Friday, August 24, 2007

Well I'll be gull-durned, I've been given my first blogging award!


I'd like to thank Barb over at mom2momlounge.com for her thoughtful gesture. You're a peach, Barb!

Next on the agenda is my nomination for sainthood for the trials and tribulations endured by way of 'high-maintenance' child. Cera, patron saint of nutty moms everywhere.

Barb also tagged me for some sort of blog-tag-thingy (I do believe that's the technical term) in which I post '8 Random Facts About Me.' I'm a little behind in reading dear Barbie's blog, so please forgive me while I catch up with this fun bliggity-blog stuff.

8 Random Facts About Me
* I don't know how to create bullets on Blogger. Asterisks will have to do.
* I'm a stickler for proper spelling and grammar. My friends would say 'fanatic,' to whom I would say, 'i' before 'e' or bust, bitches! Except after 'c.' Let's not get carried away.
* I may have a touch of OCD. I feel it's important to do many things in even numbers. For instance, if I had been asked to list 9 Random Facts About Me, I would have politely declined.
* I think beauty-mark-type, tiny piercings just above the lip rock.
* I will probably never get said piercing.
* Because I am a needle-phobic. I don't mind blood, I don't mind pain (not that I'm INTO pain, you freak), but there is just something about the idea of a hollow...gag...steel...retch...Ok, moving on...
* I get a huge kick out of dressing my boys alike. It's my one solace in not having had a girl.
* I'd love to write a book. A big, fat novel that demands to be read straight through and leaves you thinking for weeks afterwards, not to mention running to the bookstore to beg to be put on the waiting list for my next book. This is my dream. Until then, a-blogging I shall be.

It's high time I wrote something substantive, don't you think?

Julian is growing in leaps and bounds. He's fairly tall and thin for his age (18 months), but has this ever-expanding Buddha belly that is hilarious to behold. Especially funny when he's running around nekky, as he does most scorchingly hot summer evenings, playing in the pool and whatnot.

Every day he improves upon his limited vocabulary and social skills (alas, still lacking the word 'share' in said vocabulary). He is better able to play with Spencer and therefore spends less time residing all up in my ass (HAAALELUJAH! HAAALELUJAH!). My ass is grateful.

JuJuBee is also better able to play by himself these days, I've noticed. For instance, he played perfectly quietly while I read a story to Spence the other night. A little too quietly, which should have been a trigger to me...The End, I say to Spence, and look up to see the Bee happily feeding our mail back out the mail slot and into the rainy evening. Lovely.

Spence, for his part, has been quite understanding as we tread these new waters of big brotherhood. As the Bee is better able to play with him, he strives to include him in his activities...and tries really hard not to be upset when Julian tires of the game and simply snatches all toys involved and takes off at a dead run. And here comes the worst part...Even though I SWORE I wouldn't be one of those parents, I find myself saying witty little things like, "Just GIVE it to him, PUH-LEEZE! Please, Spence, please, just give it to him...I'll buy you another one! You can watch cartoons on Mommy's TV, you can have a cookie, just please, for the love of God and eardrums, just GIVE it to him, NOW!"

I suck. I considered myself a fairly exceptional mother of one. As a mother of two, it turns out, I completely suck. Didn't see that one coming.

So we're moving right along, folks, can't say we're the Cleavers, but then again June never had to deal with a nekky toddler trying her patience, did she? Not to mention the Mother's Little Helpers that aren't around these days either. Aaahh, June, you should see us now. This world is a crazy one to be raising children in, that's for sure, so I suppose if your kids are a little nutty to begin with, that actually probably helps. As for myself, I shall be enjoying a glass or 6 of wine tonight, and hopefully getting into some very un-June-like naughtiness with the old man.

P.S. A big WHASSUP GIRRRL goes out to the lovely Tiff, who has passed her GRE with such high scores that schools are now afraid to accept her, for fear she will put their other students to shame. You go girl.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Well it's begun. The beginning of the end. Julian, my honey Bee, has started his transfer from the 'mobile infants' room at daycare to the...drumroll please...'toddler' room. For the first time, he's complacent and I feel like crying. Funny little role reversal there.

I fully realize I'm dragging my feet here, but I simply refuse to do otherwise. And you can't make me! Waahhh!!

Julian, you see, is the baby of the family, and as such will forever be My Baby. I'm sure that when his 45-year-old ass stops by to introduce his new wife, or whatever, I will still address him as My Baby. And probably glare at his old lady. Aren't I awful?

I wish I had more time to delve into the subject, dear Reader(s), but I fear the work is piling up around me, literally, so I must return to the trenches or suffer the consequences.

Wishing everyone a wonderful day! Enjoy the summer!!

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Controversial Points of Common Courtesy:

You want to do the right thing. At least I hope you do. So what, pray tell, is the right thing under these circumstances...

Where to look when riding with others in an elevator. At your shoes? At the floor ticker display? At the other people in a futile effort to make friends? Or perhaps all of these, in rapid succession, because you're trying to establish a reputation as an eccentric madwoman. Success!

What ringtone to set your cell phone to, and how high to set the volume of said ringtone. If you're still attempting to confirm that don't-eff-with-me-because-I'm-effing-crazy reputation, or for the fun of annoying every other living being you encounter, feel free to select Rapper of the Moment/Britney Spears/reggae/salsa and crank that shit.

What to say to a parent who seems hell-bent on setting up a playdate with you. Sure, I'll call you? Maybe next millenium? Your kid seems Ok, but the jury's still out on your greasy ass?

Perhaps for Christmas, and for my own sanity, everyone will receive a little Miss Manners quick-reference guide in his or her stocking. Unless, of course, you're earnestly shooting for that devil-may-care attitude, in which case, rock on.