Peanuts and Cracker Jacks

(Me and the husband)

Webster's dictionary defines "Quip" as: a witty or funny observation or response usually made on the spur of the moment.

Case in point: Saturday night. The husband's 27th birthday get together at the local AAA baseball game with our closest friends. The game was a blow out, 10 - 5 Durham, with the opposing team scoring 4 runs in the first inning. As devastating as this was, we managed.

The terrace was rented private, the beer was paid for, the wings and traditional ball game food was hot and good, and someone had brought a camera. The queen of drunk, humorous, random statements had brought her "A" game and had all of us laughing, even the waitress. Who we secretly think wished she had been assigned to another table.


(Erin and Ashley)

"I am the world's best drunks" - Erin


(Me and Erin, posing)

"You know what we need? Shots! Waitress bring us shots." - Erin
"Well, because it's late, you can have a shot of whiskey, whiskey and...whiskey" - Waitress
"Whiskey it is, 3 please" - Erin
"No, no whiskey, you don't know where any of your hair ties are" - Joe


(Erin and the orange)

"Oh look, the special Olympic people are spelling out O-H-I-O" -Erin
"No honey, they are singing Y-M-C-A" -Joe
"Oh damn, I spelled it wrong" -Erin


(Ashley and Matt)

"Ok, what did I miss?" -Tommy
"I don't know, I wasn't paying attention." -Me
"Stop talking about shopping and pay attention we're at a ballgame for christ's sake!"
-Tommy


(Joe and Erin)

"Do you know how awesome it would be to mow that grass? (the ball field) I should get a part time job here" -Erin



"How in the world do you score that many points?" -Erin
"Erin, honey it's runs not points" -Me
"Runs, points, touchdowns, whatever" -Erin
"Oh my god, she's going to give me an aneurysm" -Joe


(Joe needing more beer)

"Dude, we suck" -Joe

"Honey give the players a break, maybe they're having a bad day, Oh! I know this song...

do, do, do, do, do, do, charge! [pumping her fist high in the air]

"Ok honey, what were we talking about?" -Erin


(Erin and Joe)

"Sarah, get together with Terry, I want to take your picture" -Me
"No, I'm eating." -Sarah
"She doesn't do pictures, but you can take my picture" -Terry


(Terry, with Sarah in the background)

"Steal home dude! We're gonna score Joe, we're gonna finally score!" [screaming like an giant idiot] -Tommy

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What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine.

I had to go to the doctor today.

Not my most favorite thing to do, but of the infinite amount of possible options, certainly not the worst thing in the world. But before I go freaking out my in-laws causing them to call in the national guard because of a doctors appointment (they tend to over react), nothing is wrong. I just needed some blood work done to check on my recently diagnose thyroid condition (hallelujah! I'm fluffy for a reason).

When I arrived at the doctor's office, I wrote my name at the bottom of the list, turned and scoured the magazine racks for something half way interesting to read. As doctor's offices go, I was fortunate that my doctor's office places a premium on current issues of Newsweek, Time, Parents, Self and Good Housekeeping. Feeling a little guilty that I wasn't more up-to-date on the current Iranian election crisis, I selected the copy of Newsweek and plopped myself down into one of the numerous uncomfortable utilitarian plastic chairs in the waiting room.

"Andrea" Wow, that was fast.

I placed my magazine on the chair,trotted up to the window, mumbled yes to the usual screening questions (is your insurance XXX, are you still at XXX, is your phone number still XXX), payed my co-pay and returned to my seat.

Where I noticed a slightly older man, probably in his mid-40's whose outfit of faded khakis, a light blue short sleeved stripped shirt, leather boat shoes with no socks would have felt more comfortable on the set of Miami Vice than a Ohio doctors office, has snaked my copy of Newsweek.

Mine! I shouted to myself.

So what if that was a childish, greedy response. Without that issue, I was forced to read about Beyonce's personal wardrobe and how she manages to not get "too toned" during her shows. Uhm, thanks but no thanks.

The nurse called my name and I slapped my magazine down harder than I'd intended. The retro man looked up from my "other" magazine and gave me a flash smile. I lowered my forehead and made slits with my eyes. Mentally, I was broadcasting that stealing a person's magazine was NOT acceptable behavior in this office. I continued glaring long after the nurse closed the door behind me to the waiting room.

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Public Service Announcement

As millions of Americans strive to eat healthier and take better care of themselves, there remains a sub-group of the population that resists healthy eating. They turn their backs on Omega 3's and whole wheat. Maintaining that their larger mid-section is a "love-machine" or that their women love them just the way they are. This sub-group is The Husbands.

The Husbands are a product of their environment. The were reared in households where food was the vehicle to obtain their father's daydream of a middle linebacker as a son. Only to the wake up 15 years later and realize their bodies have not kept up with their eating habits. The college lifestyle can also attribute to an expanding waistline. Long nights of beer, pizza and ramen does not a healthy man make.

In order to protect your love investment, be sure to recognize the signs of an unhealthy eater. The sooner action is taken, the better the success rate. Do not attempt to encourage outdoor activities to promote weight loss until a healthier diet is implemented. The Husbands will feel excessive unhealthy eating is warranted if exercise has taken place.

Be very careful adjusting the subjects diet. They have been known to lash out when faced with change that they did not initiate. Especially in the case of their food, of which they can be highly protective. Modifications to their diet to promote health and well being must be done discretely, and should be inconspicuous. Below are several suggestions that will help result in success.

- Do not be afraid to switch containers. The Husbands can not recognize lite miracle whip from mayonnaise if jar looks the same.

- The Husbands tend to shovel. Capitalize on this opportunity by hiding vegetables in the meatloaf.

- Buy lite beer, and claim the store was out of the "usual". Desperation can be a powerful motivator.

- Spaghetti sauce is just the perfect shade of red to hide the slight color difference of whole wheat pasta.

- Tofu that is diced correctly and tossed in a stir fry and smothered with teriayki sauce can not be discerned from chicken.

- Put cheese on it. Remember: buy 2% and hide the bag.

- Ground turkey looks exactly like ground beef once it's been browned.

- A box of chocolate cake mix and a can of diet coke. Taste and appearances can be deceiving.

- A heavy coat of breading can conceal a healthy piece of fish. Be sure to invest in a "steaky" fish and call it chicken.

It is extremely important not to disclose your intentions or your actions. This can result in a devastating setback of hostile resistance. Not to mention your credibility as a provider. Take small steps and always maintain your innocence. Perseverance is key to your success. Good Luck.

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Stick a fork in me

Sometimes it's hard to draft something witty and humorous. Especially when nothing funny has happened lately. And then sometimes, events don't need a long winded intro or a back story, they just need to be told. Because they are obvious and funny all by themselves.

---------

Tyler is too young to understand there is a difference between him and mommy. Or at least that's what I told myself. I was sorely mistaken one morning.

Tyler's doing his usual get out of bed and run sprints between his room and our bedroom, where I was getting dressed for the day. And it just so happens that at the moment he made his lap through our bedroom, I was fixing my bra into place.

Tyler runs in, screeches to a stop, and stares for a moment in quiet fascination. Decides what he sees on mommy is pretty funny looking, points, giggles and takes off running again.

I think I'll start dressing in the bathroom, from now on. With the door closed.

---------

On the rare occasion that the husband is actually home on a weeknight, it falls upon me to cook. I know, it is so hard being me. This particular night we were having chicken pesto penne, a very good dish I "accidentally" created. Read: in my mind it sounded good, and for once actually turned out alright.

The husband was finishing up the meal by pulling the garlic bread out of the oven, while I was pulling the tableware out of the cabinets for dinner.

"Is that one of those midget forks?" the husband asked

"A midget fork?" sometimes I find it kinda hard to decipher what exactly the husband means.

"Ya, one of those small forks. I can't stand to eat with a small fork. I need a man fork."

"A man fork. Since when do we have male and midget forks?" I'm not sure I need to know the answer.

"Since I decided I need a man fork"

"A man fork" I clarify.

"Yep, a man fork" the husband grunts and holds his arms up at his side trying to look burly but ends up looking a man who really needs to poop.

---------

When you send four grown men out to play golf for Father's Day, something is bound to go totally awry. We sent the husband, my father, my uncle and my brother-in-law out for a day of golfing last weekend. They protested, but eventually saw the reasoning and conceded that maybe it WAS best if they spent the day on a golf course that served beer.

It was hot, golfing was slow, and several beers had been had by the 12th hole. When they pull up they notice an elderly man lying next to the tee box clutching his chest.

"Oh my god dude, are you alright?" The husband slurs.

"Well, my chest doesn't feel so good, so my friends went to go call an ambulance for me." the old man breathes.

"That's good, that's good." the husband nods in acknowledgment.

Long pause, followed by some back and forth with my dad and uncle.

"So dude, do you mind if we play through?"

---------

The first fall the husband and I were together, we went on an afternoon date to the apple farm. Afterwards, the husband hinted that a nice fall dessert would be really nice.

Sure, why not, I've got mad cooking skills.

Honestly my cooking ability only loosely resemble cooking. If you consider me wearing an apron and standing in a kitchen cooking, then ya, I'm Rachel freaking Ray.

I whip out my Betty Crocker paperback cook book, flip to the index and find a receipe for apple cobbler. I scan quickly and figure it doesn't look too complicated.

A dash of this, a helping of that, a pinch of this here stuff. 45 minutes later, and Viola! a cobbler.

"Here ya go honey..." I sang as I plunk down a bowl in front of him.

"Oooh, WOW does that look good!" You could just see the love in his eyes.

I trotted back to the kitchen to dole out a helping for myself. I padded back to the couch and plopped down next to him. I look over his bowl is half empty. He gives me a half-hearted toothless smile followed by a thumbs up.

Score! I rock!

Then, I notice he looks a little green. And he's not chewing, just swallowing. So I taste my bowl.

"Blech! Oh my god! This is awful! What the hell did I make?" I regurgitated my bite back into my bowl. It was disgustingly salty

"I think you mixed up the salt and the sugar in the recipe." The husband offers.

I yanked the bowl from his hands "Oh, god, why did you even eat that?"

"Because I didn't have the heart to tell you that you can't cook"

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I scare small children

The husband is nothing if not predictable. Every morning (that he's home) he gets up a little grumpy, stumbles into the bathroom, pads into the kitchen to put the coffee on, impatiently waits for the dripping to cease, pads back into the bathroom, sets his coffee down, flops onto the bed, groans and complains he's not awake yet.

He takes the same route to work, gets his hair cut every third Saturday morning at 8am (because the line is ridiculous honey if I wait till 8:30am), takes exactly 20mins to shower, shave, and get dressed and depending on the weather either wears khaki shorts or denim jeans.

If I was a stalker, he'd be an easy mark.

I, on the other hand, take anywhere from 30-90 mins to get dressed, depending on how much I like myself that day. If it's like today, where the weather is forecasting rain and high humidity, I don't even bother. I shower, diffuse my naturally curly frizzy hair and throw on something that is clean and half way matches. Because if the humidity is above 50%, forget it, no one is going to notice what I'm wearing, they'll be blinded by my hair.

The husband, however being his predictable self, I assumed had become immune to my bad hair days during the summer months. Today, he proved otherwise.

"Why didn't you straighten your hair today"

Because it's 88% humidity out there, it'd be pointless

"Oh"

Now the word "oh" has many connotations. In my house, if your a toddler it means something was explained that you didn't know before. If you're an adult, the word is laced with sarcasm as it's used as a filler to replace what you really wanted to say.

Why

"Nothing, it looks fine"

Just fine?

"Oh, well it looks.....fine"

Stop saying fine

"It looks....it looks....it looks, SEXY. Ya, it looks sexy"

Now I know you're lying

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Home unimproved

When the husband and I decided to get married, we did the unthinkable and bought a house before we were married (the horror). My grandmother had decided to head west and move in with my aunt in St. Louis and offered to sell us her house for cheap. We were stoked, our first house.

The downside of this awesome arraignment was that the house, a 30 yr old three level split, hadn't been updated since the Carter administration. We had chocolate brown shag carpeting, wood grain laminated cabinets with goldenrod door pulls, peeling wallpaper in every damn room, cracked window seals, dark wood paneling and random hooks hanging from the ceiling which obviously once were used to display macrame owls. Nice. Conventional theory would tell most people to run, not walk, away from a house like this. Not me! I didn't see a single problem that money and a handy husband couldn't fix.

So off to the Home Depot we went. The husband humored me in the beginning. He'd walk the aisles with me, as I daydreamed, stand quietly with his hands in his pockets. Chuckle as I threw stuff in the cart for projects that I'd conjure up on the spot. Help me scrutinize the correct wall color and whether or not the satin nickel finish on the faucet would match the finish on the towel rod. Spending untold amounts on projects that had no business being attempted by amateurs such as ourselves. But after a year of doing this every weekend, our garage looked more like a rented storage unit and our house was partway through a construction project that had been put on indefinite hold.

When Tyler came along, things got worse, the husband started working longer hours to bring home more bacon. And no matter how the house looked, working 80-90hrs a week was not a conducive work schedule to finding motivation on the weekends for home improvement. It became a bone of contention between us. I'd make lists, post them on the fridge. I'd nag, complain, and then nag some more. We'd bicker, fight, vent our frustrations, but in the end, nothing got "improved".

The problem was, I had deluded myself into believing the husband was a master craftsman. A bob villa minus the plaid shirt! When in reality, the husband could change a light fixture, keep the lawn immaculate, and do the occasional emergency plumbing repair but past that, we was all thumbs. And I had learned this the hard way.

For now, we've come to a mutual agreement. I will throw out my unrealistic expectations of his "handiness". The husband will make attempts to fix small things as needed with the help of his little apprentice Tyler. And we'll save to pay someone else to fix what I still want done. Because, we realized that all thing considered, spending time with his little buddy watching Handy Manny, is more important than being a handy man.

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That's what she said...

Have you ever run into an old acquaintance and for a quick second your former life flashes before your eyes and you're forced to relive past mistakes? Like say an old boyfriend? Where everything that comes out of your mouth is an attempt to paint a picture of your current life WAY better than when you dated him. Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but we all know ex-boyfriends are ex's for a reason. Even if time has faded the truth in their minds.

Take for example my friend, we'll call her K, has had the worse luck lately running into old boyfriends. As if anyone REALLY enjoys running into people we use to sleep with. Someone's always judging someone, and someone just doesn't look as good as they once did.

It's become almost comical her weekly interludes with ghost of boyfriends past, all of whom apparently want to re-ignite the imaginary spark between them. Keep in mind her lack of progress with her current long term boyfriend in the marital status department makes these so much funnier.

Bachelor #1-
This winner called (who lives out of state) after nearly 6 years and asked her to come down to see him; read: travel 300 miles for a booty call. Mind you, at the time she dated him, they were not living in the same general vicinity, he was married (which he hid from her) and asked her to regularly travel 2 hrs to see him then. Guess the ex-wifey wasn't available.

Bachelor #2 -
This lovely man has bumped into her randomly throughout the 10 years since they dated, has the moral compass of a deadbeat dad and who's personality every time manages to come across as just a hair above elephant dung. The most recent visit was at a gas station, where he acted like they were long lost friends who still cared deeply for each other and were dying to know all the details of each others lives. And....pass.

Bachelor #3 -
This one, currently flashing his less than stellar smile at your friendly neighborhood bank, thinks the past is all just water under the bridge and she secretly pines for him in her sleep. News flash: You weren't a prize to be had back in the day. And yet, you took your imaginary "stud status" seriously and chose to sleep with K's close friend. Guess what the girls weren't THAT close.

Bachelor #4 - (my personal fav)
The king of all crappy ex-boyfriends, plopped himself down next to K at a recent networking seminar. It was the longest two hours of her life. After running through his recent failures professionally, he moved on to personal matters.

"We totally need to get together and hang out"

Ya right, I'll get right on top of scheduling that

"We should go to lunch, my treat"

Oh ya, because my boyfriend would love that.

"If you can't do lunch, we could do drinks, at night"

Drinking with you never ended well.

"So are you still dating what's his name, what does he do again?"

He's worked for XXX shipping for 8 years and you know that.

"Huh, I figured you'd do better than that"

And....there's why were not together anymore, you're a jackass.

"So you heard I got married, right"

Yep, right after you broke-up with me @sshole. Called me up, broke my heart again, and asked me to approve of HER ring.

I'm actually getting married in October

OMG, did I just say that outloud!

And there's the money shot.

Because, even if we're more than happy with our current situation, ex boyfriends have a way of making the most sane woman, nuts. In a perfect world, we'd ship our ex's off to a remote island where they would sit all day, play Madden on play station, drink beer, fart, tell disgusting jokes and find friendship because in their minds, they are the perfect catch.

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Broken bits

Growing up, I didn't spend much time with boys. It was just my sister and I. Our close cousins were all girls, my mother's friends predominately had girls, in fact even the cat was a girl. It was a running joke that my father (an elementary school principal) was the best person to deal with a building of 40 women because he had all women at home. Although I always secretly thought my dad had wished my sister a boy...

So when the husband and I found out we were having a boy I was filled with mixed emotions. On one hand I always liked the idea of having an older brother that looked out for his little sister, plus I think the husband did back flips behind the curtain when she pointed out the penis. On the other hand, I had no idea how to raise a boy. And when the nurse at the hospital brought back our bundle of newly snipped joy and quickly ran through the care routine I lost it.

"Does that look normal to you" I asked the husband.

The husband shrugged "I don't know"

"Well did yours look like that?" my voice going up one octave.

"How the hell should I know"

"Because you have one!" I was screaming and almost crying at this point

"Honey, having a penis does not make you all knowing"

Riiight, I'm gonna have to remember that.

I eventually faked my way through most of his first year. And when he turned 18 mos, he had really shot up in height and slimmed down thanks to his non-stop running. What I didn't know at the time, was EVERYTHING was getting bigger.

One night after bath time, I'm changing his diaper and getting everything ready for bed time. When I see what looks like a red rash just below the head of his penis. I look closer and I'm dumbstruck.

What the H-E-double hockey sticks is THAT!

Where his wrinkly part connected to the head of his penis, was not a rash but a bright red gash. I freaked.the.F.out. I did a quick inventory of the situation.

No blood? check.

No tears? check.

All other manly parts intact? double check.

I grabbed the phone and dialed my stepmom.

"Oh my god, oh my god. I broke Tyler, he's broken, I broke it!"

"Slow down, what's broke?"

"Tyler, it's all red, something happened, oh my god, what do I do?"

"You have to slow down ,take a deep breath, what happened?"

I recap the last ten minutes to my stepmom and hear a sharp intake followed by a long pause. "I'll be over in a few minutes."

After some investigation by my stepmom, a frantic call to the nurse help line, and a quick trip to the doctor in the morning, we learned this was a perfectly normal occurrence with circumcised boys as the grow. I felt a marginally better. And I couldn't help but feel like I had broken my son's stuff. And then the paraniod freak in me came out.

Oh gawd, what if he grows up misshapen?
The boys in the locker room will make fun of him,
He'll never get a date for the prom,
He'll never get married
He won't be able to have kids.
NO GRANDKIDS.
ACK!

The doctor just laughed at my freaked out thought process, explained that sometimes when healing, the "head" reattaches to the base. And when boys get "bigger" it detaches and can become red for several days.

It just reaffirmed my original thought that I have no idea what to do with a penis.

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My soap box

Through a local message board I'm part of, I got turned onto this blog, Her Bad Mother. I read her post for today (and for yesterday) and it made me want to stand up and cheer. Hallelujah! Finally a woman who is not afraid to admit that she is not a poster mom for the PTA. Everywhere I turn we as mom's are bombarded with suggestions on how to maker our kids faster, smarter, taller, thinner, and just plain better if we were only better mom's. Except, every child is unique, their thoughts and behaviors are something all their own. And you know where they get that, from their unique mothers! We as a society are creating a generation of sheltered children who are unable to be creative, think for themselves, work for a goal and understand what it means to fail. It makes me want to yell, "Stop mothering your child!" Let them eat dirt, get runny noses, stub a few toes, bruise their knees, know disappointment and ruin a few outfits while trying to scale the jungle gym. Let them be kids!

My neighbor is expecting her first child. She and her husband tried for nearly two years to get pregnant, and finally they are exactly where they want to be. Except now she is starting to notice other kids when she is out. She observes their behaviors and makes mental notes on traits/actions she doesn't want her own child to exert. She's talked with me at great lengths about how my son is wonderfully behaved every time she sees him and marvels at how this is obviously a product of my husband and I's relaxed parenting style. While I appreciate her compliments, I modestly point out to her, that what she doesn't see are the shopping trips to Target where he's thrown a wholly fit in the toy aisle because I put back the Diego toy he wanted. Or the time we had to leave early from the restaurant (before we finished eating) because he wouldn't sit in his highchair any longer. Or the time before that, where he's yelling at the top of his lungs in the middle of the grocery store because dad had to go pee. I've been THAT mom, the one with the horrible kid who everyone judges based on her kids actions. And you know what, I DON'T CARE.

Because as an expectant mother, I read every book out there. I knew the books backwards and forwards. I *thought* I was prepared. Wrong! Nothing written in books can prepare you for the challenges that being a new parent throws at you. So throw the damn parenting books away and just learn as you go. Because if your force yourself to confine your parenting to what's written in books, you'll miss the amazingly funny results that come from letting your kids have fun. Just have fun, trust your instincts (yes you have them!) and your kid will be perfect all on his own, because he's yours.

But just in case you need a little proof that you are not, and will not be, a horrible parent...

Reason's why I know I'm also a "Bad Mother":
1) I didn't breastfeed because I didn't want to
2) I never instituted a bedtime schedule
3) I'm a mushy mom, i hate to let Tyler cry it out.
4) I have yelled at my son
5) I will give my child cold medicine if it makes him feel better
6) Tyler eats and likes cookies, cake, candy, and twizzlers (his fav)
7) I have used Noggin as a babysitter so I can get some "me" time
8) Tyler eats what he likes and what's convenient for me.
9) I am not a short order cook, he either eats what I put in front of him or not. There's always tomorrow
10) We eat frozen pizza
11) I only do laundry on the weekends, if it's dirty too bad, do it yourself.
12) He likes his binky, it makes him happy. And I'm ok with that. Leave it alone
13) I like to snuggle with Tyler in bed on the nights the husband is gone. If he falls asleep there, so what.
14) If he falls asleep in the same shirt he's had on all day, then he sleeps in it.















15) Spaghetti is a favorite food in our house, yes it's messy, but the pictures are funnier.
16) The garden hose has doubled as bathtime on hot nights.
17) I spank my child, he gets time outs, and hears stop and no.
18) Dirty binkies are still binkies, they stop meltdowns.
19) I didn't teach sign-language
20) I secretly cheer when he picks me over dad to make his boo-boo better.
21) If I smell a stinky diaper, I will call "Not it" on the husband
22) I don't pick up toys every night, most of the time I just shut the door and forget about it.
23) I've let Tyler play with things that would send other mom's into therapy.

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The big one

The husband thinks I gave birth to the next bass pro fishing champion. This is what keeps him awake at night. Not the bills, or the household chores. Nope, he worries about how to get our son, at the top of his bluegill fishing game.

So for weeks the husband has been trying to convinced me that Tyler is ready to fish. He bought him a little kids fishing pole. They've been watching bass pro fishing tournaments on outdoors channel, and they've been practicing his casting and reeling skills, in the house. [sigh] And Tyler has even started saying fish. Well, in truth it sounds more like ish, but it's all a matter of perception.

I kept arguing with the husband that a fishing trip with a 2yr old, who had a real hook and a live worm attached to that plastic diego pole, was more likely to hook his father in the face, freak his mother out, and send everyone running to the hospital, than actually catch a fish. But noooo, would he listen? Not a chance. Everyday, I'd hear about something else that Tyler did that PROVED he was ready to fish. I ran out of resistance and caved. I agreed to go fishing, but I'll be damned if I'm putting a worm on a hook.

So the husband, myself, Tyler and our nephew Hunter packed up our stuff and headed down to the neighborhood pond where frosted flakes on a stick could catch a fish. The car was loaded. Because taking a 2yr old and a 6 yr old fishing for 1 hour requires more gear than the army needs to invade Iraq. We had a lawn chair, a tackle box, 2 fishing poles, a tub of worms, 2 juice boxes, an emergency supply of diapers, bug spray, a camera, 2 cellphones, snacks, toys, a back-up binky, a change of clothes, a pair of kid crocs, a towel, band aids, and a book for me to read while the boys did "men" stuff. I was exhausted just carrying everything from the car.

As it turned out, it was a good thing we brought the towel, because Tyler's fascination with water brought about the end of the fishing trip when he leaned a little too close and went head first into the pond. He came up, gasped for air and bobbed about the surface only once before the husband had jumped in and pulled him out.

He was soaked. Dripping wet. And covered in muddy pond alge. Gross. But the mom in me prevailed as I scooped him up, soaked clothes and all and attempted to calm him down as the husband ran to the car for the towel. (Why on earth had we left it in the car, oh that's right, I didn't want to make a THIRD trip) By the time he got back, I'd stripped Tyler down to his birthday suit, he was still sniffling and despite it being nearly 85 degrees, was shivering. We dried him off, changed his diaper, changed his clothes and wrapped him in the towel. Except I'd managed to forget to pack a spare shirt with the extra pair of pants I'd brought [mental head slap]

So when Tyler recovered from his near death experience, what I had was a toddler who looked like he fit right in at a trailer park. The pants I'd brought were too tight in the diaper, and flared out a little at the bottom, and were gathered at the ankles. They looked a lot like the balloon leg pants of the early 90's (nice). Powder blue crocs that were two sizes too big. No shirt. His hair slicked back, and a hint of a diaper peeking out the top of his pants. He was stylin.

On the bright side, Tyler had managed to catch his first fish, even if it was on the small side. We got a picture to prove it, and dad was never so proud.

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My happy place

Because a good friend of mine Allison tagged me in her blog. I have listed 6 Unimportant Things that Make Me Happy. This wasn't hard, since I'm generally a happy person, it was hard though to come up with only 6 :)

#1 - A good hair day
#2 - Tyler's giggle/laughter
#3 - Pizza
#4 - An item of clothing that fits, when it didn't 6mos ago
#5 - Counting down the days till we TTC (try to conceive) - 50 days
#6 - Sitting on the back deck with the husband and a good wine

Now I tag 4 more happy girls:

Kim - A Golfer and a Girl
Danica - Happy Girl
Kenzi - The Adventure of Millie T
Sarah - Boots by the backdoor

Create your list of 6 things so we can know what makes YOU happy!

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Sisterhood Award

A friend and fellow blogger Allison has nominated me for a Sisterhood Award. Which I think is pretty awesome, because eventually you realize that you know your online friends just as well as your IRL friends, and who couldn't use more friends in life!

There are a few guidelines in order accept this award.

1. Put the logo on your blog or post.
2. Nominate at least 10 blogs with
great attitude and/or gratitude. Be sure to link to your nominees in your post.
3. Let your nominees know they have received the award by leaving them a
comment on their blog.
4. Be sure to link this post to the person who
nominated you for the award.

And the nominees are:
Marcie - D-man & Sassy and their little girl too
Sarah - Boots by the backdoor
Jill - Happy Hopefuls
Kenzi - The adventures of Millie T
Michelle - Not Raising Brats
Danica - Happy Girl
Kim - A Golfer and a Girl
Jody - The Mother Load
Lori - Adventures in Grownupness
Jennifer - The Murrays

You girls are all amazing in your own way which is why I love following your blogs and your lives.

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Advice to mom's

I've seen this before, a long time ago BEFORE I had Tyler; it was funny then and it is immensely more funny now that I've had a boy and completely understand where this woman is coming from. Tyler I feel will unfortunately try many of these. He's just like that.

I also think there should be a support group for mother's of toddler and preschool boys. We could all get together once a week to cry and share our battle stories. It should be chaired by women who've survived and lived to tell about it, and provide us with their infinite wisdom and guidance. Then we could all write a book, make millions and spend our mid-life crisis years in Fiji. Let the father's deal with the teenage years. Lord knows we'll never survive that.

Advice from a mother of boys

1.) A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.

2.) If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.

3.) A 3-year old Boy’s voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.

4.) If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound Boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20×20 ft. room.

5.) You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.

6.) The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn’t stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.

7.) When you hear the toilet flush and the words “uh oh”, it’s already too late.

8.) Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.

9.) A six-year old Boy can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old Man says they can only do it in the movies.

10.) Certain Lego’s will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old boy.

11.) Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.

12.) Super glue is forever.

13.) No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can’t walk on water.

14.) Pool filters do not like Jell-O.

15.) VCR’s do not eject “PB & J” sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.

16.) Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.

17.) Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.

18.) You probably DO NOT want to know what that odor is.

19.) Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.

20.) The fire department in Austin , TX has a 5-minute response time.

21.) The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.

22.) It will, however, make cats dizzy.

23.) Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.

24.) 80% of Women will pass this on to almost all of their friends, with or without kids.

25.) 80% of Men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and brake fluid.

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Sexy is relative

In high school, boys were gross; but in our schoolgirl adolescent hormonal haze we couldn't see past the letterman jacket and the cute smile. Most of the time we just lust after them from afar, giggle with our friends as we passed by their lockers, do slow drive-bys of their houses (if we could drive), call their houses late at night and hang up, agonize over just the right outfit to wear to the Friday night football games, and fall asleep to the thought of being asked to the spring dance. In our mind, all boys were Johnny Depp.

The truth was, boys were smelly, pimply faced and just as dilusional as us girls; who spent countless hours perfecting the arm pit fart, body part rasberries, the fine art of "crop dusting", hocking loogies, swapping dirty jokes, and finding the humor in other bodily sounds.

But this well earned coming of age knowledge isn't lost when boys turn to men and become husbands and fathers. Turns out, 2 yr old boys think fart noises made by daddy are hysterical. And to us mom's, they become sexy all over again.

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Randomness

On Saturday the husband and I went down to Creekside to watch the free concert they have each Saturday night. This week it was the karaoke band, Fonzie Monroe. Once we arrived, the husband wanted to take Tyler to go feed the ducks goldfish crackers (a favorite past time) so I agreed to wait for the table at the restaurant. Despite having the stroller, I sat down at the bar and ordered a pop. However it was obvious the woman who sat down next to me was NOT drinking pop and was rather chatty for what appeared to be her first drink. Our conversation went something like this:

Her: "Do you have a baby?"

Me: [blink] "Uhm, ya" hence the stroller lady

Her: "Where is she?"

Me: "HE is down at the creek with his father" nosy aren't we...

Her: [nodding, slurping] "Mmm...ok, married?"

Me: "Yes" why?

Her: [distracted] "Could you flag that bartender down for me, if he's just gonna chat with that lady he should bring me another drink"

Me: [flagging the bartender] Oy

By this time the husband had returned from the creek and the lush had a refill, so the conversation resumed.

Her: "He looks just like his father doesn't he"

Me: [shrugs] "I guess"
Yes, my strawberry blonde, blue eyed, fair skinned, chunky faced kid looks just like his greek father. [nods] Yep, exactly.

Her: "I bet you're having like 10 more right"

Me: [stares] "Uh, probably not that many" Sheesh

Her: "So when are you going to start trying again? You are going to try again right?"

Me: [blinks]

Her: "Oh wait, I'm sorry you ARE pregnant, how far along are you?"

Me: Bartender! Vodka tonic, hold the tonic.

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Chicks dig scars

I am raising an Evil Knievel wannabe.

Some days I worry that someone will call children services on me.

Last week recap:

On Monday he face planted after launching himself off the front of a toy motorcycle.

On Tuesday he came home from the sitters with scratches on his upper arm, the sitter said he was racing the other kids down the drive way on his car made a sharp left turn onto the sidewalk and crash landed.

On Wednesday he attempted to ride a scooters meant for 5yrs olds down the driveway. It didn't work and he scrapped up his knee.

Thursday and Friday he must have decided to take a breather because we didn't have any new cuts.

However this weekend, he was back in action.

Saturday, he threw all the couch cushions to the bottom of the stairs and was tossing himself (belly flop style) down a half a flight of stairs into a mosh pit of pillows. [sigh]

Sunday night I was in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner when I hear the strangest sounds coming from the lower level.

Creak......whap/bounce......thump.....giggle.....patter patter patter

Creak.....whap/bounce......thump.....giggle.....patter patter patter

I quietly crept to the edge of the stairs and peered around the corner [gasp] and discovered what was causing the sounds. Tyler had fashioned a step stool from his toddler workbench by positioning it next to my GIANT exercise ball in efforts to mount the exercise ball. Except when he jumped and flung himself on top of the ball, it retracted and tossed him off where he landed on the carpet with a giggle only to quickly pad back over to the bench, move the ball into position and try again.

I should just buy stock in bandaids and neosporin. Might be a wise investment.

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