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2006 March

Yes, That Would Be The Perfect Career For Me

March 30, 2006

“Mom, did you go to cooking school?” my 5 year old son asked last night.

“Uh, nooooo. Why?” I was finally able to get out once I stopped the hysterical laughing.

“Because you are such a good cooker. You make the best things. Like this! How did you know how to make this so good? Mmmmmmmm. I know… you should be a cookbook writer. Mmmmmmm.”

“First I cooked the elbow shaped macaroni. Then, I open the package of powdered cheese. Added milk and butter. I prefer not to measure exactly. I’m daring and crazy like that. I like to embrace the recipe and make it my own. Stir it up and viola, culinary delight!”


I like to think of it as setting the bar low for my future daughter-in-laws.

Posted by Chris @ 9:44 pm | 36 Comments  

Things You Would Have To Step Over On Your Way Into My House After Walking In My Front Door

(assuming, of course, you were able to make it up to the front porch over the pile of bikes, skateboards, scooters, and pieces of chalk strategically placed to cause maximum slips and falls)

  • glove belonging to son #3
  • pair of dirty socks
  • snow hat belonging to son #4
  • crumpled paper airplane
  • shopping bag with pants to be returned to Filene’s, but by the time I get around to it will no longer be too big for son #5, so I should just put them away
  • pasta colander
  • pair of sneakers that don’t belong to anyone, having been removed from the Goodwill bag by that horrible child named Not Me
  • string cheese, half eaten still partially in it’s wrapper
  • heart shaped princess melamine bowl
  • tupperware and lids, none of which are pairs
  • stuffed bear
  • washcloth, wet
  • discarded granola bar wrappers
  • sippy cup, leaking
  • ripped up bits of construction paper
  • crumbled up crackers that have the appearance of having been stomped on
  • broken pencil
  • piece of crown molding
  • one Land’s End slip on shoe
  • several plastic Walmart bags that I like to keep in a basket under the kitchen sink, but the baby likes to keep anywhere BUT there
  • empty medicine measuring cups
  • several construction paper fans
  • baby gate laying on it’s side in the doorway, obviously knocked down and stepped upon
  • couch cushions, unzipped with stuffing coming out
  • pin cushion, complete with pins sticking out
  • area rug that belongs in front of the sink is instead crumpled up into a ball and cast aside
  • an empty box of baby wipes
  • an entire box worth of baby wipes on every flat surface
  • one pink sock
  • a banana peel
  • a 10lb weight, which subsequently was dropped on a pile of slate tile that had been sealed and was waiting installation, breaking 3 of them
  • an upside down laundry basket pushed up to the counter like a stool
  • a toy cell phone
  • spy goggles
  • wood pellets that missed being vacuumed up after a pellet fight last night, no it was not allowed
  • a rock
  • several sticks
  • and last but not least, dried mud… everywhere, giving the appearance that we live in a dirt floored dwelling

It’s seven against one here. I fear they are winning.

Posted by Chris @ 12:53 pm | 34 Comments  

A Stellar Day

March 28, 2006

Today I went to the dentist and had gum surgery.

I hate going to the dentist. I have given birth to seven children, three of them with no drugs at all. The other four I had a huge ole needle shoved into my spine, and yet the prospect of getting dental work and having a novacaine shot makes me woozy. I hate the sound and feeling of the needle going into my gums and cheek. It always feels like it is going to come right through the outside of my face.

And even though it usually doesn’t hurt, there is always the uneasy fear and apprehension that there will be pain.

I hate the sound of the drill vibrating in my head. I hate that burning smell of teeth being grinded away. I hate the water shooting into my mouth that never fails to gag me. I hate that little suction tube. And I hate how my tongue can’t behave and instead darts all over my mouth.

After the birth of my first child I had to be sewn back up like a Thanksgiving turkey, yet I don’t think I complained near as much as I am about a couple of stitches in my mouth.

I also went to visit my mother, ending the seven year estrangement and showing my masochistic tendencies by enduring both these things in one afternoon.

She was released from the psych hospital last week. She was diagnosed as bipolar and put on some appropriate medications.

It was a strange, almost like talking to a completely different person. At first I didn’t recognize this happy, laughing person as my mother.

Even more so she apologized. Not just for the other night when she said I was dead to her and disinherited, but for everything. For a life time of treating me horribly. She said that over the past week coming to the realization that she was such an awful and mean mother was almost too much for her to bear.

Hearing her feel that way was almost too much for me to bear. As much as I have told myself that I have steeled myself against anymore heartache, there it was as raw as could be. Never in my life, not once, has she apologized for anything. And as much as I hate to say it, forgiveness is not one of my strong points.

As she gave me a tour of her house, one that I have never been to, I saw evidence of her last downward spiral and noticed things that have always been, but never struck me as all that odd. Like the fact that she literally has about 100 bath towels. All white. All folded the exact same way. All stacked neatly in her linen closet.

The sheets for beds that are still wrapped in their plastic packages. So many that she could never use them all during the rest of her lifetime. And it’s the same with bottles of perfume, car wax, shampoo, aspirin, etc. If the bird flu ever comes here me and all my kids could go live with them in their tiny condo and live off of their supplies for the rest of our natural lives. And it is all so anally organized.

Then there were the notes she wrote to herself and left all over the house. Notes saying that she was going to die soon and to whom the item should go. My step sister’s son was going to get an unfinished floral painting that she wrote ‘I love you, I am dead’ all over. Now that’s a family keepsake if ever there were one.

There wasn’t anything with my name on it, perhaps I am getting 50 bottles of Jean Nate body spray and a gross of Alpha Keri hand lotion that were in the back of the linen closet.

Overall, the visit was pleasant. I practiced biting my tongue. And it was a good thing that it was still numb when the topics of homeschooling, breastfeeding, politics, and novels written by Danielle Steele came up.

As I sat at her kitchen table, the same one I sat at years ago, I realized that relationships are a two way street. I am responsible for my side of the relationship and I need to just let go of the past. Let go of my anger. Let go of my pain. Let go of any expectations. Let go and just be.

And realize that even though it doesn’t hurt right now, there will always be the uneasy fear and apprehension of pain.

Posted by Chris @ 11:05 pm | 30 Comments  

All of Us

All of Us
Originally uploaded by the big yellow house.

Okay, sheesh, here is a picture of me wearing the black dress. I know you can’t really see it, but you can see the double chin I apparently have quite clearly.

And look how tall my eleven year old is… and I am wearing heels.

Posted by Chris @ 7:31 pm | 50 Comments  

Screaming Uncle

March 27, 2006

There are times when I think I must be mentally impaired.

Today is one of them.

All day, yes ALL DAY, I have been trying to turn this mov file 90 degrees so that you don’t have to cock your head to the side in order to watch it. And here it is 7:24 at night and I still have not figure it out. Why is it so difficult? Why? Isn’t youtube supposed to be idiot proof?

It looks right side up on my computer. But apparently that is just an illusion, a mind trick, a way to mess with my already overly taxed brain.

So, um, just lay your head down on your computer table to watch it. And if anyone knows how to fix it I would be eternally grateful and happily offer up my first born son* as payment.

*please note that the son pictured in the video is NOT the one I am offering as payment. The eleven year old would be off sulking in the corner, bemoaning his lot in life, and angry that I do not remember which song he said he liked a week ago and right-now-at-this-very-minute wants downloaded on to his Ipod. And, for future reference to all those other parents out there, saying, “Well, if you really liked it that much you should have remembered it.” only makes the sulking, bitching and moaning worse.

Posted by Chris @ 7:20 pm | 20 Comments  

Turning Seven Years Old

Ring Bearer

Tuxedo rental for being ring bearer: $90

New shiny black shoes purchased on the way to the wedding after we discover the rental shoes were too small: $20

Number of people singing Happy Birthday to you: 150

Number of Shirley Temple’s “on the rocks, heavy on the red stuff, with two maraschino cherries and a straw” consumed by you:12

Slow dancing and kissing the cute little flower girl on your birthday: priceless

Witnessing the retina burning cuteness and catching it all on tape: makes the 17 hour labor and subsequent pushing you out of my vagina all worth it

*You can’t hear it in the third video, but right before he runs away there is an announcement for the cake cutting. Yes, he ditched the cute girl for cake.

**youtube wouldn’t accept my spliced video for some unknown to me reason so I had to put it up as three separate short videos.

Posted by Chris @ 9:25 am | 21 Comments  

No, He Can’t Win

March 24, 2006

Rob got dressed this morning and came downstairs.

“How do you like this outfit?” he asked.

“I think you look hot. I really like that belt, too.” I answered, looking up from my computer.

“Why? What’s wrong with the belt?”

“Nothing. I like it.”

“But, why did you mention the belt? Does it make me look fat?” he asked.

“Uh, no. I said I like it.”

“But you mentioned my belt specifically. Is there something wrong with it?”

“What the hell is your problem?”

“Nothing. I’m just trying to show you what you do when I give you a compliment and you pick it apart.” he answered, all proud of himself, like he had pointed out something insightful of which I was not aware.

“Hmmm, I like how your shirt is puffing out like that. Is it blousing out over your belt, or is that your stomach?” I asked.

“Huh?” he asked, looking down at his shirt.

“Do you mean for it to look like that? Not that there is anything wrong with that…” I said to him.

“What?” he asked, growing increasingly alarmed and confused.

“Nothing. I’m just trying to show you what it is like to be the receiver of one of your compliments. And I use the word compliment very loosely.”

“I have so much to learn.”


Posted by Chris @ 9:40 am | 38 Comments  

Barely Coherent

March 23, 2006

I had a serious post I was going to put up about throwing away my scale, because it hates me and MAKES ME FEEL BAD. And yet I still torture myself with it daily. It’s a sickness.

It’s one of those old style scales with the dial. If I stand toward the front of the scale I can weigh about two pounds less than if I stand on the back of the scale.

Don’t think I don’t do that. I do. Along with exhaling all that heavy oxygen in my lungs. And worse yet, I convince myself that I weigh less when I do it. I play this little game in my head and as long as I don’t stand on the back of the scale first and see the higher number then I can believe I weigh less.

Also, I am allowed to deduct a pound for the uneven tile floor. Another pound for my underwear. And up to two pounds depending on how long it has been since I pooped. Too much information? Probably, huh?

I don’t know why I am surprised when I go to my obgyn and find out I weigh ten pounds more than I have convinced myself that my scale at home weighs me. But my doctor’s scale is off. Lalalalala… I can’t hear you.

So where am I going with this post that reads as if I am all jacked up on caffeine and haven’t slept properly in over eleven years?

Ah yes, if you happen to be in your obgyn office or maybe your pediatrician’s office pick up their copy of Babytalk magazine. Oh not getting a pap smear or strep test anytime soon? Then go read here. I’ll wait.


Yeah, I am trying to act all cool and like it is not big deal, like my blog is always mentioned in magazines. But that’s because Daring Young Mom and I already held hands and jumped up and down, squealing like giddy school girls.

Oh and any new readers stopping by. Welcome. If you are wearing white socks, you’ll probably want to keep your shoes on. Kick a path through the legos, toys, and random clothing items my children drop through the house like Hansel and Gretel.

If I’d have known you were stopping by today I would have cleaned up a bit and maybe baked something. At least that is what I always say the first time someone comes over. By the second visit all pretenses are gone and I’ll feel completely comfortable serving you a store bought pastry on a melamine winnie-the-pooh bear plate.

* the author of the article, Meagan Francis lost her old blog in an unfortunate blogging accident. You can find her new one here: momwithmore.blogspot.com

Posted by Chris @ 5:16 pm | 40 Comments  

To “Talk” or not to “Talk”

March 22, 2006

I have a new post up over at dot-moms,

Striking fear into the hearts of parents everywhere

All about The Talk. Yes, that one.
Who ever said infants and toddlers were difficult, didn’t have pre teens.

Posted by Chris @ 3:43 pm | 10 Comments  

Hump Day Thoughts

1) Those post verification random letters that you must type in on some people’s blogs have caused me to think that I am dyslexic because I can never get it right on the first try. Even when I concentrate REALLY hard. Or maybe I need glasses.

2) My five year old is sicker. But he isn’t sick enough to just lay on the couch and watch television. He is sick enough to whine and complain and make us all feel his pain. Alternating with periods of running around playing, screaming temper tantrums, and demanding ginger ale.

And while I do feel bad for him, there is a limit to the number of times I can lovingly stroke his head, murmuring comforting words, while he coughs in my face. I am only human.

I wish that someone would invent an at home strep test, like a home pregnancy test. Because this running to the doctors with everyone, including healthy children, is going to kill me. because, allow me to say it again, I am only human.

3) We finally joined netflix. Yes, I know. I’m always late to the party. The keg has gotten warm and there are no more plastic cups left. But hey, at least I finally made it.

4) How many women watching American Idol last night (yes, I admit that we watch this show, how many family friendly tv shows are there out there?) fell in love with Chris Daugherty when he sang Walk The Line for his wife.

5) Miles bit me while nursing the other day and my boob still hurts. I think I have a clogged milk duct. I will resist dealing with it like I did the last time. I know I need to stop talking about my boobs. But my life is just that exciting that there is little else to talk about, unless you’d like to hear about how I am going to call the library today and renew our books. Yeah, I didn’t think so.

6) Do I need some sort of conclusion to tie this post all up? Because I have none. The End.

Updated to add:
Thanks to k in kc, from the comments, I googled at home strep tests and lo and behold there is an at home strep test kit. here
Much, much, much cheaper than a visit to the doctor. Not to mention the germ free environment of my own home (::snort::) and the saving of my precious little sanity.

Posted by Chris @ 8:12 am | 32 Comments