I didn't win the bid on the jeans.  The person who won the bid was willing to pay $4.79 more than I was willing to pay.  Well, they said they were willing to pay $4.79 more.  I was willing to pay $4.79 more but I didn't SAY I was willing to pay it.  In fact, I didn't KNOW I was willing to pay it until AFTER I lost the bid.  Derek was a little happy that I lost it though because he seemed slightly panicked that I would divert household funds for a pair of jeans that "might" fit. 

Oh, I would have fit in those jeans.  If I had to lather crisco on my legs, I would have gotten into them.  It's wrong, I know.   Gotta run.  Gotta get some ice cream for lunch...

This post is from from my other blog here

This morning I got a call from my BIL Jorgie.

J:  Krissy, I just wanted to know.  If the first thing I thought of when I heard that Terrell Owens tried to kill himself was "maybe now I can beat Katie this week," is that bad?  I mean, I think I am going to hell for that one.
K:  Jorge, I''ll be sitting right next to you at the pinochle table in hell because when I heard that he tried to commit suicide, I thought "good God, he was out of the news for a whole 3 days because his team didn''t play this weekend so he decided to kill himself to get back in the news.  Drama queen. "
J:  We are so going to hell.

I would like to thank T.O.''s publicist for giving me the best laugh of the day.  I believe that when questioned about the possibility of T.O. being depressed, she replied that he has 25 million reasons not to be depressed.

Thank God there is someone in the world who realizes that lots of money equates to happiness. 

I just got off the phone with my sister (jenlemen.minti.com).  Or actually she hung up on me.  This is because she said I was ridiculous and she was not having any more conversations with me unless we could put these conversations via audio on our Minti blogs.  Why shouldn't the world be privy to our wacky conversations?

Ridiculous?  I think not.  I may have said that I was really depressed and wanted to get a pair of designer maternity jeans and that if I bid on the ones I wanted on Ebay, I would have to lose some weight.

OK, so I thought it sounded reasonable at the time.  Let's be logical, people.  If you are going to divert the electric bill money to pay for a pair of jeans, they should probably fit you like a supermodel on a catwalk.  To Jen I was suggesting that I put my unborn child on a water and celery diet for the sake of fashion.  So not true.  If she had not hung up on me, I could have cleared up the fact that my intent (should I be the lucky purchaser of item 290032816122), I should probably step away from the daily 1/2 gallons of Edy's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream.  Believe you me, I am WAY behind on my weight gain that I had with Ethan.  Now THAT should have resulted in a water and celery diet...  As evidenced by his big fat head.

 

OK, jenlemen, feel free to tell everyone that you talked me into blogging at Minti.  Even though I was here first.  I'm just a little slower. 

Looking forward to making new friends and figuring out how to get my child to go to sleep at night.  As if there is an answer for that...

This post is from from my other blog here

Actually it''s the end of the world as I know it.  I find that people often misuse the "we" phrase.  Like, say, the buyer''s real estate agent tonight at the closing.

AH:  (in the elevator from the garage) If I could guess, I would guess we have a closing today and you are the seller.
K:  And I would guess (based on your slimy appearance and apparent lack of a soul) that you are the buyer''s real estate agent.
AH:  And what''s our name?  (to Ethan)
K:  Our name is Ethan.

Because WE clearly had not been tortured enough by his mere presence, let alone having to converse with him, he continued his assault.

AH:  Well, did we fix the little problem in the condo?
D:  What problem? (ever the smart ass)
K:  Yes.  (more like a growl)
AH:  What did we find?  Did we need to change the flapper, or did we need to change the valve?
K:  We (being two of us--three if you count The Boy throwing a pipe wrench into the toilet tank) fixed it.  You didn''t go by today to check it out? (read--you lazy ass bastard who has tormented me for the last three weeks--I hope you get run over by a bus on the way out of here today)
AH:  No.  What did we fix?
D:  Well, we didn''t fix it at first because nothing is wrong with it.  Then we just replaced the whole thing because we weren''t sure what YOU thought was wrong with it.

Only Derek can say something like that and get away with it.  I almost burst into laughter. 

Then the buyers showed up with 3 kids under the age of five.  And I would just like to say that as much disrespect a stay at home mother may get, you had better thank your lucky stars that you are not a stay at home dad.  And then have two girls and a boy.  Who treat you like you are a bitch.  Apparently Dad forgot to bring the right power cord so the girls couldn''t watch a movie during the closing.  So instead, they proceeded to get into a cat fight that would rival a WWF match.  Complete with hair pulling and name calling, which included calling Mom "you stupid mom."  Mom yelled back and they ignored her.  The Boy clung to me in fear which I found fascinating.  I yell at him all the time but apparently another mom''s screeching was not as tolerable.  Dad seemed, dare I say it, impotent?  The kids then attacked the overflowing candy dish in the middle of the table despite being told to they could only have one.  Mom pryed open their little mouths and yanked the candy from the caverns of their mouths.  She did all this while feeding baby boy the boo and signing on the dotted line. 

As I left, the buyers and their creepy real estate agent were still bemoaning that there was no receipt for the electrical work on the thermostat for the convector.  I asked yet again if they had turned it on and of course they hadn''t.  The stay at home dad said that we couldn''t have fixed it ourselves because it was an electrical problem. 

Crickets.

And you can''t be a stay at home dad because dads go to work.  I don''t know what to tell you.  All this as his offspring were jumping on and off the chairs, throwing crayons. 

Had I not already been pregnant, I would have rushed home to take a handful of birth control pills which I would have then chased with a pitcher of red ruby martinis.  Derek is still shell-shocked.  He requested that we spend the rest of the evening not speaking.  And said he should be entitled to $250 for all the things he fixed in the condo.  I told him that I did the work too and he said that I had 4 years to fix the electrical problem and I waited until I was pregnant to get someone else to do it.  I wish I had left the power on when he was rewiring.

All that drama to find out that I don''t get any money for 2 days.  They can occupy the bastion of my singlehood tonight, but I don''t get a dime until Friday.  Somehow I was thinking that a check would make me feel better about the fact that the last of my "separateness" was officially gone and that all was left of me had become "marital property."  

Maybe I''ll feel better on Friday.

This post is from from my other blog here

Oh, I''ll never watch Barney.  That dumb ass purple freak.  Won''t do it.

My motivation should have been for better reasons.  My logic--he sings off key, he is a scary dancer.  The problem is that all of those things appear to make children want to climb right up into the t.v. and sing along with the "I love you" song.

This morning I turned on TV and couldn''t quite turn the channel in time from PBS before The Boy noticed the Big Purple Loon.  He then sat beside me riveted for the next 17 minutes.  17 whole minutes that I used to kite checks and float money in between accounts feeling grateful that if the federal government is the one required to catch me, I can live like this forever.  With a little luck, I won''t have to do it once 5:00 pm and closing happens.  But back to Barney.

The last time The Boy was this attentive to tv was during the John Roberts confirmation hearings.  I started to get a little worried because it appears that The Boy was so enthralled that he had even stopped breathing.  I leaned down in front of his little mouth and nose to find that he was in fact breathing.  Except now he was pissed off because I broke his line of vision with the Great Purple God.  He shoved me out of the way rather meanly, if I don''t say so myself.

Three minutes later I waved a hand in front of his face.

Nothing.  He didn''t even blink.

Holy Moses.  When someone figures out what kind of subliminal messages Barney is sending to toddlers let me know.  Unless it''s "kill your parents in their sleep."  Then I don''t want to know.  Looking forward to 30 minutes of silence tomorrow.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.  Yet again.

This post is from from my other blog here

A new twist on caveat emptor

Today I got a phone call from my real estate agent.  She called to tell me that the buyers were doing their walk through and that she had just gotten a call from their real estate agent.  He was complaining that he couldn''t flush the toilet.

The toilet that The Boy has flushed, oh, 900 times this past week.  I started to wonder if maybe the buyers thought they were getting another condo and maybe we should ask which unit they were, I don''t know, actually in. 

But it was what came out of her mouth next that just brought a smile to my face.  She asked if we had a receipt for the work done on the thermostat.  The problem with the thermostat is that Cath and I got the brilliant idea years ago to get our neighbor Arthur to change it for us.  Arthur used to be in the heating and cooling business.  Arthur is also about 100 years old.  He put the new thermostat on and things went haywire.  We got him to take it back off and put the old one back on.  Afterwords, the thing never really worked right again.  The AC would kick on if you moved the temp higher rather than a lower temp.  It was Cath''s room and somehow she figured out how to make it work.  But it''s an electrical issue and very fair that the buyer''s would want to have it fixed. 

When I suggested that we pay someone to fix it, Mr. FixIt/CheapAss said, "it''s only 3 wires, how hard can it be?"  There was some discussion about sparks and fire, but he managed to fix it.  That''s why I love him.  So we had no receipt because we did the work ourselves.

Real Estate Agent:  Well, the real estate agent and the buyers are concerned because there is no way to verify the work was done.

I paused. 


It was a long pause.


I let the sound of a forest full of crickets envelope me/warm me....


And then, in a very pleasant voice, I suggested that she call the real estate agent back and tell him to, (and this is gonna blow your mind because it is so novel), turn the A/C on. 

Apparently the opposing parties were very pleased with this suggestion.  No one had thought of this.  Except me.  I''m very frightened.  I am slightly concerned that we will get to closing and they will say something like, "we''re supposed to pay today?  I didn''t know we were supposed to pay.  Really?" 

I really am going to have to thank them for that laugh today.  You can''t make this s#$% up.

This post is from from my other blog here

I woke up this morning to news reports that most of my fantasy football players have ailments.  A bum hamstring here, a bad shoulder there, and even a toe.  Not described as a toe injury, just a toe.  I''d like to think that he has 10 of them, but who knows.  At the rate I''m going, this team of mine is going to need that pool the old people found in Cocoon that made them young again. 

The competition is heating up and I''m happy to say that we are still conversing here at Chateau Cookie.  Apparently things are not going so well at my sister''s house.  I looked at her lineup to find she had drafted a tight end today that only yielded her one measly point.  Thinking I was being funny, I sent her a little online smack talk. 

My phone rang just moments later.  Apparently she had gone on a drafting spree and had only asked for her husband''s advice on one player--the crappy one.  This was after he told her to pick somebody up last week and then beat her to it.  The thing is, everyone knows he is out to win.  She is threatening divorce.  Her husband, because karma is a bitch, is going to get his ass handed to him this very minute by Cath.  Woohoo!! 

My husband, on the other hand, is getting a little cagey.  Until now we have been "helping" each other.  We were having a discussion about wide receivers tonight and suddenly he told me that he wasn''t going to tell me who he was picking up.  I know we are going to play each other in two weeks but what the hell is up with that?  Sore losers, these men....

This post is from from my other blog here

We are less than 72 hours from closing on the condo.  Or so we think.  I just know that when Tuesday comes, they are going to try to pull a fast one.  These people buying the place are crazy.  They have gotten a little heady about this being a buyer''s market.  After agreeing that we fix a certain number of things, they changed their minds and said they would walk if we didn''t make the shower handle easier to pull out. 

A shower handle that has tightened up a little because it hasn''t been used in 16 months.  They are going to blow a deal for a shower handle.  A 30 year old shower handle which is connected to a pipe that runs water to 8 floors.  Not the kind of thing you want to mess with just so someone can use a little less energy to turn on the water in the morning.  Which of course made me want to tell them to pound sand.  Unfortunately Mama''s all out of cash and the next step is foreclosure if the dynamic duo don''t buy.  Their real estate agent just called to say that they want receipts to prove that we fixed the things on the list.  Why actually just push the test button on the smoke alarm during walk through when you can demand that a professional change a battery instead?

I''m starting to feel like these people are worried that they will sign the final paperwork and then show up and find that we have absconded with a bedroom and the front door.   This a condo, for heaven''s sake, not an adoption.  They also let us know in passing that if we wanted to leave all the kitchen utensils, dishes, glasses and pots that I left, they wouldn''t mind it.

That''s shocking since they are planning to use the place to rent out as a fully furnished apartment.  How kind to offer to keep an entire kitchen so they wouldn''t have to purchase anything other than a couple of beds and a couch for the living room to call it a day. 

The vindictiveness has set in.  I told Derek that I would sooner send every single dish down the trash chute from the fourth floor to shatter in the dumpster than let them have anything.  As we packed things up, I directed him to remove the shower curtains from the rods and even the toilet paper from the bathrooms.  He told me that I was required by law to leave the light bulbs.  Damn.  I then asked if we could put a dead mouse in the vent.

He suggested shrimp.  That''s why I love this man. 

This post is from from my other blog here

Last weekend I was in the shower and I looked around the curtain to see The Boy walking by, cleaning his ear out with a Tampax. 

For some reason, if The Boy even touches a tampon, his father reaction borders on requiring medical attention.

D:  EEEETHHHHAAAANNNN!!!!  That is not a QTip.

With that, the boy is in a run.  He has a QTip fetish.  He hoards them away for a rainy day.  I am aware of this obsession and make sure to always keep the hall closet closed.  His father, however, is not so facidious.  Whatever made The Boy grab a tampon instead is irrelevant.  He apparently needed to clean his ears.

K:  Actually, babe, it''s kinda like a QTip.  For a tyrannosaurus maybe.  It''s really the same materials.

Dear Lord, you would have thought I kicked him in the balls.  Excuse my french.  He flipped.  Ripping the tampon out of The Boy''s hand, he walked away muttering under his breath.  I don''t get it.  It was still in the package.  If a boy''s gotta clean his ears, he''s gotta clean his ears. 

Then I tried to take a shower without Dad present.  Not that I can''t take a shower without Dad present.  I''m actually very good at washing myself.  It''s just that with Dad home, the odds are raised (if only miniscually) that Ethan will not burn the house down or feed the dog an entire loaf of bread or call 911 and ask to be connected to Child Protective Services. 

Always an adventure, I stood there trying to scrape the scum off my body as the lights in the bathroom flashed like a rave.  I felt like I needed a glow stick in my mouth to complete the experience.  But then the water went really hot, really fast.  Then cold then hot then cold then hot then cold.

K:  Get OUT OF THE SINK AND STOP TURNING THE WATER OFF AND ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I leaned around the curtain to find him bending over to turn off the water.  With that he stood back up and continued what he was doing.

He was staring into the mirror intently and flossing his teeth.

I swear to you, he had a piece of floss (dangling from the floss container, of course) in between his teeth and with both hands was flossing his teeth. 

My dentist will be very quick to tell you that he absolutely DID NOT learn that from me.  I should have taken a picture but then again, I needed to get the shampoo out of my hair.

This post is from from my other blog here

This morning I made the mistake of trying to get some laundry done.  OK, my real mistake was letting The Boy wander around while I did laundry.  I told him to come down to the basement with me but he kept wandering away.  I heard him up on the landing and then heard the tell-tale sound of the diaper being taken off.

Crap!

He wandered down the stairs a couple of minutes later butt ass naked.

K:  Go get your diaper NOW!!!  What is the rule?  You have to wear you DIAPER!!!  Why did you take it off?
E:   Ga va ta os.
K:  Whatever.  Go up and get that diaper RIGHT NOW!

He wandered off and moments later I heard him coming back down the stairs.  I heard a "plop" of the diaper on the floor and turned around to find him standing behind me, holding a very small poo up in his hand to me.  He was talking a mile a minute.  I have no idea where he gets that.  It didn''t matter anyway because I didn''t have a clue what he was saying.  I just dragged him back to his diaper, made him place the poo in the diaper and then carried him upstairs to wash his hands.  All the way I was lecturing him.  He was trying to talk but I was having no part of it.  I helped him wash his hands and he was still trying to tell me something.  Suddenly I understood what he was trying to say.

K:  Ethan, do you want to get on the potty?
E:  OOOOOSSSSSS.

Os is the new "yes." 

I put him on the potty and he proceeded to fill it up.  Oops.  Upon relaying this to my mother, she very kindly yet firmly reminded me that I had told Ethan that he needed to go to the bathroom in the big boy potty and not in his diaper so that''s what he was doing when he took his diaper off.  Apparently he realized at the very beginning of his bowel movement that he was doing the wrong thing and was trying to do the right thing.  And his mother wasn''t listening to him. 

My mother rebuked me for not potty training a child who was clearly giving up on me and trying to potty train himself.  What kind of mother am I?  Lazy.  In case you were wondering.

As a side note, Marelle called me and left a message saying that while she was talking to her mortgage broker on the phone, she turned around to find 4 year old Faith attempting to put sanitary napkins in her underwear.

Faith:  Mommy, which way does it go in my panties?

Marelle''s comment to me and by far the best line of the day...

"Is it wrong that I want my pads to only touch my vagina?  Is that so selfish?"

This post is from from my other blog here

Today I walked into the living room to find that The Boy had liberated the liquid vitamins from their box packaging.  We have liquid vitamins because my dear friend Renee gave them to us yesterday with promises of "we have several other bottles and we''ll never use this one."  Really I think it was because she was so mortified that I was eating 2/3''s of a Flinstones vitamin and handing the final 1/3 to Ethan.  Hey, the box says a half of a vitamin for 2 year olds.  I think I''m being pretty cautious by only using a 1/3. 

He looked at me and gave me a proud "THIS" and handed it over.  Right after he made a fake cough sound.  "Bwa, BWAHHH."

He gets liquid medicine when he is sick.  Only when he is sick.  So I guess he figured out that a fake cough might guarantee him a hit of whatever was in that bottle.  The kid gave a fake cough so I would give him the vitamins.

This act of brilliance should not be confused with the other day when I refused his request to watch "Ellll---OOOOO" and he ran over to the TV and turned it on himself.  But he got crazy and pushed the channel down button which yielded him a screen full of snow.  Derek looked at me.  What did I care if he got stuck with snow? 

The Boy became very frustrated and climbed under the TV table and unplugged the TV.  He crawled back out and started pushing the buttons again.  Thwarted and male, his attention was lost a  millisecond later and he was off to peel the paint off the walls or to relieve the wine rack of all its bottles. 

The next morning, however, he asked to watch Sesame Street again.  And handed me the clicker.  He then ran over to turn on the TV himself.  Which didn''t work because it was unplugged.  He ran back to me, grabbed the clicker and started pushing the power button to no avail.  Then, as if in a cartoon, you could see the light bulb go on over his head.  He ran back to the TV, crawled under and plugged the damn thing back in. 

We are so screwed. 

This post is from from my other blog here

OMG, it was my husband''s brilliant idea to have a Fantasy Football League with my sisters and friends.  I thought that this might be a bad idea because I vaguely remembered my behavior from two years ago when D was in a league at the firm.  I read reams and reams of pages of scout reports, I was on the internet for hours a day, I watched more NFL that year than I have in my collective life.  And I drove him to a resounding 3rd out of 12th.  Behind every successful man is  an even more successful woman...  Last year, I had a baby and I didn''t care if every football player got arrested for DUI or for conducting drive by shootings. 

But this year I succombed.  D sent out the email and we got 8 team members.  Little did I know that BOTH my sisters never even logged on.  This shocked me because thanks to automatic draft, they have the two best teams in the league.  When I called my baby the first night to discuss how she was kicking my ass, she confessed that she didn''t even know the website, her players, anything.  She then asked me for the family recipe for green bean supreme, which I refused to give her because I was mad.

So for 2 hours last Sunday morning (well spent, I''m sure) I stressed over whether I should play Kurt Warner or Trent Green and my sister didn''t even KNOW there were football games happening.  Apparently my obsessive compulsive disorder payed off because Warner earned me a healthy 31 points and Green was carried off the field with a possible broken neck.  It was only a concussion (drama queen) so I''ll be back in my dilemma in 6 more days.  Kate managed to beat me by 2 points.  I hate her.

I got a phone call from another sister, saying she was glad she had the next two weeks in between jobs to get into this because we had all better beware.  Something about once she figured out how to use the system, she was kicking everyone''s ass.

B then called to tell me that I had created a monster.  She said that not 2 minutes before, she was screaming at a quarterback who was not on her team to throw the ball to one of the TWO wide receivers who WERE on her team and to stop throwing the damn ball to the RUNNINGBACK, who was on her opponent (my sister''s team) for heaven''s sake.

B:  I swear to you, if Eli Manning doesn''t started giving the DAMN BALL to someone OTHER THAN TIKI BARBER, I''m going to go right down to Giants Stadium and kick his ass.

This week has not been much better.  I was up against one sister and she called to cry that she had played the wrong quarterback.  Unfortunately she was calling when my quarterback had negative points.  Mercy was not high on my list. 

Derek got his ass handed to him by Cath, who forgot to even log in and played a player that didn''t even get on the plane with the team to go to the game and she still beat him.  He has been moping around ever since.  I can''t stand the drama.  It''s a game, for heaven''s sake. 

But maybe I''m saying that because I won this week.  IN YOUR FACE!!!!!

This post is from from my other blog here

It only took 2 days because I am such an overachiever.

Last night I noticed on the preschool carpool sheet that a kid in Ethan''s class lived not far from us.  I had talked to his mom several times and she mentioned that she was concerned about getting back to pick up another child from school after she picked up the smaller one.  I told Derek that maybe I could help her out by giving her son a ride home sometimes. 

I ran into her at school this afternoon and this is how it went down...

K:  Hey, I noticed last night from looking at the carpool sheet that you guys live in our town.  I know you had said that you were concerned about getting to your other child''s school in time to pick that one up.  I was thinking that down the road as we got to know each other, I could give Junior a ride if that would help you out.
M:  I know that our address says (insert lesser city name here) but really we practically live in (insert swanky city name here).  I don''t think we live near each other.  Where do you live?
K:  We live off of Main Street.  
M:  We live off of Elm.  I mean, we really almost live in (insert swanky city name here).  That isn''t anywhere near you. 
K:  Well Elm is the way I go home. 
M:  No it''s not.  Don''t you live over by the mall?

I thought for sure the sign said "Elm" when I turned on it for the last 5 years, and she may as well have said "ghetto" rather than the mall.

K:  Not really.  I just thought I would offer because it seemed like you had to rush.
M:  Well I am already in a carpool with the other child''s school and the mothers over there would be really mad if I did this.  And we practically live in (insert swanky city name here).
K:  (wondering how I had somehow ended up in this alternate universe)  OK, I just thought I would offer to help.  No problem.

So THIS is how preschool is.  I had heard about this phenomenon but never believed it.  Kind of like playgroup hell, but without the cocktails to smooth things over. 

I then went to the door to get Ethan.  Miss J mentioned that I must have known that The Boy needed a bowel movement so I sent grapes for the group snack today.

Apparently I helped 8 children have bowel movements. 

I am so not getting invited to the school Christmas party. 

I called Marelle today to discuss what I am referring to as "The Carpooling Incident" and she flipped out. 

Marelle:  So what the hell was that all about? 
K:  I think she was saying that she had enough friends and didn''t need anymore.
Marelle:  You just offered her kid a ride.  What the hell is up with the minivan comment?   Like you aren''t a good mother and can''t carpool because you don''t have a minivan.  You think she could have just said ''no, thank you'' rather than give you the laundry list of every reason WHY she didn''t want to do it.  You mean I have to put up with this crap at Faith''s school too?
K:  No, because Faith is in 4 year old preschool and you work full-time.  So you don''t have a SHOT at having anyone even acknowledging your presence let alone attempting to be your friend.
Marelle:  Thank God.  I can''t believe she said you lived in the ghetto. 

This post is from from my other blog here

Yesterday was The Boy''s first "full day" of preschool.  Only 2 hours and 45 minutes, but it''s the 2 hours and 45 minutes I have been anticipating for quite some time.  In fact, it''s all I have talked about since I up and enrolled him a week ago. 

I couldn''t WAIT to take him.  For days and days I have read all these sweet blog posts about how traumatized moms have been to drop off their children.  I scoffed.  In fact, I was slightly ashamed that maybe, just maybe, I might be one of those moms that would drop her child off at preschool and then forget to pick him up because she was having a high old time.  I called my friend Renee (i.e. The Ueber Mom) and made my confessions.  Ever the kind and generous person, she told me that she was sure that it might be just a little bit harder on me than I expected.

I knew he was going to cry because he has to be peeled from either my leg or his father''s leg on Sunday mornings at church.  I was gruff.  He was just going to have to suck it up because he and I needed a break from each other.  What if I didn''t even care that he cried because I was so glad to be away from him?

As I handed him over the door to the ever gracious Miss Jo Ann, he began to cry his best "I-Can''t-Believe-You-Are-Leaving-Me-You-Bitch-If-You-REALLY-Loved-Me-You-Would-Take-Me-With-You-To-Starbucks-And-Get-Me-A-Whole-Milk-Grande-Hot-Chocolate-With-Extra-Whip."  Not to confused with the "My-Heart-Will-Break-If-You-Desert-Me" wail.  And all the sudden it hit me like a ton of bricks.  My eyes started to well up with tears and I choked out a "I''ll-Be-Back-I-Love-You" and ran down the hall and out the door.  I cried in the car the whole way home and felt miserable.  Until I got out the ice cream, laid on the couch and picked up a smut novel to read.  Oh how peace and quiet heals all wounds. 

I came back at the alloted time and stood behind the woman who had to retrieve her child that had clearly been crying hysterically for all 2 hours and 45 minutes.  I stepped up the door and said, "I''m hear to pick up the OTHER Ethan."  Miss Jo Ann looked around and couldn''t seem to locate him.  I heard a "Hell-OOO" from around her knees and looked down to find my son standing on his tippy toes, trying to open the door.  Not upset but clearly seeing an opportunity to leave, he was plotting his escape.  And he had some of the dryest eyes in the group.  I reached down over the door and picked him up.  He grabbed onto my neck as tight as he could and gave me a wet kiss on the nose.   "Did you have a good day at school?" I asked.  "YES!!" was his reply.

I was never happier to see his smiling face.  Sometimes being "on a break" is good for a relationship.

This post is from from my other blog here

Nana sent a pair of shorts today that Derek wore when he was The Boy''s age.  And this was the first thing that caught my eye...



on a pair of child''s shorts.... Here were the other ones...









But here is my favorite....



Never were truer words spoken.

Don''t you wish they made these in your size?

This post is from from my other blog here

Yesterday I walked into the bathroom to find The Boy standing in the sink, routing through the medicine cabinet.  He had Derek''s electric razor on in his hand (which he had turned on) and was shaving his face.  With his other hand, he was applying roll-on deodorant to his lips. 

This amazed me because in all of his nearly 19 months of life, I don''t believe he has ever seen his mother with lipstick on, yet alone watched her apply it.  For that matter, I''m fairly certain he hasn''t learned that skill from his father either.  I''ll have to ask.  When I relayed this to his father...

D:  Baby, I don''t think that is a good thing for him to eat.
K:  OK, I''ll take it off the menu for tonight.

What????  Like I had said, "Ethan, don''t eat those eggs I made.  Here, have this deodorant instead."

Then we were at the baseball game last night where we met B and we were virtually surrounded by fans of "The Other/Less Cheerful Team."  Derek would say fans of "The Other/Less Obnoxious Team."  Whatever.  But what transpired next will boggle the mind.

We had ice cream and The Boy managed to eat half of mine and half of B''s.  Which means he had his body weight in Edy''s mint chocolate chip.  He also managed to have large smears of ice cream all over his face because his usage of the spoon was a little less than stellar.  Pretty soon it was all gone.  Or as Ethan would say, "Gall Gone."  In his frustration that we hadn''t purchased the 10 gallon container of ice cream from the vendor, he began swinging his spoon around.  With one felled swoop, it went flying into the air and I think, maybe, just maybe, bounced of the back of "Mr. I''m in a Crappy Mood Because My Sorry Team is Losing and You Keep Yelling In My Ear Because Your Team is Winning."  It didn''t leave an ice cream mark so I wasn''t exactly sure what happened.   

D:  What did he drop?
K:  Nothing (giving him the high sign to just let it go).
D:  No really.  I heard him drop something.
K:  He really didn''t drop anything (FRANTICALLY MAKING SLASHING MOTIONS ACROSS MY NECK).
D:  (routing around) He definitely dropped something.

B was now leaning around me and we were both making this motions for him to just shut the hell up.  Which he ignored.  He continued to act like maybe The Boy had lost a limb and it had fallen on the ground under the seats in front of us.

D:  Oh, he lost something.  We can''t just leave it.  

Now I am hitting him and B is looking at him like maybe we should just commit him because he clearly does not have a brain in his head.  And THEN the man turned around. 

Man:  Did the baby lose something that he needs? 
D:  Yes.
K:  No, he''s fine.  It was nothing.

The Man leans forward in his chair, turns around, and finds the nasty spoon under his ass.  In a place where it would have simply slid off the chair when he stood up and he never would have found it. 

D:  See.

Yes, I do see.  And now the Man sees that I KNEW that the boy sent the spoon flying in his direction.

D:  I told you he threw something.

Because what is important in this world is being correct.  Now I have to extricate myself from this situation because even at this late date, my husband cannot keep mouth shut.  The people behind us are trying desperately not to laugh hysterically.

K:  Sir, I heard him throw it but when I didn''t see anything on you, I thought we had dodged the bullet.
Man:  It''s OK.

But it wasn''t OK.  And they say that you never know real embarrassment until you have kids?  Those people who say that aren''t married.

This post is from from my other blog here

There is nothing to say.  Five years later and there is nothing to say.  I have spent hours trying to write a post that is just not going to happen. 

To all who are lost, you are gone but not forgotten.

This post is from from my other blog here

This post is from from my other blog here

 

If you think he looks ethereal and otherworldly, it was only until after I took the picture that I realized there were about a thousand toddler prints on the lens. 

This post is from from my other blog here

Yesterday I offered to bring firewood over to the firepit at my sister''s house.  This was because it is not my job to get the firewood in the back. 

Derek gave me The Look.  I told him we could just go to Safeway and buy wood if he wanted.  No, no, no.   We are cheap asses now so we will pay for nothing.  He and The Boy went out back to get the wood and I ran upstairs to take a 2 minute shower.  When I came back downstairs, I heard the door slam and Ethan screaming.  Derek was pissed.

Apparently there was a bee''s nest in the firewood and they had chased Derek across the yard.  He said that he had been stung twice and that he had run past Ethan in hopes that they would leave him alone.  He ran back, snatched The Boy up and ran into the house.  The Boy had stopped crying after being cranky for a whole 8 seconds.  We administered first aid to Derek in hopes that he would not DIE. 

About 10 minutes later, Derek rubbed The Boy''s back and he yelped.  I lifted his shirt and there was a big ole stinger in his side.  His father moans for 10 minutes about his stings and his son only cries for 8 seconds.  I can see The Boy has his mother''s, rather than his father''s pain threshold. 

Later at my sister''s house, I watched as Derek was unable to maintain eye contact with anyone.

K:  I gave you two Benadryl.  How many did you take?
D:  One.
K:  Look at your leg (pointing to the huge bubble growing on his leg).  Did you take any Benadryl at all?
D:  I took one.  Honest.
K:  You can''t just take two like everyone else in America? 
D:  I don''t like how they make me feel.
K:  What with death feeling so much better.  You can''t even follow conversations right now.

I ran to the truck and got ANOTHER Benadryl.  I handed it to him.  He popped it in his mouth and chased it with a beer.  I then made him lift up his tongue to see that he had actually taken it.  My sister looked on in disbelief. 

J:  You are treating him like a child. 
K:  It''s either treat him like a child now or take him to the hospital later.  If he could be responsible, we wouldn''t be having this conversation.

My sister and Dave then spent the rest of the night trying desperately to engage Derek in intelligent conversation for which he is usually known.  Ha.  That Benadryl/anaphylactic shock combo will really suck the life out of you...

The Boy never once looked at his sting again.  Thank God.  Having one baby is bad enough.