Kerplosh!

It's a new year, it's time for a fresh start. Sort of.

I'm not in the mood to change up all the design of my page right now, so that stays the same.

There have been a ton of changes since I last posted here, but we're mostly the same goofy family.

Still married to Hubby and we still live in Pleasantville.

Stinkles is twelve - participates in the Character Council, Girl Scouts, soccer, school musical, and does college level research projects. She's also a good kid, but that drummer in her head is still playing a death dirge - ugh!

Cupie is fourteen - a soccer goalie, cheerleader, member of the National Junior Honor Society, Girl Scout, active member at church, generally a good kid. But, Dude! She has all the snark and attitude that's uber typical of a fourteen year old!

And she's still as klutzy as ever.

So Hubby and I are sitting in the family room watching Shameless and there is a commotion from the kitchen. Like the kind you hear in Scooby-Doo - ZOINKS!

I tried to jump up from the couch, but we have those electric footrests, and putting them down is slower than the old lady with the stair lift in Gremlins (before the Gremlins get to it). By the time I get to the kitchen, Cupie is still standing there dumbfounded. I think she was shocked because her perfectly prepared bowl of cereal was on the floor amongst the lunch crumbs, a stool, and a rogue sock.

Apparently, her feet were on the stool, she went to get up, tangled her feet in the stool legs and KERPLOSH! Cereal on the floor! That's a direct quote.

I looked at the floor again - there was cereal and a bowl, but no milk splatter. WTH!?!?

The kid puts milk on the cereal, dunks all the cereal pieces, drinks the milk out and then eats the cereal. It's to ensure the cereal doesn't get soggy, just moist (ewe, moist).

Genius!

Silver Lining:

1. I didn't have anyone crying over spilled milk.
2. I didn't have to clean up any spilled milk either.

Smart VS Street Smart

It's official. Stinkles is eligible for Mensa.

She's had an official, indepth IQ test (current Weschler IQ test) administered along with some additional tests which all came back positive for giftedness.

That's all well and good. But explain to me how a six year old child who could write her name by two and multiply & divide at three, couldn't figure out that you have to unlock the patio door in order to open it?

Silver Lining:

1. We still have plenty of time to teach her these important life lessons. She is only six after all.


2. It's a hard pill to swallow that your kid is smarter than you, but on the bright side, there's a really good chance she'll get herself a job where she actually may be able to take care of us when we're old and infirmed. Or she'll end up a weird, recluse with a bunch of conspiracy theories rattling around in that super capacity brain of hers. Let's hope for the "good job" path.

No Laundry For You, One Day!

OMG! I never thought I'd see the day.

The kind of day where the sky is dappled with puffy white clouds (perfect for imagining shapes of dragons pushing shopping carts or a floating Easter bunny head - a little disturbing, but fun none the less), mid-seventies temperature, & a slight breeze.

The kind of day where all is right with the world, there's enough money in the bank to pay the bills, dust ceases to land on every surface as soon as I enter a room.

The kind of day where my children get dressed in the morning and aren't covered in something (toothpaste, milk, all that crazy dust - take your pick) by the time they've started breakfast.

The kind of day where the laundry gets done without me having to lift a finger. . .

eeerrrrrrttt!

I almost saw it! One day, there was a flash of possibility before my eyes. . .

My children are old enough to help with laundry (happy dance). At least I trust them to fold the laundry. I have nightmare images of Michael Keaton in Mr. Mom so I'm not letting them run the wash machine yet.

I got a new "upstairs" chore chart as more of a check list to make sure they brush their teeth, get dressed (including socks - yes, it has to be said), and brush their hair. I put turn out lights & open blinds on there too, and with one space left, I added "Fold & Put Away Laundry.

For each task, the girls get their own magnetic star to place on the chart. We haven't assigned any dollar amounts to these "chores" - they just get to move a star for each completed task.

In the morning, Cupie, as a typical oldest child, wants to please us so she doesn't waste any time getting ready and has time to work on laundry. There's a star at stake darn it, and she's earning one!

Stinkles, on the other hand, likes to daydream. She marches to the beat of her own drummer that's for sure. I'm pretty sure that drummer plays a death dirge because she is slow to do everything. She's the only kid I know who can be happy & smiley & jumpy with a death dirge playing, but anywho. . .

Stinkles likes to get stars too. Just for the sake of getting them. Never mind the fact that she may or may not have earned them. They are pretty and they are stars and they should just be given to her.

Cupie emptied the dryer, folded the clothes inside, put the neat little piles on the beds, and put her own laundry away. Then, she moved a star into it's appropriate place on the chart.

Stinkles, brushing her teeth, took note that laundry had been done that morning and moved her own star into the same slot.

I was downstairs peacefully drinking my coffee & eating a scone while reading the latest gossip rag. Yah, I have time to do that because I get up early enough to shower, primp, get dressed, vacuum the entire house, make lunches, bake fresh scones, grind coffee beans by hand, & publish my own gossip magazine before 7:30AM. NOT!!!!

I was in the bathroom, frantically trying to do something with the frizzy mess atop my head when the squabbling began.

Cupie: You can't just move the star!
Stinkles: But the laundry is done.
Cupie: You didn't do the laundry. I DID!
Stinkles: It's not fair!
Cupie: How is it not fair? I DID THE LAUNDRY!
Stinkles: You did it without asking me first!
Cupie: Why should I ask you?
Stinkles: Because.
Cupie: Because why?
Stinkles: Because it's not fair.

Me (in my calmest thru-the-clenched-teeth-but-somewhat-evil-sounding voice while waving a comb around like a mad woman): WHAT IS GOING ON OUT HERE!!!!!!!

You've already read the situation so I won't repeat it, but the bottom line was that Stinkles didn't think it was fair that Cupie, who gets up at the same time as her and has the same number of morning tasks, doesn't daydream so she has time to laundry; therefore earning a star, while she does not.

Tears were streaming down Stinkles face (add that to the list of "something" to be covered in).

TEARS!!!!

Over not "getting" to do the laundry.

Give me a moment to shed my own tears over this.

TEARS OF JOY!

Silver Lining:

1. I did explain to Cupie that even though she enjoys doing laundry now, she really should involve her sister in the future so Stinkles doesn't start to take advantage of her and just expect her to do the laundry. That's my job, duh!


2. Stinkles got her own load of laundry to fold and put away. In true Stinkles fashion, it took three days for the task to be complete. But it was completed nonetheless.

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Interrupting cow.

Interrupting co--

Moooooooooooo.

Get it? The interrupting cow, interrupted before you could say "Interrupting cow who?"

Ok, it may be funnier in person. Sue me!

Well, don't.

Not that it matters. I don't have any money to pay you on a frivolous suit such as this.

You'd just make a big, fat, black cloud in our blogging relationship. Do you really want that?

I didn't think so.

Anywho, on with the point of that not-really-all-that-funny-when-you-don't-hear-it-in-person joke.

Interrupting.

My kids do it all the time.

I can't count how many times I've told my kids, "The grown ups are talking, please don't interrupt."

Sometimes it happens so often, you completely lose track of your conversation. It's almost comical because it would have taken less of an interruption to hear what they had to say than it does to make the point that they are INTERRUPTING!

However, most of the time, the interruption is unwarranted and completely fleeting in nature. This, of course, makes it all the more irritating.

Unless you're just an observer in the whole ordeal. Then, it's funny.

Case and point:

MIL (aka Nana) to Hubby: Waaa-waa, waaa, waa-waaaa, waa, waaa, waa-waa

Hubby to MIL: Waaa-waa, waaa, waa-waaaa, waa, waaa, waa-waa

This goes on for a bit, so I'll let you fill in the "waaa, waaa" as necessary. Three minutes should do the trick.

Andi (my niece, age 11): Hey, Nana. . .

MIL: Just a minute, Andi.

MIL and Hubby continue "waaa, waaa"-ing for a bit.

Andi: Um, Nana?

MIL: Hold on Andi.

More "waaa, waaa"-ing.

MIL (with much drama and a tinge of exasperation): Now, Andi, what was so ever-loving important that you had to interrupt us twice?

Andi: I forgot.

Typical.

Silver Lining:

1. My girls' have finally started understanding the meaning of my holding up one finger so I don't actually have to stop my conversation to tell them not to interrupt. Unfortunately, I know they understand this because they do it back to me!


2. My mother-in-law has almost 40 years of child-rearing experience (not to mention the fact that she's the oldest of her six brothers & sisters) so this just rolled off her back, and she declared it was time for ice cream. AWESOME!

From Bed Head to Beautiful in 30 Minutes

Every morning I wake up with a plan.

• Shower - 5 minutes.


• Dry off and moisturize all over - 3 minutes.


• Apply make up - 7 minutes.


• Brush teeth - 2 minutes


• Get dressed - 5 minutes


• Dry & style hair - 7 minutes


• Put on jewelry & shoes - 1 minute

Ta da! I'm gorgeous in 30 minutes!

Does this plan ever actually pan out?

Nope.

Why not?

Let's break it down.

The shower. As long as I don't shave my legs, I could, maybe, if I moved with super speed, get in and out in five minutes. Shaving is what gets me. Sure, I wear pants to work, but let's hope I don't need to change into Capri's or shorts, or (gasp!) a bathing suit later.

And that super speed ain't happening without a cup of coffee. I haven't built any time into the plan for stumbling down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, let alone the time it takes to actually make a pot.

Drying off & moisturizing all over? I can save time here because my lotion never seems to be in my bathroom so I just skip it.

Apply makeup. I'm not sure if this takes seven minutes or not.

I've never timed it really. Nor have I ever started my make up and finished it without interruption.

This is about the time my kids start waking up and Hubby realizes he's getting out of the shower, but doesn't have any underwear. I have to go down to the laundry room and find a clean pair for him and then figure out what the girls are going to wear.

For whatever reason, it is just impossible to find matching socks for Stinkles. I just had to buy her the socks with pink or blue or purple or green toes and a matching band at the ankle. Cupie has all the same socks - purple toes with no color band at the ankle. Easy peasy - find two socks and they go together.

Not Stinkles' socks.

Nope.

You gotta dig for a match.

So I sit down on the laundry room floor and look for matching Stinkles socks. Hubby's calling for his underwear so I bring that to him and then back to the laundry room for the Great Sock Hunt.

Da, da-da-dahhhhhhhhhhh!

MATCHING STINKLES' SOCKS!

While the kids are busy getting dressed, I finish my make up.

But before I can brush my teeth, Hubby now needs socks as well. He can find his own pants & shirt from the railing outside the laundry room. Oh, lucky me.

Of course, every pair of Hubby's socks are different patterns. To make things even harder is he has several pair that are similar in style but different in color. So there is the constant, "Is this navy blue or black?" comparison going on.

Brushing my teeth. I know there is argument by some that it doesn't really take two minutes to brush your teeth, but it does for me. My mouth just can't be clean until my tooth brush starts the staccato at the two minute mark. It's one area of my life where I can be quite anal - my teeth. That last sentence has a bit of irony to it, doesn't it?

Getting dressed. It doesn't take all that long, but the application of wrinkle releaser takes a bit. You have to spray, then stretch, then smooth and repeat until the clothes don't look like they just came out of a laundry basket. Heaven forbid, I climb over the piles of laundry to get out the ironing board and iron.

Drying and styling my hair. This usually takes more than seven minutes due to a couple of factors.

First, whether or not the kids have finished lolly-gagging and gotten dressed. If they are done getting dressed, they need help with their hair and teeth. Cupie is six and I know she can at least brush her hair and teeth (not with the same brush), but I don't trust her to do it with out a reminder. Stinkles is only four, and well, that's just not old enough to do it well enough so we have to help her.

Secondly, it depends on how long it's been since I had a hair cut. If it was somewhat recently and the stars align on the kids getting dressed factor, seven minutes is about right. If it's been more than a month, it takes five minutes just to dry my hair. It's not all that long, just super thick. If I wait too long to get it cut, I start getting triangle head like that chick in the Dilbert cartoons. That's some thick hair.

Jewelry. By the time all that is finished, I have to figure out what jewelry I'm wearing. I've become a total jewelry whore so this is a big decision daily.

I like the big rings and I'm really bummed out if I can't make one go with an outfit.

Oh my gosh, you mean the only ring I have to wear with this is the red cocktail ring?

Never mind that six months ago, that ring (with a 1/2 inch center stone) seemed huge. Now, if the ring doesn't partially cover the fingers on either side of the one actually wearing the ring, it's not big enough.

Seriously, the one I'm wearing right now is about 1 1/2 inches in diameter.

Whew! That's what it takes to get as gorgeous as me every day.

Silver Lining:

1. As I was writing this I came up with a plan to sort the "missing a match" socks. I'm going to install a clothes line and pin up all the socks that are missing their matches. Then, I can scan the line each time instead of sifting through a pile. I feel very brilliant right now.


2. I've been inspired to do some laundry and actually put it away. But it's a good three hours before I get home to do that and I'm thinking that I won't be inspired anymore when that happens. C'est la Vie.

PS - I'm not really that conceited - I don't consider myself gorgeous by any stretch of the word. But dang, after all that work every morning, you'd think I'd be approaching it . . .

Setting The Bar

I'm not Super-Mom.

I'm not even Above-Average-Mom.

I'm a pretty much just Mom.

You could look at as though I'm "keeping it real" for my kids. They need to know that having a family, a home, and a job also means that they have to forgo home-cooked, four-course meals and a spot-free household existence.

It became abundantly clear how far from "spot-free" my home had become based on Stinkle's reaction to cleaning her room yesterday.

Her room was a disaster area. Stuffed animals, barrettes, Barbies, Barbie accessories, baby dolls, McDonald's toys, scraps of at least five sheets of green construction paper, magnets, Littlest Pet Shop stuff, and much more littered her bedroom floor.

It's not a big room - only 11X10 and that might be generous. So it doesn't take much of a mess to make it look much, much smaller.

This poor child also has a massive case of second child syndrome:

• She has the smallest of the bedrooms with the smallest closet.
• Her bed is the actually the trundle from under Cupie's Captains bed.
• The floor lamp used to be Cupie's but it didn't fit the new decor when we moved into our current house so Stinkles inherited it.
• The dresser was originally Cupie's too, but Cupie got a new one when Stinkles was born so it's technically a hand-me-down too.

Cupie has a walk-in closet that we were able to add storage shelves to. She has 25 feet of space to store games, those doll make-up heads, Pixos, books, Barbie stuff, etc. Stinkles has none.

That's one reason her room is a mess. We'd provided her no means of organizing it nor had we shown her how.

So we were at Home Depot this weekend. And you know as soon as we walked in, the kids had to go to the bathroom.

What's with kids and needing to go to the bathroom at every store we visit?

We were there to get a couple of things that sold at the front of the store. Now, I had to traipse all the way to the back of the store to find the bathrooms. Said Traipsing took me through the Closetmaid storage stuff isle.

Whaaaaaaaaaaah. A magical glow floated over the racks of brackets & wire shelving.

I started guesstimating the size of Stinkles closet.

Holy crap!

It was going to cost us at least $250 to do her closet. The angel choir ceased abruptly.

Now, I know you can do a 34"X47" (we measured when we got home) for less than $250, but I wanted the "track" system so we could screw this stuff into the wall once and still have flexibility to change the height of the shelves later. Trying to cover up the bullet sized holes from wall anchors is a pain in the rump.

We ultimately decided to buy the materials for part of her closet. At least she would get some storage.

Stinkles was pretty excited about getting some shelves in her closet and cleaning up her room. Don't you just love this age? She was excited about cleaning!

So I started moving stuff around in her closet. Like, I stacked the tubs of hand-me-down clothes on one side. I moved the boxes of hand-me-down shoes off the shelf already in the closet to the top of the tubs. Thankfully, the wall was there to prevent the fall of the leaning tower of hand-me-downs.

In the process, I found evidence of good intentions. There were three collapsible canvas cubes to match the colors of her room. Stinkles helped decide what went into each one.

I think I saw that on Oprah or read it in one of those perfect parent type of magazines - let the kids help make the decision and maybe they'll stick with it. I thought if she helped decide what went in the cubes, the likelihood of those items making it back into the cubes would increase.

Stay tuned, we'll see if that worked.

Believe it or not, the shelving went up uneventfully.

How does that happen to me?

I suppose I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. I'll just shut-up and put a check in the success column.

Anywho, Hubby took the kids to Wally-world for a new camera (stay tuned for that saga) and I finished up Stinkle's closet & room cleaning.

When she got home, Stinkles ran to her room. By the time I made my way up, she was at the top of the stairs, jumping up and down with her arms up in the air. She looked like she had just won the lottery.

I got a huge hug and kiss.

I asked her, "Do you like what Mommy did in your room?"

She let go, stepped back, and vigorously nodded her head. Then she said, "Now let's go look at the closet!"

She was that excited about her room being clean - she hadn't even looked at the closet yet!

You know you're doing something wrong when your child thinks that a clean room is cause for celebration.

Or maybe I've done it right by setting the bar pretty darn low.

Silver Lining:

1. There was no stepping on Barbie boots or any other foot puncturing item when sneaking in for one last kiss before I went to be last night.
2. The tables have been turned on Cupie. Stinkles informed her that her room is a "daster". And it spurred a mini cleaning spree by Cupie. Mini as in, she made her bed - woo, who!
3. Stinkles got a small taste of victory. We did something just for her - she was the sole focus of this project and she didn't have to share it with her sister. I'm sure she put an imaginary check in the success column too.

There Isn't A Band-Aid Big Enough

As a parent, I want to shield my children from the ugly in the world.

Yesterday, I failed.

Last Thursday, Cupie came home all excited. She and some "friends" from daycare were going to perform a concert on Monday. She needed a microphone, a purse, sunglasses, and a scarf. Oh yah, and a PINK outfit.

That's a quick list - she was back from the playroom with everything but the outfit in about five minutes.

She trounced up to her room picked out a pink skirt and a striped shirt and put them in reserve for Monday.

All weekend she talked about this concert on Monday. They had dance moves and everything.

On Monday morning she bounced out of bed and got ready real quick. Quite a feat because she normally has to be reminded several times to get dressed.

To brush her hair.

To brush her teeth.

To find her shoes. Yada, yada, yada.

When I asked how the concert went Monday evening, she said the "ringleader" was sick so they were putting it off until Wednesday. She asked me to wash her outfit so she could wear it again. She had several pink articles of clothing, but this was her "concert" outfit.

Wednesday morning was a repeat of Monday.

Wednesday evening was not.

I asked her about the concert and she just started sobbing.

The "ringleader" decided there were too many girls in the group and one, ONE, had to be voted out. Everyone voted out Cupie.

Cupie was seriously sobbing.

Not tears of disappointment.

SOBBING.

Disappointment, hurt, & confusion don't even begin to describe how she felt.

Even writing this, I feel pain for my daughter and it brings tears to my eyes because I remember what it was like. I wasn't the most popular kid growing up. In fact, I could be quite shy. (Shut up all of you who actually know me - I grew up and found my voice.)

Cupie is so outgoing, charismatic, and fun. I didn't think she would endure the growing pains I did. Naive, I know.

Silver Lining:

1. Kids are resilient. She seems fine today. But I can't help wondering if this is "that one time" that keeps coming back to haunt her as she grows up.


2. I didn't see the "ringleader" this morning. She's lucky. I might not have been able to hold back from wringing her neck.


3. Even a "Pollyanna" can have an off day - see, I'm not perfect :)

Elbow Worm?

Within every culture there are expressions that are understood by the members of that culture, but make no sense to an outsider.

For instance:

• Having a melt down


• Getting the short end of the stick


• Brown-noser


• I've got a song stuck in my head

Most adults know what these phrases mean. You could call adulthood a "culture" right?

Perhaps not, but for this blog, we're going to say it is.

None of those phases are to be taken literally. As cultured adults, we know this.

If not, let me just clue you in: a brown-noser is not someone with a brown nose. It's someone who has been kissing someone else's a$$ for so long, their nose should be stained with poop.

As cultured adults, we may shorten the "I've got a song stuck in my head" to "I've got an ear worm".

You know those songs that just repeat in your head over and over.

All. Day. Long.

That song in the Six Flags commercials. The Macarena. Lady Gaga's Poker Face. You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift.

That last one has been really sticking with my children. Distressingly so with my four year old.

She got very upset yesterday and wanted us to stop singing it, "Because it was stuck in my arm!"

For the pre-K culture, remembering that you hear things in your head (where your ears are) and not your arm (where your elbow is) is tough. Thank goodness the song wasn't stuck in her butt!

Silver Lining:

1. She's super cute when she stands on the stool in front of the bathroom mirror singing, "She wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts, she's chear captain & I'm on the bleachers . . ."


2. It's a cute song and not something obnoxious like the song in the Six Flags commercial.

Things I Don't Get

• Why do women do the front of their hair and not the back? Like when they pull their hair back in a ponytail or a banana clip, but pull out enough of the sides to still curl and frame their face.



• Banana clips.



• Little girls wearing clothes more appropriate for today's teenagers. Not that teenagers always wear appropriate clothing, but still I should see a seven year old in short, short skirts and shirts that are little too short. And sometimes make up??



• Candles littering the house. Really? I know they smell good, but wouldn't one or two be enough? The collect dust in my house and they're a pain to clean. I've got those fake on my dining room sconces - the ones with a battery to light them up. They have a partially melted look and they flicker - cool, huh?



• Those pop-ups on Foxnews.com or MSN.com. The kind where you barely mouse over a word and they bring up addition information, but usually unrelated to the article. If I want to know more information, I'll click on it! At the very least, it should wait until I've paused on it for a couple of seconds. Geez.



• In Farmville, you can't rotate the buildings.



• In Farmville, you don't get to keep your own mystery eggs or the animals that wander onto your farm. They're your gosh darn chickens, you should be able to keep at least one! And if an animal wanders onto my farm, I think the "Finders, Keepers" rule should apply.



• Mafia Wars.



• Democrats.



• People who feel the need to have the make of their car across the top of their windsheild. Dude, I can see that you drive a Subaru.



• Pink hair. Or purple. Or blaze orange.



• My daughter having a week off of school for quarter break and another week off for Easter break. She's off this week and again the first or second week of April. WTF??? That costs me a lot of money when it comes to daycare.



• Building a new elementary school and only sending K-2 to it and leaving 3-5 in the old school. You'd think they would just divide the school district. I know a lot of parents who are being forced to pick up their kids at two different schools, 12 miles apart, that get out at the same time. All the schools are currently on the same campus surrounded by corn fields. Buying additional land for another school building from the farmer wasn't an option?



• People who don't delete the forwarding e-mail junk before the real message. Especially when it's a joke - I'm bored before I get there and then it isn't as funny.



• Junk e-mail.



• Spam.



• Ballpoint pens that ooze.



• Why people still buy and use regular pencils when mechanical ones are so much more efficient. Who wants to walk all the way to a pencil sharpener? Or hunt around for one? Or empty it when it's full of shavings - those carbon shavings can make a mess similar to when toner gets out of the container on the copier or printer.



• People who don't replenish paper in the copier or printer.



• People who walk away from a jam in the copier or printer.



• People who regularly send 300 page documents to the printer in the middle of the day. Wait until early morning or late afternoon people!



• Bloggers who don't post anything for two weeks. Oops, that's me. Sorry.

Well, I guess this post would be better suited for Random Tuesday Thoughts, but I don't get these things today. Tomorrow it may be all better, and therefore, not as timely. So there you go.

Silver Lining:

1. I'm sure I have readers out there who can explain these things to me so I get them.


2. There are lots of things I do get. Like why my kids are so smart and so stinkin' cute (not that I'm biased or anything), how Mary Kay is the best skin care routine for the best value, cars need gas to run, you have to work instead of blogging in order to keep your job, etc.

Simple Solutions

Nursing your baby is a special bonding time between a mother and child.

You should be able to relax and thank the Lord that your baby is hungry; thus, relieving the sometimes unbelievable pressure that has built up.

However, when your six year old is running around, bouncing off walls, and shrieking just for the fun of it, there is no relaxing.

So, what is a nursing mother to do?

Of course, the answer is simple.

You call your six year old over to you, unfasten the other flap of your nursing bra, and squeeze.

A squirt of breast milk right between the eyes has an amazingly quieting effect on the attitude of your older child.

Silver Lining:

1. I never had to do this because, I didn't nurse for very long and my girls are only two years apart.


2. I can't wait for the Island Luau this summer. I think the nursing moms in the neighborhood may have an unfair advantage in the water gun fight - they don't have to stop to reload.

Parental Logic

Because I've got eyes in the back of my head . . .

I brought you into this world, and I can take you out . . .

Keep it up and Santa may put you on the naughty list . . .

Because I said so . . .

Ah, the logic of parents.

My girls are small enough to still believe almost everything I say. Especially if I say it with any sort of authority.

From personal experience, I know this will not continue into the teenage years.

Case & point (I was about sixteen):

"Dad, are there onions in this?"

I can't stand onions. I can taste them in everything.

Hubby and I went to the Waffle House once and my order of hashbrowns had been cooked on a griddle that at one point in time had onions on it. I nearly choked on the first bite - they had a distinct onion taste. I wasn't even hungry after that.

Dramatic? Yes.

Changable? No.

Back to dinner with my dad.

With a look of complete disbelief, he answered, "How could you tell? I minced them up! You can't even taste them."

Being a smart*ssy teenager, I responded, "If you can't taste them, then why are they in there?"

"For flavor." Too late - Dad was soooooo busted.

I just grinned from ear to ear and pushed my bowl away.

Silver Lining:

1. I had gotten too big for him to knock me into next week.


2. I had gotten old enough to take notes for my own parenting manual. Too bad I was a perfect angel. That manual is not helping me deal with the temper tantrums and mischievous actions of my own girls.

Monk Moves

If you've never seen the show Monk (Tony Shalhoub) on USA, you should really check it out. Monk is a neurotic ex-detective for the San Francisco police department. He notices stuff, puts the pieces together, and neatly solves crimes for the police. His big problem is that he's an obsessive-compulsive with a phobia for everything - from milk to monkeys, charcoal to caves, harmonicas to heights, slime to spiders. It's hysterical the lengths he will go to avoid a phobia.

Anywho, Cupie wanted to play in the basement yesterday. No biggie, the bulk of the "big" toys are down there - kitchen set, humongous Barbie house, etc.

I was busy signing a sale contract for our old house (we still own it, two years after we moved out) when I heard a blood curdling scream. I looked at Hubby who just sat on the couch completely ignoring Cupie's cries. I was busy. He was just sitting on the couch (well, he might have been working on something I asked him to do, but he was closer to the basement door so he totally should have jumped to his feet).

There was a spider!

A big, hairy, fast one!

Getting on a chair wasn't high enough for Cupie. She pulled a total Monk move by climbing up on a table - because the fear of spiders totally trumps the fear of heights.

Silver Lining:

1. Daddy was once again a super hero for killing the spider. For his past heroic acts, click here.


2. For everyone who seen an episode of Monk, this is pretty funny. For anyone who hasn't, sorry if you don't get the post.

I Said . . .

Hubby got a new game for the Wii this weekend - Wii Resort!

It's a lot of fun - fencing, Frisbee, archery, wave boarding, etc. All those resort-y types of things to do.

Cupie has finally gotten the hang of which buttons to press and can read so playing some of the games has gotten much easier for her. She's really funny at fencing. She gets her arm a swinging, gets her body into a little fencing stance, and scuttles forward toward her "opponent".

Hubby was fencing when Cupie piped in that she wanted a turn. Stinkles can't play any of the games and was tired of being the cheerleader and asked to watch Diego.

Hubby was in the middle of a round and told them both to wait just a minute.

A minute ticked by.

Then another.

Cupie asked again.

Stinkles headed over to the game console and very pointedly pushed the power button.

Right in the middle of Hubby's round.

She walked away like it was no big deal. In her mind, she had solved the problem.

Silver Lining:

1. Is it wrong to laugh behind a book while your husband is sternly discussing the situation with your four year daughter?


2. The Wii has a built in memory so Hubby only had to start over that one round and not from the beginning.

Where Have All The Carnies Gone?

I'll tell you where they are (or were). They were at the Fall Festival at Cupie's school on Friday & Saturday.

We had a lot to do on Saturday - School Festival, Hot Air Balloon Race, Island Luau. Since the festival started early in the morning, we started our day there. That way we'd have time to cram all the other events in later.

We pre-purchased tickets for the games & rides and were able to bypass the ticket booth. We had blue tickets for the rides and purple tickets for all the other stuff.

Whew! We didn't have to wait behind the one other person buying their tickets that morning.

The first thing the girls saw upon arriving at the festival was the petting zoo consisting of goats, chickens, roosters, ducks, sheep & alpacas. They went bonkers over the idea of the farm animals. I don't get this - we live by a farm. They see these types of animals all the time. One cool thing was they got to feed the animals (one purple ticket).

Once we were done with the animals and a thirty second pony ride (four purple tickets), we headed over to the carnival rides - the ones with the carnies.

They had the required carousel, tea cups/barrel ride, something scrambler-ish, a bounce house, swings, and that ride that goes around with seats that alternate going up and down (if that doesn't make sense, there is a picture in a bit).

Both girls saw the swings and made a bee-line for them. The ride was running so there was a wee bit of a wait. Good grief, you would have thought the world was going to end.

When the Carney came over to get the tickets, we were able to read his shirt. Mind you, he woke up that morning, knowing he was going to be working an elementary school festival.



The writing on his shirt, while not readable from this picture, said:

I Get Sh*t-Faced Drunk
How Do You Handle Stress?

How's that for class?

I wonder what's really in that Pepsi bottle.

You will also note the yellow swing seat at the left side of the picture. This was indicative of the condition of all the rides. Rusty and frickin' OLD.

Stinkles howled when the Carney told her she wasn't tall enough to ride the swings - she was only two inches short. Now the world really was going to end!

At least the carousel was height appropriate. It wasn't a fancy carousel. That would have been out of character for the operation posing as a carnival company. There were no horses that went up and down. Nothing went up and down. There weren't even horses. It was fire trucks and motorcycles.

I think she was the only kid on the entire ride. Doesn't surprise me. After about five rotations she was telling us, "I'm ready to get off now." Even a three-year-old was bored with it!

The next ride Cupie chose also had a height requirement taller than Stinkles. There was no howling because Daddy was putting her a different ride already. I gave Cupie a ticket and sent her by herself to Hustler.



So far we have a stressed out, sh*t-faced Carney and a ride called "Hustler". Nice, huh?

When I turned away from Hustler and looked at the ride Stinkles was on, I almost had a heart attack.

One of our friends commented that it looked like it had been around since the Roosevelt era. Hubby said, "Yah, the first one."

It was rusty everywhere. The hydraulics no longer worked so the cars didn't go up and down like they were supposed to. Most of seats didn't have cushions, only a wooden seat. The ones that had cushions were torn and you could see foam peeking out.

Oh, and the lanky Carney (who had three day old stubble and greasy hair) had to push the ride to get it going. Visualize the guys getting the propellers going on old prop planes.



Stinkles didn't understand that the ride would force her body to the outer side of the car and insisted on sitting on the inner side. She was holding on for dear life. At one point I shouted at her, "Just slide to the other side." Hubby then pointed out that sliding across that wooden seat might give her a splinter in her butt.

We're up to a stressed out, sh*t-faced Carney, Hustler ride, and a splintery Roosevelt-era, half functioning ride. Doing good, right?

Our final ride of the day was the bucking bronco ride. Eight purple tickets! Each! Both girls and Hubby wanted to ride it.

On level one, it doesn't move very fast. Cupie was actually a little bored, but watching Stinkles hold on was pretty humorous.




Like that crooked horn?

It was made out of duct tape. The real horns had broken off some time ago.

At one point it fell out and some kid just picked it up and stuck it back in the hole on the side of the bull's head. We didn't realize it was the horn at first. My first thought was that the bull had a realistic pooping feature. Thank goodness, I was wrong.

Hubby got on the bull too.



Ride Indie, ride! He started out at level one - pretty boring. He asked the guy to bump it up to the next level.

It must be a Richter scale type thing. That bull went twice as fast and jerked around violently.

Hubby was down in about 3 seconds.

All this excitement (stress out, sh*t-faced Carney, Hustler in the house, Roosevelt-era prop plane turned carnival ride, and horns optional bucking bronco) in only 2 1/2 hours. Whew, and we were hardly starting our busy day.

Silver lining:

1. The kids had a good time.


2. The kids are alive after the perilous rides they were on.


3. I didn't read about any accidents at the festival so the rides must have held up


4. The rest of the day, while busy, didn't seem to put the kids in any danger - aside from the burning propane less than five feet from them and the rolling hot air balloon baskets nearly squishing them at the balloon race.

A Call From Oprah

Mornings.

When Cupie first started school we were organized. We were ready to go early and got to the bus stop in plenty of time (we only live one house from the corner so it’s not that far a trek).

We’re a month into school and we’ve become total slackers.

She almost missed the bus one day. I just happened to open the door and saw the bus pulling away from the stop. The bus driver was gracious enough to stop in front of our house, but I could read her mind (it’s a gift and a curse) and knew we shouldn’t pull that stunt too often.

This morning, the bus was going to arrive at any minute when we realized she didn’t have her “balloon” money. It’s spirit week meaning Homecoming and the Fall Festival were being held this coming weekend. While in separate buildings, the elementary, middle & high school are all on the same campus so Homecoming celebration type stuff filters all the way down to the elementary school.

Anyway, you can send balloons to different students & faculty members for $.50 (what ever happened to the cent key on the keyboard?) each. They had different colors for love, friendship, sunshine of my life, secret admirer, etc. And she was sending balloons to some friends, her teacher, and babysitters. She doesn’t know it, but I ordered two balloons for her too (Love & Sunshine of my life) – I didn’t want her to feel left out :)

It was okay. I figured I’d just run the money up to the school and get on to work.

But first I needed the teacher’s name for my friend Barbie’s daughter. Called her up (even though she’s right around the corner) and got the information. Turns out, she forgot to send Tessy’s balloon money too.

Sure, I’ll take Tessy’s money up there for you.

I was really hoping she had a reason to go up to the school so I could just go to work.

I cruised around the corner. In my car (walking is highly over rated). I left the engine on, knocked on the door once and walked in. Barbie handed me the money and I could have walked out the door at that moment, but did I?

Nope.

Barbie and I are natural chit-chatters. Took me half an hour to go around the corner and pick up an envelope before I was on my way to the school. Did I mention I left the engine running?

Oops.

Let me just say, the school campus is not on my way to work and is out in the sticks.

Literally.

It is surrounded by cornfields on three sides and there is a farm across the street.

It’s 15 minutes one way as long as there aren’t any tractors in front of you.

And there was.

I got to the school just fine, but it took me at least 25 minutes to get back to the turn off to my house.

Not a car or a tractor in site on my way there. On the way back, while behind the tractor there was either a curve or a car coming on a straightaway.

I had to stop for gas. Remember, I left the car running earlier. I never get gas before the light comes on and during all that piddly-fartin' around behind the tractor the light came on.

Stopped to get gas. This would have been uneventful if I hadn’t gotten coffee.

I promptly spilled that on my pants upon getting in the car.

I finally got to work at 10.

A morning like that just leaves you all out of sorts for the entire day. You need a nap in order to re-set things. Unfortunately, my office doesn’t allow that :(

However, it’s a good thing I didn’t give up on the day and leave early.

Oprah called this afternoon!

Well, not Oprah. And it was an e-mail, but it came from her “people” – how cool is that?

Message *
Hi Pollyanna,

I hope you don't mind my reaching out to you -- I'm a producer at The Oprah Winfrey show and we're working on an upcoming show that you may be interested in participating in.

I read the below message you posted on the savvysassymoms website .. that's how I found you. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience (my contact info is below) or let me know when a good time to reach you might be and I will fill you in on what we are working on!

Pollyanna August 27, 2009 at 12:25 pm
I knew from day one that I was not cut out to be a stay at home mom. I work and it’s my eight hours of sanity
I love my girls with all my heart, but I don’t have the patience to play Barbie all day or interest in coming up with all three meals AND snacks every single day.
For these reasons and more, I fully respect the stay at home mom. Some people are better at it than others.
Regardless, the best moms recognize their limitations, admit their failures and celebrate their successes.

I talked to one of Oprah’s producers about being a mom and how I felt about my kids. Too bad I’m not a raving lunatic otherwise I would have been perfect for the show they were working on. Actually, they didn’t tell me what the show was about, but what ever I said didn’t fit the profile they were looking for.

Good news, the gal really liked what I had to say and she was making notes on me.

Who knows, maybe Oprah will want to do a show about mommies who are optimistic fabric searchers some day. COOL!

Silver Lining:

1. Oprah’s people called me! The fact that I caught their attention floors me.


2. Oprah’s people called me! (Yes, I wrote that twice. It’s not a typo. It’s just that cool.)

Really, Truly Random

No theme today, just truly random thoughts.

My front bottom teeth form a ridge in the center so they are slightly higher than the rest of my bottom teeth. It’s not a reverse buck tooth thing. It’s just right in the middle. The other end of the front two teeth are at the same level as the others. I know this because I was just running my finger over the top of them. Why was I doing this? Beats me, but now I can’t stop doing it.

I wore sandals today, but because it’s so chilly outside, I turned the heat on in the car and had it blasted on my feet. Why didn’t I wear regular shoes? I just can’t bring myself to put on socks or stockings yet. And because I don’t have any that go with these pants. I don’t know what I wore with them last year, but I don’t have anything now. Guess I’ll have to go shopping.

Speaking of the weather getting colder, it’s happening a lot sooner than usual here. I got to thinking about my kids’ Halloween costumes and how I’m going to have to plan for them to be large enough to fit over the winter parka. Usually, Halloween is cool, but a long sleeve shirt or a sweatshirt did the trick. I’m not so sure about this year. We never thought about it when I was growing up. When you live in the frozen tundra of Wisconsin, it was a given that it was going to be cold. And rainy. You were definitely buying a costume three sizes larger than your clothing size in order to accommodate the layers of tights, long underwear, jeans, turtleneck, sweater, snow pants & parka.

Last night, I figured out, by accident, how to select a specific piece of an image and was able to cut, layer a nifty graphic, & replace it as a new image in PrintShop. I made a kick@ss logo for my father-in-law’s website. Did a fist pump and everything. Don’t you love it when that happens?

Dang light fixtures and shelves got dusted after last week’s random thoughts, but now the laundry is after me. We have two and a half piles (unfolded) of clean laundry, two piles of dirty laundry and an empty laundry hamper thingy. Guess, I should stop making stuff in PrintShop long enough to get that remedied. That’s poop. I’d rather play.

Cupie can read! She started reading short word books (like three words on a page type) at the end of pre-school and we were really proud of her. However, now she is starting to really sound out words with two letters making one sound (sh, th, oo, etc)! Only two and a half weeks into Kindergarten, three naughty notes home & a trip to the principal’s office (not proud of that) and she can really read!!

Now head over to Keely's to see more randomness (is that a word?)

Silver lining:

1. One of the things on my daughter’s kindergarten homework calendar is some kind of sorting activity. Guess who’s helping with the laundry? Two birds with one stone – that rocks!


2. I have a pair of pants with no cold weather appropriate footwear. [singing] I’m going to have to go shopping! [stop singing] I wonder if I can work that into one of Cupie’s homework assignments for September.

Slipping Through My Fingers

Over six years ago, the thought of being blessed with a daughter was thought to be almost impossible by one side of the family, and turned out to be inevitable for the other side.

In my husband's family, a girl hadn't been born into the family in 109 years. That is, until my niece came along. My sister-in-law didn't believe the ultrasound and continued to buy boy clothes.

Surprise!

The ultrasound was right!

Then, it was right again for my second niece!

And it was right, yet again, for my Cupie!

And Stinkles!

On my side of the family. . . Well, that's another story.

My dad was blessed with two daughters - me & Sissy. When he remarried, he married a woman with two daughters - fairly close in age to Sissy & I.

I have two daughters.

Sissy has two daughters.

My youngest step-sister has two daughters.

And finally, my other step-sister has a daughter with one more is on the way.

By the time baby number eight arrives, the oldest three won't quite be six years old yet.

Dad has no hope for a grandson - we're all done.

All children are blessings. And such a HUGE responsibility.

I remember thinking, as we left the hospital with Cupie, "I can't believe they are letting us leave with this little baby girl. What are they thinking? How can they possibly know we're going to be able to handle this?"

They didn't know and they let us leave anyway.

Yes, I was pooped on. She was only a couple of weeks old and she pooped all over me during a diaper change. I started squealing for help, but my own father just sat there and laughed at me. I guess that's the official initiation into parenthood (as if the birth thing weren't enough). You get pooped, peed or puked on.

She cracked her skull open on a fireplace mantle and needed stitches at 11 months. Fortunately, her brains didn't fall out. It was a small cut after all.

She endured the entrance of her little sister into this world. She cried when, right as we were leaving the hospital, the nurses had to take Stinkles for a hearing test. She cried, "My sister, my sister, my sister . . ." She thought the nurses were taking her away permanently.

I lived through trying to sell a house while living in said house with two small children. Cupie was up rooted from the only home she'd ever known, and taken to a new daycare filled with strangers. Just as everyone said, kids are flexible and Cupie shined as her personality captured the hearts of all who met her - to this day, she has no shortage of friends.

She's lost a tooth, learned to read, taken at least one bike ride sans training wheels.

Now, it's time for another milestone and the greatest challenge thus far - she's entering kindergarten. Perhaps the challenge is more for me than it is for her. She's happy and excited. I'm excited and sad. My baby is growing up, and like the nurses who trusted us to leave the hospital embracing all the responsibility that came with a baby, I have to trust that I've given Cupie the tools she needs to embrace being responsible for herself.

It's just so hard.

Where did the time go?

It just slipped right through my fingers . . .

Click below to watch Cupie's journey from that first ride home to the first ride on the school bus. It's only a couple of minutes. There is music so have your speakers on if you want to hear it.




Silver Lining:

1. This is just one more step before she walks out of our house and into a life of her own. It's so hard to remember that one of our jobs as parents is to raise our children into self-sufficient, responsible adults.


2. I have thousands of memories leading up to this day, and I know there are thousands more to come. Memories are a treasure I hold onto tightly and pray will never be taken from me.


3. I'm not alone. Across the country thousands of "babies" are getting on the school bus for the first time and thousands of mommies are wiping a tear from her face as she presses on with the day.


4. No matter how big she gets, she will always be my baby.

I'm So Stressed About School, I Might Break Out

Not my first day of school, Cupie's!

I’m so stinkin’ tired right now. I was up until 1:30 selecting, editing & resizing pictures for the Cupie Slideshow. First day of kindergarten is tomorrow!!

It was open house at the school last night. Cupie met her teacher, put her supplies in her cubby and got a goody bag. This did not make Stinkles happy. I feel kind of bad for her because Cupie’s getting a lot of attention lately with new clothes, new shoes, new backpack, goody bags, bus assignments, no naps, staying up a little later.

On top of not being the center of attention, last night, Stinkles was mowed down by an obnoxious boy in a green shirt. Knocked her on her buttocks, spilled her lemonade and made her cookie break in two. She didn’t take it so well.

That little boy looked to be a school-ager. I hope he’s not in Cupie’s class. Good grief, he’ll probably turn out to be her first boyfriend. Well, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.

Hubby won’t let her have a boyfriend anyway. Not until she’s at least 25 so we’ve got 20 years to go. He’s hardly amassed an arsenal of shot guns to ward off the boys, but he better get going. Ah, I remember way back then. Like me, my daughter is a social butterfly. Hubby is in deep – just ask my dad.

First, it’s that little boy in kindergarten. Then it’s the cutie on the skateboard. Before you know it there’s a peach-fuzzed lip teen ager standing on your door step asking to take your baby to the pizza place in his P.O.S. Festiva. I don’t want my daughter getting into any car called a Festiva – that totally sounds like a “fiesta” and no guy is going to have a fiesta with my daughter!

Am I getting ahead of myself again?

I am? That’s good because Hubby hasn’t started shooting lessons let alone actually purchased a shotgun. Besides, he hasn’t even started to build the shotgun rack he’s planning on mounting within plain view of the front door.

Let’s get back to the kindergarten issues, shall we?

I have to go to the grocery store to get lunch supplies. I’m a working mom. I have a hard time coming up with weekend meals that aren’t the same thing over and over. How am I going to keep Cupie fed seven days a week??? My repertoire is PB&J, chicken nuggets, cereal, fish sticks, mac & cheese, & hot breakfast. There’s more than that, but those are the items of the highest frequency on the grocery list. Help????

We haven’t picked out the first day of school outfit yet. We’ll have to make that a priority tonight. I don’t want to deal with it in the morning. It’s been bad enough lately with the, “Don’t make me tell you to get dressed again. . .” speeches that have become a regular occurrence. And these are just regular ole days – not THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!

I swear, the first day of school outfit set the tone for the entire year when I was younger. You either dressed right or you were ostracized from the “IN” crowd for the rest of the year.

So, I went to the:

• first grade in knee high socks, knickers and suspenders


• sixth grade in my stretch pants, huge shirt with a side slung belt and earrings the size of your fist


• tenth grade in my tight rolled jeans, tucked in blousy pirate-ish shirt and hair the size of Texas

We moved right after I had started my junior year of school. I was so ticked off at my mom, I don’t remember what I wore after that.

Sorry about the fashion show. For those that are my age (you know who you are because you are laughing and thinking back to when you wore the same thing), you’re welcome for the trip down memory lane. For those who are younger, Google styles of the eighties & early nineties – trust me, you’ll laugh. For those who are older, go ahead and laugh – just remember you were the ones who thought fashion in the sixties and/or seventies was cool.

I’ve reached the age where I don’t care about being trendy. As long as something is pretty, fits comfortably, and doesn’t require dry cleaning, it’ll do. My boss frowns on pajamas in the work place, but I’ve got these pants that are super stretchy and light weight, it’s almost like wearing PJ’s. I wish I had them in a bunch of different colors.

I suppose I’ll also have to evaluate what I’m wearing at the bus stop tomorrow. I don’t want to embarrass Cupie on her first day. Who am I kidding? I might as well embarrass her – gotta make the money I’m going to spend on therapy worth it!

Silver Lining:

1. The first day of school only comes once a year. All the stress will be relieved by 8:30 tomorrow.


2. My daughter is like me – not shy. She shouldn’t have any trouble making new friends. Its one thing I’ve never had to stress about with her.


3. All of you are going to give me lots of lunch ideas. Lunch stress – relieved!

PS - I'm tied for first in my Babes in Blogland quest, and there is a dark horse coming up the stretch. Please take a moment to click the red button at the top of my right side bar. Vote for "Life Makes Me Laugh" as your favorite Babe in Blogland. There's only a week & a half left. Thanks!

The Narrow Escape

My sister, Sissy(ingenious, I know), is guest posting today. She sent me this little story after returning from a trip to "The Great White North" (aka Wisconsin - I know it's August, but come on, it's Wisconsin, I think they've gotten their first frost already).


In Sissy's words:

Ok, so you know how you tell your kids things that they shouldn’t do and why they shouldn’t do them? Well, I am that kind of mom that speaks the right path, but doesn’t necessarily follow it!

Mimi (four years old) knows about cigarettes. However, I always tell her they are yucky and bad for you. She asks “Why?”

So I tell her cigarettes give you bad stinky breath, stinky cloths, wrinkles and worse, that you can DIE from them.

Granted, I do occasionally smoke however, I NEVER let my kids see me. I usually smoke when I’m out drinking. It just goes with the alcohol, why is that??

So I go on a trip to visit my family. I make sure I bring cigarettes for I know I will be drinking WINE - a few bottles of wine. You know at family gatherings you need alcohol to tolerate it all.

Anyways, the weekend goes by, I had a few smokes, and without thinking, put them in my purse and back home we go.

We get home, unload the car, and unwind from the 8-hour drive. Later that evening, I went to change purses, for the next day I had to return to work. Heaven forbid, I carry around my weekend, PINK summer bag which doesn’t make my work attire.

I place the cigarettes on the table. No need to transfer them to my work purse. The long weekend is over and there is no WINE in the house for me to enjoy.

A few hours later, Mimi comes running into the living room.

”Why do you have CIGARETTES!!”

Like a deer caught in headlights, I just looked at her, my stomach dropped to the floor. My mind is racing “Oh no, what do I say? What do I tell her?”

So I play dumb.

“What, what are you talking about, where are there cigarettes?”

She goes running back into the kitchen and brings them back to me.

One hand on her hip, the other shaking the package of cigarettes around, saying “These cigarettes MOM. Why do you have these? These things are YUCKY!”

Quick on my feet, I play the blame game. “Those must be Great Aunt DeeDee’s. Remember, she was smoking outside during our visit, maybe they got placed in mommy’s purse by accident.”

I continued, “You know mommy and daddy don’t smoke, cigarettes are bad for your health silly.”

Then Mimi is like “Ya, I know, but now we need to drive back up north and give them back.”

I simply said, “Mommy will mail them to her, would that be OK?”

Mimi thought that was a good idea.

WWOOO, that was a narrow escape, mommy got away with that!


Silver lining:

1. Even grownups still lie like little kids, we've just got more practice. Mental note: HIDE what every you don’t want your kids to see.

2. Kids are gullible and believe Mommy & Daddy know everything. All this will come to a screeching halt by the time they've reached six or seven, but we can live in bliss until then, right?

I Hear Voices

My parents live 500 miles away from me, and 99% of the time they are not in the room with me and my kids. To this end, I don’t understand why I keep hearing their voices when I’m yelling at my kids.


This happens any time I hear the following phrases:

Turn that down.

Don’t make me come over there.

Grouschmockit! (This means move it)

Put your shoes away.

I’m sick & tired . . .

Do you want me to turn this car around?

Stop that crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.

Because I said so.

Turn off some of these lights, the house is lit up like a Polish chapel.

I’m on the phone!


One time I was on the phone with The Mom, when I heard the phone phrase. I said, “Did you just say that?”

She said, “No, honey. That was you”

Then it hit me. Oh, crap! I’ve turned into my parents.

Silver lining:

1. Sissy & I aren’t too screwed up so I guess I’m not scarring the kids for life with these phrases.

2. Grouschmockit is actually endearing. This one has been in the family for generations. I’d heard both my grandma & great-grandma use it. I don’t know how to actually spell it or what language it is – my guess is either German or Russian.