Uhg bluh bluh blah bluh. Yada yada blah predada. Yippiekiaye and a dub dub dub.
Blah blah blah bla blah. BTW: those new honey chipolte chicken fingers at Chili's are pretty darn good. Why did my daughter just tell the cat to "shut your pie-hole?" Oh yes, that would be one of the beautifuly artistic words her dad uses (Grrrrrrrr!). Anyway, what was I saying?
Ahhhhhhhuuhhhhhhhh. Blurp. Slurp. Plop. Blop. Blip. Zlip. Bloop. Frop. Flizzle. Slirch. Uh bluh bluh blee blee bluh. Yes, brain powering down now...blewewewew. Bluzzz...zzzzz.zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
La La Land
Where is it? I don't know, but buy me a ticket and get me on board! I do suppose, though, that La La Land is different for everyone, as their own personalities enjoy, or detest, for that matter. Today's been a toughie.
It started off with me not getting out of bed before 9AM. Yes, that meant that I was not feeling well, which, infact (which is technically two words and not one), I am..or I am not...feeling well, that is. Secondly, not waking up before 9AM also means that the children, the smaller ones that don't have concrete chores, have been running amuck, eating granola on the couches and spilling it into every room, including the bathroom. And, naturally, I had just swpet, vacuumed and mopped the floors yesterday (Murphy's Law).
Then came the gum incident. Obi put gum in Kassi's hair becuase he was mad at her (not normal behaviour for him, he's not feeling well, either). The gum was still wet enough with saliva, I was able to pick the hairs out of the gum, one by one--no cutting needed. As I was doing this, I gave Kass a large piece of gum and told her to start chewing. When I was done with her hair, I had her put her piece of gum into Obi's hair, which I then squished around until his hair was all matted up. He started running around screaming as if I'd just lit him on fire (which, by the way, I have never done--you don't work for CPS do you?). He got sent to his bedroom, screaming, and I came back upstairs to escape the drama.
I look out the window, and sure enough, there's an officer of sorts knocking on my neighbor's door. Wonderful. From expereince, I know that if Obi is in his room screaming and throwing a fit, he is able to be heard from outside the house, thanks to single-pained, old dirty windows. So, I go back downstairs, into the Den of Drama, and tell him to be quiet if he ever wants to see the light of day again.
I come back upstairs to hear the phone ringing. It's someone I don't really care to talk to...ever. They leave a message and I am befuddled by their absolute lack of common sense. I hit myself in the head just to make myself feel better. Then comes the drama from outside. Someone fell off their bike while riding and now needs surgery. Then the neighbor kid comes over to show us pictures of her dad (which is still married to her mom) with his girlfriend and their child. Of course, her little brother is a byproduct of her mom spending time with her boyfriend, not her husbnad. How sweet. Then it's lunchtime.
I tell Obi that after lunch he's going straight to bed. He's smart enough, he doesn't touch his lunch. I'm so tired I could pass out, so I do the only sensible thing--eat a piece of chocolate truffle cheesecake (which I had made for the luncheon I was going to have tomorrow, which the black-masked Flu decided to ruin for me). When one is feeling ill, cheesecake, as wonderful as it may seem, is not the answer. So, there I am, regretting my chocolate lovers decision, ready to puke on the little boy who won't eat his lunch.
I ended up cutting the gum out of Obi's hair (which was my indirect way of reminding said little boy's father that he needed to give said child a hair cut about 2 weeks ago), listening with empty empathy to how funny he'll look with his new hair cut. I offer to buzz his head, he wails and moans about how nobody will come to his birthday party becuase he'll have funny looking hair. And I thought I was the irrational one!
Drama, drama, and more drama.
I finally get the kids in bed, and I lay down for my much needed nap, only to have to phone ring. I wasn't going to answer it, but some much-too-well-trained child eagerly raced for the phone and brought it to me--how thoughtful.
And now I sit in my thrift store chair, reclined, in my pajamas, head hurting, body aching, and hands ready to strangle the whining child who got delegted to MY bed (wait--how'd that happen?). Yes, I am a desperate housewife in need of plastic surgery and a tummy tuck, then a vacation in the Bahamas with a pet monkey named Jack. That, or I'm just a flu-struck woman in need of a magic wand and a new wardrobe.
Ahhh, La La Land. Now there's a question, what would my La La Land look like? Well, for starters, it wouldn't be 92 degrees. Let's think more in the 70's range--how about 72? Yes, it's a delightful 72 degrees, the skies are blue with gloriously ginormous white, puffy clouds. Only well mannered, disciplined children play on the streets of La La Land and old couples stroll along, arm in arm, smiling at all the wonderful, disciplined children, who eagerly pick up the trash along the sidewalk. Wait, that's nice, but that's not my La La Land.....
My La La Land looks more like a homestead. Without telephones. The only neighbors are a few miles away, and they're good, hard workin' folk like yourself. There's an ocean nearby, mountains, too. No big city in the vicinity...oh look, my bubble's already been burst. The monster on my bed is slowly winding down, but still in need of a little "reminder" from La Mama.
As my good friend Arnold always says:
"I watch Oprah and wear pink bunny slippers."
Oh wait, silly me, that's not it....let's try again:
As my good friend Arnold always says:
"I'll be back!"
It started off with me not getting out of bed before 9AM. Yes, that meant that I was not feeling well, which, infact (which is technically two words and not one), I am..or I am not...feeling well, that is. Secondly, not waking up before 9AM also means that the children, the smaller ones that don't have concrete chores, have been running amuck, eating granola on the couches and spilling it into every room, including the bathroom. And, naturally, I had just swpet, vacuumed and mopped the floors yesterday (Murphy's Law).
Then came the gum incident. Obi put gum in Kassi's hair becuase he was mad at her (not normal behaviour for him, he's not feeling well, either). The gum was still wet enough with saliva, I was able to pick the hairs out of the gum, one by one--no cutting needed. As I was doing this, I gave Kass a large piece of gum and told her to start chewing. When I was done with her hair, I had her put her piece of gum into Obi's hair, which I then squished around until his hair was all matted up. He started running around screaming as if I'd just lit him on fire (which, by the way, I have never done--you don't work for CPS do you?). He got sent to his bedroom, screaming, and I came back upstairs to escape the drama.
I look out the window, and sure enough, there's an officer of sorts knocking on my neighbor's door. Wonderful. From expereince, I know that if Obi is in his room screaming and throwing a fit, he is able to be heard from outside the house, thanks to single-pained, old dirty windows. So, I go back downstairs, into the Den of Drama, and tell him to be quiet if he ever wants to see the light of day again.
I come back upstairs to hear the phone ringing. It's someone I don't really care to talk to...ever. They leave a message and I am befuddled by their absolute lack of common sense. I hit myself in the head just to make myself feel better. Then comes the drama from outside. Someone fell off their bike while riding and now needs surgery. Then the neighbor kid comes over to show us pictures of her dad (which is still married to her mom) with his girlfriend and their child. Of course, her little brother is a byproduct of her mom spending time with her boyfriend, not her husbnad. How sweet. Then it's lunchtime.
I tell Obi that after lunch he's going straight to bed. He's smart enough, he doesn't touch his lunch. I'm so tired I could pass out, so I do the only sensible thing--eat a piece of chocolate truffle cheesecake (which I had made for the luncheon I was going to have tomorrow, which the black-masked Flu decided to ruin for me). When one is feeling ill, cheesecake, as wonderful as it may seem, is not the answer. So, there I am, regretting my chocolate lovers decision, ready to puke on the little boy who won't eat his lunch.
I ended up cutting the gum out of Obi's hair (which was my indirect way of reminding said little boy's father that he needed to give said child a hair cut about 2 weeks ago), listening with empty empathy to how funny he'll look with his new hair cut. I offer to buzz his head, he wails and moans about how nobody will come to his birthday party becuase he'll have funny looking hair. And I thought I was the irrational one!
Drama, drama, and more drama.
I finally get the kids in bed, and I lay down for my much needed nap, only to have to phone ring. I wasn't going to answer it, but some much-too-well-trained child eagerly raced for the phone and brought it to me--how thoughtful.
And now I sit in my thrift store chair, reclined, in my pajamas, head hurting, body aching, and hands ready to strangle the whining child who got delegted to MY bed (wait--how'd that happen?). Yes, I am a desperate housewife in need of plastic surgery and a tummy tuck, then a vacation in the Bahamas with a pet monkey named Jack. That, or I'm just a flu-struck woman in need of a magic wand and a new wardrobe.
Ahhh, La La Land. Now there's a question, what would my La La Land look like? Well, for starters, it wouldn't be 92 degrees. Let's think more in the 70's range--how about 72? Yes, it's a delightful 72 degrees, the skies are blue with gloriously ginormous white, puffy clouds. Only well mannered, disciplined children play on the streets of La La Land and old couples stroll along, arm in arm, smiling at all the wonderful, disciplined children, who eagerly pick up the trash along the sidewalk. Wait, that's nice, but that's not my La La Land.....
My La La Land looks more like a homestead. Without telephones. The only neighbors are a few miles away, and they're good, hard workin' folk like yourself. There's an ocean nearby, mountains, too. No big city in the vicinity...oh look, my bubble's already been burst. The monster on my bed is slowly winding down, but still in need of a little "reminder" from La Mama.
As my good friend Arnold always says:
"I watch Oprah and wear pink bunny slippers."
Oh wait, silly me, that's not it....let's try again:
As my good friend Arnold always says:
"I'll be back!"
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