You already know from the Peed Racer post that my son has problems with the initial "S" sound. Yesterday, as the kids were riding scooters in the driveway, I heard the boy scream, "Don't run into me with that cooter!"
Needless to say, we have already begun correcting that speech problem.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Ants
Ants. I hate them. Ugh. My last ant encounter wound up with an entire colony cascading down the kitchen wall as I removed the outlet cover. Ewwwwww! It still gives me the creepy crawlies. That was in the last house.
Now, I have found them in my McMansion (as the locals so kindly call the houses in my neighborhood). Yes, I have a Hummer and live in a McMansion. Suburban yuppie hell. With ants. Grrrrr.
I found them crawling in under the front door, so I sprayed the perimeter and the front door. Then, I found them in the bathroom, which freaked out my son and put a damper on potty training…pardon the pun. Then, I found a crack in the wall by the closet, from which they were crawling. I sprayed it right after I noticed the water damage on the baseboards. That spraying seemed effective, but it raised my concerns about water damage in the middle of the house. This can mean only one thing: plumbing. Yuck.
A week has passed, and Screams-Like-a-Girl found an ant on his racetrack. I inspected, sprayed, and found more water damage. This time, it was under the window and in the corner of the house: water from outside here, not plumbing, thank goodness. And, ants were crawling out from the water-damaged baseboard at the corner.
I have a question: Are the ants releasing liquids and creating the water damage, or is the water-damaged wood very accommodating to the ants? I don’t know what they’re eating because there is no food out there in the living room. They must be wood ants. Sigh. I have not even lived here a year.
On the plus side, this has forced me to get on my hands and knees to look in all kinds of places that I usually overlook. I have found many items to add to my year-end punch list, such as the water damage. So, it’s not all bad, I guess.
Now, I have found them in my McMansion (as the locals so kindly call the houses in my neighborhood). Yes, I have a Hummer and live in a McMansion. Suburban yuppie hell. With ants. Grrrrr.
I found them crawling in under the front door, so I sprayed the perimeter and the front door. Then, I found them in the bathroom, which freaked out my son and put a damper on potty training…pardon the pun. Then, I found a crack in the wall by the closet, from which they were crawling. I sprayed it right after I noticed the water damage on the baseboards. That spraying seemed effective, but it raised my concerns about water damage in the middle of the house. This can mean only one thing: plumbing. Yuck.
A week has passed, and Screams-Like-a-Girl found an ant on his racetrack. I inspected, sprayed, and found more water damage. This time, it was under the window and in the corner of the house: water from outside here, not plumbing, thank goodness. And, ants were crawling out from the water-damaged baseboard at the corner.
I have a question: Are the ants releasing liquids and creating the water damage, or is the water-damaged wood very accommodating to the ants? I don’t know what they’re eating because there is no food out there in the living room. They must be wood ants. Sigh. I have not even lived here a year.
On the plus side, this has forced me to get on my hands and knees to look in all kinds of places that I usually overlook. I have found many items to add to my year-end punch list, such as the water damage. So, it’s not all bad, I guess.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Old Bats and Swords
Highlights from the weekend:
My grandmother visited. We affectionately referred to the trip as “The Farewell Tour.” Yes, it sounds like I will go to hell for that comment, but the woman disinherited me last year when I wouldn’t leave the job I just started and pack up my children to come stare at her in the hospital. Clearly, she didn’t have one foot out the door then, so I was justified. I really don’t want any inheritance from her anyway, so that’s not what I was in it for, and the fact that she assumed such is just an insult. Then, she accused my mother of trying to kill her, so any inkling of forgiveness went right out the window. Moral of the story: watch what you say when you become old and crazy. Your passive aggressive, grudge-holding progeny will spurn you.
Her visit was such a joy. I got to sit in the dining room and watch her breath and cough. Then, my uncle changed the oxygen tank. Oh, that was exciting! Happy, happy, joy, joy.
Somebody kill me before I hit 90, please. I do not want to be confined to an oxygen tank, surrounded by my rotten grandchildren who claim I am on my farewell tour.
On a happier note, today was Hide-and-Seek-Sword-Fight Tuesday. I maintain that I still have it when it comes to hiding, and I always win the sword fights. No way am I going to let my kids win. They need to learn the spirit of competition. The only way the kids beat me is when they slay me in the eye. I usually let my guard down when that happens. Maybe I’ll wise up and wear my glasses next time. For those of you not in the know, this is almost like hide-and-seek, but with foam swords. When the hider is found, the seeker and hider engage in a battle to the loss, which means whoever loses the sword loses the match. The loser counts, and it starts all over again.
Of course, then the swords became missiles. We fought and giggled until my daughter claimed she was going to throw up. We judiciously decided to take a break at that point.
Tomorrow is Take-a-Walk-and-Shoot-the-Neighbors Wednesday. We like to pretend we are astronauts who have landed on a strange new planet. We shoot everyone we see as we yell, “Ahhhh! It’s another alien!” Most of the neighbors are familiar with the game by now. Thank goodness. At first, things were a little awkward, but now it’s all good.
My grandmother visited. We affectionately referred to the trip as “The Farewell Tour.” Yes, it sounds like I will go to hell for that comment, but the woman disinherited me last year when I wouldn’t leave the job I just started and pack up my children to come stare at her in the hospital. Clearly, she didn’t have one foot out the door then, so I was justified. I really don’t want any inheritance from her anyway, so that’s not what I was in it for, and the fact that she assumed such is just an insult. Then, she accused my mother of trying to kill her, so any inkling of forgiveness went right out the window. Moral of the story: watch what you say when you become old and crazy. Your passive aggressive, grudge-holding progeny will spurn you.
Her visit was such a joy. I got to sit in the dining room and watch her breath and cough. Then, my uncle changed the oxygen tank. Oh, that was exciting! Happy, happy, joy, joy.
Somebody kill me before I hit 90, please. I do not want to be confined to an oxygen tank, surrounded by my rotten grandchildren who claim I am on my farewell tour.
On a happier note, today was Hide-and-Seek-Sword-Fight Tuesday. I maintain that I still have it when it comes to hiding, and I always win the sword fights. No way am I going to let my kids win. They need to learn the spirit of competition. The only way the kids beat me is when they slay me in the eye. I usually let my guard down when that happens. Maybe I’ll wise up and wear my glasses next time. For those of you not in the know, this is almost like hide-and-seek, but with foam swords. When the hider is found, the seeker and hider engage in a battle to the loss, which means whoever loses the sword loses the match. The loser counts, and it starts all over again.
Of course, then the swords became missiles. We fought and giggled until my daughter claimed she was going to throw up. We judiciously decided to take a break at that point.
Tomorrow is Take-a-Walk-and-Shoot-the-Neighbors Wednesday. We like to pretend we are astronauts who have landed on a strange new planet. We shoot everyone we see as we yell, “Ahhhh! It’s another alien!” Most of the neighbors are familiar with the game by now. Thank goodness. At first, things were a little awkward, but now it’s all good.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Lunch in Action Figure Land
A conversation between Scooby Doo’s gang and the guys from Speed Racer.
Topic: why my daughter is not eating lunch.
Daphne: Gee, Fred, I don’t think M is eating lunch.
Fred: Hmmm, Daph, I think you’re right. Let’s check it out. We should split up. Velma, Shaggy, and Scoob, you go inspect the dust bunnies behind the fridge while Daphne and I get a closer look at M’s lunch.
Scooby: Wimper.
Shaggy: Well, Scoob, it looks like we’re stuck behind the spooky fridge again. Like, I hope we don’t run into any of those not-groovy ants!
Velma: Oh, no, my glasses!
Meanwhile, Speed and Racer X squeal to a halt by M’s plate.
Speed: This looks like there might be trouble here. Be on the lookout for Snake Oiler.
X: No, Speed, the raspberries have secret weapons. Look out!
Fred: (crouching beside the Mystery Machine) Wow, Daphne, look at those cars. What do you think they’re up to?
Daphne: Gee willikers, Fred, they must have something to do with M’s not eating lunch.
Fred: You stay here, Daphne. I’m going to get a closer look.
Daphne: Well, Fred, that driver with the blue shirt looks kind of cute. I could just use my girlish charm to ask him what he’s doing.
Fred: Well…okay Daphne, but give me the signal if anything goes wrong.
Daphne: (having crossed over to the plate) Hi, I’m Daphne. I am here with some friends. Our van broke down over there by the back door.
Speed: Oh, I’m Speed Racer. We had to stop to try to get around these raspberries in the road.
At this point, Spritle jumps out of the trunk of the Mach 5, but Chim Chim is nowhere to be found because he’s on safari in the family room.
Speed: Oh, no, Spritle, what are you doing here? It’s not safe for you. Pops is going to blow his top! But I would really like to race on a team…sigh.
Daphne: We need to get to the bottom of this mystery: why isn’t M eating her lunch?
At this point, M picks up Daphne and throws her across the kitchen. Next, Spritle hurtles across the room. Daphne yells calmly for help. Spritle’s arm is broken badly upon impact He manages to survive all of those races completely unharmed in the trunk of the Mach 5, but one kitchen hurtle takes him to death’s door.
Fred: Oh, no, they’ve got Daphne. Come on, gang!
Shaggy: Like, come on Scoob. Maybe there’s some pizza on that side of the kitchen!
Update: After some major surgery and some latex intervention, Spritle’s arm is ok for now. Daphne was saved by Racer X, but in the scuffle, X lost an arm. It was successfully reattached at the shoulder, but the doctor warned that since it has been popped out of the socket once, recurrent dislocations are likely to occur with less force than sustained in the initial injury. X will have to take it easy.
The raspberries were eaten after Fred called the sheriff. M’s last words: I would have gotten away without the berries if it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog!
Topic: why my daughter is not eating lunch.
Daphne: Gee, Fred, I don’t think M is eating lunch.
Fred: Hmmm, Daph, I think you’re right. Let’s check it out. We should split up. Velma, Shaggy, and Scoob, you go inspect the dust bunnies behind the fridge while Daphne and I get a closer look at M’s lunch.
Scooby: Wimper.
Shaggy: Well, Scoob, it looks like we’re stuck behind the spooky fridge again. Like, I hope we don’t run into any of those not-groovy ants!
Velma: Oh, no, my glasses!
Meanwhile, Speed and Racer X squeal to a halt by M’s plate.
Speed: This looks like there might be trouble here. Be on the lookout for Snake Oiler.
X: No, Speed, the raspberries have secret weapons. Look out!
Fred: (crouching beside the Mystery Machine) Wow, Daphne, look at those cars. What do you think they’re up to?
Daphne: Gee willikers, Fred, they must have something to do with M’s not eating lunch.
Fred: You stay here, Daphne. I’m going to get a closer look.
Daphne: Well, Fred, that driver with the blue shirt looks kind of cute. I could just use my girlish charm to ask him what he’s doing.
Fred: Well…okay Daphne, but give me the signal if anything goes wrong.
Daphne: (having crossed over to the plate) Hi, I’m Daphne. I am here with some friends. Our van broke down over there by the back door.
Speed: Oh, I’m Speed Racer. We had to stop to try to get around these raspberries in the road.
At this point, Spritle jumps out of the trunk of the Mach 5, but Chim Chim is nowhere to be found because he’s on safari in the family room.
Speed: Oh, no, Spritle, what are you doing here? It’s not safe for you. Pops is going to blow his top! But I would really like to race on a team…sigh.
Daphne: We need to get to the bottom of this mystery: why isn’t M eating her lunch?
At this point, M picks up Daphne and throws her across the kitchen. Next, Spritle hurtles across the room. Daphne yells calmly for help. Spritle’s arm is broken badly upon impact He manages to survive all of those races completely unharmed in the trunk of the Mach 5, but one kitchen hurtle takes him to death’s door.
Fred: Oh, no, they’ve got Daphne. Come on, gang!
Shaggy: Like, come on Scoob. Maybe there’s some pizza on that side of the kitchen!
Update: After some major surgery and some latex intervention, Spritle’s arm is ok for now. Daphne was saved by Racer X, but in the scuffle, X lost an arm. It was successfully reattached at the shoulder, but the doctor warned that since it has been popped out of the socket once, recurrent dislocations are likely to occur with less force than sustained in the initial injury. X will have to take it easy.
The raspberries were eaten after Fred called the sheriff. M’s last words: I would have gotten away without the berries if it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog!
Monday, June 23, 2008
Awesome Audio Cables
It's a good blogging day here in Delaware. News of odd:
June 5: Man killed by an avalanche of soybeans. Actually, this is a sad story. He was buried by the beans while trying to repair machinery in the silo at a hatchery. I guess he fixed it. That's irony.
June 16: Dairy farm burns: $1 million in damage. We actually saw this one. Rural Delaware does not have many fire hydrants. Trucks sprayed the fire and then had to drive about 2 miles to refill at the nearest hydrant, which is only there because a new school is being built. Thank goodness for overcrowding. Good to know that all of the cows were saved. Farmers from neighboring towns, including towns in Maryland, transported the cows to their own farms for milking. Apparently, cows become ill if not milked. Anyone who has ever breast fed knows the reality there. What I want to know is, is there a farmer phone tree?
Unrelated News
June 5: Man killed by an avalanche of soybeans. Actually, this is a sad story. He was buried by the beans while trying to repair machinery in the silo at a hatchery. I guess he fixed it. That's irony.
June 16: Dairy farm burns: $1 million in damage. We actually saw this one. Rural Delaware does not have many fire hydrants. Trucks sprayed the fire and then had to drive about 2 miles to refill at the nearest hydrant, which is only there because a new school is being built. Thank goodness for overcrowding. Good to know that all of the cows were saved. Farmers from neighboring towns, including towns in Maryland, transported the cows to their own farms for milking. Apparently, cows become ill if not milked. Anyone who has ever breast fed knows the reality there. What I want to know is, is there a farmer phone tree?
Unrelated News
Check out some of the funniest Amazon reviews. This product is an audio cable being sold for $499. MSRP: $500. Savings: $1. But shipping is free!
And there are more. Here's the link:
CABLES
And there are more. Here's the link:
CABLES
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Buckets in the Sun
Have you seen the scene in the movie Parenthood in which the little boy puts the bucket over his head and runs around? Well, that was my son today. I looked up, and there he was across the yard, bucket over his head, running full speed into oblivion. He managed to make it to the swingset and even climbed up the ladder into the fort. That was when I had to speak up: "Do not go down the slide with the bucket over your head!"
Oh, yeah, the brain cells are being killed off by the minute. Mine or his, I don't know.
As we were picking strawberries today, my daughter walked alongside, pelting herself on the head just to prove the point that she does not hurt herself when she hits herself. Yes, you read that correctly. It was spawned by my refusal to let her and her friend dig through a pile of rubbish in search of a mouse we had seen. I told them the mouse would bite. They wanted to know if it would kill them. I guess if it's not fatal, it's ok. I told them it would likely not bring about their untimely demise, but it would hurt. That's when the self-beating began.
Were we all like this?
I cannot wait for some time to myself, or some time with people who do not wet their pants and hit themselves. I have lined up a babysitter for August 9th: going to see Neil Diamond!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can't wait. I am going with my husband and my parents. We're taking a limo. WE ARE SO COOL! At least I know none of use will wet our pants or hit ourselves. I cannot speak for Neil.
Oh, yeah, the brain cells are being killed off by the minute. Mine or his, I don't know.
As we were picking strawberries today, my daughter walked alongside, pelting herself on the head just to prove the point that she does not hurt herself when she hits herself. Yes, you read that correctly. It was spawned by my refusal to let her and her friend dig through a pile of rubbish in search of a mouse we had seen. I told them the mouse would bite. They wanted to know if it would kill them. I guess if it's not fatal, it's ok. I told them it would likely not bring about their untimely demise, but it would hurt. That's when the self-beating began.
Were we all like this?
I cannot wait for some time to myself, or some time with people who do not wet their pants and hit themselves. I have lined up a babysitter for August 9th: going to see Neil Diamond!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can't wait. I am going with my husband and my parents. We're taking a limo. WE ARE SO COOL! At least I know none of use will wet our pants or hit ourselves. I cannot speak for Neil.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Start of Summer
Yesterday was my first day of summer vacation. How did I celebrate it? With a pelvic exam! Now, I get to have a mammogram, woo hoo! I know, TMI. Really, though, I think I am entirely too young to need a mammogram. This sucks.
I was also on a seemingly endless search for those cheep, white, plastic chairs to use outside. I see them advertised for $4.99, but no one ever has them in stock. Although it seems pretty trivial, it is driving me insane. It most certainly is not the greatest of my worries, but it is the one I have chosen to fixate on. Stupid chairs.
In other news, our swingset arrived! It is sturdily constructed by the Amish and should last forever. Here’s the best part: the men were supposed to arrive at 7:00 A.M. I waited…and waited…and waited. I needed to get to work, but I needed to show them where to build it before I did so. They arrived at 8:10, just after I marked the ground with spray paint. An Amish man in full Amish garb got out of the truck, apologized for being late, and promptly explained that we were not on the GPS or Mapquest. I had to giggle. Apparently, the Amish are not what they used to be. And if you’re thinking he was a Mennonite, nope—good old Amish. Or new Amish. I bet his phone is making its way closer to the house every day.
I was also on a seemingly endless search for those cheep, white, plastic chairs to use outside. I see them advertised for $4.99, but no one ever has them in stock. Although it seems pretty trivial, it is driving me insane. It most certainly is not the greatest of my worries, but it is the one I have chosen to fixate on. Stupid chairs.
In other news, our swingset arrived! It is sturdily constructed by the Amish and should last forever. Here’s the best part: the men were supposed to arrive at 7:00 A.M. I waited…and waited…and waited. I needed to get to work, but I needed to show them where to build it before I did so. They arrived at 8:10, just after I marked the ground with spray paint. An Amish man in full Amish garb got out of the truck, apologized for being late, and promptly explained that we were not on the GPS or Mapquest. I had to giggle. Apparently, the Amish are not what they used to be. And if you’re thinking he was a Mennonite, nope—good old Amish. Or new Amish. I bet his phone is making its way closer to the house every day.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Happy Mother’s Day!
If you find humor in the following questions and comments, you are a good mom, or you are very good friends with a good mom.
1. Well, when was the last time you pooped?
(It’s all about poop: what makes it, what’s in it, where it is, and how frequently it happens.)
2. Let me just admire your hair—really closely.
(Lice: they’re out there, and they’re looking for your child.)
3. Hmmmm, well, everyone misses the potty now and then. Let’s at least be sure we aim for something in the bathroom.
4. If you eat just one bite of something healthy, you can have all of the chips in the world.
(Small children are capable of surviving on cheese curls and Doritos.)
5. Let’s just wipe that off.
(A child under the age of 10 can wear an entire pizza on his or her face and have no recollection of seeing the food in the first place.)
6. Please don’t try to climb on my lap while I am on the potty.
(Separation anxiety.)
7. Those are boobies, not handles.
(I don’t know why God put them within reach of three-foot-tall clingy children. They really don’t assist in climbing at all. If anything, this explains why they begin to droop after children. The more children, the more drooping.)
8. Please don’t cry—I can fix that.
(Thank God for Gorilla Glue!)
9. You need a costume by tomorrow? No problem. I don’t need sleep, and WalMart is open 24 hours.
(Only the best are willing to make that 2:00 A.M. trip. Some odd creatures shop before the sun comes up—odd creatures other than sleep deprived mothers.)
10. Oh, well, you shouldn’t eat your boogies. I know they taste fantastic, but that gets your fingers slimy.
1. Well, when was the last time you pooped?
(It’s all about poop: what makes it, what’s in it, where it is, and how frequently it happens.)
2. Let me just admire your hair—really closely.
(Lice: they’re out there, and they’re looking for your child.)
3. Hmmmm, well, everyone misses the potty now and then. Let’s at least be sure we aim for something in the bathroom.
4. If you eat just one bite of something healthy, you can have all of the chips in the world.
(Small children are capable of surviving on cheese curls and Doritos.)
5. Let’s just wipe that off.
(A child under the age of 10 can wear an entire pizza on his or her face and have no recollection of seeing the food in the first place.)
6. Please don’t try to climb on my lap while I am on the potty.
(Separation anxiety.)
7. Those are boobies, not handles.
(I don’t know why God put them within reach of three-foot-tall clingy children. They really don’t assist in climbing at all. If anything, this explains why they begin to droop after children. The more children, the more drooping.)
8. Please don’t cry—I can fix that.
(Thank God for Gorilla Glue!)
9. You need a costume by tomorrow? No problem. I don’t need sleep, and WalMart is open 24 hours.
(Only the best are willing to make that 2:00 A.M. trip. Some odd creatures shop before the sun comes up—odd creatures other than sleep deprived mothers.)
10. Oh, well, you shouldn’t eat your boogies. I know they taste fantastic, but that gets your fingers slimy.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Newsflash!
My three-year-old son has informed me that it is perfectly acceptable to use potty words in the bathroom. Just so you know. It's OK.
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