tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13764886558261738692024-02-06T21:15:49.928-08:00Crazy BabyBethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.comBlogger362125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-66420539516979824882018-06-09T07:59:00.000-07:002018-06-09T07:59:25.651-07:00House of LiesI'm going to tell you a story now, and I want you to know that I have never been completely honest about this event before. I never wanted Chris to know the truth. <br />
<br />
But he doesn't read this blog so we're still cool if you don't tell him.<br />
<br />
Chris and I were walking down Cedar with the kids - on the part of the road that doesn't have a tree lawn between the sidewalk and the road. It makes me nervous to walk on this part of the road with the kids because they become like Orcas without an electric fence - flopping about wildly with no boundaries. It's all concrete so same-same, right? <br />
<br />
So I was already on a slightly elevated alert state when Chris, right next to me, suddenly screams. An unhuman bellow clearly indicating the apocalypse. I had a fear-induced heart attack and died. <br />
<br />
"WHAT?! WHAT?!"<br />
<br />
"Your hiccups," he responds, "I was scaring you out of your hiccups."<br />
<br />
Yes, it is true that I had been suffering from a raging case of hiccups for the past many minutes. But everyone knows that scaring a person to get rid of hiccups is sheer ridiculousness. That's not even a thing. I was full of adrenaline, and the rage you feel when you are about to have to fight for your life in the apocalypse. WHY WOULD HE DO THAT TO ME FOR NO REASON.<br />
<br />
Then I realized that, indeed, he had scared the hiccups out of me. When I had died of my aforementioned heart attack, they had instantly disappeared. Completely gone. <br />
<br />
That said, Chris had SCARED THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF ME. This was not a deal I was willing to make. Hiccups were better than losing years of my life to fear. <br />
<br />
"Did it work?" Chris asked.<br />
<br />
I had a decision to make. Admit he had succeeded, and know that Chris was going to scream at me for the rest of my life, or lie to my life partner. <br />
<br />
"No. Of course it didn't. That's dumb. Why would you even think that would work?"<br />
<br />
And then I fake hiccuped for a few more minutes and pretended to cure myself by holding my breath.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-42456515910415469232018-05-02T09:03:00.001-07:002018-05-02T09:03:49.635-07:00Breaking News, By Sam Hagesfeld<u>NIGHTMARE ON NORTH SAINT JAMES</u><br />
<br />
Police and other child welfare agencies are responding to reports of horrific torture and inhumane living conditions at a local Cleveland Heights home. <br />
<br />
"You never want to believe that this is happening - but to think that it was happening right next door . . ." Neighbors on this quiet block are reporting shock and despair that they missed the signs of torment that were right under their noses.<br />
<br />
"I mean, I knew that they were terrible at landscaping. I just didn't know that there was stuff all over their backyard because they were depraved enough to expect the children to not leave socks and cups all over the yard."<br />
<br />
"Absolutely," a close family member agreed. "I've been in the home, and I know that they are awful housekeepers. But to find out that they were expecting my niece and nephews to empty the dishwasher, straighten the living room and put in a load of laundry? I just don't know how I didn't see it."<br />
<br />
"It's horrific," a local responder reports. "When we first came in, there were dirty clothes all over the kids rooms. When we asked why the parents hadn't cleaned it up, the children stated that the parents expected <i>them</i> to throw their own dirty clothes down the laundry chute. What's more, they were also expected to put away their own clean clothes. I've seen a lot in my day, but never anything like this." Choking up, our rescuer adds, "the kids weren't even allowed to have any screen time. Their rooms were completely barren, with nothing but toys and books and beds and blankets and posters and pictures and art supplies - not a single computer or television was found in any of the children's bedrooms. Not even a tablet."<br />
<br />
"I'm honestly not that surprised," a teacher at the school stated, shaking her head, "just taken aback at the magnitude. I knew they were often expected to dress themselves - I mean, that was obvious - but there were some days I suspected they also had to get their backpacks ready by themselves. I don't know how they survived in these conditions this long."<br />
<br />
Mothers in the area are also lamenting, "I would never have thought that children in the same classroom as my kids would be going through something like this. I heard that those kids were SO bored, because the parents NEVER took them to do anything interesting." "Yes," agreed another mom on the playground, "And also that the parents were ALWAYS trying to drag them to experience terrifying new things and NEVER let them relax." "You know what else I heard?," adds a third mom, "that things in that house were not fair. It's hard to believe, but it's my understanding that often, one child was permitted to do something, or get something, while another child was not. Overall, it was completely biased against each child and it just makes me shudder to think about."<br />
<br />
Community leaders agree that there will have to be an investigation in to how these defenseless children slipped through the cracks for so long. The Mayor stated, "we need to look at this like a wake up call. If these children were being deprived of basic rights - like soda in the house and dessert three times a day - with nobody noticing, well, I think we need to take a hard look at our safety net. Who's looking out for the kids?"<br />
<br />
At this point, the children have been removed from the home and placed with a loving family that at least has the dignity to own a Playstation.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-80382382381484923962018-04-23T05:21:00.000-07:002018-04-23T05:21:54.297-07:00Losing StreakHere's a good thing about Chris. It's an unexpected dark horse of a strength in a man who lives like Dory from Finding Nemo. When the chips are down, when all else has failed, when I've given up in despair - he's surprisingly good at finding lost things. He approaches it with the single-minded determination he usually reserves for riddles and conspiracy theories.<br />
<br />
I don't lose stuff that often, so when I do, I'm completely flummoxed. I'm quickly overwhelmed, and soon end up lying on the floor in impotent frustration. I crawl to Chris and beg him for help and he throws on his cape and finds what I need.<br />
<br />
So I am eternally grateful to him for scraping me off the floor and handing me my phone or wedding ring or whatever.<br />
<br />
THAT SAID.<br />
<br />
This morning, Chris comes walking through the room, dragging his feet, mumbling. A few minutes later, he takes a second lap. On his third time through, I ask him what he's looking for. <br />
<br />
"It's really bad. I can't find my keys."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I know this one! I saw them on the bed. We probably slept with them."<br />
<br />
"Hahaha, they probably fell in my butt."<br />
<br />
(Chris is never so upset that he doesn't think it is funny to talk about butts.) (Even though it doesn't even make sense that keys could fall into a butt.)<br />
<br />
He ruffles around in our bedroom for a second, but then he's back, checking pockets of dirty clothes. I help him for a minute, to show partnership and solidarity.<br />
<br />
"But you didn't find them in the bed?" I ask.<br />
<br />
"No," he dismisses, "I think I remember picking them up from someplace weird yesterday."<br />
<br />
So we look some more.<br />
<br />
"But you don't specifically remember the bed, exactly? And where would you have put them if not all these pockets we just found empty?"<br />
<br />
I can tell that he is deep in his head. I'm an annoying gnat, interrupting his mojo.<br />
<br />
So I go look in the bed myself.<br />
<br />
GUESS WHAT. <br />
<br />
TOTAL SURPRISE.<br />
<br />
Did NOT see this coming<br />
<br />
. . . but the keys were in the bed. <br />
<br />
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-84813914749995125932018-02-09T19:29:00.000-08:002018-02-09T19:29:35.076-08:00Effortless SophisticationFairfax Cabaret was tonight! <br />
<br />
The Cabaret is a talent show and is about as much fun as you can have at a school event that doesn't end until 10 o'clock at night like what are we a bunch of people without elementary-school-aged kids?<br />
<br />
I was staffing the ticket table when an older woman walks up and even though she's clearly a grandma I can still tell she's less into baking cookies and more into being a real witch.<br />
<br />
"This is a PTA event?" she asks suspiciously.<br />
<br />
"Yes! We have $6 tickets and $10 tickets, which would you like?"<br />
<br />
SIGH. "I've only got $18 so I guess we'll be getting $6 tickets." <br />
<br />
I felt bad for a minute, like I should give her the extra $2, but there were lots of people there who were sitting in the $6 seats and honestly this lady didn't even have a good sob story. It's not like she was scrabbling for nickles in her threadbare change purse. <br />
<br />
"Really? This is the Fairfax PTA?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, yay for Fairfax!"<br />
<br />
"This is the most sophisticated PTA even I've ever been to. And I don't mean that as a compliment."<br />
<br />
Hahaha, yes, we've worked hard and a lot of people have donated time and . . . wait. What?<br />
<br />
Oh-kay lady. <br />
<br />
Number 1, you really need to work on your insults because that one is very confusing. I don't even know what you mean by that. They only reason I know it's not a compliment is that you specifically said it wasn't. <br />
<br />
Number 2, don't be a jerk.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-21369283746407245552018-02-03T14:41:00.000-08:002018-02-03T14:41:31.348-08:00Do you even Math, bro?Chris and I bought a new car recently.<br />
<br />
To be completely honest, we bought a new minivan.<br />
<br />
The old one had leprosy, I think, because it was falling apart.<br />
<br />
So we went to look at a Toyota Sienna at a nearby Mercedes-Benz dealer, where they had classical music playing, and coffee made from freshly ground beans, and the salespeople were almost too handsome to gaze upon, and one of them was even from Scotland, and his eyes looked into my soul. They printed out a piece of paper with the price break-down, and, when we said we had to go think about it, they wished us well.<br />
<br />
But we didn't want that car.<br />
<br />
So we drove up the street to a place that had a Town and Country we wanted to try out. We walked in the door and there were five skeevy guys, waiting to pounce on customers. Vlad got to us first, and while waiting for the car to be readied, he showed us pictures of his hairless cat, assault rifle cabinet, and knife collection. When we were discussing numbers, it was scribbles of unlabeled numbers in green marker on a blank piece of paper. When we said we had to go think about it, he called the manager over and tried to continue to negotiate.<br />
<br />
But we did want that car.<br />
<br />
So Chris and I talked and decided on a price we could live with. We went back in and told them the number, and the number of months we were willing to pay that number for, extrapolating from that the applicable amount that would be paid every month.<br />
<br />
They go over to the corner and discuss. They come back with another green marker sheet.<br />
<br />
"It is the number you wanted!" they say.<br />
<br />
Oh, good!, I think. But then I see Chris tapping the sheet - right where the number of payment months is 12 more than we indicated we were willing to pay them.<br />
<br />
"Yes, but see, that is for many more months," Chris points out.<br />
<br />
"But it is the monthly payment you wanted!" they say.<br />
<br />
So, but, here's the thing. We live in a glorious age of humankind. CALCULATORS. ON OUR PHONES, even.<br />
<br />
"Okay, with those extra months, though, it is like a million more dollars than we told you we were willing to pay for the car."<br />
<br />
And then I told them they could take their little green marker and stick it where the sun don't shine<br />
<br />
Not really. Really, it was the end of the day, though, and these people clearly wanted to go home. They capitulated so quickly, coming back with a typed up sheet that they would have had no time to actually type up, that I realized they were just going through the motions. I suddenly understood that these people probably <i>literally</i> had a written protocol about how to con people into paying more. It likely includes focusing on the monthly payment instead of total, and making people believe you really want their trade in. I think the color of the marker is individual choice. <br />
<br />
So, it felt a little gross, but we are now owners of a new-to-us minivan. Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-44480812631426220452018-02-03T14:20:00.000-08:002018-02-03T14:20:08.919-08:00Fair WarningSomething died in our house. <br />
<br />
And not just our willingness to ever go to school / work.<br />
<br />
No, I suspect a small mammal also died. I don't know for sure, because we can't find it. But there are certain clues.<br />
<br />
One day, I came home from work and there was a fly in the kitchen. <br />
<br />
"That's weird," I said, "I didn't even know flies were alive in January."<br />
<br />
Over the course of the next few days, I learned that whatever their usual season may be, flies can live - nay, THRIVE - in January.<br />
<br />
There's really nothing like a sudden explosion of flies in your house to make you feel sophisticated and elegant. <br />
<br />
Honestly, I don't care how fancy your living room is - the addition of a single fly and you are instantly, at best, a hardscrabble miner like Katniss Everdeen. Add two flies? You are living in an Appalachian outhouse. Three flies and I don't care how much your new couch cost, this is now the poorest of Indian slums.<br />
<br />
So we looked in the basement. Couldn't smell anything, couldn't find anything. Without being able to tackle the source (definitely a Chris job) we had to start swatting flies (almost entirely a Beth job). <br />
<br />
A few days later, we were making some decent progress, and the flies were dwindling, and hope was returning to our household.<br />
<br />
Lilly invited the neighbor girl over and as she escorted her little friend into the house, I hear her saying, "I just want to warn you that there are a LOT of flies in our house."<br />
<br />
Oh, Lilly. Sweet Lilly. <br />
<br />
Can you please not confess to that? Can you please just let her figure it out? You know what this is like? This is like when you got a little bit of ringworm and I was like, don't show anybody, and you showed somebody, and then you got sent to the nurses office. This is like when you told everyone you saw a picture of your Dad wearing diaper, but really he was just lounging in some light blue boxers. And this is like when you tell every person you meet that your Dad was in a car accident. <br />
<br />
Lilly regularly throws Chris right under the bus.<br />
<br />
All kids have a problem with over sharing, but Lilly approaches it GLEEFULLY. <br />
<br />
<br />
The flies are gone.<br />
<br />
Mostly.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-81185775301418597132018-01-20T17:43:00.000-08:002018-01-20T17:43:17.618-08:00Thank you?I ordered a Christmas present from Etsy, but that was a mistake because turns out it was in Guatemala or some place, so it wasn't delivered until January 11th. Or at least the delivery ATTEMPT wasn't made until January 11th. Because we weren't home, they left me a note that I had to go pick it up at the post office, which I feel is wrong because the whole point of ordering on-line is that they deliver it to your house. <br />
<br />
If I wanted to leave my house I'd take up yoga. <br />
<br />
Still, I'd paid for this thing, and even though it was largely irrelevant at this point, I decided today to actually go get it. <br />
<br />
For some reason, it was at a post office in downtown Cleveland and I have to say this was a gorgeous old building. I had plenty of time to check it out as I waited for the Angry Human Sloth to finish with the people ahead of me. <br />
<br />
When it was my turn, I approached the window with a winning smile, and showed her my package slip. <br />
<br />
"ID?" she says, which is fair enough, except that she said it in a way that made it clear that she hated me. <br />
<br />I gave her my ID, and she checked it, then turned and . . . I want to say "ambled?" But that is a lot more cheerful than what she did. I want to say "slogged" but that is a lot more determined than what she did. She clearly hated both me and mail, and, wanted me to know that, honestly, she didn't care if she ever found my package, but some part of her knew she was going to find my package and knew she was going to have to give it to me, and that just made her hate me more. <br />
<br />
Me and the four people behind me descend into an awkward dead silence. For a while, the guy behind me, apparently from some friendly southern place, had been loudly astounded that people live here, in such a cold place with no pens available at the Post Office. His wife shushed him though, so we all just stood there quietly. <br />
<br />
Eventually, she came back. She looks me dead in the eye and said, "I should have closed this window a half hour ago." <br />
<br />
I genuinely thought she was referring to her computer, but then it dawned at me that I was standing at her window and she was telling me she wished I wasn't.<br />
<br />
"I've got a job to do, you know."<br />
<br />
Yes? Ostensibly the duties include tasks very much like giving me the package you still have clutched in your hands?<br />
<br />
"There's mail piling up back here."<br />
<br />
So you could let me do my part to clear it up by handing me that package?<br />
<br />
"I should have closed this window a half hour ago."<br />
<br />
Yes, you said, but also, to clarify, this is the only open window and I don't really see how that would work.<br />
<br />
"I was just trying to be nice."<br />
<br />
See, but it doesn't really feel like that right now.<br />
<br />
She stares at me for a minute, waiting. This whole time I've been so confused about this conversation that I haven't done anything but nod. <br />
<br />
"I'm sorry?" I say, because she has not yet moved to give me the package and I think I must start carrying my weight in this conversation if this is going to continue.<br />
<br />
She nods - my apology apparently sufficient to move this exchange forward - and puts the package in the pass-through. I reach to take it, but she puts a finger on one corner of the package, holding it down. <br />
<br />
"You're lucky I was feeling nice."<br />
<br />
I mean, I guess? But also, the Post Office is open? I checked the hours? And this is the only window? Is this included in the Government shut-down? Is she just here volunteering? Because otherwise, isn't it normal to assume that someone will be available at an open establishment? <br />
<br />
"Thank you?"<br />
<br />
She nodded, taking her finger off the envelope. <br /><br />I turn to go, looking at the 10-odd people who have amassed behind me, and prayed that God would have mercy on their souls.<br />
<br />
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-51810996791836753762017-04-15T09:55:00.000-07:002017-04-15T09:55:39.838-07:00You Know When?I picked the kids up from school on a day that they had all attended an after school class. Owen is taking a comic book drawing class, and Lilly and Sam are taking sign language. <br />
<br />
Sam said, "Lilly was lying on the ground during class."<br />
<br />
"Lilly, why were you lying on the ground?"<br />
<br />
"Because, like, my heart hurt, you know?"<br />
<br />
"Lilly." Owen says, with scorn and derision. Everything Owen says to Lilly if full of scorn and derision. "Do you mean your CHEST hurt?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah," she replies. "My chest and lungs."<br />
<br />
Sam pipes up, which is, in itself, somewhat unusual, because he is so OVER "kid" conversation. He told me the other day that he just didn't really find Owen and Lilly very interesting. That, sure, he was "<i>technically</i>" still a kid, but what did that even <i>mean</i>, really?<br />
<br />
It means you are 11, dude. Chill out. <br />
<br />
So it was notable that he was choosing to engage in this conversation.<br />
<br />
"Oh, I know exactly what you mean Lilly. Like when you eat too much protein?"<br />
<br />
Huh?<br />
<br />
"Oh, yeah, totally," They all chorus in agreement.<br />
<br />
"Or, like, too much applesauce?" Sam continues.<br />
<br />
"Exactly," they respond.<br />
<br />
Soooooo. Is this a thing? A protein and applesauce related heart attack? That happens to everybody else but me? Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-69807108451826556942017-04-15T09:39:00.000-07:002017-04-15T09:39:06.596-07:00Hidden InterestsThe kids have been very very very much enjoying the Alexas they got for Christmas. Mostly, they like Alexa to read them books. They don't read to themselves as much as they used to, and I am suspicious that this is a sneaky end run around the no-electronics-in-the-house rule, but I can't find any real reason to make a rule outlawing listening to books, so it continues unabated. After they listened to the same free book about elevendy million times, we bought them a few books on Audible. <br />
<br />
Now we don't see them anymore.<br />
<br />
So that's great.<br />
<br />
But, like crack, you have to keep buying more. So Lilly and I were on Audible today, and I asked her what kinds of books she might be interested in. It was a throw-away comment. One I don't really expect her to even answer. <br />
<br />
One time, in grad school, my advisor asked me what kinds of books I like to read and I blurted out, "mysteries!" which is actually the only kind of book that I absolutely DON'T like to read. And that was when I was a grown adult. <br />
<br />
So I wasn't really listening when Lilly said, "Hmmm. Maybe Native Americans?"<br />
<br />
I'm scrolling through the Beverly Cleary books . . .<br />
<br />
Wait. What?<br />
<br />
"Or homing pigeons?"Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-63233810528772269702017-03-18T10:39:00.002-07:002017-03-18T10:39:43.324-07:00Drowned toddlers are sooo annoyingWe went to an indoor water park this week. It was equal parts awful and great, so pretty much a typical family vacation.<br />
<br />
This is our first significant family experience with a water park, so we learned some new things.<br />
<br />
1) Owen seems to be a little allergic to chlorine, based on his coughing fits, rash, and vomiting. So an indoor water park is great for a family vacation destination. <br />
<br />
2) I do not have tough feet. Next time, I am going dressed in my Slenderizing For Mature Women bathing suit and some water shoes. I'll definitely have to wear my wedding ring to show that I am already taken, gentlemen. <br />
<br />
3) Lilly has a hard head both literally and figuratively. Don't try to convince her she wants to go on the water slide when she wants to ride in the lazy river. She knows what she wants. She wants to ride in the lazy river. Come, don't come, she doesn't care. She'll be in the lazy river. Again. Also, don't sit next to her in the family tube ride because she'll crack your skull open and days later your brains will still be leaking out.<br />
<br />
4) We going to need to adopt another kid or make sure my dad comes along next time because nobody wants to be the single rider. It is sad and lonely and a tiny bit embarrassing if you are a grown ass adult in a Slenderizing for Mature Women bathing suit headed down the water roller coaster tube ride. <br />
<br />
<br />
Here's one other story from our trip:<br />
<br />
It was the first day, and we were climbing down into the lazy river (see point three above). I was behind Chris still looking for an available tube. Chris is in the water and I see him stumble a little bit. He looks down and shakes his head a little. Then he hands Lilly her tube and she heads off and then Chris reaches into the water and pulls out the lifeless body of a toddler. <br />
<br />
He's standing there, dangling the limp and colorless body in his right hand and gestures to the lifeguard with his left hand, all like, "jeez, here, do you want to do something about this?" The life guard blows his whistle and jumps in.<br />
<br />
At this point my mind is like this:<br />
<br />
"AAAAHHHHHHHH DEADBABYDEADBABYTHATBABYISDEAD AAAAAAHHHHHH WHOKNOWSCPR AAAAHHHHH (I'm going to have to talk to Chris about appropriate protocol when he finds a drowned toddler like seriously maybe just hold it instead of dangling it?) AAAHHHHHHH DEADBABY AHHHHH (Also, maybe he could, like, try wading to the side instead of just waiting for the lifeguard to come and get this kid?) AAAAAHHHHHHH (And also, fix your face, Chris. He looks totally annoyed that he stubbed his toe on a body) AAAAAHHHH (also, that kid has really funny looking joints. Like his knees are just creases) Aaaaahhhhh? (why is the lifeguard smiling? Sure, he looks chagrined, like he's embarrassed that Chris found the dead baby, but he doesn't look horrified, which I feel like more people should be right now?)<br />
<br />
Oh. It's a training dummy. Just a little toddler shaped doll designed to test the lifeguards.<br />
<br />
Well that's fun. Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-328750480271138892017-03-18T10:12:00.000-07:002017-03-18T10:12:18.420-07:00A week getting dressed with Lilly<b><u>Monday:</u></b><br />
<br />
Lilly walks in wearing leggings and a short shirt. We've discussed multiple times that this isn't appropriate. Her leggings are too old and thin and she forgets underpants too often. At a certain age, you just can't wear a short shirt with your leggings. Tunic tops, for sure, but not one that hits above the waistband. It may be an arbitrary rule that nobody else agrees with, but it is my rule and it is not a brand new one. I long ago gave up on trying to make sure she matched or anything ridiculous like that. She can wear almost anything she wants, except leggings or tights with just a short shirt. <br />
<br />
"Lilly, you can't wear that. You can't wear leggings and a short shirt. You can wear a short shirt and pants, or leggings and a long shirt, or leggings and a short shirt with a skirt, but not just leggings and a short shirt. You know that."<br />
<br />
Lilly flounces away in irritation. Why am I always cramping her style?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Tuesday:</u></b><br />
<br />
Lilly walks in wearing leggings and short shirt.<br />
<br />
"Lilly, you need to go change. You can't wear leggings with a short shirt. Remember how we set out an outfit last night? You could put that one on? No? Fine, if you want, you could just throw a skirt on top of the leggings. That might be easier."<br />
<br />
Lilly falls to the ground in despair and rolls out of the room. What is my problem?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Wednesday:</u></b><br />
<br />
Lilly walks in wearing leggings and a short shirt.<br />
<br />
"Lilly, I bought you a bunch of pants and long shirts yesterday. For a long time I didn't buy you pants because you would only wear dresses but you seem to have lost interest in dresses and I understand you may not have had pants to wear with your short shirts but you definitely do now. They are clean and folded in your drawer. Please go put on either a long shirt of a pair of pants."<br />
<br />
Lilly vibrates across the floor with annoyance. I am impossible to satisfy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Thursday:</u></b><br />
<br />
Lilly walks in wearing leggings and a short shirt.<br />
<br />
"Oh, look at this. You are wearing leggings and a short shirt. What a surprise. I know this is going to come out of nowhere for you, but you CAN'T WEAR THAT. You need to cover your tush. I don't care how. Long shirt, real pants, skirt, dress, whatever the hell you want."<br />
<br />
Lilly storms out in a rage. Nothing is ever good enough for me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Friday: </u></b><br />
<br />
Lilly walks in wearing leggings and short shirt.<br />
<br />
"Really? Because last night I resorted your dresser so that all the long shirts were in one drawer, all the short shirts were in another, and the leggings were stored separately from the pants. We went over it. I described the contents of each drawer, and we had a trial run where you clearly understood that the shirts from the short shirt drawer could not be paired with items from the legging drawer. GO CHANGE."<br />
<br />
Lilly literally climbs the wall in frustration. Seriously, what do I even WANT from her?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Saturday:</u></b><br />
<br />
Lilly walks in wearing leggings and no shirt at all.<br />
<br />
Well, that's refreshing. Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-85816947710575423092016-11-29T18:51:00.001-08:002016-11-29T18:51:53.281-08:00Box Tops for education and guiltBox Tops, for those of you who don't know, are little printed codes that can be found on various food packages. And I think maybe underwear and socks? <br />
<br />
Why? I don't know.<br />
<br />
You are supposed to clip them and save them to turn into your school and each one is worth like 10 cents or something. You'd think there would be an easier way. Like just donate the money it took you to print the little squares and we'll all take some time off. I know it doesn't take 10 cents to print them, but when you factor in the huge percentage that must get ignored and tossed, I feel confident that we'd come about about even.<br />
<br />
I blissfully threw these away for years, but once your kids start going to school, you are expected to actually pay attention. Thus, for the past five years or so, I've been plagued with guilt about these damn things. They have contests, you know. For which kid or which class can bring in the most. It matters a little. There's a modicum of judgment. I'd wager that that even moms who don't collect them have made a deliberate decision to not participate and feel the tiniest of twinges every time. <br />
<br />
But one time when Chris was looking for something in the junk drawer he pulled out a handful of box tops and said, "why are there a bunch of scraps of cardboard in here?" <br />
<br />
He didn't even know what a box top WAS.<br />
<br />
I don't like to generalize or stereotype, but I'm going to say that, conservative estimate, the percentage of people cutting those out is 1000% female. No man has ever, in the history of ever, cut one of those things out.<br />
<br />
It's just another one of the things that I waste my life worrying about and dealing with that will never matter, even a little bit, to anybody with a penis. <br />
<br />
Other things on this list are "making children brush their teeth," "duvet covers," and "holiday decorations."Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-62208176767716428512016-10-10T14:47:00.000-07:002016-10-10T17:29:18.295-07:00Man Looking: Part 1052Sam is feeling a little under the weather today. He wanted some tea, but one of the great things about having bigger kids is that they can get their own dang tea. <br />
<br />
Except . . .<br />
<br />
"Mom? Where is the tea?"<br />
<br />
"It's in the little cupboard right next to the fridge."<br />
<br />
*five minutes later*<br />
<br />
"Mom? It's not there."<br />
<br />
I am 5000 percent sure that the tea is in the little cupboard right next the fridge. I know it is there because I put it there because of course I put it there because it has never occurred to anybody else in this house to put anything away ever. I am so sure that it is in the tiny cupboard next to the fridge that if someone offered me a bet wherein if I am right, and it is in the tiny cupboard next to the fridge I get a dollar, and if I am wrong the whole world just explodes, I would take that bet. <br />
<br />
"Sam, go look again. Look at the fridge. Look in every smallish cupboard that is in any proximity to the fridge. I promise you, the tea is in there."<br />
<br />
*five minutes later*<br />
<br />
"Mom? It's really not there."<br />
<br />
SURPRISE TWIST ENDING!<br />
<br />
It was in the tiny cupboard next to the fridge.<br />
<br />
"Oh, THAT little cupboard!" he says. <br />
<br />
Yes, the one right next to the fridge. <br />
<br />
What I need you to understand about this cupboard, though, is that it is both small, and COMPLETELY (other than tea) EMPTY. There is LITERALLY nothing else in the entire tiny cupboard. It is a stupid tiny cupboard, nothing fits. That's why I was happy about the tea. Now it's a classy tea cupboard. It has a purpose. But the point is that it's truly not as if I found the tea pushed behind an old box of crackers or something. All I did was open the door. Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-60409011177763833222016-10-09T15:34:00.001-07:002016-10-09T15:34:31.196-07:00GarbageLast week the grocery store had a sale on reduced sugar granola bars and yogurt tubes. So I bought them. I took the time to go to the grocery store, search for coupons, compare prices, bring the groceries into the house and put them away and you know what? I don't even like granola bars or yogurt tubes, personally. <br />
<br />
Which is super weird because I keep seeing granola bar wrappers and empty yogurt tubes lying around. Seeing as how I live exclusively with people who are capable of throwing things away, the only logical explanation is that I am eating them, passing out, hitting my head, getting amnesia and then seeing the wrappers. Right? I mean, it makes no sense that people who have the skills and fortitude to go find these snacks in the cupboard or fridge, scale the counter tops to reach them, unwrap and then eat the snacks would then conclude that mission by throwing their goddamn wrappers on the goddamn ground. NO SENSE AT ALL.<br />
<br />
A few polite reminders were met with blank stares. More emphatic statements to PICK UP YOUR GARBAGE I AM NOT YOUR MAID were greeted with choruses that, golly gee, that wrapper surely did belong to Not Me. Directives to pick up the wrappers, irrespective of who placed them there, were outrageous miscarriages of justice. It is not FAIR, not fair at all, to have to pick up a wrapper that was dropped by someone else. Funnily, I AGREE.<br />
<br />
I was just sitting next to Owen, and noticed that he was eating a granola bar. "Do NOT drop that wrapper on the floor Owen." <br />
<br />
"Okay, Mom, that was all I needed to remind me!" <br />
<br />"Your cheerful attitude notwithstanding, Owen, you should not need a reminder. There is no excuse for ever just dropping your garbage on the floor."<br />
<br />
"Not even in a fire? If there is a fire, should I make sure I put this garbage in the trash before I escape?"<br />
<br />
I will note that his tone is playful rather than obnoxious, but I still want to wallop him. I am less amused with the garbage struggle around here than he is. <br />
<br />
But I'm not a mean mom, so I banter. <br />
<br />
"Have we been having a lot of fires around here? Is that why there is always garbage on the ground? An out of control number of fires that are causing you all to run for your lives?"<br />
<br />
"Hahahaha, yeah, mom, that's it! Hahahah."<br />
<br />
But seriously. Pick up your garbage. <br />
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-56419452580674391322016-06-26T10:52:00.003-07:002016-06-26T10:53:41.387-07:00Living with Chris Logic"Guess what?"<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Eleven dollars and 50 cents."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
" . . . shut up."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'll give Chris credit. He's an annoyingly good guesser. Without question, he is better as guessing than anyone else I know.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's part and parcel of his neurosis, of course. The one where he mouths all my words as I'm saying them. The one where he doesn't listen or pay attention in the moment because he is too busy trying to figure out what will happen next. Where he doesn't actually read your emails as much as guesses what they are going to say based on the first four words.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Chris's brain must be an absolutely exhausting place. I personally have enough trouble just listening and formulating a response, let alone trying to figure out what you're going to say before you say it. I imagine I'll figure out what you are saying in another second and a half when you actually say it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But not Chris! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Chris is proud of how often he accurately guesses the time in the middle of the night. But, jesus, just think about that. He woke up, started computing all available incoming matrices of information, made a guess, then read the clock to see how far off he was.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
OR YOU COULD HAVE JUST READ THE CLOCK AND GONE BACK TO SLEEP YOU WEIRDO NO OFFENSE.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So when I say he's an Olympic guesser, I mean he's also trained like an Olympian - every waking (and sleeping) moment. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But, and I may have mentioned this, it is still annoying. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's genuinely deflating, when you're all, "guess how much?" and he gets it exactly. There's just nowhere to go from there. It's a conversation-ender. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And it totally derails the story flow when you say, "guess who I saw today" and he knows on the first try. </div>
<div>
<br />
Pro-tip: when I ask you to guess who called, just say, "who" and let me move on with my story. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here's a classic Living with Chris Logic conversation:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We've been tracking Sam weight for a few weeks (on the sly! He still just thinks we are letting him play with the scale. And then we do discuss how to eat healthy food, etc, etc, etc. I just want to stipulate that we are doing this only because childhood obesity is a real problem and we don't want his weight to get out of control because we weren't paying attention).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After a week at basketball camp, I said "guess what Sam's weight was this week."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Um. Up two pounds."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No, he was down .3 lbs."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Really? I would have guessed it would be lower."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You literally wouldn't."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You just guessed he was up two pounds."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Oh, that was just my guess, not what I actually thought."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Seriously, that makes no sense." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"See, when someone else asks me to guess, I have to take into account their motivation for asking me to guess, and what <i>they</i> probably guessed, before I make my guess."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Chris, you do know that the goal here is just conversation. There is no actual prize for getting it right."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You just say that because you always lose at guessing."</div>
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-12115894495596810592016-05-19T19:56:00.002-07:002016-05-19T20:01:38.289-07:00I create my own problemsMornings are so hard.<br />
<br />
Mornings are literally the worst except for the evenings.<br />
<br />
We've been struggling with our keys recently, so when I couldn't find them as we were walking out the door the the other morning, it was like, "of course I can't find my keys. Why would I have learned to keep track of something silly like my keys?"<br />
<br />
Where are my keys?<br />
<br />
In my purse! <br />
<br />
Now all I have to do is find my purse. I'm zipping frantically around the house, clutching Lilly's lunch and jacket and breakfast and an umbrella and we HAVE TO LEAVE we are VERY LATE and my fingers are tired but if I put anything down I will lose that, too.<br />
<br />
"Ok, Lilly, I have to find my purse, so try not to be annoying for a second." (I didn't really say that part, because I love her, but I thought it)<br />
<br />
"You need to find your purse with the tree on it?"<br />
<br />
She's referring to the purse I was using until a few days ago when the strap broke and I went back to using my trusty old brown purse.<br />
<br />
"No, not the tree purse, I don't use that one any more." Also, I'm finding it super annoying that she's being all specific about this. The hell does she care what my purse looks like?<br />
<br />
"You need to find your other purse because it has your keys in it?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, exactly. Gotta find my purse, because I gotta have my keys to go anywhere."<br />
<br />
"So we're looking for your other purse?"<br />
<br />
I swear to god if that girl can't stop talking about my goddamn other purse and let me find my goddamn keys in peace . . .<br />
<br />
Wait. Why *is* she talking about my "other" purse?<br />
<br />
So I stop for a second, and look down and . . .<br />
<br />
Yup. There's my purse, hanging from my arm.<br />
<br />
Lilly has been justifiably confused about what, exactly, it is that I'm running around looking for, because surely there is some other purse at play if this one is just swinging in the air.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-21947470839169085002016-05-07T14:23:00.002-07:002016-05-07T14:23:53.830-07:00Nobody wants to be an appleWe were sitting by a pond, Lilly and I, and she says to me, "Mom? Isn't this so peaceful? Don't you want to stay here for hours?" <br />
<br />
And I absolutely did. Except my hips are too old to be sitting around on the ground like that. <br />
<br />
"Mom? What would you want to be: a hippo, a duck, or an apple?"<br />
<br />
Do you know how many years of my life I have spent answering questions like these at this point? Sooooo many. <br />
<br />
"I would say definitely a duck."<br />
<br />
"DAD. DAD! WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE A HIPPO A DUCK OR AN APPLE?"<br />
<br />
Lilly. Remember the peaceful?<br />
<br />
"Oh, a hippo. That's a no-brainer."<br />
<br />
"Chris, that's absurd. Who wants to be a hippo? What is even remotely appealing about being a hippo?"<br />
<br />
"Dude, if I was a hippo I would crush you like a bug!"<br />
<br />
"Hippos just look like giant stomachs or some other internal organs lying around in mud. A duck can fly, swim and walk. Again, the duck is obviously the better choice."<br />
<br />
"Hey, if you had to be a girl duck, you would have LAY EGGS."<br />
<br />
"Um, yeah, but if I had to be girl hippo, I'd have to give birth to a HIPPO."<br />
<br />
"Fair enough. I still think ducks get shot at a lot, and nobody wants to mess with a hippo."<br />
<br />
<br />
And that's how we spent a beautiful Sunday by the pond.<br />
<br />
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-23413160542711445822016-03-31T08:48:00.001-07:002016-03-31T08:48:45.860-07:00Rainbows are pretty for everyoneWe're attempting to fulfill Lilly's request for a rainbow theme in hall bathroom. Well. Technically she asked for a rainbow theme in her bedroom but instead we decided to go with an understated "you're lucky you have a bed, let alone a theme, here, I found a pack of rainbow stickers," theme.<br />
<br />
So, even though I couldn't find bedroom stuff in rainbow, I wanted to tackle it in the bathroom.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing I figured out: You can have an owl bathroom, or a seashell bathroom or a leaf bathroom, or an animal print bathroom, but there is no such thing as a rainbow bathroom.<br />
<br />
Not even on Amazon.<br />
<br />
BUT.<br />
<br />
Because I'm smart and intuitive and pay attention to key words, I figured out that you CAN have a gay pride bathroom. Which is just like a rainbow bathroom, except you have to search using "gay pride," instead of "rainbow." Then it's a whole new world of options.<br />
<br />
In this age of the Internet, I'm always a little surprised when something I want doesn't exist on line. There's how many billion people and I'm the only one who wants a framed picture of a rainbow? I'm being offer the chance to buy a seven foot tall statue of a rooster, but there's no such thing as a rainbow trash can? There are more people who want a hat shaped like a fish than want a rainbow hand towel? <br />
<br />
Anyhow, with the help of our proud gay brethren, and a picture my mom painted of a rainbow that I stole out of my nephew's bedroom, Lilly is very pleased with her new bathroom. Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-39789892146966628182016-02-17T18:50:00.002-08:002016-02-17T18:50:58.421-08:00#owenI picked the boys up from tumbling today and I wasn't even late! True story. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The tumbling teacher greets me with a "Hey! We missed you on Saturday!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Um . . . we missed you too? It's so long between Wednesday classes? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"The halftime show wasn't the same without the boys!" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Oh. There was a performance. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I understand!" He says, "people get busy."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But we weren't busy. And I also didn't forget. I never even knew about this in the first place. That's how out of touch we are.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We gather our stuff in shame, the boys clutching the cowboy hats they were supposed to wear during their routine. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He calls after us, "I think we are going to have one more show this spring, Owen! So don't lose your hat!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I won't!" Owen replies cheerfully as we head out the door.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then, as the door closes, I hear him say, under his breath, "hashtag, I definitely will."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
#hesnotwrong #knowyourself #helearneditfromwatchingus #butsopolite #thehatisalreadygone</div>
Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-92199486172472700932016-01-27T19:08:00.004-08:002016-01-27T19:08:53.323-08:00Still no Superman, though. In the car today Sam asked when we were going to get rid of all the pay phones.<br />
<br />
So I'm looking around and I see exactly zero pay phones. "I think the pay phones are already gone, Sam."<br />
<br />
"The what are gone?" Owen asks.<br />
<br />
"Pay phones, Owen."<br />
<br />
"What are those?"<br />
<br />
I am so old. So very old.<br />
<br />
"Before cell phones there used to be phones on street corners and stores that you could put 25 cents in and make a call."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I've seen those. I saw two . . . no three in Disney world. But prices must have gone up because it cost two quarters."<br />
<br />
Okay, so number one, Jesus, inflation. Number two, how about next time we spend a million dollars to take you some place special you pay a little more attention to the goddamn magic.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-16595158993891959182015-12-16T19:52:00.001-08:002015-12-16T19:52:22.172-08:00Schooled"Mom? How many states are there?" Lilly asks.<br />
<br />
I KNOW THIS ONE<br />
<br />
"There are 50 states in America, Lilly."<br />
<br />
"No," she says, "like how many PLACES are there?"<br />
<br />
"Places?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah, like there's Ohio State and China and the park."<br />
<br />
So just, like, literally every place? I have no idea.<br />
<br />
"Mom? I thought that there were seven continents but now I'm counting and if you include North Antartica and Sourh Antartica, then that's eight."<br />
<br />
"Um . . . Maybe because I don't think there is any such thing as North and South Antartica?"<br />
<br />
"Mom! Of course there is! Otherwise all the polar bears would eat the penguins and there would be almost no penguins left!"<br />
<br />
Here's the thing though. I really can't say with any kind of certainty that there isn't a North Antartica and South Antartica. It doesn't exactly SOUND right, but it's been a long time since that was relevant in my life. Also, on the face of it it doesn't seem logical that penguins and polar bears have separate continents but what the hell do I know about wildlife? The answer is less than I know about geography.<br />
<br />
So I didn't argue with her. This seems like a job for School Teacher.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-72903374517546635522015-12-01T18:54:00.001-08:002015-12-01T21:13:23.705-08:00Adventures in Sleeping with Chris, Part IISo one thing I forgot to mention about Chris's nocturnal habits: moaning.<br />
<br />
He moans.<br />
<br />
A lot.<br />
<br />
And with vigor. Imagine someone shouting at you, but they are also a zombie.<br />
<br />
First, a silent , gentle, calm inhale.<br />
<br />
OOORRRHHHAAAAAOOOoOoOo exhale.<br />
<br />
It's frustrating from my end. Like, I understand snoring. You're congested, what are you going to do? But moaning feels like a choice. Soooooo, if he could maybe not do that, that would be great.<br />
<br />
It's also distressing. You know who moans? People who are sad. Or upset. Or are lying gut-shot on a battlefield. Those people are moaning.<br />
<br />
So I'm here, trying to go to sleep, and Chris is lying there, deliberately groaning like a civilian casualty of war.<br />
<br />
It's upsetting.<br />
<br />
Honestly, normally, it's not really a problem. I push him a little (super gently) and he startles himself awake enough to resume his normal business of chomping and leg spasms.<br />
<br />
But the past week, it's been relentless. So, after spending the night on the couch, I decided to google it.<br />
<br />
"Yes!" The internet says, "I know exactly what you mean! It's called Catathrenia and it is not a problem!"<br />
<br />
Well. I mean, it's kind of a problem.<br />
<br />
"No, really! It's completely benign! Not a big deal"<br />
<br />
Well, again, Internet, I'm going to beg to differ.<br />
<br />
So instead of googling, "what the fuck is wrong with my husband he's moaning in his sleep" I tried googling, "Catathrenia cure."<br />
<br />
I see an article titled, "5 Tips for Battling Catathrenia." I click on that because, clearly, we are about to show Catathrenia whose house it has entered and it will feel my wrath. Even if the cure is horrible for Chris, I'm willing to have him pay that price.<br />
<br />
But here is the suggested battle plan:<br />
<br />
1) Relax! Not as in meditate to stop moaning, but, hey, relax, Catathrenia is totally not something to worry about. At first, I didn't realize that this was actually listed as a step for battling Catathrenia, but I realized there weren't enough steps and went back and checked. Step one of our battle is to chill out, man.<br />
<br />
This is not an appropriate attitude for battle, FYI. <br />
<br />
2) make sure it is really Catathrenia, because if it something else, it might actually be a problem. But if it is really Catathrenia, it's not a big deal.<br />
<br />
Again, shut up. <br />
<br />
3) use white noise.<br />
<br />
Oh, yes, obviously, this 200 pound man lying a foot away from me and moaning like a goddamn wildebeest will fit right in with the sound of Rainfall in the Night Forest.<br />
<br />
4) ear plugs<br />
<br />
Maybe if you put in ear plugs you won't hear me tell you to shut up with your bullshit advice?<br />
<br />
5) see a doctor!<br />
<br />
Look, you just told me that the best five point plan of attack the whole internet could come up with was a) don't attack, b) verify that it isn't something actually worth attacking, c) ignore it, d) also ignore it. That's it. That our battle plan. Honestly, I don't think that doctors know things that Google doesn't. It's GOOGLE. Doctors are just better at deciphering.<br />
<br a="" attack="" attacking="" b="" based="" battle="" be="" c="" combined="" d="" different="" doctors="" doesn="" here="" i="" ignore="" internet.="" internet="" it.="" it="" just="" know.="" know="" knowledge="" look="" m="" might="" my="" not="" of="" on="" or="" our="" plan="" r="" s="" something="" sure="" t="" that="" the="" things="" this="" to="" told="" verify="" was="" wasn="" which="" whole="" worth="" you="" />
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If I'm counting, and I am, exactly none of those had shit to do with battling precisely anything.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-66171221200766163802015-11-09T18:30:00.000-08:002015-11-09T18:31:56.760-08:00Gone with the Wind FabulousI was at Target with the kids. They were doing that thing where they gaze longingly at the toys in the toy section, so I was wandering around the girls clothing section. Not because I want to, per se, but because I don't enjoy the toy section, and yet, it's still not socially appropriate to completely abandon your kids at Target. So I scope out the girls fashions, even back when I didn't have any girls.<br />
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Anyway, this particular time, I found a few dresses on the clearance rack and I brought them to Lilly. I'm finding it harder to shop for her these days. The boys would refuse to wear clothes, but it was usually pretty clear why: buttons? Then no. Snaps? Nope. Collars? Never. But I haven't been able to exactly pinpoint what gets the Lilly stamp of approval and what will be politely relegated to the back of the closet.<br />
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So I show her the dresses and she's all, "Oh, pretty! But I have to try them on."<br />
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"Look, can't you just tell me what you like and what you don't like? I'm pretty sure these are your size." I mean, it's not like we need to find clothes that hide her figure flaws, right? If she likes it, I'll buy it and then we're done.<br />
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"Mom. how am I supposed to know if I like a dress without trying it on?"<br />
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Okay. Seriously? My mother's been telling me that my whole life. I don't need it from my daughter, too.<br />
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"Lilly, it's your size, it'll fit fine."<br />
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"Mom, it's not about if it fits. It's about the way it twirls."<br />
<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-56291293713336186112015-11-02T19:28:00.001-08:002015-11-02T19:28:47.725-08:00it's all fun and gamesWe were walking home from a dinner at a friend's house yesterday.<br />
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It was 7:00, p.m., and pitch dark, thanks to the time change.<br />
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We made the kids leave even though they still wanted to jump in the leaf pile some more. And, even after they explained that they WANTED to JUMP MORE, we still made them leave. I get it. Leaf jumping is great. I have a bit of a phobia about it myself, because once I jumped on a dead rabbit, but I have no reason to believe that that is a common occurance, so I try not to tell them, "get off get off get off, there could be dead things in there."<br />
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Still, even after they, again, clairified that they were having FUN, we dragged them away.<br />
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We were almost home, and I though we had all moved past the leaf-pile-jumping deprivation.<br />
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Then Lilly said to me, "Do you see my face mom?! It is FULL of anger."<br />
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But the funny thing was that, no, actually I couldn't see her face. It was pitch dark. Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1376488655826173869.post-38485693439334356832015-10-26T19:25:00.000-07:002015-10-26T19:25:02.157-07:00A Day with LillyLilly wakes up with a smile every day.<br />
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Every day, she bounces out of bed (I know because I hear the thump) and rushes to see us.<br />
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This is usually pretty cool, because neither of the boys cares to see us until they need a ride somewhere.<br />
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Once they figure out how to use scissors to open cereal, they're basically just here for the free laundry.<br />
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I've stopped fighting with her about her outfits. If she wants to wear a velvet party dress with some fruit themed knee socks, well, life is short.<br />
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She bounces out the door, and is better than I am about remembering her lunch box.<br />
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When I pick her up, she has absorbed the energy from her little friends, and is full of questions.<br />
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"Mom? How do traffic lights change?"<br />
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"See that yellow box on the pole there? It holds a computer that is programmed to change the lights at certain times." <br />
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I have no idea if this is true. I don't care if this is true. I don't care about this at all.<br />
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"So, is there a person nearby?"<br />
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"No, it's a computer."<br />
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"Is there someone in the yellow box?"<br />
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"No, no. No people. It's a computer."<br />
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"Oh, there's another one!"<br />
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"No, that's a donation bin, it just happens to be yellow. They aren't all yellow. See, this one up here is gray."<br />
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"Oh. And they are never smaller than that box?"<br />
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"I really don't know. I guess some might be smaller."<br />
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"And they are always yellow or gray?"<br />
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"Sweet baby Jesus please stop asking me questions."<br />
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"Fine," she says, full of hurt, "I'll ask daddy when we get home."<br />
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"Oh, please do."<br />
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We go to Target, and she is so excited about the yogurt that she trips and drops it. She is so excited about seeing one of her friends there that she runs straight into our cart. She's so excited about the Frozen nightgown she found that she falls over the foot of the rack. <br />
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At night, she demands we read her a book, every night, without fail. On tired days, we would skip the book with the boys, but Lilly doesn't believe in being too tired for a book.<br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12880018330276646608noreply@blogger.com2