Month: January 2011 (page 1 of 3)

Caught on Tape: The Reverse Head Bang!

Words are hard to come by on Mondays, so here’s a video. If you really want to read something, I recommend this. It’ll give you a little backstory about the video. But you don’t have to read it to enjoy the video. The best scenario is that you’re a regular reader and you already know it anyway, but I’m really making kind of a big deal about what’s really just a moderately funny video of my kids.

See how words/Monday don’t work out? Ugh. Here’s the video. Finally.

Do I Really Sound Like That?

Lucy on her play phoneLucy loves to play telephone. I spend an impressive amount of time answering her, “Ring! Ring! Ring!”

“Mom!” she whispers sharply. “I’m calling you!”

“Oh, okay. Hello?”

“I have a ploblem. The crocodile ate my finger!”


“Yes! Now Julia is lost! Have you seen her? She has black hair.”

Specifically, Lucy loves to play with my phone. I’m not sure why. It’s not like it’s an iPhone or something. It’s just a plain old phone. Her toy phones have more bells and whistles than my cell fossil. But she just can’t keep her hands off it.

This morning, I was sitting on the edge of my bed rubbing my eyes awake, phone in my hand. Lucy sidled up and gingerly pulled it from my fingers.

“Hey! Hand that over, short stuff,” I said taking it back.

“No, that’s mine,” she contested.

I gave her a nu-uh look.

She quickly composed herself and tried a new angle. “Okay. Let’s play! I’ll be the mom. You be the Lucy. GIMME MY PHONE!

Orbit didn’t pay me to post this. Neither did Phoebe. Or Lucy. I just like Orbit. And Phoebe. And Lucy.

This is what Phoebe looks like when she’s watching Lucy.

Phoebe looks at Lucy

And now, a haiku about gum.


I really dig gum.
Swallowing is fattening.
And overrated.

This unicorn has wings and a rainbow tail. And a diaper.

Piano practice.  With a Unicorn.

everything’s more fun
(even piano practice)
with a unicorn

Make Your Own I Spy Bottle

“I spy with my little eye…”

Those words have been uttered countless times on road trips and in waiting rooms all over this land. Here’s a fun twist to that favorite boredom busting game your family may enjoy – an I Spy bottle! This is what you’ll need to get started.

I Spy Bottle Supplies


  • Empty plastic bottle, cleaned and dried
  • Rice (You could also use salt or sand.)
  • Funnel
  • Glue (I recommend a glue gun.)
  • 8-12 assorted small items (Our items included a marble, paper clip, safety pin, Barbie shoe, a broken green crayon, a bead, a jack, a ring, a rubber band, a sea shell, a penny and a button.)


  1. Use the funnel to fill the bottle 3/4 of the way full with rice.
  2. I Spy Bottle 1

  3. (Optional) Make a list of the items you’ve collected to add to the bottle. You can even photograph them! If you really want to get creative, come up with a rhyme. For example, “There’s a button, a bow and a penny, too. Can you name the item colored blue?”
  4. Add the small items you collected to the bottle.
  5. I Spy Bottle 2

  6. Glue the lid on. Since the bottle is filled with small items that could pose a choking hazard for young children, please do not skip this step. I recommend bringing out the big guns (i.e. a glue gun).
  7. I Spy Bottle 3

  8. Shake the bottle to hide the items.
  9. I Spy Bottle 4

  10. Start hunting!
  11. I Spy Bottle 5

Originally written for and posted on the now-defunct My OH! Momma website.

Diet – Day 3

This morning I met some friends at the play garden at the mall so our kids could play. It’s right next to that mouthwateringly delicious pretzel place Auntie Anne’s. (Did you know they have pizza pretzels?) I sat with my back to it, but it didn’t stop me from fantasizing about those pretzels.

If they announced that a meteor was hurtling toward earth, I could just run over there and eat myself unconscious. Everyone would be too distracted to judge me with The End staring them in the face and all. I’d just drink that cheese dip straight from the ladle.

The only reason I didn’t buy any pretzels is because I couldn’t afford to. This is one instance where being broke may actually be a good thing.

I can’t seem to stop looking at food porn. Especially Karly’s Buns. (That’s short for my best blogging friend Karly’s food blog: Buns In My Oven.) She’s got Chocolate Whoopie Pies with Swiss Meringue Buttercream. Hmmmm. And good Lord, Oreo Stuffed Chocolate Chip Cookies. How can I be this fat and not have had an Oreo Stuffed Chocolate Chip Cookie? I don’t even make good bad decisions.

If I cheat on my diet, it’s going to be with Oreo Stuffed Chocolate Chip Cookies.

But I’m not going to cheat.

Last night, we had, like, a gazillion cookies leftover after the PTO meeting and I didn’t take any home even though everyone was like, “Take some of these home! Oooh, let’s mix and match ’em. Look at these peanut butter chocolate chip ones! Oh, yum. You should try these they are so good!!!” I didn’t even taste one. Mostly because it would have violated one hard and fast rule: You cannot eat if the majority of those in your presence are skinnier than you, even if you’re starving. It’s better to do it alone, wrapped up in a fuzzy, warm cloak of shame.

I Am the Walrus

I do not purport to know the meaning of life, but as I go on living mine, it seems to be coming down to something about humility and how I don’t really know much and I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.

What I’m saying is, I think I judge people too much.

Since I think I do this, I am always drawing conclusions about how the things that happen in my life are punishments for those judgments. For example, I was late dropping Julia off at school yesterday. And late picking her up from biddy cheer. I feel certain this happened because I’ve spouted that priggish little proverb, “To be early is to be on time. To be on time is to be late. To be late is to be left out,” a few too many times. I mean, who says stuff like that? I’ll tell you: jerks. (Unless you say that. If you say that, you should know you’re the exception to the rule! And you smell pretty. Is that a new haircut?)

I also assume everyone is judging me. For example, when Dave is home, he frequently acts as taxi driver for our girls. Since there are three of them and it isn’t often that they’re all required to be somewhere together, I opt to stay with the larger group while he ventures out with the singleton. (Oh geez. Do you see how I’m already explaining myself so you won’t judge me? Oh, it’s like a disease.) Well, when he volunteered to work at Santa’s Workshop at Julia’s school, a mom commented that he does a lot with the girls and asked him where I was. I assumed, of course, that it was a dig at me and spent an excessive amount of time trying to deduce who exactly it was that thinks I’m a lazy no-good do-nothing mom because Goody Goody Dave doesn’t realize that “that woman with the hair” could pretty much be any woman.

The reason I haven’t heard from you lately has to be because you’re mad at me for some sinful thing I probably did.

I really need to find a way to distinguish between caring about people and caring what they do and think to the point that I’m a total looney.

How in the world do you change this way of thinking? Seriously. I’m asking you. Because right now, I’m leaning toward electroshock therapy. Or alcoholism.

Oh, Here Go Hell Come

I’ve gained 10 pounds in 47 days. (Yeah, you read that right. 10 pounds.)

I know. I KNOW.

You’re probably wondering, “What the what?!?! Didn’t you just post that you were back in your pre-pregnancy jeans on Twitter/Facebook/a bumper sticker/your t-shirt/that banner hanging from your porch?”

Yeah, I did. Because I was back in my pre-pregnancy jeans. And then I ate my way out of them. In just one week. (I didn’t tweet about that.)

Dave’s 20 year high school reunion is in 6 months, so I’ve got to turn this incredible expanding woman thing around.

As of today, I’m back on my diet.

I just wanted to warn you.

I Love Weekends

Another weekend, another puzzle. This time: Jellybeans.

Our latest puzzle:  Jellybeans

We can usually complete a 1,000 piece puzzle in a weekend if everyone works at it a bit. Not this one. It’s tough, yo. And Picasso keeps sitting on it and destroying our progress with her fat cat ass because she loves to be anywhere she’s not supposed to be.

Kitty in a box


Dave, the girls and a ghost orb made cookies last night.

Making cookies

See it in the lower right corner hovering beneath Dave’s elbow? Do you think it’s a ghost orb? It totally looks like one. And Dave in the kitchen cooking seems like an event that might warrant a visit from the other side. It’s probably a spirit that doesn’t want our house to burn down. Paranormal events save lives all the time, just watch Celebrity Ghost Stories. (Seriously. It’s a really good show.)

We played a game of Life yesterday. Julia chose not to go to college and then she eloped.


I made sure to go to college, you know, just to show her. She won and I came in last. Thanks a heap, Milton Bradley.

I noticed that Lucy has some freckles on her nose and pointed them out to her today.


She told me I have “frinkles,” too. (You know, “face sprinkles.”) Then she touched all over my face with her sticky cantaloupe juice finger to show me where they were.

Phoebe is laughing now.


So far, I’m the only one that’s been able to elicit giggles. By the bellyful. The child thinks I’m hilarious. I think she’s brilliant.

It’s been a while since I wrote a haiku, so here’s one about weekends.

we stay in pj’s
after sleeping in real late
well, except for Dave

It’s physically impossible for Dave to sleep in. And he feels inappropriate hanging out in pj’s because his pj’s are his underwear.

That might be more information than you needed to know.

Clusterfudge. But I don’t mean “fudge.”

I’m all out of sorts, lately, which is even worse than being all out of love, by the way, because I have plenty of love, but I’m still feeling lost which makes me feel like there is no answer and I just may be an excessively flawed human being with no hope for redemption. The fact that I’m discussing how I feel about my feelings tells you just how severe this “all outta whack” condition I have is. It’s causing me to make bad decisions and do stupid things – like go grocery shopping with Lucy and Phoebe all by myself.

It happened last Friday that I was feeling foolishly capable and set out for Wal Mart with the two kiddos in tow. I was armed with a list and plan which I wanted to show you through a Family Circus style drawing of the store with a black dash trail of the path I intended to take versus the red dash trail of the path I actually took and maybe even a heat map of where I spent most of my time, but it turns out that I can’t draw for shit. And you know how they say a picture is worth 1,000 words? Well, that’s how long it’d take me to explain what I wanted to draw, but I’m really too lazy to do that, so I’ll break it down like this:

Hours spent at Wal Mart: 2.75

Percentage of that time Phoebe spent demanding to be carried: 67

Number of people who told me I had my hands full: 5

Trips between the clearance toy aisle at the front of the store and the regular toy section in the back while trying to determine whether to get the marked down Eyeclops that was a little over budget or the Star Wars Trouble Game that might make me look cheap, but was within the theme of the birthday party for which the gift was being purchased: 7

Trips between the clearance toy aisle, the toy department and the card/gift wrap aisle trying to determine a) if there was Star Wars wrapping paper and cards, b) if the prospective gift would fit better in gift wrap or a gift bag and c) to get a matching bow, put it back to save money, feel cheap, then go and get it again (only to have it get lost on the trip home and never make it on the gift anyway): 3

Number of grandmas that asked Lucy if they could take her home and she told, “Sure! Let’s go right now!” : 1

Times I filled the grocery cart, went through the checkout, bundled the kids up and unloaded the contents of my cart into the van because 1) there isn’t a whole lot of space in the cart when a baby is taking up the kid seat and you have to use the big basket portion to cage your toddler and you’re shopping not only to feed your family of five and a great big dog and a zillion cats, but also your parents: 2

Minutes spent in the family bathroom: 27

I know 27 minutes seems like a lot of time, but I had to nurse the baby. And then I had to change her diaper. Then Lucy wanted to try and go to the potty. While we were washing our hands, Phoebe spit up on me, so I had to change her outfit. Then I decided I’d better go, too, which is hard with an infant in your arms. I had to put her on the changing table, pull down my pants, pick her up, waddle to the potty, use the potty, waddle back to the changing table, put her down – and before I could pull my pants up, Lucy had shut out the lights. I asked her to turn them back on, but she couldn’t find them and it was pitch black, so I had to pick up the baby and start feeling around for the light switch, which I couldn’t find, so I cracked open the door forgetting my pants were still around my ankles until Lucy tried to slip out. I yanked her back in, turned on the lights, went back to the changing table, put Phoebe down and pulled my pants up. By then, Lucy had put her hands on the toilet seat so we hand to wash them again. All the while I was stressing about whether or not my cart – which was nearly full – was going to be there when we came out. Thankfully, it was, along with the Wal Mart employee who had greeted us at the door when we entered the store. She asked Lucy where her stickers were because she’d given her two of them. And yeah, where were they? I told the greeter she probably ate them. This made the greeter very concerned. I tried to assure her that Lucy has eaten worse, but it didn’t help the situation, so I just left.

I had just enough time to get home and unload the van before I had to pick Julia up from school.

“Hey, Julia,” I greeted her. “How was school?”

“Great! What did you do today, mom?”

“I got groceries.”

“Oh, is that all?”

And then I wept.

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