Pig Latin
Dylan has been practicing Pig Latin today. One day he aspires to be fluent in the language. My hopes are not high. You see, his father spent many years in Germany and hardly speaks a word of German. I just don't think that our family is particularly gifted when it comes to learning second languages. Otgay atthey?
Its official. I am a slob!
Sean hates that I'm a slob. To be honest, I hate that about me too. I have actually started to think that I've really changed, and that I'm not a slob anymore. Well, I'm finding that I have a long way to go still. Sean goes out of town for two weeks, and somehow I just can't force myself to clean the house when I know he won't be coming home. I'm not a harried housewife. I'm just lazy! I have four children, yes. But 3 of them are in school during the day, and considering the inordinate amount of time I spend on the internet, I'm sure I could do something more productive. I have the time and energy to keep the house clean. What I apparently lack at the moment is the desire.
I change a diaper and just leave the soiled diaper sitting wherever I please, taking joy in my small victory, knowing that Sean won't be home later, saying "Laurie!!! why is there a diaper in the living room?" After a few days of leaving them wherever I want, even I am getting annoyed by the diapers everywhere. Sigh. The toilet needs cleaning. The floor needs vaccuuming. The dishes, well, I'm not even going to talk about them.
Sean will be home in less than a week and I need to start cleaning my house so he doesn't cry when he walks in the door.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Crapcakes and a migraine
Crapcakes, thats the name my husband gave to those little snack cakes. You know, like Little Debbie and Hostess cakes (Twinkies, Zingers, and the like). Although he doesn't want me to spread the word, the truth is that Sean used to buy these cakes with some frequency. He hates it when I tell people that (good thing nobody reads this blog, lol). He knows that they are yucky and yet he bought them anyway. He claimed that because he was denied these as a child, he had to get his fill of them as an adult, even knowing how disgusting they are. They are gross, you know. I remember that I never even ate them as a child. The few times I had a twinkie in my lunch, I gave them away. In fourth grade I gave them to Kyle Hogue (he was so cute), and he would sit on the package and squish them and then squeeze it out and eat it! I swear its the truth! I think that they were peanut butter flavored, too. Did Twinkie make a peanut butter flavored crapcake in the 70's? Anyone know?
Anyway, Sean has apparently outgrown his little crapcake obsession (he's moved on to gum! He buys gum constantly!). For some reason, though, he bought a box of Zingers the other day. My kids were excited. They had one for dessert. I gave Dylan, (9 year old son) one in his lunch. Here's the conversation we had after school that day:
Dylan: Mom, can I have a Zinger?
Me: No. You had one in your lunch, thats enough for the day.
Dylan: I didn't eat it though. Can I have one now?
Me: You didn't eat it?
Dylan: Weeeelll, I traded it for some Doritos. So I didn't get one like every one else (meaning his sisters, who also got one in their lunches). So can I have one?
Me: Looks like you got one, you just didn't eat it.
Dylan: Right, I didn't eat it, so that's why I need one now, because I didn't get one.
Me: You DID get one, you just gave it away, and I'm not giving you another one.
Dylan: I didn't get to eat it though! So, I didn't get one!!
Me: Yeah, you ate Doritos. That was your choice. End of story. You got one. No more Zingers.
Dylan: But MOOOOMMMMM! Please, please can I have one (he's working on a few tears, hoping that will help him plead his case).
Me: Nice try, kid. No Zinger.
I have to give the kid some credit for working with what he had. He figured he was entitled to a Zinger, somehow.
Meanwhile, Hypatia (my 5 year old daughter) walks in and ignores all reason, she doesn't care whether she's entitled or not, she just wants what she wants. She starts yelling:
Hy: I want a Zinger!!! (yelling at the top of her lungs)
Me: No
Hy: I want a Zinger!!! (this time her face is beginning to contort and she's starting to collapse).
Me: No
Hy: Please, please, I really really want a Zinger!!! Give me a Zinger now!!!! (at this point she's on the floor, wailing).
Now the Migraine Kicks In
Up until the kids got home from school, I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was nursing a bit of a headache. Somehow, and completely unrelated to the Zinger events, (yeah, right), the headache accelerated into a full blown migraine, complete with fuzzy vision. At this point, I informed the children that they had to keep their eye on the baby, and that I was officially sick, so don't bug me for a while. I took some Ibuprofin and retired to my room and fell asleep, well sort of. It's hard to go to sleep with 4 children running around the house. In any case, I rested. Luckily I don't suffer from severe migraines that last for days. I was mostly recovered within an hour and a half. My head was sore, but the headache was mostly gone. What's really lucky is that the children are all alive and didn't kill themselves while I was in my room, ignoring them.
Anyway, Sean has apparently outgrown his little crapcake obsession (he's moved on to gum! He buys gum constantly!). For some reason, though, he bought a box of Zingers the other day. My kids were excited. They had one for dessert. I gave Dylan, (9 year old son) one in his lunch. Here's the conversation we had after school that day:
Dylan: Mom, can I have a Zinger?
Me: No. You had one in your lunch, thats enough for the day.
Dylan: I didn't eat it though. Can I have one now?
Me: You didn't eat it?
Dylan: Weeeelll, I traded it for some Doritos. So I didn't get one like every one else (meaning his sisters, who also got one in their lunches). So can I have one?
Me: Looks like you got one, you just didn't eat it.
Dylan: Right, I didn't eat it, so that's why I need one now, because I didn't get one.
Me: You DID get one, you just gave it away, and I'm not giving you another one.
Dylan: I didn't get to eat it though! So, I didn't get one!!
Me: Yeah, you ate Doritos. That was your choice. End of story. You got one. No more Zingers.
Dylan: But MOOOOMMMMM! Please, please can I have one (he's working on a few tears, hoping that will help him plead his case).
Me: Nice try, kid. No Zinger.
I have to give the kid some credit for working with what he had. He figured he was entitled to a Zinger, somehow.
Meanwhile, Hypatia (my 5 year old daughter) walks in and ignores all reason, she doesn't care whether she's entitled or not, she just wants what she wants. She starts yelling:
Hy: I want a Zinger!!! (yelling at the top of her lungs)
Me: No
Hy: I want a Zinger!!! (this time her face is beginning to contort and she's starting to collapse).
Me: No
Hy: Please, please, I really really want a Zinger!!! Give me a Zinger now!!!! (at this point she's on the floor, wailing).
Now the Migraine Kicks In
Up until the kids got home from school, I was vaguely aware of the fact that I was nursing a bit of a headache. Somehow, and completely unrelated to the Zinger events, (yeah, right), the headache accelerated into a full blown migraine, complete with fuzzy vision. At this point, I informed the children that they had to keep their eye on the baby, and that I was officially sick, so don't bug me for a while. I took some Ibuprofin and retired to my room and fell asleep, well sort of. It's hard to go to sleep with 4 children running around the house. In any case, I rested. Luckily I don't suffer from severe migraines that last for days. I was mostly recovered within an hour and a half. My head was sore, but the headache was mostly gone. What's really lucky is that the children are all alive and didn't kill themselves while I was in my room, ignoring them.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
The curse of the FIRE ANTS
We live on two acres out in the country. We have our own little piece of earth. Its a good feeling, you know, having more land than you really want to mow. Turns out, though, that we have squatters present. Fire Ants are going to rule the world before too long. They want us out, and they just might succeed. They are brutal. I think there should be a movie called "When Fire Ants Attack". We have waged war on them (well my husband does it all, but I'm there cheering him on). We are losing the war so far. The are everywhere. When they bite, it stings horribly, then it becomes a little pus pocket. My son who is two went out the back door for a minute with bare feet. I don't even think he went onto the grass. There was a Fire Ant pile right there by the sidewalk, and he of course stood right in it. 2 year old children don't grasp the idea that, in these situations, the best defense is a good offense. He doesn't run away from the pile! He just stands there screaming while the ants climb all over his feet, biting him. My daughter saw what was happening and started screaming. She grabbed him and brought him in and we proceeded to slap off the ants. He had maybe 100 or more bites on his feet and ankles. This happened a few weeks ago. He still points to his feet and says, "bite!".
He has since learned how to scan the ground and quickly spot the ants when he walks around the back yard.
He has since learned how to scan the ground and quickly spot the ants when he walks around the back yard.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Ok, I'm going to try to recreate the post that dissappeared. Its gonna suck, though, compared to the first one.
I haven't written for a few months. I got obsessed with some things and sorta stopped writing for a while. Now I'm back. I plan to write more often.
Its fun to read about the little day to day things that are inevitably forgotten. I've always wanted to inspirational, clever and wise when I write, but that's not me. I tend to be down to earth, pragmatic, and decidedly non-inspirational. I recently uncovered an old journal (remember those? We used to actually have to use a pen back in the days before the internet). It was tucked away in a box of my personal belongings and left to rot at my parents house. They finally got sick of having the boxes taking up space in their house and made me take them home. I found the journal tucked in between my old clothes I wore back in the 80's. I hadn't read the journal since 1990. Wow, did it bring back some memories. Apparently I was boy crazy at that age. Thats all I wrote about back then. I remember wanting so desperately to write something that was actually meaningful. I would sit with my pen at the paper and try to squeeze out a poem, something, anything! I'm no writer. I suffer from a severe lack of creativity. I actually managed to write a dumb poem about my inability to write poems. Sigh. It was the best I could do. I'll let you read it if you promise not to laugh in my face about it. Just make sure my back is turned.
Ok, its more like prose. I couldn't even get it to be poem-y.
Here it is. It doesn't have a title. I couldn't think of one.
The words aren't here tonight.
I cannot write.
Yet my pen yearns to move freely across the vast white expanse of the paper.
So I sit, and my pen moves, writing nothing of consequence to any other person.
But I would have it otherwise.
My thoughts are too clumsy to record, and my pen too slow to keep up with the constant flickering of ideas moving about within my mind.
What is it that I can do if I cannot write?
What is the gift I can give to the world?
That there is something to give, I do not doubt.
I feel it often enough.
Its that urge I have to stand where others can see me, and be touched by me, not physically, but spiritually, within the heart.
What song, what verse, what drama, is waiting for the moment to become a work of art?
What moment of inspiration awaits the world?
Some day it will sally forth its efforts and...
EXIST.
End of dumb non-poem-y poem.
Ok, I'm laughing at that last line. Sally forth??? Hahahaha. Ok, I'm laughing at the whole thing. I did write a few other romantic poems that are way too bad to even be put on a blog that nobody reads.
So I wrote this when I was 18 and I wanted to be famous. Maybe an actress, a singer or a writer. Truth is, I can't think of a thing on my own. I couldn't make up an original story to save my life. I kissed a creative person once (20 years ago). He recently became a rather famous playwrite, and won some really big award for a play he wrote, which was also made into a movie. So, he wasn't famous yet, and the kiss was closed mouth, so it doesn't really count does it? I was only 16 and I was a goodie goodie and I didn't french kiss. Needless to say, the future famous playwrite guy's interest in me rapidly waned. He quickly moved on to greener pastures, lol.
Now I'm 36 years old. I'm a wife and mother, so the only boys I blog about are the ones I gave birth to. I still don't have anything inspirational to say. My kids are my work of art, and my husband is a just piece of work. LOL, sorry hon, that was just a joke. :)
The last part of the lost in cyberspace blog that I wrote was all about how fat I am and how I'm going to be working on losing weight. It was humiliating enough to write the first time, I'm not going to write it again. Bully for you, my non existent readership. You have been spared the gory details.
Its fun to read about the little day to day things that are inevitably forgotten. I've always wanted to inspirational, clever and wise when I write, but that's not me. I tend to be down to earth, pragmatic, and decidedly non-inspirational. I recently uncovered an old journal (remember those? We used to actually have to use a pen back in the days before the internet). It was tucked away in a box of my personal belongings and left to rot at my parents house. They finally got sick of having the boxes taking up space in their house and made me take them home. I found the journal tucked in between my old clothes I wore back in the 80's. I hadn't read the journal since 1990. Wow, did it bring back some memories. Apparently I was boy crazy at that age. Thats all I wrote about back then. I remember wanting so desperately to write something that was actually meaningful. I would sit with my pen at the paper and try to squeeze out a poem, something, anything! I'm no writer. I suffer from a severe lack of creativity. I actually managed to write a dumb poem about my inability to write poems. Sigh. It was the best I could do. I'll let you read it if you promise not to laugh in my face about it. Just make sure my back is turned.
Ok, its more like prose. I couldn't even get it to be poem-y.
Here it is. It doesn't have a title. I couldn't think of one.
The words aren't here tonight.
I cannot write.
Yet my pen yearns to move freely across the vast white expanse of the paper.
So I sit, and my pen moves, writing nothing of consequence to any other person.
But I would have it otherwise.
My thoughts are too clumsy to record, and my pen too slow to keep up with the constant flickering of ideas moving about within my mind.
What is it that I can do if I cannot write?
What is the gift I can give to the world?
That there is something to give, I do not doubt.
I feel it often enough.
Its that urge I have to stand where others can see me, and be touched by me, not physically, but spiritually, within the heart.
What song, what verse, what drama, is waiting for the moment to become a work of art?
What moment of inspiration awaits the world?
Some day it will sally forth its efforts and...
EXIST.
End of dumb non-poem-y poem.
Ok, I'm laughing at that last line. Sally forth??? Hahahaha. Ok, I'm laughing at the whole thing. I did write a few other romantic poems that are way too bad to even be put on a blog that nobody reads.
So I wrote this when I was 18 and I wanted to be famous. Maybe an actress, a singer or a writer. Truth is, I can't think of a thing on my own. I couldn't make up an original story to save my life. I kissed a creative person once (20 years ago). He recently became a rather famous playwrite, and won some really big award for a play he wrote, which was also made into a movie. So, he wasn't famous yet, and the kiss was closed mouth, so it doesn't really count does it? I was only 16 and I was a goodie goodie and I didn't french kiss. Needless to say, the future famous playwrite guy's interest in me rapidly waned. He quickly moved on to greener pastures, lol.
Now I'm 36 years old. I'm a wife and mother, so the only boys I blog about are the ones I gave birth to. I still don't have anything inspirational to say. My kids are my work of art, and my husband is a just piece of work. LOL, sorry hon, that was just a joke. :)
The last part of the lost in cyberspace blog that I wrote was all about how fat I am and how I'm going to be working on losing weight. It was humiliating enough to write the first time, I'm not going to write it again. Bully for you, my non existent readership. You have been spared the gory details.
Ok, so I haven't written anything in a few months. I'm fat, too. So there.
I really feel like cussing right now. I bleeping wrote this long freaking big post and when I clicked publish, it disappeared. Oh I'm so mad. ARRGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! It was so good. So sarcastic. So not clever. I'll never be able to repeat this post. Watch. This one is gonna publish just fine. Man this sucks.
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