theclumsyredhead.com

April 7, 2010

Randomicity

Filed under: kids,Random — jen @ 10:09 pm

No More Potty Breaks

As every parent knows, you really can’t leave your little ones alone for more than a minute. I made the unfortunate mistake of emptying my bladder this morning, thus leaving my children alone for that one, crucial minute. In that time, my son had become parched, wandered into the kids’ bathroom, found a plastic tea cup that we use as a bathtub toy, dipped it into the toilet and took a nice big swig.

Tess burst into my bathroom and yelled, “Jack’s drinking from the toilet, just like a dog!” and ran out. So, with my pants almost up to my waist, belt jingling,  I rushed to the bathroom just as Jack was going back for seconds. I screamed “NO!” which scared him into dropping the cup and he screamed back at me “NO!”  Let me tell you, there is not enough toothpaste in the world to make a mom feel better about her child not having toilet germs in her toddler’s mouth. I still gag a little bit when I think about it. I think he’s okay, but I’ll be brushing his teeth for the 46th time when he wakes up from his nap.

Seriously, I was gone for less than a minute.

This is a good lumberjack and he's okay!

This is a good lumberjack (and he's okay)!

Lower My . . . what the. . . ?

Have you seen the pop-up ads for lower my bills dot com (I’m not giving them free click-throughs)? The bold headline screams to you that “Refi rates are at the lowest they’ve ever been!”  or something exciting like that. But have you noticed the pictures they use? One looks like a lumberjack rapist and the other is an old man who looks like he’s trying to figure out who the hell that person is that’s standing in front of him and why they’re trying to steal his soul with that magic light box.

I know that advertisements aren’t cheap, but really, there are a lot of sites out there that offer stock photography that wasn’t taken in a prison or by someone who likes to sneak up on dementia patients in a nursing home. Am I, your audience, supposed to relate to these people? Because all I’m wondering is if either of these people even lives in a house. I’m guessing Lumberjack is serving 5-10 in Chino and I think it’s safe to say the old man doesn’t even know what town he’s in. (I am not making fun of the elderly, I’m making fun of the picture, so back off.) It doesn’t create enough curiosity for me to click on your ad. It makes me feel sad and dirty.

Let’s spend the extra $8 and buy a picture that has someone who looks like they haven’t committed a felony recently and make sure they’re under the age of say, 90.

I know everyone uses this picture. I'm okay with that.

Dedicated to the Whore Who Stole My Shoes

My husband ordered something from zappos.com and it was delivered to our old address (we haven’t lived there in over a year). So, I thought I would zip on over there to see if I could get it from the “new” owners.  It was almost 10 o’clock in the morning, so I assumed if anyone was home, they would be up, right? I mean, I’m up, so you should be too.

I parked the car and ran up to the door – I saw the flower pots I left were still there and that they really needed to trim the bushes under the window, but whatever. I rang the doorbell. I heard a dog bark. I heard someone whisper-yell “shut up!” I looked through the window next to the door – I saw a woman poke her head around the corner of the staircase. I rang the bell again. I thought, I know you’re there – I used to do that same move, lady.

She finally threw the door open and in a very unfriendly tone said, “Yeah?” I replied, “Hi there, sorry to bother you, but did you get a package delivered here yesterday by chance?” I gave her my nicest fake smile.  “Uh, yeah, my husband gave it to the neighbor.” I said, “He. . . gave it to a neighbor? Do you know which one?”  “NO!” and she slammed the door in my face.

Can you guess what I thought at that moment? I bet you can. You would have thought it too.

Who slams a door in the face of someone who is inquiring about a package that they’re missing? I mean, I know 10 a.m. is early and all, but you could have just NOT gotten out of bed and waited until you heard me drive away if you didn’t want to deal with the whole ‘open the door and use my words’ thing. It’s obviously mine – it’s not a new scam – there’s no gang of ordinary looking women wandering around neighborhoods ringing doorbells and asking if a package was delivered to you by mistake. And really, you don’t know who your husband gave it to? When he said, “Hey we got this package and it doesn’t have our names on it” did he put a blindfold on you and spin you around so you wouldn’t see which neighbor he was giving it to? Weren’t you curious as to whom he gave it to you and why?

And who gives a package obviously sent to your house in error to their neighbor? “Hey, Phil. Say, I got this package addressed to somebody else, do you want it or anything? I thought it would be easier to wait until you got home, walk all the way over here – of course I didn’t tell the wife where I was going – and ask you if you wanted a package that isn’t mine. I don’t have enough time to call the toll-free number right here on the address label.”

Isn’t tampering with mail a federal offense? Can I have them arrested?

By the way, zappos resent the package – overnight, actually – at no charge. It was a new pair of Converse sneakers my husband bought for me. Awww. . . had I known that before I went to the old place, I would have made sure I had it in my possession before I left.

Now I don’t feel so bad about all the crap we shoved under the back deck before we moved.

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 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 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.

February 24, 2010

Skatetastic!

Filed under: kids,Random — jen @ 12:57 pm

 

Tess, after a couple of laps around the roller rink.

What do you do during the frigid winter months here in the Heartland? Not a lot, I can tell you that. Cabin fever sets in around February and you either entertain yourself in new and inventive ways or start chopping up your family like Jack Torrance.  The fascination of Hungry Hungry Hippos and play doh hamburgers only goes so far before everyone starts to talk to their respective hallucinations. 

I’ve resorted to allowing my daughter to ride her big wheel around the house (wait – didn’t that kid in “The Shining” do that too?) and letting her drag her brother around in a sleeping bag. As for me, I have started making my coffee Irish. 

However, we’ve discovered that Wednesday nights at our local roller rink is “family fun night.” That means they lowered the admission to skate as well as their standards. Throw in a clumsy little girl and that’s a recipe for fun! 

This wasn’t the roller rink I used to go to as a kid, but oddly, the decor was the same. The mushroom seats – the ones that looked like they were designed by Super Mario Brothers – that you could crash into were there right in front of the crappy lockers that no one uses. I was disappointed to find that the seats weren’t covered in red shag. I guess you really can’t go home again. 

I haven’t skated since the 80s and I haven’t gotten any more graceful, so I pretended that Jack would be too much of a handful for my husband and forced him out onto the death-rink with Tess. I considered renting a helmet and knee pads for her too, but decided the added weight would probably impede her skating and actually make her fall more. Besides, I never wore that stuff when I was a kid and I turned out. . . fine.

She was so excited to skate. She’d never been before and the look on her face as the other skaters glided by her was priceless. It was amazement and fear and joy all at once. Santa, the Easter Bunny and Spongebob might as well have been standing there cheering and beckoning her out to the floor. I’ve never been able to achieve that level of happiness from her in the four years I’ve known her.

When she finally stepped onto that floor and promptly landed on her hiney, I expected her to crawl back to the carpeted area and wait awhile before attempting it again. But she got up. And she fell again. She got up every time with a giant grin on her face. She wobbled and fell, wobbled and fell for one whole lap while her dad held her hand and tried to keep her from falling or taking her down with him. He never did fall; I was impressed. He was like Patrick Swayze in Skatetown, U.S.A., only without the feathered hair. Tess finally got the hang of it and she would skate by the side and wave to me and say “Hey Mama! Look at me!” I was so proud of her. She was fearless. 

I was surprised to see that the other skaters were pretty tolerant. They skated around her as she struggled to stay upright and one person commented that she was adorable. That being said, the folks in the viewing area were less friendly. Most were at least 50 pounds overweight and going for 60 by cramming in as much fried food as they could before the snack bar closed. There were small children wandering about without parental supervision,  slamming into each other and throwing trash around like it was confetti at a parade. The adults were almost worse; screaming and cursing and laughing it up like they were at the Roller Derby. 

One little girl, who couldn’t have been more than two, followed me around for some time. I asked her where her mommy was, but she kept pointing to the inflatable bouncy thing and trying to get me to help her in it. I considered tossing her in there so she’d stop following me, but my Mommy Guilt wouldn’t let me so I stayed with her until someone claimed her. Finally, her mother came by and with all of her 17 years of wisdom, grabbed her by the hand and dragged her off while yelling that her “french fries was getting cold.” 

Another little girl came up to me asked me for money for the sticker machine. Her mom screamed to her from the adjacent bench not to ask strangers for money. I wondered what her thoughts were about strangers in general – was it okay to go with one if they offered ice cream or puppies?  What exactly were the boundaries there? “No” on asking for money, “yes” on accepting a ride? As long as she didn’t have to get off that bench, I’m sure she was cool with whatever her six-year old wanted. Except a quarter for stickers. 

After an hour or so of skating, Tess wanted to climb in the three level ball pit. My fear of dirty indoor public playground equipment was overridden by my husband, who said he would go with her. I prepared my disinfectant wipes and watched as my little girl blissfully climbed and ran and slid down the slides with her daddy. Jack cheered her on from outside while I wondered how many wipes it would take to kill the multitude diseases that would surely find their way onto my daughter.

We finally dragged her away from the play area and explained it was past her bedtime and we’d come back another night. As we were driving home, she said, “it was kinda hard to do and I fell a lot, but it was so much fun. Can we go again tomorrow?” She was examining all the little bruises on her legs and chattering on about getting her own skates and wanting to be a skater when she grew up.

That’s when I decided I want to be like her. I want to fall on my hiney and get up with a grin on my face.

February 3, 2010

Me & Licky McGee

Filed under: kids — Tags: , , , , , — jen @ 7:00 pm

Yes, that's a ponytail holder in his hair. Should that really be the concern here?

My 1 1/2  year-old son has decided to start licking everything. He squats down, puts his arms back into a sort of diving position and runs toward the object he’s going to lick, then firmly plants his tongue on it. The couch and the stove are his two favorites. I’m guessing I should ignore this, but I’m a little concerned.

He’ll lick the stove when it’s on, step back and look at me with an, “I don’t think I’m enjoying this sensation” expression and then do it again. And again. Each time stepping back with that same look of befuddlement. I don’t know how many times I’ve told him “no” or removed him from the stoval-area; nothing works. He reminds me of the kid in “A Christmas Story” who sticks his tongue to the pole. Is my son destined to be the kid who does that on a dare at school?

And what if it doesn’t stop there? What if he’s that kid who’s always willing to do the stupidest thing possible, just for a laugh?  Or what if the other kids think he’s weird and just egg him on to amuse themselves? He already jumps off bar stools in the kitchen and launches himself off the couch. He’s trying to get hurt – the more painful the fall looks to me, the harder he laughs. I’ve been working on my poker face so after each landing when he turns to see my reaction there will be nothing. He’ll just call my bluff.

I’m not a panicky mom.  If they aren’t bleeding or a bone isn’t protruding from the skin, I just tell them in a calm voice that they’re okay and to pick themselves up. But what if he gets really hurt? I’m talking broken bones and stitches, blood gushing and unconsciousness. I know babies are first-time parents proof, but what about us second-timers? And does that rule apply to toddlers? What’s the cut off age? Or maybe it’s a height requirement, like riding the Tornado at Adventureland.

What if DCS comes knocking on my door? I mean, you take a picture of your kid’s first bath and have them developed (developed? What decade am I living in? I mean printed) at Wal-Mart and they turn you in for child pornography. It’s true – look it up. I get nervous at the pediatrician’s office when my kids have bruises. I’m paranoid that the doctor will think one of them has just one bruise too many and make the call.

Granted, my daughter is as graceful as I am and thankfully she’s fallen down in front of the doctor, so I think he kinda gets that. She could barely take two steps without falling over when she was learning to walk. We learned when she was three that she needed glasses, so it wasn’t funny anymore. It was sad really, because we’d laugh at poor “Mini Jen” when really she couldn’t see where she was going (again, does that qualify for a DCS call – laughing at my sight-challenged daughter?).

I guess the only thing to do is to let him keep jumping off stuff and running full speed into walls, even if he gets hurt. I’ll have to ignore his fondness for furniture licking and wait for the bigger stuff like sports and driving and girls. Oh good lord. . . .

 So there’s that.

February 1, 2010

Stupid

Filed under: kids — Tags: , , , , — jen @ 12:51 pm

I used to have a lovely vocabulary. Sometimes people looked at me like I was making up words, I guess because they had never heard them used in real life before. I imagined them racing home to find their dictionary to make sure the words I used were real. I’m positive they didn’t do that, because they’re not nerdy like me. But the dream was there. 

Now, with two kids, those beautiful words have been forced out of my brain, replaced by monosyllabic words like, “no” and “stop it.” Sometimes I string them together to form a run-on sentence: “no no no no no no noooooooooo no no stop it no hey I’m serious I said stop I said wait!”  If there’s no one around to see the two little lovelies running and stumbling around my legs-one with my bra and the other with scissors, I probably just appear to be insane. If they do see them, they would probably assume I’m a bad mother. I have no problem with either, because I think I’m both at this point.

For example, last night we were sitting down eating dinner and I said to my husband: “how’s your. . .uh. . . you know. . . that stuff?” I had to gesture with my fork; stabbing in the air toward his plate like Jodie Foster in “Nell.” I knew that it was dinner-time, I knew what we were all doing together, because it’s about the only thing we actually all do together, yet the word was gone. I saw the chicken (orange chicken, by the way, Wan Chai Ferry from a box, I highly recommend), the rice. I know those words, but putting it all together to create that one noun – not there. One of my children has stolen it and hidden it away.  It’s probably covered with cracker crumbs and glitter glue so I wouldn’t really want it back anyway.

I think that’s why we moms have created “the look.” Not because we have an unspoken bond with our children. Not because we are exasperated at all times. We have simply forgotten words. The words we need to calmly explain why the situation currently unfolding is not in their best interest. We talk through our teeth and count to three because we are desperately searching for whatever response is appropriate when a four year-old is blissfully smashing Cheerios on the wood floor with our one pair of nice shoes (bought on clearance because we had to get the kids’ summer clothes).

One (that kind of looks like fun). Two (how do I explain to her that it’s not fun?). If I say three, that’s it (I have no idea what ‘it’ is because I’ve never gotten past two-what if I get to three? Crap). If we’ve done this enough times, however, the child usually stops, pouts and then proceeds to find something else in the house to damage, maim, or otherwise render unrecognizable. The person who invented the counting thing was a genius. Most likely a former genius, now exhausted and unable to have an adult conversation.

Spending the entire day with two small children does not aid in keeping adult words in your head. Watching cartoons and making play-doh food doesn’t require a lot of fancy talk, which is nice for the most part. Not as mind-numbing as one would expect. But there are times when a nice chat about current events not related to talking aquatic cartoons would be nice. And when I find myself questioning said underwater creatures, it scares me a little. (Why is there a lagoon to swim in when it’s underwater? Why do they use cups with straws-can’t they just inhale?) When my suspension of disbelief toward a cartoon is called into question, it’s time to go.

It’s not just the words that I’ve lost, though. I think a lot of women my age found becoming a mom was a bit of a shock. Not actually finding out I was pregnant, that was the plan, but finally realizing what our mothers went through and then trying to survive with some sense of self-that’s the shocking part. It’s hard. It’s painful. It can make you angry. It can make you cry in the shower (the only place we can be alone for about 5 minutes). Most people would respond with exasperation – of course it’s hard, what did you expect?

My response to your “no doy” is this: we’re a generation of women whose moms worked so we were more or less raised by t.v. You can call it an excuse, but I really think there’s something to it. We were taught to believe that misunderstandings happen and some sort of crazy hijinks ensue (think: Greg’s hair turns orange!) but in half an hour, it’s all wrapped up in a nice neat resolution. Everyone pitches in and problem solved. So the reality slaps us in the back of the head with a small Tonka truck and shows us we have to do it all by ourselves.

It gets easier, but we have to work at it. Really work at it. Our moms worked; some by choice, others probably wanted to stay home with us but had to pay the bills so they couldn’t. Maybe two of my friends growing up had a stay-at-home mom. The rest of us had baby-sitters or grandmas and televisions taking care of us after school. So cut us some slack. Or offer to baby-sit if you can do it so much better. In the meantime, turn away if you must, or offer advice (which we will ignore with a smile), or just take away the chainsaw from my child and walk away. Consider it a parting gift just for playing.

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