You can always tell how unproductive I've been, or how depressed I am, by the state of my home...
...And it is currently spotless, which translates to me being a complete, and mental basketcase.
I've always bemoaned the sad state of my cupboards to Jim, and he always points out the hours I've spent writing, taking pictures, and playing with the kids. Well right now half my kitchen has been overhauled, Jim's dresser has been emptied, sorted and reorganized, and I have bags of stuff ready for the Salvation Army. Conversely, my camera and I aren't on speaking terms, the dog is hiding under the table, and the kids are watching Wonder Pets.
I was supposed to feel a wonderful sense of accomplishment at the sanitized state of my home, but instead I feel...well...still ho hum. Not only is my ability to create, and accomplish anything at an all time low, but I'm also not likely to succeed at proper housekeeping any time soon either. Because lets fact it, I really like to look at my toilets as fungal gardens, and my floors as 24hr soup kitchen for colonies of antenaed insects. It's also not going to win me any points with the more orderly people in my life when I prove yet again that my skills lay more in the picking up and putting away of toys, than they do in cleaning and reorganizing.
I'm not sure if I'm in the minority on this, or if other people only deep clean their house when they are depressed too. On a side note, if anyone has any tips on keeping ones house clean, I'm all ears (because maybe I'm not truly a hopeless case). The petrified state of certain spiders found in the dark recesses of my shelves was alarming.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
When I was a child running around tying together adult's shoelaces, scaling trees that said "no climbing" and walking through doors that said "employees only", I did it mostly out of ignorance (except maybe the shoe tying). I don't know if I just wasn't observant, or that restaurants held a confusing number of doors in the hallway for a little girl on a mad dash mission to the bathroom, but whatever the case, I would invariably get stopped mid antic by some stern, scary looking man who quite literally scared the crap out of me. They'd throw a few gruff words in my direction, and I would hightail it out of there in mortification. This weekend I realized I'm now married to one of those scary-ass men.
We were camping at the Agua Caliente hotsprings this weekend with a host of family/friends, which was mucho fun and enjoyable... except for the (boy scout?) troop of boys two campsites over. Every time one of them made the mistake of walking through our campsite, Jim would go over and tell them to get out. After watching two or three kids go positively wide eyed in terror, their heads bobbing up and down as they agreed to never ever touch a toe in our campsite as long as they lived, it suddenly occurred to me that my husband perhaps looks a little intimidating with his mohawk, unshaven appearance and glowering, sleep deprived expression. In Jim's defense, the boys were climbing in the canyon above our heads at midnight. At 1 a.m. we were all laying in our sleeping bags listening to the agonizingly awkward conversation between an adolescent boy and his would-be girlfriend sitting on a rock next to our tent (apparently they missed the memo about tents lacking a sound barrier and all that). At 2 a.m. they were swearing at each other over their lack of tent setting skills, and by 5:30 a.m. they already bright eyed and bushy tailed, standing in the middle of our sleeping campsite, yelling across the campground at their friends. Count it, that's three and a half hours of sleep for all of us. Even though I was as annoyed and sleep deprived as everyone else, I have to admit I had a fair bit of sympathy for the unfortunate miscreants who wandered across Jim's radar. I'm pretty sure I committed the same irritating sins at their age... With the exact same result.
We were camping at the Agua Caliente hotsprings this weekend with a host of family/friends, which was mucho fun and enjoyable... except for the (boy scout?) troop of boys two campsites over. Every time one of them made the mistake of walking through our campsite, Jim would go over and tell them to get out. After watching two or three kids go positively wide eyed in terror, their heads bobbing up and down as they agreed to never ever touch a toe in our campsite as long as they lived, it suddenly occurred to me that my husband perhaps looks a little intimidating with his mohawk, unshaven appearance and glowering, sleep deprived expression. In Jim's defense, the boys were climbing in the canyon above our heads at midnight. At 1 a.m. we were all laying in our sleeping bags listening to the agonizingly awkward conversation between an adolescent boy and his would-be girlfriend sitting on a rock next to our tent (apparently they missed the memo about tents lacking a sound barrier and all that). At 2 a.m. they were swearing at each other over their lack of tent setting skills, and by 5:30 a.m. they already bright eyed and bushy tailed, standing in the middle of our sleeping campsite, yelling across the campground at their friends. Count it, that's three and a half hours of sleep for all of us. Even though I was as annoyed and sleep deprived as everyone else, I have to admit I had a fair bit of sympathy for the unfortunate miscreants who wandered across Jim's radar. I'm pretty sure I committed the same irritating sins at their age... With the exact same result.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Life on the hill
Jamie uses a tea infuser to catch tiny pretend butterflies. Cute except for the part where he keeps opening the door to release the butterflies and the dog runs out to chase the rabbits on the lawn. Apparently we have a lot of invisible butterflies in this house. That and the constant Monster infestation we always have, while little tea balls may be good for catching butterflies it takes a big yoga ball to take out a monster. The 32 inch sphere is supposed to be my computer chair to help me build core muscles, but instead it flies around the house taking out gremlins and other suspicious creatures hiding behind the couch.
Charlie (although not on crack, or alcohol or any other known substance other than copious amounts of yogurt) is...well odd. He spins round and round before collapsing on the floor in laughter before he gets up and does it again. He also boogies everywhere, all the time, and eats like he's a starting linebacker for a Texas highschool. His pediatrician however is worried because he's so scrawny he doesn't even register on the growth chart. Considering I was the smallest person in every sunday school class until I was 16 makes me think it's more genetic than malnourishment, but I'm still spiking all his food with whole fat yogurt or olive oil. Jamie and I (as firstborns) want to know though, is it normal for second-borns to be an emotional comedian from sunup to sundown? We're quite dubious. We just want to know that wearing underwear on your head while climbing a dresser, falling down in giggles and climbing back up it, is expected behavior.
I'm so far in over this whole book writing thing, it's not even funny. I'm totally and completely stuck and I'd throw the whole thing in the trash if Jim wouldn't growl at me. I've read so much good stuff lately and so much bad stuff that uncomfortably resembles my own writing that it's left me more blocked than processed-carb-fed-human (dont think about that one too long). I cant give up though, and as much as I'd like to throw in the towel, it's just a matter of "when" rather than "if". I'd appreciate any techniques or help if anyone has them. Right now my characters are boring me to tears. Someone please rescue them.
Charlie (although not on crack, or alcohol or any other known substance other than copious amounts of yogurt) is...well odd. He spins round and round before collapsing on the floor in laughter before he gets up and does it again. He also boogies everywhere, all the time, and eats like he's a starting linebacker for a Texas highschool. His pediatrician however is worried because he's so scrawny he doesn't even register on the growth chart. Considering I was the smallest person in every sunday school class until I was 16 makes me think it's more genetic than malnourishment, but I'm still spiking all his food with whole fat yogurt or olive oil. Jamie and I (as firstborns) want to know though, is it normal for second-borns to be an emotional comedian from sunup to sundown? We're quite dubious. We just want to know that wearing underwear on your head while climbing a dresser, falling down in giggles and climbing back up it, is expected behavior.
I'm so far in over this whole book writing thing, it's not even funny. I'm totally and completely stuck and I'd throw the whole thing in the trash if Jim wouldn't growl at me. I've read so much good stuff lately and so much bad stuff that uncomfortably resembles my own writing that it's left me more blocked than processed-carb-fed-human (dont think about that one too long). I cant give up though, and as much as I'd like to throw in the towel, it's just a matter of "when" rather than "if". I'd appreciate any techniques or help if anyone has them. Right now my characters are boring me to tears. Someone please rescue them.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Rubber Rooms and Hill Fairies
There are few things I dislike more than pizza which puts me somewhere in between a person with no soul and a person with no taste. Or maybe both. I'm eating it now and it actually tastes good, which proves what kind of day I've had; It may or may not be the first thing I've eaten all day. (and should also reassure anyone that I can and will eat pizza happily if you serve it to me at your house).
Sometimes I'm convinced I was born with the missing genetics to be a mom. You know how they tell you your own baby's wails in the middle of the night will wake you up? Wrong. As evidenced by my parents once coming into Jamie's room in the wee hours of the morning to find his newborn self screaming bloody murder while Jim and I were passed out on the floor. Sleep deprivation does have its limits.
The pediatrician happens to agree I'm a horrible mother. They called today at 4pm "Mrs Ramsey, were you going to bring Charles in for his TB check?" Crap. They are seriously the only practitioner/therapist/doctor we have or ever have had that didn't give reminder calls (our dentist will even text you a reminder). I survive on reminder calls. I know I shouldn't, but the truth of the matter is I can hardly remember to take eat breakfast most days let alone remember that Charlie's vaccines on Tues included a TB shot that needed to be checked in 2-3 days. The stone-cold lady at the front desk had no mercy on me, and I am dutifully repentant.
I was already having a bad day, but by the time I spent over an hour in rush hour traffic for a ten second confirmation my son doesn't have tuberculosis, I literally got home and wanted to scream into a pillow...until I heard Jamie screaming outside. I rushed to see what the problem was, only to find it was a happy conversation between him and "my friend in the hill", because yes Jamie discovered his echo today.
We laid down on a rock and yelled at the echoes till Jim got home with beer and pizza. Good man.
Sometimes I'm convinced I was born with the missing genetics to be a mom. You know how they tell you your own baby's wails in the middle of the night will wake you up? Wrong. As evidenced by my parents once coming into Jamie's room in the wee hours of the morning to find his newborn self screaming bloody murder while Jim and I were passed out on the floor. Sleep deprivation does have its limits.
The pediatrician happens to agree I'm a horrible mother. They called today at 4pm "Mrs Ramsey, were you going to bring Charles in for his TB check?" Crap. They are seriously the only practitioner/therapist/doctor we have or ever have had that didn't give reminder calls (our dentist will even text you a reminder). I survive on reminder calls. I know I shouldn't, but the truth of the matter is I can hardly remember to take eat breakfast most days let alone remember that Charlie's vaccines on Tues included a TB shot that needed to be checked in 2-3 days. The stone-cold lady at the front desk had no mercy on me, and I am dutifully repentant.
I was already having a bad day, but by the time I spent over an hour in rush hour traffic for a ten second confirmation my son doesn't have tuberculosis, I literally got home and wanted to scream into a pillow...until I heard Jamie screaming outside. I rushed to see what the problem was, only to find it was a happy conversation between him and "my friend in the hill", because yes Jamie discovered his echo today.
We laid down on a rock and yelled at the echoes till Jim got home with beer and pizza. Good man.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Don't Ask
Jim shaved his head four years ago. It looked awful, but I love him and I love who he is, and if he wants to rock the shaved head look, then far be it from me to disagree.
...Until he shaved it the second time. I really thought the first time was also the last (got it out of his system), but for someone who has a disgustingly thick head of hair, he sure isn't suitably fond of it. The second time he shaved it, we were supposed to go out on a double date, with friends who were in from out of town. I came home from work, having dropped off the kids on the way home, and when I walked through the door there was some axe murderer in my bathroom. I shrieked a little. It was Jim of course, totally springing the badass look on me unexpectedly. Several years went by before I recovered sufficiently to not start sputtering every time he mentioned doing it again.
And it's not that I don't like the shaved look, but rather just Jim with a shaved head. He looks kind of scary. The kids however disagree with me, or at least Jamie does. He's been begging me all day if he can have hair like daddy, because yes, Jim shaved his head again. Although this time he's sporting a mohawk for a few days before it all disappears.
Somehow (don't ask me how) a few months ago, we both decided it would be cool to shave our heads together. For him it would just be more of the kind of change he loves to embrace, for me it would have shaken my world, rocked my vanity and pretty much left me wondering who I was. I wanted to do it, I really did. And maybe someday I'll work up the nerve to find out who the curly-less side of me is, but this time I chickened out. :-( As a compromise I got it cut short and dyed dark red. Jim loves it. I'm still trying to figure out if I like it or not.
...Until he shaved it the second time. I really thought the first time was also the last (got it out of his system), but for someone who has a disgustingly thick head of hair, he sure isn't suitably fond of it. The second time he shaved it, we were supposed to go out on a double date, with friends who were in from out of town. I came home from work, having dropped off the kids on the way home, and when I walked through the door there was some axe murderer in my bathroom. I shrieked a little. It was Jim of course, totally springing the badass look on me unexpectedly. Several years went by before I recovered sufficiently to not start sputtering every time he mentioned doing it again.
And it's not that I don't like the shaved look, but rather just Jim with a shaved head. He looks kind of scary. The kids however disagree with me, or at least Jamie does. He's been begging me all day if he can have hair like daddy, because yes, Jim shaved his head again. Although this time he's sporting a mohawk for a few days before it all disappears.
Somehow (don't ask me how) a few months ago, we both decided it would be cool to shave our heads together. For him it would just be more of the kind of change he loves to embrace, for me it would have shaken my world, rocked my vanity and pretty much left me wondering who I was. I wanted to do it, I really did. And maybe someday I'll work up the nerve to find out who the curly-less side of me is, but this time I chickened out. :-( As a compromise I got it cut short and dyed dark red. Jim loves it. I'm still trying to figure out if I like it or not.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The Lonesome Leper
Jamie got bit by some sort of bug on Friday, we put the heal all miracle salve on it, kissed it with magical kissing powers and told him not to itch it. By Sunday it became apparent bugs had nothing to do with it; his arm had erupted into a full scale attack of poison oak. Where he got himself an armful of poison oak was the mystery of the century, but we do have a dog that likes to chase rabbits so we used our super powerful deduction skills and blamed it on the dog (besides, the dog can't talk to defend himself). Even a Dr agreed it was poison oak or contact dermatitis of some kind. Fast forward through a few play dates, a half a dozen errands, and a large swath of people through San Diego who have been the recipient of Jamie's hugs (or whacks) and when Tuesday evening found him incapacitated from the pain on his arm, I knew we were in trouble.
This morning I called the Pediatrician and they said to bring him in asap, but to sit in the hall till we were called. You know it can't be a good sign when you aren't even allowed in the sick room. 30 min in the hallway, 10 min getting vitals, 20 seconds for the doctor to pronounce judgment: Shingles. How my four year old baby got an old persons disease like shingles is beyond all comprehension. I didn't even know kids could get it. But apparently it's fairly common these days because of the chicken pox vaccination. Something about kids carrying just enough antibodies to never get the chicken pox, but not enough antibodies to resist shingles. You don't even have to have a compromised immune system or a high stress job. Who-da-thunk?
To add insult upon injury, I specifically told them not to give my kids the chicken pox vaccination. Somewhere, somehow, the MA didn't get the memo and she accidentally gave it to him anyway. Short of demanding she suck the poison from my son's veins, there was nothing I could do but throw a fit. Now, three years later my son is writhing around in misery because of it and I'd rather he just had the damn chicken pox. Instead he got a dubious vaccination for a non threatening virus that didn't even successfully prevent it. Brilliant.
Of course this is all my fault according to the doctor. If I had been a good mother, I'd have forgiven the medical community its faux pas and brought him in for extra shots to booster up his system's antibodies. Which, forgive my cynicism and ignorance, I didn't. I'm also guilty of numerous crimes for successfully skipping it with Charlie. They're insisting I bring him in tomorrow for the chickenpox vax. It must be their attempt at clever humor-- surely I must be missing something. I'm already in this mess because of that stupid vaccination. Must I clarify again? I'd rather Charlie just have the chickenpox.
So if you or your child has come in contact with mine in the last few days be warned: They might get the chicken pox. Or if they've been vaccinated: They might get shingles.
Nobody wants to be around him anymore and he's got his Dad and Aunt Liz running scared every time he gets close. So I asked Jamie to give me his best zombie face. This is what I got. Very scary don't you think?
Charlie on the other hand could care less.
This morning I called the Pediatrician and they said to bring him in asap, but to sit in the hall till we were called. You know it can't be a good sign when you aren't even allowed in the sick room. 30 min in the hallway, 10 min getting vitals, 20 seconds for the doctor to pronounce judgment: Shingles. How my four year old baby got an old persons disease like shingles is beyond all comprehension. I didn't even know kids could get it. But apparently it's fairly common these days because of the chicken pox vaccination. Something about kids carrying just enough antibodies to never get the chicken pox, but not enough antibodies to resist shingles. You don't even have to have a compromised immune system or a high stress job. Who-da-thunk?
To add insult upon injury, I specifically told them not to give my kids the chicken pox vaccination. Somewhere, somehow, the MA didn't get the memo and she accidentally gave it to him anyway. Short of demanding she suck the poison from my son's veins, there was nothing I could do but throw a fit. Now, three years later my son is writhing around in misery because of it and I'd rather he just had the damn chicken pox. Instead he got a dubious vaccination for a non threatening virus that didn't even successfully prevent it. Brilliant.
Of course this is all my fault according to the doctor. If I had been a good mother, I'd have forgiven the medical community its faux pas and brought him in for extra shots to booster up his system's antibodies. Which, forgive my cynicism and ignorance, I didn't. I'm also guilty of numerous crimes for successfully skipping it with Charlie. They're insisting I bring him in tomorrow for the chickenpox vax. It must be their attempt at clever humor-- surely I must be missing something. I'm already in this mess because of that stupid vaccination. Must I clarify again? I'd rather Charlie just have the chickenpox.
So if you or your child has come in contact with mine in the last few days be warned: They might get the chicken pox. Or if they've been vaccinated: They might get shingles.
Nobody wants to be around him anymore and he's got his Dad and Aunt Liz running scared every time he gets close. So I asked Jamie to give me his best zombie face. This is what I got. Very scary don't you think?
Charlie on the other hand could care less.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
I'm too sexy for my salad
You know your homemade beauty attempt was not a wholly successful endeavor when your husband sniffs your hair and declares you smell like salad. However, in exchange for hours of endless puns regarding the chunks of avocado and olive oil in my hair, I now have smooth, shiny, soft locks. Try it and tell me if you think sexy hair is worth smelling like guacamole for awhile.
1 avocado mashed
1 egg
1 t. olive oil
Mix, massage in hair. Wait thirty minutes, rinse and shampoo.
1 avocado mashed
1 egg
1 t. olive oil
Mix, massage in hair. Wait thirty minutes, rinse and shampoo.
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