A Tattoo, Some Stitches, But NO Leather Pants

I am sporting a Blog This tattoo thanks to The Daring Young Mom. It goes with the stitches that are in the back of my head. There is a sweet bald spot around them so you can see them from a distance. It makes me look a bit tougher. Now the only thing I am missing is some leather pants and a pocket chain and I will have morphed into one tough biker chick.

What do you know, some dreams do come true.

Woe is me

I am over flowing with melancholy these days. Not depressed really, just subdued by a bout of loneliness.

I live in an area where the inhabitants are in constant flux. People like the tide, move in and out with the stages of the moon.
Until recently I have remained reasonably unaffected. There have been a few choice souls who have left holes in my life when they moved, but for the most part I have been able to regroup and move forward.
Not now. I just can't see how I can recover.
Four of my favorite friends have just wrenched themselves from my bosom of friendship. (Yes that is what we shared, not literally, for all you prudes, but a certain closeness just the same.)
They were my family where I have none. And now they are gone. All of them--Gone!
And I am left a lone woman in the wilderness of Silicon Valley. My lot is harsh, unfair, and depressing.
Yes, there are more humans that move into the area, but I am afraid that none will fill the void left by these choice women who were (and are, but more distant now) my dearest friends.


Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but I think it just dulls and softens the edges of most.


I miss you my dear friends. All my love in your new lives. -A

How long is too long? And other questions I need answers to.

Quick question(s)...

How long can clean laundry sit on the living room couch, before I should be embarrassed that it is still there?

How long can I go without cleaning the bath tub before it is unsanitary, and my kids are no longer considered clean after soaking in it?

How often should I sweep under my fridge. (the little boy I watch informed me that it was "a bit hairy under there."

Is it better to bather children in the morning, or before bed?

It there are no finger prints in the dust on my shelves, can I leave it a bit longer?

Are weeds a form of ground cover?

Do I wash the children's sacred blankets each week, or do I let them ferment a few days more and keep the peace? (one of them is particularly attached to a small area of her blanket that "smells a bit like dog". (we don't have a dog))

Do dust bunnies breed like rabbits?

I feel like I should know the answers to most of these, but I find myself wondering if I am stretching things a bit, and if I am not, how much more rope can I give myself before I am strung up by my housework demons.

Renting, you can smell the savings

Last you heard I was looking at million dollar crack houses.
I have made it through that rough spot and I am now resigned to being a life-time renter.

It has its perks. When the roots of the tree on the street grow into my sewer pipe and they make the kitchen disposal back up into the bath tub, I don't have to pay for it.

But my heart does twinge for the nice man with the gloves and the mask, and the other nice man that banged a hole in the sewer pipe, and had splash-idge. (yucky) But then the said splashed man just left the hole wide open with the pipe not fixed and threw a big orange metal street sign kind of over it and didn't come back for 9 days, so my heart really isn't very empathetic toward him any more. I have actually been wondering if it would me horrible to just flush the potty (empty of course) when he is down there fixing the hole, because he has taken so dang LONG!

I am a little bugged by the wide open sewer hole by the front door. It isn't exactly screaming WELCOME to the home teachers!

But other than that renting is perfect!




I

No Really, I'm not kidding

So My House hunt continues....

I ran across this little gem, that can be yours for a measley $525,000.00.


 

This is the kitchen area, which as you can see has some "minor" problems. As the person showing the house stated.
Hello!! Are you an idiot? All I could think of was infestation, infestation. You name it, it has probably infested here.

 
This is just off the kitchen, and apparently you could roast a pig on the spit in the brick area, and watch tv while it cooks, because it is also the "family"room!! Sweet!

 

This, my friends, is the bathroom.

 

This is a bedroom, and that stuff on the floor is the carpet and yes, the walls are oozing.

The saddest part is we were there with 3 other people looking at it, and I bet is sells for $630,000.00.

I keep asking myself "Why is it that we live here?". Ah, yes..Because we love IT! 

My very own "Crack" house...Almost

 




For the last 6 years I have been looking for a house.

Not just any old house, but a house that we can afford, and actually live in. It sounds easy enough, but the housing market, here in Silicon Valley, is crazy.

I recently found a "crack house", that no one really did crack in,(but if it was in a different neighborhood they would have). It was listed at 729,000.
I walked through the place and found 2 bedrooms that were just plain sheet rock, a laundry room with a huge pipe running through the middle, and lots of ugly flooring, wallpaper and mold.

I got excited. I thought no one would want this place. Maybe we can under bid them and make it ours.

That is what the bay area has driven me to. I now think that unfinished, moldy, bare piped homes are a fine place to raise a family. I know the mold would have to go, but the rest I could live with for a while.

Alas, the crack house was not meant to be mine. It sold for 713,000; which was out of our price range. So I am back to looking.

I still am holding out hope that somewhere out there is a little house that will be mine, but until then I am scouting nasty little houses that I hope nobody else wants.

No longer the " Young Married"

I remember when we moved to California; we were young, kid-less and full of promise.
I had time to paint my nails, style my long flowing hair,and put thought into my wardrobe choices.

Boy, how things change in 6 years.

The realization that I am no longer part of the young, hip crowd just hit me today when a cute girl introduced herself in church. She was a newly wed of two weeks and 19!!

So I did a little quick math and she was in grade school when I got married. I don't see how that could be possible, but sadly, the numbers don't lie.

The interesting thing is, I still feel like her.

I still feel young and fresh, and full of promise; but the truth is I am middle-aged-ish, with fluffy hair, (that my husband just happens to cut(and no he's not a beautician)) and bare, unpainted nails, a rotating wardrobe that is beginning to take on the look of a uniform, and a few kids to finish off the whole unorganized, mom-ish, not-so-young anymore package!

Do you think she, or any other 19 year old newly wed, would want to come over for dinner sometime?

I think they might, and then I remember that they don't have kids and that there is a possibility that they aren't used to screaming and crying at the dinner table. Not that they would really mind, but then again, they might have to put off having kids of their own for a long time because of it.

I fondly remember my young married years. I loved my "older" friends with kids. They were interesting and witty and a great example of how I wanted to be in 5 to 10 years. I just didn't think I would become them so quickly. Yet here I am. With all the baggage that they had, if not more, still feeling young and hip, but not quite either.

I always knew I was headed to where I am, a mom-life, I just thought I would feel more mom-ish. I still feel like me, and its surprising. I thought my inner feelings would mirror my outer changes, but inside I still feel basically the same.

I can't be the only one. I know there are more women out there who are young inside, but maybe have a few kids and some stretch marks.

I am still fun, but I have to schedule a babysitter to go to a movie; I still paint my nails, on occasion, but I have to lock the bathroom door; I still care about my looks, but clothes are about function not fashion.

Getting older, and wiser, isn't bad but I think I let catch me by surprise. Maybe that's just how it happens.

No one wakes up each morning and thinks,"I am one day older and further from relating to young people who aren't in my stage of life." (If you find yourself doing this, seek professional help.)

The Miracle Called Mr. Mom

My husband is really amazing.

He's smart, funny, handsome, and perfectly capable of caring for our kids without me.

I went away for the weekend and he never called for advice, he took our girls to our 3 hours of church with combed hair and matching shoes, and cooked, yes cooked, nutritious meals 3 days in a row.

I am so proud!!

You know, I got married with high hopes that my husband would be good with our kids, and we would share household duties and he would appreciate me.

I feel like I hit the jack pot.

It was so fun to call and talk to our three year old and have her be so excited because Dad had just taken her to the library, and cooked her salmon with broccoli and spinach, and they were going to put little sister to bed and have a perfect "Buddy" night, complete with a game of "go fish" and a snuggle up movie on the couch.

She was beyond happy, and so was I.

My Mr. Mom is almost perfect. I just need to train him to give a good massage and he is golden.

My life is blessed to have a Mr. Mom who picks up my slack and loves me unconditionally.

I wish more women so lucky. Maybe I should hire him out for lessons..? Hmm...

I can do anything I want!!

What do you say when your precocious three year old puts her hands on her hips and tells you that its fine if she wants to wear a fleece skirt and ratty old t-shirt to church, because she can do anything she wants!?

I know I responded inappropriately.

I tried hard not to, but I couldn't stop myself. I laughed. Right there while I was looking into her eyes, where she couldn't mistake that I thought what she had just said about being the head cheese was funny.

I know, I know that was the worst thing I could have done. I know that I just reinforced the behavior, and that I am guaranteed to see it again, but if you just could have seen it, her delivery was priceless.

She wasn't even trying to sass me. She just said it all in a matter of fact tone.


J: Mom, I can wear this. I promise its okay.

me: Its not okay honey. We wear our church clothes to church.

J: No, I can wear this its fine.

me: no honey I really need you to change your clothes.

J: Mom its okay I can wear this because I can do anything I want to do. (she didn't raise her voice at all. I was just like it was a regular conversation about the weather.)

me: (I tried to stifle it, to hold it in, but I couldn't, and then I laughed. Not long and hard, but I smiled and chuckled, and she saw me, and she knew that somehow in that little statement she had gained power.)

I am doomed!!

She did change her clothes before church without much fuss, but her response has left me with lots to think about...

How, and when was this line of thinking established?
What have I done to reinforce this feeling of power?
What in the heck is going on in the mind of my three year old?
Does she really think she is She-Ra, Princess of power?
What am I supposed to do with this?
Should I have punished her?

I have been replaying some of the instances that may have left her feeling all powerful. This is what I came up with for the last week.

-The trip to target where she got the sand toys she was really wanting. She thought it was through her powers of persuasion, I thought that it was getting warm enough to play in the sand.

-The day she got the ballet outfit she really wanted, even though she doesn't take a ballet class.

-The fact that I cut all the crust off her bread. Every stinking, long living day!

(I hate this one!! In our house you can pick one thing to be picky about. She picked crust. It all came about when her cousin wanted her apple skin removed Ju-be thought that sounded great. I had to shoot from the hip. There was no way I was cutting off apple skins too, so the rule of having only one eating thing to be weird about was born. It is now referred to weekly. You may want to instate it at your house. It prevents you from doing things like seeding a cucumber or picking the cheese out of the middle of lasagna.)

-The days that I let them build tents out of all the blankets and chairs in the house.

-The fact that she now brushes her own hair. (Yes, at three I have already given up)

Maybe all this indulgence is going straight to her cute little curly head, and now she thinks she is the princess of power. Then again maybe she was just spouting out something one of her little preschool friends said.

I really hope it is the latter.

I don't like thinking that my 3 year old just turned 16 and I am in for a long road of behavior modification. I hate behavior modification.

I wonder if maybe she will some how morph into a nerdy, shy, little book worm who's only desire is to please her parents and be a righteous example to her peer group, who then after graduating high school develops into a very attractive, interesting woman with a PhD who wants to better the world by caring for her children in her home.

I let you know when that all happens.

For now I am off to put princess of power to bed!


-

A good Sunday Wrastle

I love Sunday. It is a day that is different from the rest of the week.

I like to go to church, listen to the sermon, and enjoy the music; but lately the listening aspect is not happening for me. The sermon is still being given, and musical numbers issue forth, but lately I have been engaged in a vigorous, pew enclosed, wrastling match.

Now for those of you who aren't familiar with the term; wrastling is different than wrestling. In wrestling there are rules. There is no screaming or biting in wrestling. You would be disqualified. But in wrastling, well, anything goes.

My 20 month old daughter, has been working her way up the pro wrastling circuit. She has some sweet moves.
I think she may have learned a few new ones today from one of the other wrastling matches in the pew across from us.

Here are a few of the basics that are used over and over by toddlers in our region.

When you are loosing a wrastling match, throwing a sharp heeled, glitter encrusted, "pretty" shoe may get you out of the tight fisted dress hold. The emptying of any cheerios or other quiet snack food onto the meeting room floor may lead to escape to the isle points. You may also find that screaming during a prayer is an effective way to disarm your opponent.
My personal favorite is the nasty dirty diaper trick. I loose to that move all the time.!!

Some people gain things from Sunday services that effect their life in a positive way. Recently all I've been getting from our meetings is a frizzy hair do and crumbs down my shirt.

I am so excited for wrastling season to be over. I have high hopes that someday we will all sit quietly in the pew, listen to the speakers and sing the hymns on key.

Until then I need to brush up on my skills. Next week I will emerge victorious!


... or at least settle on a truce.

Me and my knee; A re-post

I guest posted this at Mormon Mommy Wars awhile back.


I am a regular mom. I have 2 girls, 3 and 18 months, and a boy, who I have most of his life, but give back to his real family after 6pm. I am also one of those tragic souls who was thwarted by nature from getting the families "skinny" genes. Therefore I am an exerciser. Now, I am not obsessed with regaining my high school pant size, but just maintaining cheek bones and a single chin. That said, I am also one who is plagued by exercise induced knee pain. After trying all the recommended ways to restore my limb to health I broke down and had knee surgery.
Nothing serious, just clean up a little here, scrape a little there sort of thing. Everything went fine,( although I did feel very vulnerable in that little gown they make you wear. If they are operating on my knee, why am I as naked as Eve in the garden??? ). So home I went with a pair of crutches and the instructions to remove the bandage in three days. Three days pass slowly with 3 kids and a crutch laden mother, but we made it to the day of the wound unveiling. It was Saturday morning, and loaded up on prescription meds I was feeling fine. I crutched my way to the bathroom to, you know, go to the bathroom and my littlest girl followed me. ( I'm sure I am not alone in never being alone in the bathroom.) While I was sitting there I decided to take a peek at my knee under all that gauze and tape. It was really an opportune time. I was there and my knee wasn't hidden by knee length under clothes or pants. Perfect. So I unwound the bandage and took a quick look. Now I am not someone that has a problem with wounds. I grew up cattle ranching, and working for a Veterinarian, so I have seen my share of blood and guts, but for some reason the fact that it was my blood and my guts was a little disturbing. I suddenly felt faint. So I did what ever one knows to do when you feel faint. I put my head between my knees, and... I fainted. Next thing I remember, my husband is standing over me saying"WHAT are you DOING??!!" At the time I didn't know what I was doing. I found myself lying awkwardly on the floor. My head was crammed into the corner where the tub, wall ,and tile meet. My knee hurt, my head hurt, and yes; in the words of my three year old, my bum was naked. Oh the Humanity!!! Apparently I had been lying there for awhile. My DH thought that the baby had dropped something. ( Yeah, a 150 lb. Momma) So, after hearing nothing from me he sauntered down the hall to take a look. And there I was in all my glory. My exposed nether region facing the door.
There is something that binds you closely to someone when the pull up your under ware as you lie on the floor in a heap.
I have a greater love for my husband because of that not so simple act of charity. And the fact that he refrained from laughing until after he helped me to bed.

I hope you all can have a good chuckle after reading this, and know that before you peek at a mortal wound, put a pillow on the floor just in case.

No Glitz, No Glam, I'm Still Okay

I am just a regular gal.
Sometimes I find myself thinking I could do more. I could be someone amazing in the "real" world.
I have no real career to speak of. I am a mom. I do mom things, with kids who have dried booger trails, and stained shirt fronts.
I love what I do, but sometimes I hesitate when people ask me about my vocation.

Hey what's your name?__________. I'm Abby.. Nice to meet you.

Oh you're a nuclear physicist?

Wow.

Me?

I"m a stay-a-home-mom.

I know, I know. It is such an amazing career choice. It's been really hard to pick a specialty, but right now I am leaning toward a PHD in potty training. I am still interested in play-doh and stick figures, but maybe I can have a double minor.
(okay, so I made that response up, but if my world were perfect, it could happen like that.)

Sometimes I feel like making up some really interesting vocation, just to spice things up, but I am not good at lying...and I am glad that I am home with my kids.

I am happy to be shaping the future generation. I just wish that it sounded glitzier. I want a mini-van to be cool, edgy,and hot, and diaper bags to be the newest rage.

Okay...
Maybe, what I really want is to seem accomplished and intelligent. Because I choose to stay home with my kids doesn't mean that I couldn't hack it in the business world.

I think I need to work on a new title. Stay-at-home-mom is well used. Maybe I should tell people I am a milestone development specialist, and that I dabble in arts and crafts,
That way if they send their kids off to day care every day they won't feel judged by the fact that I don't, and we can all be friends.

I Like Preschool

Today I went to preschool.

I took the triple threat with me; Ju-Be, Little Reggie, and Poly Pocket. (Poly's mom and I swap baby care and car pooling. Today I had the car pooling, hence the triple instead of the double threat.)

I belong to a preschool co-op. Which means that 28 times a year I get to see what really happens when 15 three year olds gather in one place. (Most parents only get to go 14 times, but two kids equals twice the fun.)

Before I started working in preschool I far underestimated the abilities of three year old children. They are capable of oh-so much.

Here was todays breakdown:

15 children can complete the most elaborate valentines day calendar known to man in the alotted 45 minutes. (they also were able to encase a baby food jar lid in play-doh shapes as well, but that was someone elses sucess. I don't have the stats on that one.)

12 are concious about glue conservation.

10 can complete the project without tears or complaining.

9 can write their name un-aided.

8 can cut effectively with scissors

6 are sticker hogs

5 write their name backwards (all boys? I hear thatis common)

4 don't like pink hearts (once again all boys)

3 think glue is an inexhaustable resource

2 shouldn't handle permanent markers (who sets out permanent markers for a group of three year olds?)

And
1 Is proof that all scissors should be blunted on the end until adult hood, and possibly beyond.

All in all it was a successful day. No one wet their pants, there were no second degree burns as a result of improper pancake making edicut, no one went home early because of foot and mouth disease, and I can finally understand the little boy with the speech impediment. Sweet!

As I buckled the triple threat into their car seats I thought about how much I really like working at preschool. Its nice to be reminded that no one else's kids are perfect, but that we all keep trying. For me thats what preschool is all about. If at first you don't succeed try, try again. And they do! (Most of them)

My kids are funny

Ju-Be is really quiet funny. She is 3, and adds her own twist to life.


This morning she and Little Reggie (3yr. old boy that comes to play 40+ hours a week) were playing on my bed. Apparently they were having a tea party. I entered, a dialogue ensued...

J.: Mom, we are having a tea party

me: Fun, you and Little Reggie are such good friends

J.:Mom, you can't just be in here with our tea party

me:why?

J.:Welllll, because all our brothers and sisters are here at the party and they really don't know what to do if you are here, so you really need to leave. Now. please, mom.

me:Who are your brothers and sisters?

J: Well there's Connie, Alice, and Manuel,....... Frances, and Jacob, but not Mindy.
.
Me: Why not Mindy?

J: She's not here mom, because... She is really dead.
She is dead because she smoked a lot. She made some bad choices and now she's dead.

me: Um, I'm sorry to hear about Mindy. (this was my first knowledge of Mindy)(and my first glimpse at the internalization ,by a 3 yr. old,of the whole smoking kills thing. I need to work out the dramatics.)

J.:Its okay mom she'll be fine cause she is just in heaven.
All my brothers and sisters are still in heaven because Daddy says you are taking a long time to have more kids; so all I have is one little sister and that's not enough.

Now can you please go, we are trying to have a tea party!

Needless to say, I had to go.

It is amazing the things you can learn when you crash a tea party.
Poor Mindy. I bet she was a really nice gal.