Because it's back to school and apparently that means that being a sloth isn't as cool as it was all summer, we've been trying to eat at the table every night. I think it's a pretty good thing, we get to reinforce/remind about table manners, spend some quality time together, and of course, we get good dinner conversation.
Tonight Chris was asking the kids how their day was, and Davey was telling us about this new Lady Gaga song that he heard on the bus on the way to school, "Love Game". He starts giggling, and says, I totally know what THAT sounds like.
Me: Oh, yeah? What's that?
Davey: Well, I mean...she says she wants to take a ride on a disco stick.
Chris raises his eyebrows, but buries his head in his plate. Apparently I'm taking this one.
Me: And what do you think a disco stick is?
Davey: Mom, c'mon, you know...
Me: No, I really don't. Please tell me.
Davey: You know...private parts?
Me: Do you mean a penis?
At this point Davey's face is near purple with embarrassment, he bursts out laughing, Kat is practically choking on her food she's laughing so hard, and Chris is still conveniently absent from the conversation.
Me (to Chris): Are you gonna jump in here?
Chris: Don't drag me into this, I'm just eating my dinner minding my own business.
Davey: It's totally about sex.
Me: Why do you think it's about about sex, and what the hell would you know about it?
Davey: EVERYONE knows about it. It's not hard to figure out. Disco stick? Hello?
Now, I read "Where Did I Come From?" to the kids, and I explained the birds and the bees, so it's not like they don't know the basics. But clearly, he's getting some other sex talk somewhere else, because I never taught him anything about a disco stick or anything even remotely that vulgar. It is interesting though how these family dinners seem to bring out the best in my kids. It reminds me of a few years ago we were having dinner at the table, when Kat asked me about the dishes I have on the wall. I said, oh, they're antique china. Davey starts giggling, and Chris and I are both like, what? He says, China? Like a girl's china? Chris and I start laughing, and Kat sighs and rolls her eyes. She says, David, you dummy. It's a BAchina. Poor girl, nearly made it to 8 years old thinking that you call a vajayjay a bachina. Not coincidentally, I bought the "Where Did I Come From?" book a few weeks later.
Anyway, Davey wasn't naming names, but I'm thinking that this whole 4th grade thing, is a bad idea. Disco stick. Honestly. I doubt I would've made that connection, but then again, I was 29 before I knew what ZZ Top's Pearl Necklace was about.
This one's for you, Dolores
There are a lot of dumb things about Twitter. Like how every morning I feel compelled to share that I must have coffee to function, or sharing the random things that happen during the day (although, in fairness, that's not Twitter's fault as much as it is mine, I blame them for making it so damn addicting). It's kind of like an over-sharing playground with all kinds of random and useless information, which is really most of its appeal. It's also dumb that I only have 140 words to express myself, which is annoying because it's really showed me that I'm very wordy. I didn't know that before. I'm always running out of room on my tweets and have to re-word, then in all of my deleting, retyping, copying and pasting, I usually end up forgetting a word and look like a dumbass who can't spell or has any understanding of the English language.
Twitter can also be very useful. For instance a couple of weeks ago, FedEx said my package had been delivered, but it wasn't at my house. The driver said he delivered it, but it wasn't at my house. So I tweeted about my troubles:
Got an email from FedEx saying my package had been delivered. But it hadn't been. But the driver said it did. But there's no damn package!
11:41 AM Aug 11th from web
FedEx lady said: "Our records indicate that your shipment has been delivered." Dude. It has not been delivered!
11:48 AM Aug 11th from web
Then I saw this:
FedexDolores@miss_merritt Hi this is Dolores with Fedex I'm sorry about your package. Would you like for me to followup with the station for you?
12:01 PM Aug 11th from web in reply to miss_merritt
Huh. Look at that. I tweet and get results...very interesting. Who knew that could happen?
A lot of people apparently. Yesterday, there was this one blogger who was complaining about her broken washing machine, and she was all, don't buy from XYZ company! Like calling for a boycott and such. Apparently then a bunch of her twitteratti (I think I pirated that word from The Bloggess) called this company out and they went to bat for her, so that she'd get her washer fixed. The company apparently send someone right out and it's going to be fixed. How's that for results. Now there were some people who were pissed because she was using her popularity for evil, and said that she shouldn't have called for a boycott, etc. Personally, I couldn't care less how this particular blogger uses her popularity, or whether or not she should call for boycotts. If people are dumb enough to do or not do something because she says so, that's their own issue. I just think it's cool as hell that Twitter produces faster results than calling customer service, waiting in line, or hell, even talking to someone in person.
Problem. Complain on Twitter. Problem resolved. I wonder if it's like a person's job at these companies to monitor stuff like that on Twitter. I wonder if I could that job...all you have to do all day is monitor Twitter...hell, I already do that. Yeah, I need that job.
By the way, so you don't think I hate FedEx, my issue was resolved. It turned out that they'd delivered my package to my next door neighbor's house instead of my house, I got my package, so it was all good. I also didn't even see the message from FedexDolores until like a week later (because I'm still mildly retarded about how Twitter works), so I didn't even get a chance to tell her how cool I thought it was that she contacted me to try to help. So Dolores with FedEx, since I never contacted you to thank you for trying to help, this post is dedicated to you. And Twitter.
Twitter can also be very useful. For instance a couple of weeks ago, FedEx said my package had been delivered, but it wasn't at my house. The driver said he delivered it, but it wasn't at my house. So I tweeted about my troubles:
Got an email from FedEx saying my package had been delivered. But it hadn't been. But the driver said it did. But there's no damn package!
11:41 AM Aug 11th from web
FedEx lady said: "Our records indicate that your shipment has been delivered." Dude. It has not been delivered!
11:48 AM Aug 11th from web
Then I saw this:
FedexDolores@miss_merritt Hi this is Dolores with Fedex I'm sorry about your package. Would you like for me to followup with the station for you?
12:01 PM Aug 11th from web in reply to miss_merritt
Huh. Look at that. I tweet and get results...very interesting. Who knew that could happen?
A lot of people apparently. Yesterday, there was this one blogger who was complaining about her broken washing machine, and she was all, don't buy from XYZ company! Like calling for a boycott and such. Apparently then a bunch of her twitteratti (I think I pirated that word from The Bloggess) called this company out and they went to bat for her, so that she'd get her washer fixed. The company apparently send someone right out and it's going to be fixed. How's that for results. Now there were some people who were pissed because she was using her popularity for evil, and said that she shouldn't have called for a boycott, etc. Personally, I couldn't care less how this particular blogger uses her popularity, or whether or not she should call for boycotts. If people are dumb enough to do or not do something because she says so, that's their own issue. I just think it's cool as hell that Twitter produces faster results than calling customer service, waiting in line, or hell, even talking to someone in person.
Problem. Complain on Twitter. Problem resolved. I wonder if it's like a person's job at these companies to monitor stuff like that on Twitter. I wonder if I could that job...all you have to do all day is monitor Twitter...hell, I already do that. Yeah, I need that job.
By the way, so you don't think I hate FedEx, my issue was resolved. It turned out that they'd delivered my package to my next door neighbor's house instead of my house, I got my package, so it was all good. I also didn't even see the message from FedexDolores until like a week later (because I'm still mildly retarded about how Twitter works), so I didn't even get a chance to tell her how cool I thought it was that she contacted me to try to help. So Dolores with FedEx, since I never contacted you to thank you for trying to help, this post is dedicated to you. And Twitter.
School daze
This whole getting on a schedule thing sucks. I've really enjoyed sleeping late, having lazy afternoons, and I've especially enjoyed sleeping in. Oh, did I say that already? So school started yesterday, and so began the school-time morning ritual. Only this year is sucks even more usual. As great as it is to want your kids to be clean, it also means that they start to actually enjoy showering, which means 2 kids, 2 showers, 1 bathroom...mommy doesn't get to use the bathroom...like ever. I get up at 5:30 when Chris leaves for work and stumble around until I get my coffee. Kat has decided that she needs at least an hour and a half to get ready, so she gets up at 6:00. She's also taken to showering in the morning instead of at night (when it was much more convenient). She says that her curls don't look right in the morning if she showers at night, so she has to shower and blow dry her hair before school. Personally, I think her hair looks exactly the same, morning or night, but what do I know? I tried to tell her that, but she rolled her eyes at me and said I just don't understand. She's taking fourth grade fashion very seriously. She's meticulously choosing her outfits, right down to the coordinating hair accessories. For instance, this morning, we had a whole conversation about whether the brown headband would work better than the black headband.
Anyway, after she's done hogging the bathroom, I get Davey up at 6:30. He's really digging the whole clean hair thing, so he also has to take a shower in the morning. He's been showering right before bed and then again in the morning and I'm walking a fine line between bitching because he's using so much hot water and being happy because I don't have to fight with him to bathe. He's also being a little fashion maven, he just tries to hide it a little better than his sister. He said this morning that he was wearing that particular shirt because it was black, which goes with everything, and that his belt matched his pants, but he was sure to slip a not that I care at the end. To which I replied, no, of course not.
I spend the majority of the morning making lunches, putting away dishes, and wandering around aimlessly because my coffee hasn't kicked in yet. I did get some laundry put away this morning, and it is the second day in a row that my bed was made, which is kind of nice. Most people would really like the slow pace of the morning, not having to rush around to get the kids ready, and would probably take the opportunity to have a little "me time" since you can't really do much else but wait. But I find it annoying that I can't be sleeping and exceptionally annoying that I can't even think about getting into the bathroom until almost 7:30, when I need to leave at 8:00. Yesterday I tried to do my hair, I barely got the flat iron plugged in before one of the kids was in getting in my way. I eventually gave up. Today I didn't even bother to try. For the past 2 days I've just worn a hat. I'm thinking that this new attention to cleanliness and vanity by the kids is gonna make me a hat person, which is cool because I like hats. And it'd be kind of cool if people were like, Merritt, I love that hat. You're such a hat person! Yesterday my ex said, do you know you're wearing a $60 baseball hat? (it's a True Religion hat) I was like, yeah, I got it on sale, what do you care? He was like, I don't, I'm just making an observation. I like it, it suits you. Which I guess is kind of like saying I'm hat person. Either that or he's looking for a way to get out of paying child support this month...perhaps I should check into that.
Anyway, after she's done hogging the bathroom, I get Davey up at 6:30. He's really digging the whole clean hair thing, so he also has to take a shower in the morning. He's been showering right before bed and then again in the morning and I'm walking a fine line between bitching because he's using so much hot water and being happy because I don't have to fight with him to bathe. He's also being a little fashion maven, he just tries to hide it a little better than his sister. He said this morning that he was wearing that particular shirt because it was black, which goes with everything, and that his belt matched his pants, but he was sure to slip a not that I care at the end. To which I replied, no, of course not.
I spend the majority of the morning making lunches, putting away dishes, and wandering around aimlessly because my coffee hasn't kicked in yet. I did get some laundry put away this morning, and it is the second day in a row that my bed was made, which is kind of nice. Most people would really like the slow pace of the morning, not having to rush around to get the kids ready, and would probably take the opportunity to have a little "me time" since you can't really do much else but wait. But I find it annoying that I can't be sleeping and exceptionally annoying that I can't even think about getting into the bathroom until almost 7:30, when I need to leave at 8:00. Yesterday I tried to do my hair, I barely got the flat iron plugged in before one of the kids was in getting in my way. I eventually gave up. Today I didn't even bother to try. For the past 2 days I've just worn a hat. I'm thinking that this new attention to cleanliness and vanity by the kids is gonna make me a hat person, which is cool because I like hats. And it'd be kind of cool if people were like, Merritt, I love that hat. You're such a hat person! Yesterday my ex said, do you know you're wearing a $60 baseball hat? (it's a True Religion hat) I was like, yeah, I got it on sale, what do you care? He was like, I don't, I'm just making an observation. I like it, it suits you. Which I guess is kind of like saying I'm hat person. Either that or he's looking for a way to get out of paying child support this month...perhaps I should check into that.
My daughter's torment
I never really knew the extent of Kat's pain, or how horrific her life is until I saw a message scrawled on the underside of her box spring for her bed.
.JPG)
The saddest part about this is, I only even saw this pathetic cry for help because we were moving her old bed out of her room because she got a big new beautiful bed. .JPG)
I really am a horrible mother.
It reads: Im sad cuz I don't get to txt till I finish cleaning it has 2 be spotless nothing else and I am 9 years old lol. It has a girl with a sad face and a large SAD ME scrawled for all future generations who have a terrible mother and won't let them text until they clean their room to see.
That poor, poor child. If this isn't a cry for help, I don't know what is. I think the real problem here is not that she's writing on her bed, or that she's so melodramatic that she would crawl under her bed to write this sad little message instead of cleaning her room, it's that she's writing almost completely in text speak. Her complete lack of punctuation is also quite bothersome.
The saddest part about this is, I only even saw this pathetic cry for help because we were moving her old bed out of her room because she got a big new beautiful bed. The big move
I've been going crazy this past week, I've really needed to just write, vent, whatever. And now that all the major players know, I can share with everyone else. We're moving. To Georgia.
It's crazy because I've lived in Maine my whole life, hell, I've lived in the same town my whole life, and there is nothing I want more than to get the hell out of here. Don't get me wrong, there are great things about Maine. Leaves changing in the fall,winter sports, snow, shoveling, the happening night life, driving at least an hour to do anything, and Fluff (like peanut butter and Fluff, did you know that's a Northern thing? I was kinda bummed when I found out). Chris and I have wanted to move for a long, long time. We'd always planned on moving when the kids graduated from high school, but we were presented an opportunity that we just couldn't pass up. So by this time next summer, I'll be writing from my new home in Georgia.
This weekend was really brutal. Kat did her last performance with the gym that she cheers at. She's decided that with the move happening in the spring/early summer, it would just be too much to be 100% committed to all-star cheering. I don't really disagree with her. It's a lot of commitment for all of us (her gym is an hour away), not mention the money. I'm really hoping that when we move I'll be able to stay home for a while with the kids to help them get adjusted. I'd love to be able to find a job that I could just work from home (suggestions, anyone?), but either way, this move is going to be expensive, and by her not cheering, we're going to save a ton of money.
When we weren't doing the cheering thing with Kat, we were putting away all the stuff that my parents brought back from my grandparents house in New York. They brought back beds, dressers, a ton of tools for Chris, and it's all dusty and dirty because it hasn't been taken care of in the year since they both passed away. We still have stuff to put away, but we're so tired and sweaty, we just gave up for today. We did get the kids' rooms all done. I have no counter or dining room table to speak of because there are tools all over it, but we'll try to tackle it again tomorrow. I think I'm also just emotionally spent.
I spent the whole week freaking out about telling my mom, afraid she wouldn't react well. We told her Saturday night. Pretty much my worst fears about it were confirmed. I'm hoping that she can get to a place where she can be happy for us, but that time just isn't now.
I'm so torn in a million different directions. It's like, I know this is the best thing for me, Chris and especially the kids, but I don't want to hurt my mom. I want desperately to leave, but I don't want to piss anyone off or burn my bridges. Gah, it all makes my head hurt.
It's crazy because I've lived in Maine my whole life, hell, I've lived in the same town my whole life, and there is nothing I want more than to get the hell out of here. Don't get me wrong, there are great things about Maine. Leaves changing in the fall,
This weekend was really brutal. Kat did her last performance with the gym that she cheers at. She's decided that with the move happening in the spring/early summer, it would just be too much to be 100% committed to all-star cheering. I don't really disagree with her. It's a lot of commitment for all of us (her gym is an hour away), not mention the money. I'm really hoping that when we move I'll be able to stay home for a while with the kids to help them get adjusted. I'd love to be able to find a job that I could just work from home (suggestions, anyone?), but either way, this move is going to be expensive, and by her not cheering, we're going to save a ton of money.
When we weren't doing the cheering thing with Kat, we were putting away all the stuff that my parents brought back from my grandparents house in New York. They brought back beds, dressers, a ton of tools for Chris, and it's all dusty and dirty because it hasn't been taken care of in the year since they both passed away. We still have stuff to put away, but we're so tired and sweaty, we just gave up for today. We did get the kids' rooms all done. I have no counter or dining room table to speak of because there are tools all over it, but we'll try to tackle it again tomorrow. I think I'm also just emotionally spent.
I spent the whole week freaking out about telling my mom, afraid she wouldn't react well. We told her Saturday night. Pretty much my worst fears about it were confirmed. I'm hoping that she can get to a place where she can be happy for us, but that time just isn't now.
I'm so torn in a million different directions. It's like, I know this is the best thing for me, Chris and especially the kids, but I don't want to hurt my mom. I want desperately to leave, but I don't want to piss anyone off or burn my bridges. Gah, it all makes my head hurt.
School of Rock
This has been one of the craziest weeks on record. I have so much to say, I just can't say it...yet. I have a few things I need to do first, because I really want to make sure I handle this the right way. I've tried a dozen times to write, but there's just so much going on right now...
Anyway. This is the last week before school starts, which is truly unbelievable. 4th grade. That's just crazy. I remember 4th grade. It was the year that I had a Guns N' Roses t-shirt that said "Axl was here" spray painted on the back in hot pink. It was also the year that I started teasing my bangs, tight-rolling my jeans, slouchy socks with high tops and wearing 83 jelly bracelets per wrist. Clearly, 4th grade was really the beginning of my descent into badassery.
The kids' didn't make nearly as many bad fashion choices as I did at their age. Kat's doing this whole preppy/punk thing. One of her favorite outfits is a green plaid skirt, a pink collared shirt with a green plaid tie. Popped collar and low blue Converse. It's actually pretty cute. Davey went with his old standby, cargos and t-shirts. He's also hitting the rock t-shirts pretty hard (taking after his momma), for school he got The Ramones, Kiss, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Alice Cooper. I told him that he was only allowed to wear a band shirt if he knew at least one song from the band. So he's been working on his rock education, which he just eats right up. I think he's either going to be a rocket scientist or a rock star. Either one is fine with me.
I know I'm kinda off and a little rambly today, and I apologize. I have my head in a million different places. Soon, very soon I can share...and I can't fucking wait!
Anyway. This is the last week before school starts, which is truly unbelievable. 4th grade. That's just crazy. I remember 4th grade. It was the year that I had a Guns N' Roses t-shirt that said "Axl was here" spray painted on the back in hot pink. It was also the year that I started teasing my bangs, tight-rolling my jeans, slouchy socks with high tops and wearing 83 jelly bracelets per wrist. Clearly, 4th grade was really the beginning of my descent into badassery.
The kids' didn't make nearly as many bad fashion choices as I did at their age. Kat's doing this whole preppy/punk thing. One of her favorite outfits is a green plaid skirt, a pink collared shirt with a green plaid tie. Popped collar and low blue Converse. It's actually pretty cute. Davey went with his old standby, cargos and t-shirts. He's also hitting the rock t-shirts pretty hard (taking after his momma), for school he got The Ramones, Kiss, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Alice Cooper. I told him that he was only allowed to wear a band shirt if he knew at least one song from the band. So he's been working on his rock education, which he just eats right up. I think he's either going to be a rocket scientist or a rock star. Either one is fine with me.
I know I'm kinda off and a little rambly today, and I apologize. I have my head in a million different places. Soon, very soon I can share...and I can't fucking wait!
Where an adult can be a kid
Since the summer is winding down, we've been trying to squeeze as much "fun" as possible into these final weeks. Saturday was pretty hot, we spent the morning at Kat's cheering evaluations, so that kind of made a beach day impossible. We decided instead for some air conditioned fun at the most hellacious and torturous place on the planet magical place on Earth, Chuck E. Cheese's. Don't get me wrong, if you're a kid, Chuck E. Cheese's is the shit. Loud flashing games, sub-par pizza, a freakishly large dancing mouse, it's all good. Back a couple of years ago when Chris and I got together, Chris was trying his best to buy the kids' affection by taking them to Chuck E. Cheese's like every weekend all summer long. It totally worked too, they fell in love with him. I, on the other hand, swore that not only would I never go to Chuck E. Cheese's again, I'd also never forgive him for subjecting me to that much torture fun. So anyway, because I'm a glutton for punishment an awesome mom, we piled in the car and went to Chuck E. Cheese's.
I have to say though, I don't know if it was because I'd taken an handful of ibuprofen ahead of time or what, but I had a really good time in spite of myself. Chris came well prepared with all of his coupons (I swear this guy uses a coupon for EVERYTHING. Name an activity/restaurant/item you want to buy, and he has a coupon for it), so he was happier than a pig in shit. I sat down at our table, preparing for a full day of pasting on a smile and saying, that's awesome! Good job!, but Chris had other plans. He jingled a cup full of tokens at me and grinned, oh it's on. First we hit skeeball, which seriously is the best game ever. We had a tournament to see who would have the title of "Ultimate Ownage of All Things Skeeball" (he won, but not by much). I'm pretty good at skeeball. Which is nice to know, because I'm always looking to beef up my resume.
From there we played this zombie killing game, where you basically just shoot the shit out of the zombies. There may have been more of a story or plot to it, but I wasn't paying attention. Killing zombies is fucking awesome. At one point Davey came over and was like, Mom, I'm getting I'm kind of hungry. I ignored him the first 73 times he said it (killing zombies takes concentration, y'all), then he was totally distracting me.
Me: Go play. I'm really busy right now. Didn't you eat earlier today?
David: Uh, yeah, I had breakfast, but it's like 3.
Me: Yeah, then you're fine, go play, I'm killing zombies right now.
Kat: That looks fun, can I play?
Me: NO! Go away! I'm busy!
By the time Chris and I were done, we were both all sweaty, and our arms and hands were completely cramped. But, holy shit it was fun. I felt kind bad for blowing Davey off, so I went and found him on some air craft-flying-shooting game. And he's such a good boy, he even had his seat belt on. Kat was of course busy hogging the Deal or No Deal game and pocketing tickets some poor kid had dropped.
Really, the only bad part of the day was when this sweaty little kid ran by me, almost knocking me down, screaming, Chuckie! Oh my GOD! It's Chuckie! He ran up to the big creepy mouse and gave him a hug. But honestly, even that was kinda heart-warming. I'm getting way too soft in my old age.
I have to say though, I don't know if it was because I'd taken an handful of ibuprofen ahead of time or what, but I had a really good time in spite of myself. Chris came well prepared with all of his coupons (I swear this guy uses a coupon for EVERYTHING. Name an activity/restaurant/item you want to buy, and he has a coupon for it), so he was happier than a pig in shit. I sat down at our table, preparing for a full day of pasting on a smile and saying, that's awesome! Good job!, but Chris had other plans. He jingled a cup full of tokens at me and grinned, oh it's on. First we hit skeeball, which seriously is the best game ever. We had a tournament to see who would have the title of "Ultimate Ownage of All Things Skeeball" (he won, but not by much). I'm pretty good at skeeball. Which is nice to know, because I'm always looking to beef up my resume.
From there we played this zombie killing game, where you basically just shoot the shit out of the zombies. There may have been more of a story or plot to it, but I wasn't paying attention. Killing zombies is fucking awesome. At one point Davey came over and was like, Mom, I'm getting I'm kind of hungry. I ignored him the first 73 times he said it (killing zombies takes concentration, y'all), then he was totally distracting me.
Me: Go play. I'm really busy right now. Didn't you eat earlier today?
David: Uh, yeah, I had breakfast, but it's like 3.
Me: Yeah, then you're fine, go play, I'm killing zombies right now.
Kat: That looks fun, can I play?
Me: NO! Go away! I'm busy!
By the time Chris and I were done, we were both all sweaty, and our arms and hands were completely cramped. But, holy shit it was fun. I felt kind bad for blowing Davey off, so I went and found him on some air craft-flying-shooting game. And he's such a good boy, he even had his seat belt on. Kat was of course busy hogging the Deal or No Deal game and pocketing tickets some poor kid had dropped.
Really, the only bad part of the day was when this sweaty little kid ran by me, almost knocking me down, screaming, Chuckie! Oh my GOD! It's Chuckie! He ran up to the big creepy mouse and gave him a hug. But honestly, even that was kinda heart-warming. I'm getting way too soft in my old age.
The joys of personal hygiene
Ever since Chris' brother, Jason, came to visit us, Davey has been on this kick about growing his hair out. Jason has that kind of cool, rocker, I-just-got-out-of-bed-but-my-hair-looks-awesome kind of hair. Davey, on the other hand has been sporting a crew cut since he was about 3, with the exception of summertime, when he has a mohawk. He has never done anything but complain about his hair when it gets too long, he doesn't like it if it touches his ears, it's too fuzzy, blah, blah, blah. This summer, he saw Jason's hair and decided that crew cuts are for babies, and all the cool kids grow their hair out. I have better things to do than argue over hair, so he's been growing it out all summer. The problem has been, it looks fucking nasty.
It's looked greasy and just downright dirty. It took me about 2 weeks to figure out that he was washing his hair with conditioner, which was making it really bad, but after he stopped that, it still just didn't look clean. So today he was taking a shower and I was like, can I show you how you're supposed to wash your hair because I really don't think you're doing it right. He's like, ok, but don't look at anything. I was like, darlin, you don't have anything I haven't seen, but I won't look, I promise. So I showed him how to do it, lather it up really well, rub it all over your head, use your fingers to scrub your scalp, you know, normal hair washing stuff. He said, yeah, I don't do any of that. How do you not do that? I've showed this kid how to wash his hair no less than 3487329874 times. I said, do you feel the difference? He's like, I didn't know shampoo made bubbles like that... Yeah, that's probably why your hair has been so nasty. Sigh.
So all afternoon, he's was stopping and checking out the mirror, flinging his head around, doing his best model impressions. He said to me, Look how it bounces when I move my head, and did you notice how much lighter it looks? I really like having clean hair! Glad I could help, buddy.
It's looked greasy and just downright dirty. It took me about 2 weeks to figure out that he was washing his hair with conditioner, which was making it really bad, but after he stopped that, it still just didn't look clean. So today he was taking a shower and I was like, can I show you how you're supposed to wash your hair because I really don't think you're doing it right. He's like, ok, but don't look at anything. I was like, darlin, you don't have anything I haven't seen, but I won't look, I promise. So I showed him how to do it, lather it up really well, rub it all over your head, use your fingers to scrub your scalp, you know, normal hair washing stuff. He said, yeah, I don't do any of that. How do you not do that? I've showed this kid how to wash his hair no less than 3487329874 times. I said, do you feel the difference? He's like, I didn't know shampoo made bubbles like that... Yeah, that's probably why your hair has been so nasty. Sigh.
So all afternoon, he's was stopping and checking out the mirror, flinging his head around, doing his best model impressions. He said to me, Look how it bounces when I move my head, and did you notice how much lighter it looks? I really like having clean hair! Glad I could help, buddy.
My knight in porcelain armor
Yesterday afternoon we ran out of toilet paper. I meant to get some on the way home from Kat's tumbling but was too lazy to get out of the car at the grocery store forgot. We used tissues, it wasn't a big deal. We're accustomed to running out of things because I am really lazy and hate grocery shopping a very busy woman. At about 11:00 last night, I really had to poop and remembered we still didn't have any toilet paper. So while I went to the bathroom, Chris went to the store for toilet paper. He was gone for what seemed like an eternity, but he swears it was no more than 10 minutes. Well, I don't have those kind of patience. I don't know, maybe it's from the trauma of being pregnant and not pooping for like 8 months, but I don't like sitting on the toilet for any extended period of time. So I was like, screw it. Tissues it is. I did my business and no sooner did I flush, than I heard Chris pulling in the driveway. I totally planned on giving him a hard time for taking so long, until I looked down. Fucking toilet is clogged and not flushing.
Son of a bitch. Haven't I already done this before? Once again, there's no plunger. I lent it to my ex like a month because he's too cheap to buy his own and I forgot to get it back from him. We have one of those stupid use-less-water-because-it's-good-for-the-environment-but-means-the-toilet-never-flushes-right toilets. So I flushed again. Yeah, that didn't help. So I tried plunging with the toilet brush. Chris pokes his head in the bathroom and sees me furiously shoving the toilet brush in the toilet bowl. He's like, babe, what the fuck did you do? Here, give me the plunger... I was like, actually, the plunger isn't here. Dave has it. He sighs and rolls his eyes at me, like it's MY fault that I was too impatient for toilet paper and I clogged the toilet and we could've plunged it but I let my ex husband borrow our plunger. Ok, maybe it's a little my fault, but I digress.
Chris: I'll borrow one from the neighbors.
Me: You can't do that! They're like 107, and already asleep.
Chris: Well, then I'll just have to unclog it.
Me: How do you propose we do that? We HAVE NO PLUNGER!
Chris: I'll just reach in there and plunge it with my hand.
Me: Ok, do you want me to...wait...what the fuck did you just say?
Chris: Babe, it's got to be done. You don't have to watch.
(he looks wearily at the toilet)
Me: Chris, no. Don't do it. I don't like letting you see me poop, and now you're talking about sticking your hand in it. Don't do it, please? I'll do it.
Chris: Stand back baby. I'm going in.
Me: Noooooo! Please stop!!! Oh God.
He stuck his hand in. Or, more specifically, up to his ELBOW. I was perched on the bathtub, tears rolling down my face from a combination of revulsion and laughter. He turned around and smiled at me, almost got it. The toilet gurgled and bubbled and after about a minute of him using his hand as a fucking plunger in my shit water, all the water went down.
After he showered in scalding hot water and used about a bottle and a half of antibacterial soap, I asked him why he would do such a thing, why not let me handle my own mess? His response? A shrug. That's my job.
That's the grossest/sweetest/most revolting/most chivalrous thing anyone has ever done for me.
My knight in porcelain armor.
Son of a bitch. Haven't I already done this before? Once again, there's no plunger. I lent it to my ex like a month because he's too cheap to buy his own and I forgot to get it back from him. We have one of those stupid use-less-water-because-it's-good-for-the-environment-but-means-the-toilet-never-flushes-right toilets. So I flushed again. Yeah, that didn't help. So I tried plunging with the toilet brush. Chris pokes his head in the bathroom and sees me furiously shoving the toilet brush in the toilet bowl. He's like, babe, what the fuck did you do? Here, give me the plunger... I was like, actually, the plunger isn't here. Dave has it. He sighs and rolls his eyes at me, like it's MY fault that I was too impatient for toilet paper and I clogged the toilet and we could've plunged it but I let my ex husband borrow our plunger. Ok, maybe it's a little my fault, but I digress.
Chris: I'll borrow one from the neighbors.
Me: You can't do that! They're like 107, and already asleep.
Chris: Well, then I'll just have to unclog it.
Me: How do you propose we do that? We HAVE NO PLUNGER!
Chris: I'll just reach in there and plunge it with my hand.
Me: Ok, do you want me to...wait...what the fuck did you just say?
Chris: Babe, it's got to be done. You don't have to watch.
(he looks wearily at the toilet)
Me: Chris, no. Don't do it. I don't like letting you see me poop, and now you're talking about sticking your hand in it. Don't do it, please? I'll do it.
Chris: Stand back baby. I'm going in.
Me: Noooooo! Please stop!!! Oh God.
He stuck his hand in. Or, more specifically, up to his ELBOW. I was perched on the bathtub, tears rolling down my face from a combination of revulsion and laughter. He turned around and smiled at me, almost got it. The toilet gurgled and bubbled and after about a minute of him using his hand as a fucking plunger in my shit water, all the water went down.
After he showered in scalding hot water and used about a bottle and a half of antibacterial soap, I asked him why he would do such a thing, why not let me handle my own mess? His response? A shrug. That's my job.
That's the grossest/sweetest/most revolting/most chivalrous thing anyone has ever done for me.
My knight in porcelain armor.
Not the "Yard Sale Diva"
I spend the whole day Friday helping the kids clean out their closets and drawers, which is way less fun than it sounds. Friday night, Chris brought all of our old crap up from the basement and I spent the evening pricing things. Unfortunately, Chris had to work on Saturday, but I somehow wrangled my ex into helping me lug all of our crap out to the front lawn. So bright and early (5 am!), I was up and getting ready to make this yard sale happen. Here's why I'm never having another yard sale. Ever. Also why I really dislike people.
- At 6:26 IN THE MORNING there was an old couple on my front lawn rummaging through my stuff. I was like, Dude, seriously. The sun isn't even all the way up. Must you be here so damn early? Early bird catches the worm and all that shit, but I haven't even had a whole cup of coffee. For the love of all things holy, please go away and come back at 7. That's plenty early, and there will be plenty of worms left. Ok, I didn't really say that. But as my best fake smile was pasted on, I was totally thinking it.
- By 7, the yard sale was in full swing, there were people all over the damn place. It was then that I realized that it made me really uncomfortable people rummaging through my stuff. I felt kinda violated. Like all exposed.
- The crap people buy is unbelievable. For instance, I had these two glass dolphins. They were probably the cheesiest and cheapest-looking things I owned. The guy that bought them practically hurled himself at them and was like, OH. MY. GOD. I HAVE to have these! Damn. I only priced them at 25 cents each. I totally could've jacked the price up and made at least another dollar or two...on fucking glass dolphins. Crazy.
- Davey SUCKS, like as in the worst ever, at selling. One lady was trying to buy his old gerbil cage, and was like, how much is this? I was like, $5. She tucks it under her arm and totally looks like she's going to buy it. Davey says, my gerbil died in that cage. She turned her nose up and put the cage down. Sigh. Then later on, a lady says something about everything priced so cheap, and Davey says, yeah, my mom priced everything really low so people would buy her worthless crap. SIGH. I'm going to suggest strongly that he not go into sales as a profession.
- People suck. Like a lot. This one lady kept being like, make me a deal, $1 for these? I'll give you 25 cents. Totally trying to make me come down on every single thing she picked up. Then she snaps her fingers at Kat and is all, little girl, come hold this for me. Kat's like, I'll just put it over on the stairs for you. The lady is like, No! You follow around behind me and hold it. You're not busy. Kat was like, uh, ok. Then she says to me, Mom, you're still paying me for today, right?
- People suck even more. This old guy pulled into our driveway and was like, hey, you there! Get me that! Seriously. He sat in his car pointing at things he wanted. He wouldn't get out of his car. He ended up buying like $2 worth of books. Which he brought back and exchanged. Three fucking times. Might've been easier if you just hauled your lazy ass out of the car and looked for yourself, but I could be wrong.
In the end, we ended up making nearly $300, which was way more than we thought we would. But I'm never, EVER doing a yard sale again. Until next time I need more money.
