Don't Let the Clothes Fool You

Late the other night I was instant messaging with my friend Sue.

We were talking a little TV (the ER cliffhanger, how the family edition of the Amazing Race made Sue catatonic for weeks,) how serial killers can find you from the Internets (one, maybe both of us have imaginations that could go toe-to-toe with a Kenyan in a marathon,) and the use of adjectives in emails. I really needed to clean the kitchen but didn’t want to leave the computer. I have to say, it’s hard to type and scrub at the very same time, that’s how the baby got scratches on his face and why the tub is still filthy.

I had a thought: If ONLY there was a WAY where I could IM her but it would be TALKING so my hands would be free.

Dear Alexander Graham Bell and/or Elisha Gray,

Sorry.

Sincerely,

Imsuchanerd

When is a Gallon of Milk Not a Gallon of Milk?

If you were part of a certain generation, your parents were concerned with squeezing the most out of a dollar and the pantry. They read pamphlets, they exchanged bargain ideas, and they rinsed out zip loc bags. You’re saying to yourself, what could possibly be so different now? Sure these days we budget, save, and prepare, but trust me, we are not going to the same lengths.

Are you a part of that certain generation?

* Your mom would buy a gallon of milk from the store and that gallon never ran dry.
At first, your heart leapt to see the gallon come out of the paper bag from the store. Then, under the cover of nightfall, mom would gradually mix in reconstituted powdered milk into the store-bought gallon. YOU AREN’T FOOLING US, mom!
Never-ending gallons do not exist, not even in Zion.
Eventually, mom would break down and buy another gallon of milk (to start it all over again.)
I mean, I guess it was better than the way they usually tried to get you to drink powdered milk: slightly warm, because the powder dissolves easier in warm water. The sickeningly sweet smell with just a hint of sour wafted out of the beige pitcher as the milk sloshed against the sides. Know what’s better than powdered milk?
A glass of water and eating your cereal dry.

* Peanut butter that you had to stir.
The great grease slick at the top of the jar that would make a thunk sound as you plunged in the spoon. The jars of Skippy at your friends' houses seemed so...glamorous.

* Your dad would give you a couple of tablespoons of wheat to chew.
Not wheat flour, actual wheat grains poured into your hand. You were supposed to chew these because they made gum. And the wheat did make gum, but guess what? WRIGLEY’S IS ONLY A DIME. Why did we have 50 pound bags of wheat hanging out in our basement? So you could grind wheat and make your own bread, of course. All four of us used to beg and plead for ‘store-bought’ bread. Oh, store-bought bread! It was so soft! The thick, crusty loaves my dad pulled out of the oven? NO, THANKS! Why couldn’t we just have Wonder Bread like everyone else?

My parents went the extra mile: making their own yogurt in a bowl they’d set above the hot water heater, toasting their own granola, and the time dad tried to make his own malt. There even were homemade Tootsie Rolls (because why buy Tootsie Rolls? Do you know how much money you can save by making your own Tootsie Rolls?) Believe me, that recipe was a hot ticket around Edgemont.

So tell me, were your parents reading the same pamphlets as mine? Did you can peaches and put up tomatoes? Spend an afternoon at the Welfare (charity) farm picking cherries? Or were you one of the lucky ones: Wonder Bread for your sandwich and pudding cups in your lunch—oh, and real gum?

-I was reminded about all of this in an IM convo that I had with Sue. You need to read her take on this subject. Warning, you'll learn about something called 'chocolate treat', are you prepared?

Sundays and Annie

I decided to introduce El Guille to one of the classics of modern cinema: Annie! We had a brief conversation about what orphans are and got down to watching the movie. In the opening scene Annie was singing about what she hoped her parents were like "Bet they collect things/Like ashtrays, and art!" when all of a sudden something happened...

Did you know that the children in that movie were all ORPHANS?

That none of them had PARENTS? And they're all at this orphanage with no one to clean their clothes, comb their hair, put them to bed at a reasonable hour and to LOVE them? That my children have a MOM and aren't they LUCKY? I started sobbing for the poor orphan children who had no one to love them. I think I covered it up pretty well by wiping my eyes on a t-shirt I'd just folded. El Guille was too engrossed in Hard Knock Life to notice my tears for the grubby girls of Hudson Street Home (which is an ORPHANAGE.) Nice one. Realizing that the girls were all orphans (with no MOMS) almost took the spark out of Miss Hannigan's brilliance. Almost.

My one request for Mother's Day is that I get breakfast in bed. Other Half's request is to buy all the ingredients and leave the recipe on the counter. I almost reconsidered my request when the smoke filled the hallway. I guess french toast isn't foolproof.

My breakfast was delivered by Other Half, one child who kept hitting the siren button on his new fire engine, and one that cried the whole time because I CAN'T BE PUT DOWN IT'S A HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATION--I NEED TO BE NEXT TO YOU ALWAYS, EVEN WHEN YOU ARE EATING, COOKING, SLEEPING, NEED TO USE THE FACILITIES, OR BREATHING.
"I found out that french toast is better when you use more butter," Other Half says in wonder.
"More butter is always better," I say under my breath.

The rest of the day passed like any other Sunday: wrestling with the children in church to pretend we have some semblance of control. My church uses the little paper cups for the sacrament. I have fond memories of undoing the pleating on the paper cups as a child and using the expanded 3" circle to make some sort of paper craft. I undid the pleating for El Guille, to see how his imagination would take flight. He immediately put the flat paper on his head like a hat, turned around in the pew, and showed off for the little red-headed girl two rows back. He put the paper at a rakish angle, he crumpled it up, he undid the paper, put it back on his head like a yarmulke, all for the benefit of the giggling girl behind him. I didn't know whether to laugh at his attempts to impress her, roll my eyes because he's 4.5 and already a ham for girls, or become more flustered because my children are practically bouncing through the air during the service. I settled for a combination of all three.

When it was time for the children to go up front to sing for the mothers, El Guille was at the very front. He lazily leaned on the stand, making no attempt to sing the songs (which he had been singing to himself in the car all week.) Pretty soon he leaned to far and fell down with a THWACK. He recovered before the verse was over, back to dangling his arms over the side. Other Half leaned over to me and said, "You realize we have the worst behaved child up there, right?"

I just smiled.

Lovely Hideous

Dear El Guille,

I can’t believe this time in our lives is upon us, the time when you start giving me things that you’ve made as presents.

Dear child, I love you to the moon and back and always will. I looked you in the eye and told you that your present was amazing and it made me so happy—and it’s true, your present does make me happy!

However, your present is still ugly.

I will never tell you that to your face, of course. I prefer to have you discover my true feelings when you are 14 and decide (along with the rest of your Freshman class) to go back and read your mothers’ blog entries. For now, I will proudly look at this…tchotchke that is a hot mess of rainbow colors because, as you insisted, “You love rainbows, mama!” I do?

This weekend children all over the land will give their mothers ugly, useless presents from the heart. I think this is how we find out that you can love something ugly, because someone you love gave it to you.

What am I supposed to do with this thing?

And to my mom, sorry about that penguin plate I gave you in the sixth grade; it seemed like a good idea at the time.

You Can Thank Me Later

Something urgent has come across the editor's desk:

Angelina’s having a very hard time, and it’s making her miserable,” a friend revealed to L&S. “The babies are heavy, and she’s exhausted from the weight. The pressure can make it hard for her to breathe at times, and she tires out very easily.” With Angelina’s jet-set lifestyle and hectic work schedule, the affects of low-energy catch up with quickly. “It’s taking a toll on her — she feels exhausted when it’s time to get up,” the close source said. “She and Brad tried a special foam-rubber mattress cover, but nothing helped.” Allegedly, exhaustion isn’t the only problem Angie’s facing. “Angelina’s been feeling weak and nauseated,” the pal added. “She’s upset and disappointed that her nausea returned after going away in the second trimester. And she needs to be very careful about nutrition since she’s been diagnosed with high blood sugar. It’s a very frustrating time for her.
source.

You guys, pregnancy makes Angelina tired. It's so hard!

They bought a new mattress cover. It didn't work!

The pressure of being pregnant makes it hard to breathe! Sometimes eating stuff, or not eating stuff, makes you feel bad.

You guys!

I DIDN'T KNOW THIS STUFF!

I am SO GLAD that the media is working so hard on our collective behalf's to tell us that being pregnant is HARD. I can't imagine what her life is like now that she's pregnant and has to work so hard to support her family. I bet she never gets a break!

Where was this information the last two to three times I was pregnant? THIS IS USEFUL INFORMATION. I mean, if I'd known that you get tired easily when you're pregnant that would have stopped me dead in my fertility tracks. Weak? Nauseated? This is a public service announcement! You can get nausea in your second trimester? I can scarcely believe it, but I guess I have to, Angie's going through it. Pregnancy could affect my jet-set lifestyle? You might as well tell that Atlas to take a hike because this is rocking my world!

I HAD NO IDEA!

Take it Like a Baby

I'm the oldest in my family, explains a lot, doesn't it?

These days I get to see the world from down under. I watch Proximo take the kind of violent love and abuse that only happens among siblings (and stupid teenagers.) From the moment that El Guille jumps into his crib in the morning to wake him up, to the moment El Guille jumps in his crib at night to ‘play,’ Proximo takes it, well, like a baby. In just one day I witnessed that baby get kicked, rolled on, smacked in the car, nearly suffocated with blankets, pinched, hit with a toy, and peed on.

I’M SORRY MOM because I know I did things just as bad to my siblings—except for the P stuff, I’m pretty sure that’s a snips and snails thing.

So thanks, Mom, for having me today all those years ago (even if you don’t read my blog because you can’t be bothered and therefore don’t get to read the apologetic gratitude.)

Oh, and thanks for howling with laughter tonight when I told you that Proximo was his brother’s target practice for the third time in seven days.

(Boys.)

What do I want for my birthday? For my kids not to P on each other.

Too much to ask?

Out Sick

Remember how you always think to yourself, "I wish I was sick, then I could take a day off!"

And then when you get sick you always think to yourself, "This is the worst I've ever felt in my entire life. How could I ever think that being sick was going to be a 'day off'?"

Yeah, me too.




*Picture brought to you today by the I Do it Myself Club (established 2008.)