hate to admit it, dread, crept in.

"Church? What made you think of that?"

"I dest wanna go to church is all."

"Oh. Okay. We can do that. Why do you want to go to church?"

"So I can judge people."


"So I can judge if people are bad or good."

"Wait...what? What are you talking about?"

"Church is where you go to judge people and decide if they are bad or good."

"No, it's not. It's not supposed to be like that. Church is where you go to worship God."


"Worship God. That's what you do there."

"Whore ship bogs? What?"

"Wor-ship God. You know, appreciate and celebrate God."

"Pod? Who is Pod?"

"God, Big Kid. God. G-O-D, God!"

"Oh God! Is God the judge?"

"Well, yeah. But church isn't really about judging people."

"Mom, church is where you go to decide who is guilty and who is innocent."

"Wait--are you thinking of 'court'?"

"No. Church. You know, where the judge is and where people go to decide who is guilty and who is innocent. Church."

"You mean court. You're talking about people breaking laws? Needing lawyers and going to jail and stuff?"

"Yes, but that's church, mom. My teacher said."

"No, babe, really it's not. That's court. Court and church are entirely separate."

"Can we go to court then?"

"I'd rather not."

"Please! I'll give you a dollar! Pleeeeeeeeeeease take me to court, mom, please! I promise to be good, please, please, please take me to court."

"Uh, okay. One day we'll go to court, I guess."

Sounds almost as fun as church.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

divided loyalties

I know I owe you all, but today's Mr Ashley's birthday and he's all like,"but it's my birthday!"

I know, right?

I'm typing this on my blackberry in the bathroom. It's harder than you would think.

Tomorrow I'm all yours again. I promise for real this time.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Wild Things

I know I said I was going to bed, but I saw a "Where the Wild Things Are" commercial and got ridiculously excited for the 90,000th time since this time last year when I found out the movie was being released.

An amazing, iconic book from my childhood, Maurice Sendak's brilliant creative inspiration and then I just recently found out that Dave Eggers wrote it?!? Fuck yeah. Did you all read a "Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius?" You should. It's a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. I loved it and I love him and finding out he wrote this movie was like the cherry on top of the proverbial banana split for me.

Every time I see the previews, I tell the boys that I'm taking them to see that. Big Kid sighs and says, "I know," because I guess he's sick of hearing it. little kid nods or ignores me and Mr. Ashley pretty much does the same. Mr. Ashley doesn't remember the book. (This is baffling to me.)

So, despite everyone else's lack of excitement, I'm taking them to see it Friday at the fancy-schmancy new rich people movie theater. And I cannot wait. I haven't been this excited about a movie in a long time.


We had dinner at my mom and dad's new house tonight and I'm too tired for anything in-depth or funny. Here's my parents' view. The other direction is even prettier but uploading takes too long:

Here's some links for you:

If God had wanted me to be accepting of gays...
Some guy and his cat
Frozen sculpture of artist's head, made with his own blood
Girl Scouts
Cigna kills some lady's kid and then gives her the finger--Stay classy, Cigna!
Family photo in space
Mystery google--get what the person in front of you searched for
Gross but amusing
The meet up
How to tell if you're raising a Republican or a Democrat
Sweet Child o' Mine on violin
Do this with me when I die

Sorry so lazy tonight, I promise you a funny Big Kid story tomorrow.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009


Today when we got home from school I told Big Kid about our day.

"little kid got his finger stuck in the hole in Reggie's plastic wheel and we couldn't get it out! His finger was all fat and turning purple and wouldn't budge at all. I thought we were going to have to go to the hospital to have it cut off of him, but I gave it one last big hard pull, and he cried really loud, and it slid off, leaving him with a deep round cut around his finger," I said.

"Awww, little kid! Man, I'm sorry dat happened to you!"

"Iz 'kay, bubby. Iz not your fault."

"No, I mean I'm sorry it happened at all. It must've hurt, dat's what I'm sorry 'bout. I'm feelin' real bad dat it happened to you."

"It's my fault, not yours. It did hurt bad, I was tellin' mumum not to pull it but see said 'hode on' and pulled hard and dat is da part dat hurt me so bad. I don't want you to feel bad 'bout it, 'kay bubby? I'm 'kay now and I'm not gonna put my finger in 'at again, so don't feel bad."

"Poor little kid. Mom, you shouldn't have pulled it if he told you not to."

"His finger was turning dark blue! That was my last shot before taking him to the ER to have the wheel cut off. I was freaking out."

"Yeah, and you didn't want Reggie's wheel gettin' cut up, so you cut up little kid's finger. I'm sorry she did dat, little kid."

"Is okay, bubby, not your fault."


We tried to get our dog Murphy neutered as a puppy, but were told that his testicles hadn't descended and the surgery was going to cost significantly more than we had thought. The vet advised us to wait 6 months and hope they dropped.

They didn't.

Now the little bastard is trying to mark everything as his territory, and has left me no other option than to get his invisible nuts removed.

I need to make some phone calls to get price quotes, but you know how I don't really like the phone? Turns out I REALLY don't like the phone if I know the first sentence is going to involve the phrase "undescended testicles". If I have to say that to a stranger over the phone, I will laugh. It will be nervous laughter, but I'll sound like an immature freak (and I can be an immature freak, but I don't want strangers on the phone to be able to tell). Now that I've convinced myself that this is going to happen and I've made a big deal of it, I really can't make the calls because I definitely will laugh.

I want Mr. Ashley to do it, but I guess he doesn't have the time or desire to be discussing undescended testicles at the workplace and as a result, it's just not getting done. I'm thinking about calling the Humane Society vet and declaring them the lowest bidder just so I can get this taken care of in one call.

Or maybe Mr. Ashley could call them on his lunch hour? He has testicles, he should be fine talking about them.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Dear everyone in the whole world,

I don't want to be in your mafia family. It's nothing personal, I just don't. I have no idea what it's all about but I want no part of it and I want everyone in the whole world to stop asking.

Not trying to be a bitch, but if I get one more Twitter or Facebook message requesting this of me, it might come to that.


Printing the Past

Over the weekend, a friend convinced me that I should print my blog into a book so that I will always have a hard copy of it. I've thought of this before, and tried Blurb's blog to book software and found that it put one entry per page. Now, I love myself and all, but not even I want a 1700 page Book of Ashley. Geez. Even if I broke it down by years, each book would still be crazy long.

So in a fit of motivation, I began doing it manually with their software, laying out pages with more than one entry and photos and even some great comments. I could see what an amazing keepsake this will be, and how wonderful it would be to have a tangible copy of my hard work. (Okay, so it's not hard and it's not work, but still.) However, I'm not sure it will be finished before I die of old age. Holy hell.

Is there an easier way? There's got to be an easier way. I decided I would still do it by year and print separate books. 2007 had 200-and something posts. 2008 had 900-and something posts. Yeah, I had way too much time on my hands in 2008 and now that presents a real problem. I started on April 2007 and am just now at July 2007, after working on it most of the weekend.

It is very entertaining to read back through though. I was much funnier when I felt anonymous, and life was pretty awesome back in 2007 when Mr. Ashley worked from home (but I still bitched all the time.) The recurring theme of my started and failed or forgotten projects is very amusing and telling (interestingly, it makes me feel less pressure to finish projects because I've set a precedent of not doing so. Heard me talk about the Shred lately? No? Yeah.) Oh, and I owe Nicole Richie an apology for telling her fetus that it "sucks to be you". Turns out she's a good mom! Who would have thought?

It made me realize that some of us have known each other a really long time now. That's really cool.

And I realized that Big Kid was a much bigger jerk at three than I remember now. He was peeing behind the television, talking shit to me, acting unreasonable, the whole nine yards. This adds evidence to my theory that most 3 year olds are just jerks and there isn't a whole lot you can do about it. That's actually good news for me.

But anyway, please tell me there's an easier way to convert a blog into a book? Otherwise, this could end up on the failed projects list and that would be a shame.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

That's Mine

Today, I had to defend a scab on my foot from being picked by both kids. Completely separate occasions too, neither child knew the other kid had already tried to pick the scab.

little kid was more persistent, asking, staring, and poking until I forbade him to even look in the general direction of my foot.

Big Kid spotted it, reached out and began peeling, protesting as I slapped him away.

What the hell? How bizarre that I live with people that take such liberties with my person that they would both think that it was perfectly okay to literally open my wounds for their own entertainment.

I tried to point out to both of them how inappropriate it was for them to think that was okay, but they were too busy staring at my scab to notice.

Bare Necessities

I've been watching a lot of the Jungle Book lately, and although I've always liked it, I've recently begun appreciating the wisdom in the "Bare Necessities" song. Here are the lyrics, for your enjoyment. Feel free to break into song:

Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
Old Mother Nature's recipes
That brings the bare necessities of life

Wherever I wander, wherever I roam
I couldn't be fonder of my big home
The bees are buzzin' in the tree
To make some honey just for me
When you look under the rocks and plants
And take a glance at the fancy ants
Then maybe try a few

The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!

Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life

Now when you pick a pawpaw
Or a prickly pear
And you prick a raw paw
Next time beware
Don't pick the prickly pear by the paw
When you pick a pear
Try to use the claw
But you don't need to use the claw
When you pick a pear of the big pawpaw
Have I given you a clue ?

The bare necessities of life will come to you
They'll come to you!

So just try and relax, yeah cool it
Fall apart in my backyard
'Cause let me tell you something little britches
If you act like that bee acts, uh uh
You're working too hard

And don't spend your time lookin' around
For something you want that can't be found
When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin' about it
I'll tell you something true.

The bare necessities of life will come to you

Friday, October 9, 2009

Batman and the Mack Daddy

New Uniform

little kid just got his Batman costume in the mail.

I have a feeling I will be seeing a miniature, muscular, cowboy boot-wearing Batman around the house for at least the next 6 months.

He just rode through here in full costume, with the boots, on his ride-on motorcycle.

Handmade Gone Wrong

This site, Regretsy, completely cracks me up. I particularly liked the vulva key chains.

Thursday, October 8, 2009


Well, positive reinforcement for little kid worked yesterday but the magic seems to have worn off already.

Yesterday morning I told him if he got 5 "strikes" he wasn't allowed to ride his Jeep around the neighborhood. He struggled with it all day long, but managed to only get 3 strikes. I made a big deal out of his good behavior, called daddy with the good news, told him how much fun he was when he was a good boy, all kinds of ass kissing. He had the Jeep ride, everyone was happy. That night though, he wiped toothpaste in Big Kid's hair and I told him he just used one of tomorrow's strikes, and that now he had only 4 strikes for the whole day or he wasn't riding the Jeep. He spit on the floor. 2nd strike and go straight to bed. Everyone was sad.

Before breakfast this morning, he lost his remaining 3 strikes for the day.

I try not to take them either, he usually gets 2-3 chances to straighten up before the strike which is pretty ridiculous, because that means he gets like 15 chances at bad behavior a day if you combine the strikes and the "serious warnings". That's not acceptable.

He was a good boy most of the morning, so I told him I would give him one more try to be a good enough boy to ride the Jeep tonight. Then he snuck out to the garage (I thought he was playing with the magnetic responsibility chart in the laundry room) and covered his arms and face in a red stamp he found. I was even going to try to let this slide, but he refused to come out of the garage, resulting in a strike.

He's not riding the Jeep tonight and now he's pissed. I also think he's realizing that once you've lost the opportunity, that you're free for the rest of the day to act how you please. That's not true, but it does mean I'm forced back into ineffective time-outs and taking stuff away and being mean all day long.

Do they have those wilderness camps for 3-year-olds?? Toddler boot camp? Preschool boarding school? If not, they should. Strait Jackets should be standard issue and perfectly acceptable.

I'm hoping the red stamp body art comes off easily because we have Big Kid's school conference today. It's a "student led" conference. Yeah. I love their liberal, laid back, modern approach to things but I try having a "student led" conference every day on the walk home from the bus stop and it is full of big fat fail. My student has led me to believe that they play all day long and that the only new thing he's learned this year is that he wants to be a farmer when he grows up. A freaking farmer.

I have nothing against farmers, but Big Kid as a farmer? Come on. He hates dirt and germs and aspires to live in a swanky studio apartment. He's happy when it rains and they can't go outside for recess because it's too hot out there and sand gets in his shoes. The sight of potatoes makes him gag. I'm not seeing a farming career in his future.

It's also early dismissal day AGAIN today meaning they get out at 11:45 and I think that's just absurd. Collect all these half days and make them full days off. Half days just feel like more effort than they're worth.

Other than that, I really love his school. I just hope they're learning something.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Just Say Yes

Thanks to television advertising, I hear "Mom, can we get that?" or some variation thereof, about 900 trillion times a day. No exaggeration.

Lately, I just say "Yes" every single time. If they press the issue, I tell them we'll get it for Christmas.

The good news is that it works! Conversation ends every single time. Can we get that? Yep. Cool, thanks.

It is so easy.

The bad news is that one day Christmas will come. I had decided when that happened, I would just start saying, "Yes, for your birthday" but I'm afraid one day they will realize that they don't really get this stuff, and it will stop working.

Good Boy, Bad Choices

As much as little kid can make me crazy, he has great taste in movies. Don't get me wrong, I am sick and tired of the Incredible Hulk and Spiderman, but when we are choosing a movie to watch together, he loves to pick movies he knows I liked when I was a little girl. This means I get to watch Little Mermaid, Labyrinth, Return to Oz, Jungle Book, Annie and Alice in Wonderland as much as I want without hearing, "Is dis a girl movie? Girl movies make me puke in my mouf," like I do if I try to talk Big Kid into watching one of these.

My laptop is on a side table, and I sit at the end of the couch and turn my body towards it and do my typing, and little kid rests his body and head against the slope my back makes. He is warm and sweet and watches movies quietly, putting his arms around me and hugging me tight every once in a while.

He goes through cycles where the bad behavior seems worse than ever, and it has been one of those weeks. Let's just say that I honestly had fantasies of taking my laptop and moving into a homeless shelter, where I could work and read books and visit the kids on the weekend. It sounded like a really good plan and something to look forward to.

Mr. Ashley thinks he said "sucker" and not "fucker" the other night, which makes sense since that is one of his favorite insults but I'm pretty tired of being called names. Time outs don't work, taking his stuff away doesn't work, 1-2-3 Magic didn't work, spankings don't work, bribery doesn't work, reasonable conversation doesn't work.

He has also taken to calling me "woman", which I agree is halfway funny without the rest of the abuse, but having someone scream, "Get me a drink, woman" or "I tode you to come wipe my butt, woman!" after being physically and emotionally harassed by them all day long makes me feel like I'm in an abusive relationship. With my 3-year-old. It has to stop.

Since I am tired of yelling at him and chasing him around to get him into time-out all day long, we're trying hardcore positive reinforcement with a ride around the neighborhood in his ride-on Jeep tonight if he can act like a civilized human being for most of the day.

It's almost even more frustrating that he's one of the sweetest people I've ever met. He's deliciously cuddly, and full of joy, and openly loving. When he's truly apologetic, he crawls on to my lap and puts his fat, sticky hands on my cheeks and presses soft little kisses all over my face and asks, "You like my kisses, mumum? I know you be happy wif me now, 'cuz you love kisses. I'm a good boy who makes bad toices, mumum. We best fwiends, mumum, you're my best fwiend, wight?"

He loves me and I love him, we're just engaged in a serious battle of wills lately. I remember having a hard time with Big Kid between the ages of 2-3 too, maybe I'm just not good with this age group. (or maybe this age group just really sucks...)

He's standing in front of me right now begging me to let him watch The Last Samurai. I'm trying to tell him that it isn't a kid's movie, but he's pointing at a shaggy-haired Tom Cruise and telling me there is a giant rat in it and that's why he must watch it.

Funny shit like that, and the sweet stuff, make it worth it (but damn it's hard.)

Monday, October 5, 2009


This morning Big Kid called out, "I don't know what's goin' on, mom, but this cereal sure is messy. Sorry 'bout the mess."

I looked over to see a dribbled milk trail from where he was sitting to about 8 inches to his left, where his cereal bowl was.

"Uh, Big Kid?," I asked, sliding his bowl in front of him, "Maybe you should pull the bowl closer? Ever think of that?"

"No, good idea! That'll do it!" he said happily.

Exasperated, "Big Kid, for being so smart, you really have a hard time with some simple concepts."

He stared at me blankly, "I don't understand what you're saying."

"I'm saying I think it is funny that you're so smart, but you have a hard time with things that seem like they would be easy--you know, like realizing the milk was dripping because your bowl was way over there."

More staring, "I don't get it. What are you trying to say?"


"I just don't get what you're talkin' about, sorry."

"Yeah, I know. It's okay."

"Well, now I want to know. What you're saying."

"I'm saying that you are a super smart boy who gets confused about things like socks and cereal. That seems funny, to be so smart but still so silly sometimes."

"Yeah. I don't get it. What?"

"Are you kidding?"

"About what?"

That was the start of my day and it only got more frustrating from there.

The day ended with me screaming, "LITTLE KID, ENOUGH WITH THE WATER! TURN IT OFF!" I heard a mumbled reply over the running bathroom sink faucet and asked Big Kid what he had said. Big Kid answered, "He said 'I'M BRUSHING MY TEETH, FUCKER!'"


"Um, he said, 'I'm brushing my teeth, fucker', 'cept he yelled it."

Upon further interrogation, I'm not positive he said that. He's been calling everyone a bucket head lately (I don't know why) but either way I'm concerned that he either said it or that Big Kid used it correctly in thinking he said it.

Those were the highlights of the day. I left out the gory details. It was not a good parenting day.

Note to self

I just wanted a plain old coffee at McDonald's this morning, with half and half and sweet and low, but then I saw their McCafe ads and the Cappuccino was calling to me. I think it was the frothy milk.

Two dollars, forty three cents and probably nine thousand calories later, I really wish I had just gotten a plain old coffee.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Sunday reading

A long time ago I linked to a funny email exchange about a guy who tried to pay his bill with a spider, and then the same guy denying he had pets in his apartment (if I was a good blogger, I'd find and re-link these, but whatever, I'm here on Sunday, aren't I?) Here's that guy again.

This place went from being the most densely populated place on Earth to being abandoned. I love urban exploration-type stuff.

Really funny mating ritual performed on some guy's head.

Artist turns "Missed Connections" Craigslist posts into art. Cool idea!

Librarian provides books for troubled boy to steal.
Boy grows up to be a judge, credits his love of reading (and the Librarian) for saving his life.

48 year old blogger has lived 9 years without spending money because he hates consumerism.

Cool rocket launch photo destroyed the lens
, but was totally worth it.

This is your body on drugs. His mom must be so proud (and I'm not being sarcastic there).

Train engineers: The real victims of suicide-by-train. If you're going to kill yourself (and you shouldn't because it's a dumb idea, and if you have kids it isn't even an option--seriously, it's not, don't be an asshole and ruin their lives) at least have some fucking manners about it. Don't involve other people, don't make loved ones find your body, try not to make too much of a mess. I know so many people who are screwed up not only because people around them killed themselves, but because of how people around them killed themselves. Be considerate, even if it's the last thing you do.

Funniest class shirt ever --quite a jump from the suicide rant, no?

Hong Kong skyline panorama. Just a neat picture.


Dilbert finds great use for Twitter

The Snuggie Lives

The Snuggie has been re-released with new zebra and leopard-print patterns.

This has rekindled Big Kid's passion for the Snuggie, and reminded him of the comfort and joy I'm clearly denying him by not running right out to purchase a leopard-print blanket with sleeves.

You can even buy them at Target! What do you mean "a blanket with sleeves isn't practical in Florida"? We use blankets, right? Then why don't we have Snuggies?! It makes perfect sense!

He pointed out that the leopard-print one matches the rice pack his hypochondriac-self likes me to warm up for his "sore knees".

Raising Big Kid is like living with a technologically advanced but slightly crazy senior citizen.

Saturday, October 3, 2009


I'm home alone with the kids today, and they've been fighting for about 40 minutes. There's no good reason for the fighting as far as I can see, and it's making me nuts. After the 19th million:

"MOM! little kid won't stop--"

"Big Kid, that's it. I'm tired of it. If you guys can't get along, one of you has to go. We're taking little kid to the orphanage. Is that what you want? For your baby brother to live alone without us somewhere, hoping to find a new family that will love him?"

(Yeah, this sounds like bad parenting but I've tried it before and it usually brings Big Kid to tears and makes him want to fiercely protect his brother from the type of mother that would drop him off at an orphanage.)

He stared at me silently for a moment before he spoke.

"Little kid--go get your clothes on. Mom's going to take you back to Dunkin' Donuts for more donuts. Get dressed quick, so she can take you somewhere fun," he called out before cupping his hands around his mouth and whispering to me, "Don't worry, I'll make it easy for you, mom."

So, that backfired. Now they're fighting again and there isn't even an orphanage around here.

Saturday morning fun

Right now, little kid is doing a naked karate exhibition on top of my coffee table.

This is not allowed, and I'm more than a little disturbed, but it is pretty amusing and much cheaper than real karate.

Friday, October 2, 2009


Big Kid's underwear is sitting on my coffee table.

Presumably, this means Big Kid forgot to put his underwear on before going to school.

Usually I catch him before he leaves the house, but I guess today he's getting away with going commando. He's a class act, that Big Kid.

little kid is driving me fucking crazy. CRAAAAAAAAZY. Mr. Ashley has to work tomorrow and that will make four weeks in a row of 6-day-a-week parenting. I. CAN. NOT. TAKE. IT. There are only so many times you can chase someone through the house to rescue him from drinking a bottle of purrell, or ask someone to please chew with his mouth closed as he ignores the blueberry pancakes you made for breakfast and chomps on Cheez-its he stole from the pantry, or yell at a person for dumping Legos all over your family room floor day after day, before you just go totally batshit Insane.

And I'm pretty sure I've reached that point.

I think I got there some time yesterday afternoon.

You know it's bad when you WISH you could get sick so you could just lie in bed and rest for a while.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Fun Game

This game Clockwords is super fun if you like word games. Don't skip the intro either, it's cute.

I H8 Jon and Kate

Can we please, for the love of God and all things good, get Jon and Kate and their 8 out of the spotlight? I've said it before, but it apparently needs said again because I just checked a celebrity gossip blog and Jon Gosselin and his hair plugs were dominating like 8 out of 10 of the headlines.

Jon Gosselin is not a celebrity!

Jon Gosselin is a pudgy dork who had too many kids with the wrong woman and somehow scored a reality show.

It's enough already.

It is mildly amusing that now that his name was dropped from the show (it was finally going to be Kate plus Eight, as I'm sure she's always dreamed) that he's all indignant about the forced child slave labor of his kids. It was fine for all those years, huh? Yeah. Sure.

So sick of these ten. I feel for the kids, but mostly I'm just tired of all of it. This is the last you will hear me mention it.