It turns out that the only animal I've ever been allergic to in my entire life is my sorely needed and desperately loved new best friend.
One hug leaves me covered in huge red hives from my wrists to my armpits that burn and itch and make me want to peel my skin off.
I won't get rid of him, I can't get rid of him, and I won't stop hugging him and I can't stop hugging him so I guess this is my new life.
I want to go outside and shout to the heavens, "YOU WIN, UNIVERSE!! OKAY?!? YOU FREAKING WIN. You are the WINNER and I am the LOSER and if you don't mind, I'd like to just quietly live my little life down here with as little misery as possible since we've already determined that YOU WIN."
Because sometimes it's hard not to take life personally.
But instead I will wear long sleeves and hug my dog and give the universe the finger whenever I think it's not looking.
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
Monday, April 28, 2014
The Name Game
We got a new dog this weekend. I have a lot to say about that--my heart is huge with happiness and I love him so much I can barely let him rest and he doesn't mind because he loves me too. He loves everyone and everything except baths. He really, really, really with all of his heart and soul loves cats, which is unfortunate for the cats.
While trying to think of a name for our new dog (a very long and opinion-filled process), I suggested Thomas.
"Or Edison," Mr. Ashley added, "We could call him Eddie."
"No! Don't get it start--"I began, knowing what was about to follow.
"Nooooo! Not Edison! Thomas Edison was a terrible man. We're not naming our dog after a terrible human being." Big Kid began, his passion against Thomas Edison one of the constants in life. His class recently took a trip to the Edison-Ford estate and part of our pre-trip prep was me explaining that despite his opinions being valid, this was not the time or place to share his judgments on Edison's character.
"I tried to warn you," I explained to Mr. Ashley.
"Come on, Thomas Edison wasn't a terrible man," Mr. Ashley tried.
"He was too! A selfish, dishonest person who only cared about money!! Did you know that he told Tesla that he would give him a one million dollar bonus if he could fix his invention? Then when Tesla did it, Edison told him he didn't understand American humor and never paid! Tesla died PENNILESS AND ALONE, eating milk and crackers and being delusional about pigeons while we all act like Edison is some great guy."
"Pigeons?"
"He had a pigeon fetish."
"A pigeon...fetish? Obsession might be the better word there. Let's not use 'fetish' anymore." I said. "So, basically, he was like the Mike Tyson of inventing."
"Yes, he was a really good inventor, but Thomas Edison was a greedy, selfish, terrible person."
"Okay, let's not name him Edison, then."
Big Kid voted for Henson (after Jim).
I voted for Atlas or Wilson.
Mr. Ashley liked Dave.
little kid liked none of the above.
We all liked Max.
Meet my new best friend, Maxwell Lewis:
While trying to think of a name for our new dog (a very long and opinion-filled process), I suggested Thomas.
"Or Edison," Mr. Ashley added, "We could call him Eddie."
"No! Don't get it start--"I began, knowing what was about to follow.
"Nooooo! Not Edison! Thomas Edison was a terrible man. We're not naming our dog after a terrible human being." Big Kid began, his passion against Thomas Edison one of the constants in life. His class recently took a trip to the Edison-Ford estate and part of our pre-trip prep was me explaining that despite his opinions being valid, this was not the time or place to share his judgments on Edison's character.
"I tried to warn you," I explained to Mr. Ashley.
"Come on, Thomas Edison wasn't a terrible man," Mr. Ashley tried.
"He was too! A selfish, dishonest person who only cared about money!! Did you know that he told Tesla that he would give him a one million dollar bonus if he could fix his invention? Then when Tesla did it, Edison told him he didn't understand American humor and never paid! Tesla died PENNILESS AND ALONE, eating milk and crackers and being delusional about pigeons while we all act like Edison is some great guy."
"Pigeons?"
"He had a pigeon fetish."
"A pigeon...fetish? Obsession might be the better word there. Let's not use 'fetish' anymore." I said. "So, basically, he was like the Mike Tyson of inventing."
"Yes, he was a really good inventor, but Thomas Edison was a greedy, selfish, terrible person."
"Okay, let's not name him Edison, then."
Big Kid voted for Henson (after Jim).
I voted for Atlas or Wilson.
Mr. Ashley liked Dave.
little kid liked none of the above.
We all liked Max.
Meet my new best friend, Maxwell Lewis:
He makes life good!
Friday, April 25, 2014
Parenting Fail # 31,596
In the car today, we pulled up right next to an accident at a stoplight. The cars were being loaded onto a tow truck and the spilled gas or oil or whatever comes out of a car was being covered with something like sand. It suddenly smelled horrendous.
"What the heck is that stuff that would make it smell so bad? That's really bad, our windows are up and everything," I remarked.
"That's little kid's feet, he just took his shoes off," Big Kid answered.
I thought he was joking at first because it was so amazingly bad that my mind couldn't comprehend that it could come from one of my sweet children. He wears Sanuks with no socks, not a good combination, I guess, despite looking cute. "No!" I insisted. "little kid, are your shoes off?"
"Yes," he said sheepishly.
"Wow!! Put them back on RIGHT NOW. I am not even kidding. Those shoes need to go straight into a fire when we get home."
"They're not that bad!" He said.
"They are! It is horrible, like, maybe the worst thing I've ever smelled. Those feet could gag a maggot, dude, for real." I told him.
"What do they smell like?" He asked. Because, what? He couldn't smell them? Is that even possible? I don't think it is.
While I was trying to think of a good comparison, Big Kid piped up. "Like Satan's anus," he said, chillingly casual.
It was a damn good comparison but I was shocked to hear him say that.
"Big Kid!! You can NOT say that!"
"Really? Why can't I say that? It's a body part." He was genuinely surprised at my objection.
"Satan's anus," little kid tried out.
"LITTLE KID! For real, you just heard me say he can't say that, you know you can't say that. In a minute people will be grounded from the computer, I'm not even kidding."
"Mom, we should be able to say it. There's even a planet named after the anus. You know -- Uranus?" little kid contributed.
I was having a hard time keeping it together by now because I was both upset and on the verge of cracking up.
Big Kid stepped in again. "It's not named after her anus or anyone's anus and the proper pronunciation is now like Urine-ness. Which just sounds like urine, so I am not sure it's any better."
"I'm still going to say Uranus like your-anus. You can't say we can't say Uranus, mom."
"She said we can't say 'Satan's anus.' That's the one that's not allowed, right, mom?"
"Right." I really just wanted to go back to listening to the radio by then.
So, I'd say we could add that one to the list of parenting fails.
"What the heck is that stuff that would make it smell so bad? That's really bad, our windows are up and everything," I remarked.
"That's little kid's feet, he just took his shoes off," Big Kid answered.
I thought he was joking at first because it was so amazingly bad that my mind couldn't comprehend that it could come from one of my sweet children. He wears Sanuks with no socks, not a good combination, I guess, despite looking cute. "No!" I insisted. "little kid, are your shoes off?"
"Yes," he said sheepishly.
"Wow!! Put them back on RIGHT NOW. I am not even kidding. Those shoes need to go straight into a fire when we get home."
"They're not that bad!" He said.
"They are! It is horrible, like, maybe the worst thing I've ever smelled. Those feet could gag a maggot, dude, for real." I told him.
"What do they smell like?" He asked. Because, what? He couldn't smell them? Is that even possible? I don't think it is.
While I was trying to think of a good comparison, Big Kid piped up. "Like Satan's anus," he said, chillingly casual.
It was a damn good comparison but I was shocked to hear him say that.
"Big Kid!! You can NOT say that!"
"Really? Why can't I say that? It's a body part." He was genuinely surprised at my objection.
"Satan's anus," little kid tried out.
"LITTLE KID! For real, you just heard me say he can't say that, you know you can't say that. In a minute people will be grounded from the computer, I'm not even kidding."
"Mom, we should be able to say it. There's even a planet named after the anus. You know -- Uranus?" little kid contributed.
I was having a hard time keeping it together by now because I was both upset and on the verge of cracking up.
Big Kid stepped in again. "It's not named after her anus or anyone's anus and the proper pronunciation is now like Urine-ness. Which just sounds like urine, so I am not sure it's any better."
"I'm still going to say Uranus like your-anus. You can't say we can't say Uranus, mom."
"She said we can't say 'Satan's anus.' That's the one that's not allowed, right, mom?"
"Right." I really just wanted to go back to listening to the radio by then.
So, I'd say we could add that one to the list of parenting fails.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
No!
I've got nothing. NOTHING. Not even an excuse. Writer's block is a fickle bitch like that. It's not that I don't want to write...I always want to write. It's that sometimes, for no good reason at all, my brain acts like a petulant preschooler and stands in the corner with its hands pressed over its ears and shouts "NO! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!" every time I suggest that maybe we should.
You guys are forgiving, luckily, but I can't exactly email my editor with, "Sorry about your deadline! My brain just didn't really feel like it this week."
So please pray to God that my kids do something funny or endearing soon. This is really their fault, isn't it? I totally should have had another kid, I feel like these two are getting stale.
In the meantime, read something I wrote elsewhere. Because I've got nothing.
You guys are forgiving, luckily, but I can't exactly email my editor with, "Sorry about your deadline! My brain just didn't really feel like it this week."
So please pray to God that my kids do something funny or endearing soon. This is really their fault, isn't it? I totally should have had another kid, I feel like these two are getting stale.
In the meantime, read something I wrote elsewhere. Because I've got nothing.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
I'm the Friend
Guys, I've had a mini-epiphany this week about how I am "that" annoying person on social media lately.
Lately?
Always?
Ugh. Yoga and having two cats instead of just one has compounded the problem.
On Facebook, I am THE annoying yoga friend (to everyone other than my yoga friends, who must have more annoying yoga friends than me because I'm not that bad). Everyone has one and I'm the one for many of my friends. I do not want to be but since I work there and my friends are there and I'm there a lot, it comes up a lot. I'm sure it's boring.
On Instagram, I am THE crazy cat lady. Cats, the beach, the occasional kid pic--that's it. Ever. Often. I have to make deals with myself regarding how often is acceptable to post the cats and I really only post the beach or kids so I can get back to the cats. I probably take a photo each day but I try to limit myself on sharing. I also try not to ever harass my Facebook friends with the cats, because they already have to deal with the yoga.
On Twitter, I am THE boring mom who thinks her kids and cats are funny. I really only like to talk about me and I seldom participate in the posts of others. I've been doing it for years and I still don't really get Twitter. It's like a bunch of people talking over each other at a party. So clearly I'm doing it wrong.
On Google +, I am THE confused old person who has no idea what is going on. I only even try to do it every once in a while when one of my jobs reminds me that they'd really like me to have a presence there. But would they want me to have a presence there if they knew that I'm already annoying the rest of the internet? I don't really know whether to go with kids, cats, or yoga on Google +.
And I have a mommy blog. Ugh. The shame. I try not to self-promote and I think I'm great at not self-promoting, maybe a little too good but still, the truth is that I am one of them.
I don't plan on doing anything about any of the above, just wanted to declare my awareness of the situation in case you're one of my many internet victims (and clearly you are, you are reading a mommy blog!)
I'm sorry.
But I also really want to tell you that I accomplished 30 yoga classes in the last 30 days, I want to complain about early release days at school (because what asshole came up with that idea, seriously?) and I'd like to share this picture of my cats (I think you will agree that they are extraordinary):
Thank you for tolerating me, internet.
Lately?
Always?
Ugh. Yoga and having two cats instead of just one has compounded the problem.
On Facebook, I am THE annoying yoga friend (to everyone other than my yoga friends, who must have more annoying yoga friends than me because I'm not that bad). Everyone has one and I'm the one for many of my friends. I do not want to be but since I work there and my friends are there and I'm there a lot, it comes up a lot. I'm sure it's boring.
On Instagram, I am THE crazy cat lady. Cats, the beach, the occasional kid pic--that's it. Ever. Often. I have to make deals with myself regarding how often is acceptable to post the cats and I really only post the beach or kids so I can get back to the cats. I probably take a photo each day but I try to limit myself on sharing. I also try not to ever harass my Facebook friends with the cats, because they already have to deal with the yoga.
On Twitter, I am THE boring mom who thinks her kids and cats are funny. I really only like to talk about me and I seldom participate in the posts of others. I've been doing it for years and I still don't really get Twitter. It's like a bunch of people talking over each other at a party. So clearly I'm doing it wrong.
On Google +, I am THE confused old person who has no idea what is going on. I only even try to do it every once in a while when one of my jobs reminds me that they'd really like me to have a presence there. But would they want me to have a presence there if they knew that I'm already annoying the rest of the internet? I don't really know whether to go with kids, cats, or yoga on Google +.
And I have a mommy blog. Ugh. The shame. I try not to self-promote and I think I'm great at not self-promoting, maybe a little too good but still, the truth is that I am one of them.
I don't plan on doing anything about any of the above, just wanted to declare my awareness of the situation in case you're one of my many internet victims (and clearly you are, you are reading a mommy blog!)
I'm sorry.
But I also really want to tell you that I accomplished 30 yoga classes in the last 30 days, I want to complain about early release days at school (because what asshole came up with that idea, seriously?) and I'd like to share this picture of my cats (I think you will agree that they are extraordinary):
Thank you for tolerating me, internet.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
little bits of little kid
"Tatoes! How many tatoes could there be for there to be a whole tato store? That is ridiculous, a store full of potatoes." little kid declared on the drive home yesterday.
"That's a tattoo shop."
"Well, that makes more sense."
Later that day, I heard him tell Big Kid: "You're a jerk. Don't worry, it's in our family. It was passed down from our ancestors."
I didn't correct him, because he's right. IT'S OUR HERITAGE. Big Kid wasn't mad either, probably for the same reason. It's his destiny to be a jerk.
and then this morning, little kid suggested IHOP for Easter breakfast because it's in keeping with an Easter Bunny theme. I don't know if that's actually funny or not, but it cracked my ass up.
He makes me laugh, and makes me want to strangle people, every single day.
"That's a tattoo shop."
"Well, that makes more sense."
Later that day, I heard him tell Big Kid: "You're a jerk. Don't worry, it's in our family. It was passed down from our ancestors."
I didn't correct him, because he's right. IT'S OUR HERITAGE. Big Kid wasn't mad either, probably for the same reason. It's his destiny to be a jerk.
and then this morning, little kid suggested IHOP for Easter breakfast because it's in keeping with an Easter Bunny theme. I don't know if that's actually funny or not, but it cracked my ass up.
He makes me laugh, and makes me want to strangle people, every single day.
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