theclumsyredhead.com

March 31, 2010

Happy Birthday Bentley!

Filed under: Random — jen @ 1:06 pm

He's really a good watchdog. When there aren't any cartoons on.

So I’ve told you about my job and my kids and other random things. Now, I’d like to introduce you to my dog, Bentley. He’s going to be 7 tomorrow (April Fool’s Day), which is just perfect, if you’ve ever met him.

Bentley is an 80 pound, reddish colored Golden Retriever. He is my first pet. We didn’t have pets when we were growing up, because my dad said something to the effect that they would just die and we would cry. Thanks, Dad. I know now what he meant, but still, every kid deserves a dog. Even if you do have to shoot him because of the rabies.

So, we got Bentley about 6 months after we bought our first house. That ‘s all I talked about. Screw getting furniture – I need my dog.  And good lord, let me tell you, he has been a riot. As I said, he weighs 80 pounds, but he doesn’t know that. He’s middle-aged in dog years, but by the way he runs and jumps, I think he believes he’s still a puppy. He will try to sit on my lap whenever I’m sitting down. And if one of the kids is already there, he pretends like he doesn’t see them and plants his ass right where he thinks it should be.

He gets along well with the kids, which is good. He lets them crawl on top of him and doesn’t bat an eye when Jack throws toys at his face or pokes him in the ear. When one of the kids falls down, he runs over to make sure everything’s okay. I rarely need to vacuum because he’ll lick the floor clean of any crumbs – take that Dyson.

He’s made a very comfortable life for himself here. He roams the house as he pleases, barks at anything that moves outside and will eat just about anything he finds. He once ate several q-tips, and let me tell you, it was not pleasant when they came through the other end.

He sleeps on our bed. He’s not supposed to, but he chooses to ignore that. Every night, around midnight or so, I hear his nails clicking down the hallway toward our room. He then proceeds to do a walk-by of our bed. When I open my eyes, he’s right there, staring at me. He has this look on his face like, “Oh, hey, did I wake you? Oh, I’m sorry. I was just going to go nose through the trash in the kitchen – can I get you some water while I’m out there? No? Okay. No biggie, I’m just going to go in the other room then. Not getting on the bed or anything.” He walks away, waits for what he believes to be a good amount of time, and then nonchalantly jumps up on the bed, landing on top of me and nestles in for a good night’s sleep. Did I mention he snores? And the thing is, I always find myself accommodating him – I make sure he has enough room on the bed. I lay curled up in the fetal position and he’s sprawled out like an eagle taking flight.

Tess and I will be making him a birthday cake tomorrow and he will be wearing his birthday hat as he does every year. I can’t imagine our life without him. Yes, his barking is loud and annoying. Yes, I hate getting up late at night to let him outside (he’s doing that more now that he’s older). But he’s always there, ready to sit on my lap or just lay next to me. He’s a very good listener, better than any therapist or journal. It’s unconditional love, and everyone should know that feeling at least once in a lifetime.

March 26, 2010

It’s Not Rocket Surgery

Filed under: Martini Recipes — jen @ 1:13 pm

I’d like to offer a parenting tip. 

When you’re busy making dinner and trying to keep the kids occupied, do NOT let them get out the crab crackers to play with. Tess and Jack decided to have a crab cracker fight with the lobster claw shaped cracker tools we have. I heard them getting into the drawer, but being the ever vigilant mom that I am, I assumed they had the plastic salad spoons, so I didn’t stop to check it out. It started innocently enough, but how I imagine it happened was: Jack got into position and whipped the crab cracker open and slapped Tess across the face with it. Kinda like a ninja.

I heard her crying and yelling at Jack but assumed it was just another one of her big sister outbursts. She walked over to me with a big red mark on her cheek and man, did I feel horrible. I promptly disarmed them and put them up pretty high so there would be no re-offenses. All is well now, though, there is no scarring or anything like that. But I just wanted you all to be aware of the dangers of crab crackers.

Do Be Careful Martini

1/2 oz gin

1/2 oz Contreau orange liqueur

1/2 tsp grenadine

1/2 tsp lemon juice

Mix ingredients in a cocktail shaker over cracked ice. Shake well & strain into a chilled martini glass. Enjoy, and do be careful.

March 22, 2010

Starpsky & Hutch

Filed under: kids,pop culture,Random — jen @ 1:03 pm

Just another day for Bay City's finest detectives.

So, what do you do on a lazy Sunday afternoon when your 1 year old is napping? Why, you grab the crayons and coloring books, pop in season 1 of “Starsky & Hutch” and start the pop culture education of your 4 year-old daughter.

I am not embarrassed to say that I adore that show. And I don’t think it’s ever too early to introduce the classics to your children. We’ve read Runaway Ralph, Beezus & Ramona, Jack and the Beanstalk. We’ve seen To Kill a Mockingbird, Rear Window and Casablanca.

And now, on to classic t.v. My daughter loves watching cartoons and other kid shows, but she also loves watching the stuff that mom and dad watch. We don’t let her watch anything graphic, so calm down. She doesn’t understand half of it, but she asks a lot of questions and we are more than happy to answer them in a way she can understand. For instance, when she asked, “Mama, who’s your favorite, Starpsky or Hutch?” I replied, “Mama likes the good looking Jewish man, honey. That’s Starsky.” Her response was, “Oh, I think I like the yellow haired man better.” It’s okay. He did have a pop song on the charts at one time. She’ll come around.

You see, when I was a kid, I watched the stuff my parents watched, too. I watched Barney Miller and WKRP and I loved watching Creature Feature with Dr. Sanguinary. We watched old movies on public television. I listened to my parents’ albums. And I loved it. And I’m thankful now that I did. I’m not stuck in some weird current events rut. I get the jokes that smart shows have – that wink at the audience.

I refuse to let our children move forward without knowing where it all started. I’m not trying to turn her into a Mini Me-good lord, I’m not that cruel. I just want her to know that there’s more out there than just reality shows and iPods.  I don’t want her to be a twenty-something who turns her nose up at anything that was created before she was born. And when you know about all that stuff that happened a long time before you were born, you can actually have conversations with all kinds of people – older people who will think you’re pretty cool for knowing that kind of stuff. Not that being cool is the be all end all, but you can meet some pretty interesting people that way.

Also, I’m preparing my children in case they decide to hit the game show circuit. Ever heard of Ken Jennings? He was on Sesame Street for Pete’s sake! And what about all the radio station giveaways? I bet you didn’t think about that. They could then become part of pop culture themselves. Blows your mind a little doesn’t it?

Those shows also taught us lessons. Not many shows now have “Very Special Episodes” anymore. I miss after school specials too. Remember when Scott Baio fell in with the wrong crowd and started smoking weed? Or when Dudley and Arnold were invited into the back room of Mr. Carlson’s (he wasn’t Mr. Carlson at the time, but I can’t remember his name in that episode) bike shop to watch “movies”? Scared the crap out of me, those shows.

So her “Starsky & Hutch” education has taught her that detectives get to wear their own clothes, that policeman are there to help us and that you should always have your partner’s back. Pretty good lessons, I think. Now, if we could just find episodes of “The Facts of Life” she could understand the importance of female friendships, regardless of race, religion or socioeconomic backgrounds. And how to fix your motorcycle, courtesy of Jo Polniaczek.

March 18, 2010

Update

Filed under: Me — jen @ 4:21 pm

It didn't actually look this bad, but this is how it would be if we did a movie of the week about the incident.

The Wonder Car has been healed! Turns out, when my husband fixed the CV joint differential flux capacitor, he got a bum part. So, we got a new part, free of charge and the Certified Transmission people replaced it. They also topped off my transmission fluid, so my girl is good to go for another 12 years! We didn’t have to get a second mortgage on the house to pay for it, either.

Another St. Patrick’s Day miracle!

By the way, the mechanics were fabulous – very helpful and friendly. Kudos, Certified Transmission!

Also, non-Member had his mailbox up as of today. No court summons on my door this morning, so I think I’m safe.

March 17, 2010

Slainte!

Filed under: kids,Random — jen @ 1:50 pm

Happy St. Patrick’s Day! We can’t say that at Tess’s school – it’s Leprechaun Day (better to teach about imaginary little men who smoke pipes, than to bring in religion).

Corned beef is cooking, Jameson is ready to be opened. Celebrate as much as you want, but please, no Donnybrooks. Enjoy our Irish Christmas!

Here’s a message from my little Irish Boy, Jack.

Happy Irishhhh

March 16, 2010

Why Did I Wake Up on Monday?

Filed under: Me,Random — jen @ 10:01 pm

This never would have happened to Starsky or Hutch.

I’ve written about my wonder car before – the 1998 Honda Civic with the cracked windshield and missing trim, right?

As I was driving the kids to Tess’s eye appointment Monday, there was a situation. Just as I pulled out onto one of the busiest streets in the city, the car lurched forward – I heard a loud “pop” and thought I had run over a garbage can lid or something like that, although I didn’t see anything anywhere. Weird, I think to myself.

I put the car in first gear (it’s a stick shift) and step on the gas; nothing. I throw on the flashers. I put the car in reverse; nothing. The hell? Now of course, the cars are zooming by us and Tess is asking questions nonstop. I call my husband – no answer.

I realize at this point that I am the adult, so I need to figure something out quickly. And let me tell you, that was the worst part of this whole experience – realizing I am now a grownup, and not just any grownup, a grownup responsible for the lives of two small children. I kept looking around for other adults to tell me what to do next. So, I roll the car down the hill and as I’m turning onto the side street, a car appears (I almost didn’t see it). A woman, no older than me, who looks exactly like Maggie Gyllenhaal, gets out and asks if I need help. Yes! You be the adult for me, okay? Tell me what to do, please. We got the car off the busy street and I call my husband again – still no answer.

Maggie suggests that we park it in the adjacent driveway for a minute to get it out of the way. I suggest we roll it back a little farther and park on the street, between the two mailboxes along the curb. Yes, I think to myself, good adult suggestion. She is kind enough to push the car and tells me to get in and guide the car with my foot. Now, as you already know, in order for one to guide a car with one’s foot, the door needs to be open so said foot can touch pavement. Remember when I suggested we park it between the two mailboxes?

She’s pushing the car, I’m guiding it and she yells “Watch your door! Your door!” Her helpful suggestion was too late. There is now only one standing mailbox. I throw on the parking brake and as she goes to the house (where she had suggested, in a very grownup manner, we park the car anyway), I am frantically trying to yank the downed mailbox out from underneath my car door. Tess and Jack are now both crying. I tug at the mailbox while trying to calm my children without cursing. That’s tough to do. I finally get it out from underneath my door and am hurriedly shoving the poor guy’s mail back into his demolished mailbox.

The man was nicer than I expected after I murdered his mailbox. He must have seen the two crying children in the back of my car. An older gentleman had come out with him, wearing his Member’s Only jacket (awesome) and smoking a cigarette. “What’s the problem?” the Member asks, and I tell him my car died and so did his mailbox. I apologize to both of them profusely and the homeowner (non-Member) tells me  not to worry about it. “I’ll pay for it,” I say. He replies, “It’s just a post, it’s no big deal. Are you okay? Do you need to call someone?” Seriously, there are nice people in the world.

I try to call my husband for the seventh time and non-Member tells me he’ll give me a ride home, since it’s only three blocks away. Maggie also offers us a ride and stays with me because, like any paranoid woman, she doesn’t want a strange man (in the sense that I don’t know him “strange”) to drive us anywhere. I finally get ahold of my husband, who leaves one of his high-powered executive meetings to rescue us.

Tess is crying again as non-Member pulls up next to us and I thank him again and let him know that my husband is on his way. He tells me not to worry about the mailbox and goes inside. As Maggie and I are standing around, I explain that I’m a really good driver and it’s my car, not me that screwed up. She spies the giant scrape across the back bumper and again, I explain, really, I’m a good driver – I was attacked by a retaining wall. She laughs and points to her driver side mirror and says she was attacked by her garage.

Maggie offers her (real) name and number in case non-Member tries to come after me for the mailbox. “So you can tell the insurance company that you told me to watch out for his mailbox right before I smashed it?” I ask. She laughs and says she hadn’t thought of that. I thank her again and asked her why she stopped. “Because I have a little boy and I would have wanted someone to help me if that had happened to me.” Nice people exist. Amazing.

She drives off as my wonderful husband pulls up. We get the kids in his car, he drives us home and goes back to take a look at the old Civic. I check our auto insurance, thinking I have towing and rental car on both cars. Turns out, it’s just on his newer car – because that makes more sense. Have that on the more reliable car and not the 12 year- old-break-down-waiting-to-happen car.

We assume it’s the transmission and have it towed to a shop that specializes in that. When they finally called my husband back, they tell him they’re still “diagnosing” it, but they think it’s something really simple, or something really expensive (could be cancer, could be heartburn, still running tests). Meanwhile, my husband is bumming a ride to work and I get to drive the kids around in his car until we hear back from the specialists.

I stayed calm. I soothed my children, and we made it out alive. This grownup stuff is hard work. I don’t know that I care for it all that much.

By the way, I left $20 in non-Member’s door with a note thanking him for his help and apologizing for destroying his mailbox. See? More grownup stuff. I didn’t leave my number or name – I might be a grownup, but I’m not stupid.

March 12, 2010

Friiiidaaaaaaay

Filed under: Martini Recipes — jen @ 8:08 am

 

This is how I felt all week.

You know how you wander into your kids’ bedroom at three o’clock in the morning and crawl into the bottom bunk of the bunk beds and then soon after your four year-old falls off the top bunk and it scares you so you sit straight up and hit your head on the bottom of the top bunk and then smack it again on the ladder as you’re trying to get up and make sure she’s okay?

Yeah, it’s been one of those weeks. Here’s a cocktail to start off the weekend:

 

Fuzzy Martini

2 1/2 oz vodka

1 oz peach schnapps

1 slice peach

Combine vodka and schnapps in cocktail shaker over cracked ice. Shake and strain into chilled martini glass. Garnish with a slice of fresh peach.

March 9, 2010

Swimsational

Filed under: kids,Me,Random — jen @ 7:55 pm

Don't be fooled - there could be a puddle hiding in that field.

Fun fact: you can drown in two inches of water.

Okay, so you’d either have to fall in the shower, knocking yourself unconscious with no one around to hear the thump, or trip and fall, knock yourself unconscious and land face down in a puddle of water with no one around to roll you over. These are two very real possibilities for me. 

That’s right. I’m afraid of water. Always have been. That’s why I put my daughter in swimming lessons when she turned three. Jack will start at that age too. I don’t want my kids to be petrified of water like me. And also, should I be sucked in to a large body of water, or trip and fall into a puddle, one of my kids will (hopefully) save me. See how that works out? Circle of life, my friends. Not really, but you know what I mean.

Tess goes to a place that is pretty pricey for a half  hour session, but at least I can watch her and I know she’s in good hands. All the moms who take their kids there are stay-at-home and obviously very wealthy (except me). They all drive big, clean SUVs that could crush my 12 year-old Civic like a bug. I love parking in that lot; I have a huge crack across my windshield, the trim is missing on the bottom driver side and even though it’s been recently replaced, my exhaust sounds like an elephant fart. I feel like the Leather Tuscadero of the place or you know, the equivalent of the badass who does her own thing or whatever. I’m actually just lazy.

I’m usually wearing jeans and a shirt that I bought on clearance about five years ago, and my favorite pair of Puma sneakers. The other moms are dressed as though they will be attending the prom following swim class. My hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail; theirs looks like it was done by Jonathon Anton. They have their Blackberries out and Bluetooths stuck in their ears; I have my cell phone that plays “Kung Fu Fighting” when it rings. Hi, I’m Square Peg, nice to meet you.

Strangely, most of the women have either just had a baby or are about to. Of the four moms there whose children swim with Tess, two have recently had babies. And they all talk about it and compare births. I find this odd. They talk about breast feeding and their nipples and how much weight they gained and their issues with constipation. While I applaud their dedication to pregnancy, I really don’t care that one woman could only eat hard boiled eggs her entire pregnancy, thus having horrible gas for nine months.

Oh, I could jump in and share some really good stories, but yeah, it’s swim class and I don’t know any of you. So, I ply Jack with cookies and watch my daughter as she practices her “Robot-Chicken-Soldier” technique (I still don’t know what that is but the teacher tells me she’s doing great at it) or dumps water on the other kids’ heads. And I eavesdrop. I always hope to hear something really juicy, but mostly it’s them planning trips to Vegas sans kids (“I so need to get away for the weekend.” Really? Did Nanny call in sick one day this week? That’s not me being bitter, half of them do have nannies) or talking about Pilates class.

I’m very proud of Tess: she can swim the width of the pool without taking a breath, turn onto her back without stopping and her backstroke is beautiful. I don’t think the other moms even look in their kid’s direction in the 30 minutes we’re all together sitting on outdoor patio furniture inside. That’s what this is about. My baby learning something I don’t know how to do while I beam with pride. 

I guess I could feel inferior to these women and I’m sure I would if it were 10 years ago. I would have felt bad that I wasn’t wearing a $200 shirt and driving a fancy Lexus or Hyundai. But I can say, with complete honesty, I don’t care. I’m pretty cool with my broken-in sneakers and product-free hair. My old car is rad - she’s gotten me though some pretty difficult terrain (i.e.: the missing trim on the bottom of the car). And as I watch their children throw tantrums and beg to go to Applebee’s (Really? My kids like McDonald’s) for lunch, I just smile at my kids – my daughter dressing herself (the other four year-olds are being dressed by their moms) and chattering excitedly about how much she loves swimming, while Jack is busy flushing toilets and yelling “YAY!”

I might be out of place at over-priced swim school, and my polite children may be too, but at least my kids will be able to save me should I be sucker punched by a puddle and I won’t have to worry about getting my Louis Vuitton ruined in the attack.

March 8, 2010

Oscar Wrap-up, or Quit Spamming Me!

Filed under: Random — jen @ 3:05 pm

The one Oscar I can relate to - Oscar Madison.

So, I didn’t watch much of the big Oscar show last night, just bits and pieces. It was on as background noise, really. I used to watch all the time, but since I can’t remember the last movie I saw in a theater, there’s really no point.

What I did see: the poor guy who got Kanye’d by the crazy Jewish lady. It’s my understanding that she was a producer on the documentary at one time, but was fired. I can’t imagine why; she seemed so easy to work with. I felt so sorry for that guy-here’s his big moment. He’d probably been practicing that speech since he was 10 and then-bam-crazy lady ambushes you and craps all over your moment. I doubt she’ll apologize on her Twitter account or contact Oprah for words of wisdom on how to “make it right.”  I read that he’s going to give his speech on Larry King tonight. I’m curious to see what he’ll say.

Ben Stiller as the “Avatar” creature. I didn’t see the movie, nor will I,but I thoroughly enjoyed Ben’s take on it.

Morgan Freeman narrating that interesting little ditty on sound fx. I would listen to him read the menu at Denny’s. Easy Reader is still cool, man.

I saw that Sandra Bullock won. I didn’t see the movie, but I know the way it goes. They’re all the same; big white/black heartwarmer. But I do really like her. She’s beautiful and funny and smart and she’s bilingual. Awesome. I like it when the person you don’t think will win does. Meryl Streep is good, but let’s give the award to someone else for a change.

Love, love LOVE that James Cameron lost and his ex-wife won. He seems like an extremely egotistical guy and he has a pinchy face. I prefer a story with a little more substance and less make believe language, and I hear “The Hurt Locker” is fabulous. Plus, she directed “Point Break” which is one of the best movies about surfing bank robbers ever.

The “In Memoriam” part is always my favorite, but I was disappointed to see that Farrah Fawcett was overlooked. Michael Jackson was in it, but not Jill Munroe? WTF?

And that’s pretty much it. That’s all I know. If you want actual Academy Awards news, you should probably visit a reputable site, like E! Any channel/site that has an exclamation point has got to have better stuff than me.

March 5, 2010

So, de beency bouncy burger, eh?

Filed under: Martini Recipes — jen @ 11:50 am

Best. Muppet. Ever.

Okay, so it’s the Lenten season for us Catholics. That means no meat on Fridays (“I don’t know why they call this tuna helper. I think it does just fine by itself.”) and you’re supposed to give up something. Translation: fish sticks and no candy until Easter. When I was 10. I hate fish.  I do like aquariums though. Very soothing.  

Anyway, in keeping with that spirit, I present you with a sort of fish-related cocktail recipe. Never had it, so let me know if it’s any good. I just liked the name of it, because it reminded me of the Swedish Chef, hence the picture and headline. Enjoy!

Swedish Fish

Mix equal parts peach schnapps, cranberry juice and Black Haus to your desired size of shot. I suggest doing a lot of them so your fish sticks no longer taste like fish sticks.

Older Posts »

Powered by WordPress