Month: January 2008 (page 2 of 3)

You Go Back, Jack. Do It Again.

The Haiku Buckaroo Badge

Yeah, I’m talking about The Haiku Buckaroo Contest, Steely Dan.

Remember how much fun we had last time? And an equally important link here, too?

It’s almost time to do it all again. But bigger! And better!

How will it be bigger and better, you ask?

Well, there is going to be more than one winner. That means there will be more than one prize. And, there’s going to be voting! Yeehaw!

So, put on your haiku hats. Start chanting your 5-7-5 mantra. And give me some suggestions for prize-winning categories, why don’t ya? For example: Funniest Haiku. Best Haiku About Robots. You know, whatever your brain likes. Share it with me in comments or via e-mail (admin at mymommysplace.com). If your ideas don’t suck, I’ll probably use some of them. Or a lot of them. It all depends on the prizes…

Yeah, prizes! Want a little publicity? Become a Haiku Buckaroo Contest Sponsor and offer a prize! As a sponsor, you’ll get some linky love from me and a warm feeling in your heart. And everyone will know that you are nice. If you’re awesome enough to want to kick in, just e-mail me (admin at mymommysplace.com) and let me know what you’d like to offer, along with a link I can send my love to throughout the contest. Keep in mind, cool kids live all over the world, so your prize must be able to get to where they are. If you have a question or limitation in regard to international shipping, let me know when you e-mail me.

I’ll be accepting category suggestions and prize submissions until Friday, Febuary 1st.

Haiku Buckaroo
Just seventeen syllables
And it could be you.

Hell Has Frozen Over!

The weather man has predicted the coldest temperatures we’ve experienced all winter for this weekend. So, guess what? Our furnace broke! I mean, really broke. I didn’t just forget to order oil, like last time. And, of course! Why not? That furnace is such a drama queen. It waited for just the right time to make a scene and get all the attention, and all the money we already don’t have.

An Aside: Please W-2 forms, get here soon! Income Tax Refund, WE NEED YOU!

The good news is that the furnace can be fixed; the problem isn’t terminal.

The bad news is that the extra-super-duper-magnificent-magic part that is needed to fix it cannot make it to our general vicinity until Monday. Apparently, this part is so special that regular stores do not carry it and everyday people outside the furnance industry (i.e. me) could not possibly get their hands on such an item, even on the black furnace market. I think the furnace man said something about how he texted a sherpa who will travel to the enchanted furnace part factory somewhere in the Himalayas to retrieve our part that is being made by magic furnace fairies. He says that takes time, and if I think I’m cold, well, what about that sherpa? So I should just shut up about my freezing family and turn my oven on to 200 degrees and let it run with the oven door open. Because that’s the best idea for a family with a toddler, a clutzy pregnant woman and pets.

So, we ran to the store to buy more propane for the fireplace and another space heater and put on sweaters and thick, fuzzy socks. And since I’m trying to make the most of the resources I have, I put on baggy clothes and stuffed them with our furriest cats. (I knew those cats would earn their keep someday.)

Meanwhile, I’m skittering around working on sock monkeys for my Etsy shop, dabbling with my buckeye recipe to make heart-shaped treats for Valentine’s Day and Googling ‘cash cow,’ because I think I need to pick one of those up.

Julia keeps asking for popsicles, the crazy little twidget.

The Mind Of A Three-Year Old And The Power Of Visualization

I was braiding Julia’s hair for ballet class the other day when she slipped a hairband on her wrist and said, “Mom, I’m gonna wear this to ballet class and everyone will go, ‘Julia, what’s that?’ and I’ll say, ‘A ponytail,’ and they’ll say, ‘What is it doing there?’ and I’ll say, ‘It’s pretending to be a bracelet,’ and they’ll think it’s so cool.”

I Think All The Blood Has Gone To My Belly Because My Brain Doesn’t Want To Work Anymore

You may have noticed that my latest posts have been comprised mainly of photos and videos. I haven’t been feeling too wordy, lately. And it isn’t just here on my blog, it’s in my everyday life, too. Consider this recent conversation.

Dave: Do you hear that wind?

Me: Yeah, it’s really windy.

Dave: Listen to that rain!

Me: Yeah, it’s really rainy.

Dave: What a storm!

Me: Uh huh, it’s really stormy.

Dave: This could be the most intriguing conversation I’ve ever had in my life. Now tell me how it’s dark because there is no light.

Me: pffftt….

Dave: Was that a stinker?

Me: Yeah, and it’s stinky.

Dave: How would I ever live without you?

The only thing I’ve managed to discuss at length is my insatiable desire for grilled cheese sandwiches (which I happen to make perfectly) and my high level of satisfaction with my clearance rack dollar store pants. (Although, I just have to say, those pants? They are really soft. Wearing them is like getting a giant teddy bear hug from the waist down all day long. I’ve forced everyone in my house to feel them so they can agree with me. If it were possible, I’d make you feel them, too.)

Beyond that, I mostly groan about my it’s-so-giant-I’m-kind-of-scared-of-it belly and how very, very tired I am. Because I’m tired. And I have a giant belly that impedes my ability to bend. Watching me try to tie my shoes has become Dave’s favorite show; it’s better than television. And picking up toys? Eh. I’ve kind of given up on picking up toys.

Today, my approach to the massive explosion of toys throughout the house was, “Julia needs to start picking up her own damn toys.” That approach did not work. She did not pick up her toys. She did, however, pick up most of her shoes and put them on the dinner table along with their own plates and silverware because she thought they might be hungry.

Is it a bad thing if I just removed the shoes and considered the table set for dinner? Because I did.

Perhaps I can convince Julia to put all of her toys on the table and I can grab them from there and put them away, because the bending just isn’t happening.

And while I’m complaining, I might as well tell you that I’m behind on my blog reading. And my e-mail. And the writing I promised other people I’d do for them.

And all I really, really want is some Taco Bell. Would it be completely ridiculous to load up my sleeping toddler and run for the border?

You Gotta Love ‘Em

My Goofballs

Being Silly

Daddy's Girl

My Planet Of Regret

My last words to her were, “Heather, we don’t have to be friends, you know. Just because we always have been. We really don’t have to anymore.” And I made my exit with every ounce of drama I’d absorbed from bad television and movies in my 22 years of living.

Of course, I completely expected to have the opportunity to apologize and make things right before the ending. But this wasn’t on television or in the movies. This was life. And I never had the chance to fix it.

My friend Heather died 9 years ago today. She had been my best friend for most of my life. She was like no one I’ve met before or since.

I have so many amazing memories of her – she is synonymous with my youth. So when I sat down to write about her, I thought about the stories I could tell; I felt like I needed to share something that would capture her spirit – something lively and outrageous. But the only memories I can conjure are the ones that hurt the most – the last words I said to her, that devastating phone call, the sight of her broken body in veiled casket, and the words from her mother, “She saw that you got married…” and then tears.

I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’ve exhibited bad judgement. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But this? This is different.

People say, “Give it time.” Time hasn’t made this feel any better.

I miss my friend. And I often wonder if I’ll ever get to experience friendship like that again, because I haven’t found it since.

The One Time You’ll Thank Me For NOT Taking A Picture

I was sitting here catching up on some blog reading when Julia burst out of the bathroom with a wad of toilet paper in her hand.

Used toilet paper.

She held it up to my face and said, “Mom, I ate a lot of carrots yesterday and now they are out of me, because look at my poop! There they are.”

Beware: This Cuckooo Is Nesting

I realized something recently: I AM GOING TO HAVE ANOTHER BABY. Like, a real one.

I know this isn’t news to anyone; it shouldn’t be news to me, but somehow, the end result of this pregnancy is just now becoming very real. Maybe it’s because Lucy is constantly reminding me that she is there with her not-so-subtle flutters and high-impact ninja kicks. Maybe it’s because my belly is so enormous. And it’s stretching larger by the day. If I thought I had stretch marks with Julia, HA! This baby is showing me what stretch marks are all about. I’m beginning to wonder if there is a point at which my skin will cease to stretch. Could I burst? Oh, I know you’re thinking, “Leslie, your belly can’t burst, you silly bird.” But you haven’t seen my stomach. I’m telling you, I think it can.

The most amazing thing about the I’m-really-having-a-baby epiphany is the incredible and all-consuming phenomenon it sparks: the nesting instinct.

I remember feeling it while I was pregnant with Julia. I cleaned like Mommy Dearest and nearly wore out her little clothes from all the folding and re-folding and folding one more time. I was obsesssed with purchasing all the necessary items. I was so worried that I wouldn’t have something she needed. So, I researched products, made list after list and shopped at a feverish pace. Tears were shed over which baby bath to buy and I didn’t speak to Dave for two days after he callously implied that it reallly didn’t matter.

The funny thing is, I had no problem giving away those products I agonized over choosing and saved to buy. For a while after Julia came, I was convinced that I was finished having babies. And when my cousin learned that he and his wife were expecting a girl, I happily passed things on to them (thankfully, as their second little girl came less than a year later, so they have really used everything). Now, gone is the stroller, the car seat, the high chair, the bassinet, the mobile, the bumper pads, the play centers, the onesies, the bibs, and the bouncy chairs. Bye-bye play yard. So long swing. I am left to start, nearly, all over. I mean, we have a changing table, the crib and bedding, minus bumper pads, and we have, well, that’s about all.

The great thing is, I know a little better this time around. I’m not freaking out over the baby bath. I learned with Julia that the sink works just fine. She was afraid of that baby bath, anyway. This time I’m skipping the play yard and the swing – they don’t get much use when you discover that you prefer to wear your baby. I realize an infant doesn’t need too many outfits, because of how quickly they grow. But, there is no doubt that there are many things we need. And because of that, I’m starting to lose it. Just a little.

Okay, maybe a lot.

Lucy will be here in three months. That’s soon. Very soon. I have a lot to do. I have a lot to buy.

I went ahead and started a baby registry at Babies-R-Us even though this is my second child, just to keep myself organized and to use as a shopping list. I still need to add five baby gates and a baby sling or carrier to it. Any suggestions? What kind of gates do you use? What about a baby sling? I used the NoJo Baby Sling with Julia, which was fine, but not ideal. I’m pretty short-waisted and I have giants boobs. I’d like to find a carrier that will be comfortable for Lucy and for me.

In the meantime, I’m off to scrub the grout in my bathroom. I can’t possibly bring a baby home to a bathroom with stained grout.

Magic From The Hand*

Julia drew a picture of her Daddy, shown below on the left. (The things floating near his head are “happy balloons.” And that prominent area in his mid-section? His “happy belly button.”)

Daddy Julia and her Daddy

I’ve juxtaposed an actual photograph of Dave, along with the artist herself, for the purpose of comparison. What do you think?

I think it’s a pretty good drawing. It does resemble her Daddy.

Or Chet from Weird Science after he gets turned into a pile of poo.

Not that I’m saying Dave looks like poo.

It’s more the shape of the body in the drawing that brought Chet the poo pile to mind.

Dave looks quite different from poo.

Don’t tell him I said he looked like poo, okay?

*Lyric from Weird Science by Oingo Boingo

The Physics Of Sex

The act of sex effects Dave and I differently. He is drained, while I am energized.

That observation got us thinking and talking about the transfer of energy.

The Law of Conservaton of Energy states that energy is neither created or destroyed, it only changes form. Work is one of the ways energy can be transferred. The amount of work done is the same as the amount of energy transferred.

Dave believes this validates his claim that he is the superior sexual force and should, therefore, be declared the undisputed and eternal Champion of Sex in our relationship.

Then I reminded him of the First Law of Thermodynamics which basically suggests that if you add heat to a system, there are only two things that can be done – change the internal energy of the system or cause the system to do work. I suggested that I bring the heat that makes him do the work and that I should, therefore, be declared the undisputed and eternal Champion of Sex in our relationship.

We finally agreed that we would tie for the title of Champion of Dorkdom. We don’t know jack about physics anyway. So, we just had sex.

The end.

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