Ok, first I’d like to announce that I just turned my keyboard over and shook out approximately three baguettes worth of crumbs. I’ll give you all a minute to do the same….
Back? Ok. Now on to my tale of woe.
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A couple of days ago I called in a refill for my allergy medicine. Today, while Violet was seeing the shrink, Jonas and I had about 40 minutes to kill. Should be plenty of time to swing by and pick up a prescription that I’ve already called in, right?
Right?
We get there and there’s a completely empty waiting room. I immediately start trying to think up stuff we can do to occupy our remaining 35 minutes, as this is obviously going to be a 3 second errand.
I wander over to the “Check In” window, and stand there being ignored for a bit. After my polite “excuse me” a guy comes over. I start to hand him my ID and say “I called in a refill for….”, but he interrupts me to tell me to take a number and have a seat until it’s called.
I look over my shoulder at the empty room, then back at him. He seems to be serious.
I take a number. It is 56. The screen is showing 54. There is nobody else around.
After maybe five minutes, they call 55. Nobody comes forward. They do not immediately call 56.
A few minutes more, just when I’m about to have an aneurysm, they call 56. I go up, hand him my ID, he tells me to take a seat and wait for them to call my name.
We wait. And wait. Other people join us. Jonas is having a whale of a time playing with a little blond girl that looks about three years old. They’re dancing and jumping and spinning and laughing. They’re chasing eachother around in circles. They’re racing back and forth across the room. They’re cracking up trying to both squeeze onto one chair together.
Then she pulls up her shirt, shows me a belly full of bumps, and says “My tummy itches!”
I’ve been angry at you for many years. It wasn’t just an everyday eyebrow waxing - it was the day before dining out eyebrow waxing. A week of dress shopping, shoe buying, hair cutting, and nail painting culminated with an eyebrow waxing - and that’s where it all went wrong. You started asking if I’d ever used an eyebrow pencil before, I asked if you were crazy. You said they look “very natural” and I told you (as if you couldn’t tell, up there dealing with them) that I had too MUCH eyebrow, not to LITTLE, and no - I’d never used one. When you were done you didn’t offer me a mirror, and I didn’t notice. I paid you and gave you a nice tip… then went home and discovered it.
The half-brow.
Lady Who Once Waxed Off Half Of My Eyebrow, I was pissed. I called you many, many hurtful names. I ranted about you to Joe and Suz, who (when they were able to pick themselves up off the floor and stop laughing for a minute) were very sympathetic. I wished nasty things on you, like shoulder hair, or a terrible haircut. I’ve carried a grudge for seven long years.
I’m writing today to say that I forgive you. Wax is a tricky medium. Sometimes it’s where it’s not supposed to be, and you can’t tell until after you’ve rrrripped. Eyebrows are not simple like legs. When you wax your legs all you have to do is try to pull out all the hair. Waxing your eyebrows, you have to worry about what you’re leaving behind. That can be tough. Harder than it looks.
So, I’m sorry L.W.O.W.O.H.O.M.E. I underestimated how difficult perfect eyebrows are to attain. I was spoiled from years of professionals making it look effortless. I never realized how easy it would be to screw up. I hope you never grew that shoulder hair.
As always,
Jenn
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Dear everyone else -
I would not advise trying to wax your own eyebrows. No matter how broke you are or how simple it seems. Wax is a tricky medium. Sometimes it’s where it’s not supposed to be, and you can’t tell until after you’ve rrrripped. Eyebrows are not simple like legs. When you wax your legs all you have to do is try to pull out all the hair. Waxing your eyebrows, you have to worry about what you’re leaving behind. That can be tough. Harder than it looks. I’m just sayin - go ahead and leave it to the professionals.
Yes, I realize I’m quite behind on my blogging. Trust me, with so very many of you out there reminding me, it’s not likely I’ll forget entirely. It’s just that I’ve been so busy consuming beer and chocolate with the kiddos this week, I never got around to it.
Please accept these “When my Daddy gets home!” pictures, and my sincerest apologies. Regular posting will resume tomorrow. (Stop snickering. I will totally post. Amusing stories about the kids. Maybe even with pictures. Just as soon as I finish this chocolate bar….)
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When My Daddy Gets Home…
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When My Daddy Gets Home…
This one is probably only funny to me and Joe. You see - he has this basketball hoop in the playroom. The pole is maybe 5 inches wide. When we play hide and seek, he runs right behind it. It’s hysterical. He doesn’t think we can’t see him if he closes his eyes, but he does seem to think that as long as his head/face is hiding, we’ll never spot the rest of him.
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That’s all I have for you now. Yes, really. Go. Run along. Surely you have something more important to be doing than reading blogs about poop. Yeah, you! Off you go. Nothing to see here. I’ll post tomorrow.
Yesterday, Jonas slammed the lid to the toilet down on his balls.
(I’ll pause here, while my male readers go off to the corner to quietly sob. You done? Ok? Alright, we’re back.)
He climbs on backwards, pees, then climbs off. That.. ah.. part of him is the last thing on the seat. Somehow, the lid came down before he was entirely through dismounting. The screams could be heard throughout our building. Violet was on the phone with Joe at the time, so he got to feel the sympathy pains in real time. Today he has one bright red ball. It’s possible that I took a picture of the… ah.. area and sent it to his dad. Let’s hope the FBI doesn’t show up to search my hard drive.
I had another part of this post I was going to do. Something serious and kind of wah wah woe to me. But Violet just handed me this bloggable conversation, and I’d be rude and ungrateful not to use it:
V: No black! No brown! No green!
Me: Whoa! What? When did green get on the NO list?
V: NO GREEN!
M: Why? Since when? You like green!
V: NO GREEN!
M: What about that cute green dress you have? With the flowers? You love that dress!
V: NO GREEN!
M: Well - you’ll have to wear it sometime. I mean, it would be a waste if it just sat there…
V: NO GREEN! My life, my body, my choice. I chose NO GREEN!
How you can tell it’s been too long since you updated your blog:
Your husband stops harassing you in private (phone, email, chat), and takes his beef public in the comments section.
Your decidedly un-crafty brother gets desperate enough for reading material that he starts reading your other blog. (Of course, he doesn’t have kids, either, and that hasn’t stopped him from reading this one… )
Your kid does something cute, and asks “Are you going to write about that on your blog? Or do you not do that anymore?” (Yes, really.)
So for those wondering how we’re doing… eh. Same old same old. Violet is increasingly difficult. We had a meet-and-greet appointment with the therapist last Thursday, and she goes tomorrow for her first real session. So hopefully it helps (couldn’t possibly hurt.)
Jonas has officially switched back to the “good child” role. I know, it’s incredible to think that my little Terrorist is the Good Child, but there it is. She’s gotten so bad she outranks “Terrorist”. I have some creative new nicknames for her, but non I can type here (or ever say out loud…. )
I am attempting to over-schedule us so we just don’t have time to fight. It’s working pretty well, except I don’t have time to clean or take a shower, either. We have swim classes and ballet and hip hop and therapy and twice a week I watch other kids (I know! More children! I’ve obviously lost my mind right along with Violet.) and it’s just all very crazy right now.
We do have fun times. We do. V has gotten so much better at reading, she reads to her brother when we’re in line at the post office, or the waiting room of the doctor. She reads signs in the store. She read the movie schedule and now knows that Wall-E is playing on Friday, so forget bbq’s and fireworks, we’ll be at the movies.
Jonas is obsessed, OBSESSED, with bowling and skateboarding. I have no idea how one gets so fixated on such random things. There’s a skate-park here on base, and when we’re driving/walking past it we have to slow waaaaaaaaaaay down… even if there is nobody there. “Dat’s for SKATEBOARDING!” I’m thinking I’ll get him a scooter soon, and work our way up from there.
Violet is a little fish in the water. Now that she’s getting actual instruction, she’s doing proper strokes, swimming on her back, etc. I have no doubt that at the end of the week she’ll get promoted to level 2, which means next week when the new classes start she’ll be about 2 years younger than everyone else in her level. She just loooooves the water. Loves it.
And now, I’ll leave you with a little glimpse into my daily life. Let me set the scene - I’ve just gotten up, I’m bleary eyed, wondering where my slippers are, trying to open shutters and find my pony-tail holder at the same time, and really really really need to pee.
Me: Ok, kiddos - there’s Sesame Street. Just let me run to the potty and I’ll come back and get you breakfast.
Jonas: (Laying very still on top of his bear on the couch, eyes on Elmo.)
Violet: and THEN in my dream ARIEL was there and we were swimming and singing and there was a party and all the other mermaids came but WE were the PRETTIEST ones because we had the SPARKLIEST TAILS and it was sooo fun and blah blah blah…
Me: (doing the pee-pee dance, waiting for her to take a breath…) Hon? That sounds AMAZING. I’m just going to go potty and you can tell me all about it in a second, ok?
Jonas: (Hasn’t moved. May have entered an early-morning fugue state.)
Violet: Ok, Mommy. Oh! But let me just tell you THIS! There were MUSICIANS at the party! And… (and she’s off again.)
Me: (seriously squirming, wondering if she will explode if I just walk away..) Violet? Hon? I’m just gonna…
Violet: I know, Mommy, I know. Just let me tell you this ONE thing and then you can go, ok? This ONE thing is SUPER NEAT - you will LOVE IT! Blahblahblah blahbiddyblah blah blah blah…..
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It’s a good thing that having these kids didn’t adversely affect my bladder control. Geesh.
I’m searching the baby book and there’s no page for this one, so I figured I’d put it here. It’s a major milestone! How could they not have a spot for it? You ready? Wait for it….
Today, I made Violet’s very first ever appointment with a therapist!
Seriously - I can’t tell if I’m a kick-ass Mom for getting her help when she needs it, or a complete failure for not being enough. I suspect the latter. She was fine, happy, well adjusted when Joe was here. Not-quite-four weeks of me and she’s off to therapy. This means something…
For those of you who are thinking about calling me to talk about this, you should be aware of the fact that Joe told me yesterday that he probably almost definitely will not be home till August, instead of the original July 13 date. So in one conversation I went from “halfway done!” to “almost two more months to go!” If I don’t answer the phone it’s because I’m too busy A) eating everything in sight or B) screaming into a pillow.
- If you are dreaming about kissing Sawyer, one of your children is guaranteed to wake you up before it gets interesting. (Not that the kissing wasn’t interesting. Mmmm. Stubbly.) If you are dreaming about being at a Hannah Montana concert (kill me now), they will let you sleep long enough for encores and attempting to get backstage for autographs. I wish I were kidding.
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- If you are bending over the trash can, pulling out an extremely yucky bag that should have been taken to the dumpster 2 weeks ago, it will be tempting to breath through your mouth (you know - that skill you have honed with 4 years of changing diapers? ) You may want to rethink that plan, however, as it makes it distressingly easy to inhale a disgusting flying trash bug that grew in your can thanks to the neglected garbage. I’m still coughing.
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- If you have an idea for a blog post that involves several unrelated “observations”, and you’re figuring out the order and wording in your head all day - go ahead and jot them down on a post it. Just one keyword for each point would be enough. That way when your son finally stops yelling that he DOESN’T WANT BED! HE JUST WANTS TO GO BOWLING! and you have a chance to actually blog… you’ll be able to remember more than two of them.
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- Kung Fu Panda is awesome.
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That’s all. I’m off to bed to attempt to recharge my brain. Hopefully Hannah will not be making any appearances tonight. (Sawyer - call me!)
Hopefully that was entertaining enough for my brother. Jeesh, Aaron, aren’t there some Star Trek or video game bloggers you could be harassing?
Happy Father’s Day, everyone. I’m going to start oldest first here, as I am the oldest child and always thought that “youngest goes first” rule was ridiculous.
Happy Father’s Day to my Poppy. The man who walked me around and around and around the block, through the golf course, and basically anywhere else I wanted to go as a child. The man who made up the “Jennifer is a pretty little girl” song when I was a baby (a classic. With lyrics like that, how can you go wrong?) The man who had me believing that Mother Goose nursery rhymes were actually songs, so that as an adult when I heard someone sing-songing one to their baby I thought “She doesn’t even know the right tune!” Heh.
Happy Father’s Day to my Dad. In my mind, the man is always singing or playing a musical instrument. He tells a story better than anyone I know, is universally well liked, and told one throw-away joke 9 years ago that I still laugh about every time I hear someone with a French accent. (In the cheesiest, most exaggerated accent imaginable (think Louie from The Little Mermaid) - “And here we have the snails! They do not taste very good, but they are veeeery easy to catch!” )
Happy Father’s Day to my Stepfather, Vic. He chauffeured me to countless places as a teen, and tried very, very hard to teach me to turn off the lights when I leave the room (It’s still his voice I hear in my head when I discover my closet light has been on for eight hours.) He will play ball with Jonas for hours, and will talk to either kid on the phone for as long as they like. He’s fantastic.
And Happy Father’s Day to Joe. He plays dress-up with the Twink (who can forget those pictures I put up on the website of him in the tiara and butterfly wings?), wrestles with Jonas (re: gets his butt kicked by Jonas), takes them off my hands every night that he’s here, in an effort to save my sanity, and is all around the best Dad on the planet (no offense to the previously mentioned Dads )
Since the day he left, I’ve been working on a photo project for his Father’s Day gift. I’ve been slowly but surely putting it together, then last week on the very day I had set as my deadline to finish it up and click “send” he emails me that what he really wants for FD is this. Huh. Well, it’s both extravagant and practical. It’s something he can really use - hell, it’s something *I* can steal and use…. Sure. Sure I’ll get him that.
Of course now we have the problem of all my hard work. I said something like “I’ll just save it for another time”, but really that isn’t going to work. I’ve made a photobook called “When My Daddy Gets Home”, and it’s full of the things the kids are interested in right *now*, and full of pictures of how they look right *now*, and it really won’t work as a Christmas gift (unless he’s gone again… ack, hope I haven’t jinxed myself here), and I can’t just save it until the next time he deploys because who knows how their interests will change and the photos will be all out of date and.. and…
Urgh.
I’ll be damned if it just disappears. I had to download new software and everything to make this thing. It was creative AND geeky and I love it and don’t want to see it scrapped. So I came to the executive decision to just post the images here! Genius. No more $$$ spent on an actual book, but he can still look at them any time he wants… and the rest of you can see them too. Perfect.
I’ve got a lot of these, and I don’t want to blow the whole thing on one post, so I’m just going to give you two at a time. I present to you - pages one and two of “When My Daddy Gets Home”…..
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When My Daddy Gets Home…
Yeah - if you can’t read that, it says “Mom will be SO JEALOUS of our love!” because this is what I hear all the time. Whenever I protest being referred to as the “old wife” or how Violet yells at me for hugging or kissing “her husband”, I’m told that I’m “just jealous.” These two are both so annoying - they deserve each other.
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When My Daddy Gets Home…
Yes, I realize that “soccer ball” isn’t a game. Jonas doesn’t realize it, however, and we’re going from their point of view here. Work with me, people.
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And that’s all you get right now. Stay tuned for “We will play HIDE AND SEEK!” because it’s hysterical.
Miss you, Babe. Happy Father’s Day. The kiddos have this for you -
Yes, ‘frazzled’ is a word. Halfway through week 3 over here, and Mommy needs a break. Good news - I have a babysitter tonight, and I’m taking myself to the movies. Bad news - yesterday when I was talking to Joe on the phone, he was telling me that the guy that’s supposed to replace him out there next month is having a really hard time with travel arrangements (shlepping guns into Iraq on commercial airlines is harder than you’d think.)
Me: Is this your sneaky way of letting me know you won’t be home till August when the rotator (military flight) flies?
Joe: uh……
Yeah. “One month deployment” my butt.
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So yeah - frazzled. I’ve decided to just flood this post with pictures and videos of the kids, so I won’t have to come up with a lot of entertaining prose. It’ll be *just like* an update, only with a lot less of those pesky words.
Took this pic of the Twink this morning -
Love this kid.
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Which made me think of this picture I took yesterday -
I love how her top half matches, and her bottom half matches, but the two halves don’t match eachother. Creative.
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And then I thought “Wait - don’t I have another one like this? From when she was dressed up like a bride?”
Note to other Moms - when you suddenly find yourself in desperate need of a bouquet, a bunched-up lei works very nicely.
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What is with this pose? Does she have a zit she’s trying to cover up? A crick in her neck? All I know is I say “Look beautiful!” and this is what I get. Beautiful people have a hand on their face at all times, apparently.
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Took the kids to the park the other day and they were being incredibly photogenic. I took way, way too many good pictures to do something with all of them, but here’s a few for your viewing pleasure -
Uh, no! That’s not me there, wearing overalls. 31 year olds don’t wear overalls. Jeesh. That’s… my 14 year old babysitter! Yeah! What? Oh, yes - she does have freckly arms, just like me. Weird, huh?
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I cannot convince her that this outfit doesn’t really match. “What? The shirt is violet, the skirt is violet, and I am Violet! It’s perfect!” Hard to argue when she’s looking this cute.
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I recently demonstrated the old “do a handstand with your feet braced on the wall” trick, and now she’s obsessed.
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Monkey see, monkey do…
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Yesterday I let them pick out their own outfits. Both of them picked out stuff that *almost* didn’t work, but in the end I think they pulled it off. I present, my little fashionistas -
Couldn’t decide which of these I liked best, so you get all three. I love how out of his entire wardrobe, Jonas picked the shirt that says “Mom”. I didn’t think brown shorts were the right choice, but then he went for those pirate shoes and I think the overall effect works.
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Last Friday, I brought Jonas into the shower with me in the morning, (it’s either that or take the quickest shower known to man, all the while worrying that he’s remodeling the house while I’m in there. Really must get back to the whole “watch ER while lounging in the bath” route to personal hygiene.) and apparently it was exhausting. I say this, because after I’d gotten dressed and brushed my teeth, I went looking for him and found this -
He’s so sweet when he’s unconscious. So cute! So… harmless.
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- at the ridiculous time of 10:15am. I say “ridiculous” because it’s a full 3 - 4 hours before his regularly scheduled nap time. Once again, I found myself unrolling a sleeping kid from a towel and putting a diaper on his unconscious body.
I’ve been sitting on this photo for a week now, but had to share it so you’d have some background for the video I’m about to present. See that pink stuff? That looks like a big pile of feathers? It is. It’s a big pile of feathers. It used to be a feather boa, but now it’s mostly loose feathers and a knotted rope (I’ll take a pic of the naked boa next time I’m thinking about it and it’s not in the room with a sleeping kid. It’s pretty pathetic looking.)
He loves these feathers. It started off with him needing one of maybe two to hold while he went to sleep. But recently, he’s started wandering around the house, gathering them. Then he piles them in the bed. Then he sleeps in there with them, rolling all over them. Then he comes out of his room like this -
I wish I had had the camera rolling when he first wandered out. All warm and flushed, sweaty hair sticking up on one side, and just covered in feathers. Stuck to his neck, stuck to his shirt, all over the bear, several in one sweaty fist, and then this one behind the ear. I laughed so hard I almost fell out of my chair.
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And last but certainly not least - a sleepy, just-woke-up Twink tells us our new favorite joke. Enjoy!
The first video I took of her got scrapped when Jonas, off camera, burped REALLY loudly. Charming.
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And this concludes my lazy mom blog post. Actually, with all the photo resizing and video uploading, the stupid thing took me waaaaaaaaaay longer than just pecking out a funny story would have. But as I’m still too much of a space cadet to think of a funny story, this will have to do. I’ll try again tomorrow. (No, really! Every day till Joe gets home! Remember!)
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