Mommy Needs a Cocktail

Just sitting in this spot of the Internet until I can figure out how to move all this stuff

Kristen — Tue, 17 Jul 2007 17:44:00 GMT

This blog is only still here because I DON'T KNOW HOW TO MOVE THE STUFF TO THE NEW ONE! I'm not trying to torture you with the boring-ness of Kristen having YET ANOTHER BLOG. You people who are impatient with change (you know who you are--TARA), I promise this is the last move ever. Really. I have big plans for the other spot that cannot be fulfilled here.

Now go to www.mommyneedsacocktail.com. Go on. all this stuff will follow. I promise.

Due to circumstances beyond my intelligence, I am now somehow sporting two blogs

Kristen — Mon, 16 Jul 2007 11:40:00 GMT

If you are ending up over here, this is all old news.

Head over to www.mommyneedsacocktail.com.

I know that's what you thought you typed in. Don't ask. Just go. Now.

I feel like we should have a "guess the number of revolutions" contest

Kristen — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 15:28:00 GMT

Babysitter: You know, I clocked the mileage yesterday down to the fence and back to the house.
K: How far?
Babysitter: ONE POINT ONE MILES!!!!!
K: On a tricycle.
Babysitter: (still shocked) He rode ONE POINT ONE MILES.
K: On a tricycle. And then we found out he had a 101.2 fever.
Babysitter: That was terrible.
K: And that was the second time he did it this week.
Babysitter: And he wants to do it again.
K: It's not like it's a flat road. There are hills, for heaven's sake. So how many revolutions do you think that is? It must be the equivalent to thousands and thousands. I mean, the pedals only go forward 2 inches. Don't they have those things that you clip on to your bike to tell you how many calories you have burned?
Babysitter: 1.1 miles.
K: I know. Welcome to my world.

If you called me earlier and Walter Cronkite answered the phone, you should probably call me back

Kristen — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 02:03:00 GMT

E: Mama, I talk on the phone to you.
K: Eat, I was downstairs making shirts. You were talking to me on the phone?
E: MAMA, I TALK TO YOU ON THE PHONE.
D: He was talking to somebody.
K: (incredulous that it clearly never crossed his mind to, I don't know, SEE WHO THE BOY WAS TALKING TO ON THE PHONE) Did you check to see who he was talking to?
D: Nah, by the time I got to him, he had moved on and was checking our voicemail messages.
K: So you think he was talking to someone but you don't know who it was?
D: Nope.

I didn't even ask how far The Boy got in the voicemail process. Because that may mean that I have to change the alarm code too. And I'm just not quite ready to do that because of my 2 year old. Go ahead and call me crazy.

I can understand how one would be confused about celebrating a birthday without cupcakes

Kristen — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 02:48:00 GMT

E: Mama, today it's flag's birthday.

Uh, technically speaking, that was June 14th.

K: You told him it was the flag's birthday?
D: Yeah.
K: What happened to revolutions, taxation and excessive governmental interference? And I'm not talking about the sitting Congress.
D: I tried, but he wasn't following it very well.
E: Mom, I can't wait birt'day hats. I want birt'day hats for flag's birthday, Mama.
K: Eat, we don't have birthday hats for the flag's birthday.
E: Mama, I eat birt'day cake for flag's birt'day.

K: The kid told us which direction to turn to get home from the ice cream store last night. Don't you remember the "turn HERE" along with the, might I add, CORRECT motion for me to turn right? You really don't think he could have understood the Boston Tea Party?
D: I tried.
E: Mama, I LIKE birt'day hats birt'day party flag birt'day, Mama.
K: Eat, can flags wear birthday hats?
E: NNNOOOOO! But I can wear a birt'day hat, Mama.

One of the many reasons I am against any form of dishonesty in parenting.

I hope he never gets wind that I found out he's right

Kristen — Wed, 04 Jul 2007 01:59:00 GMT

I used to ride my FIL's ass because he drank so much coffee. You know those doctors. Anything less than 7 cups is for the sissies. Everytime I would see him, he would drag out some silly study published in the New England Journal of Medicine about how coffee is going to cure cancer or make you look 30 years younger. The last time he came to my house, he pulled out a crumpled article (with coffee stains) about the great antioxident qualities in coffee.

Blah, blah, blah.

Until I embraced my very own pot of coffee at his house last weekend.

FIL: Can I get you some coffee?
K: The Biggest Cup You've Got.
FIL: Really? OK, then. Milk and sugar?
K: For peasants. I drink it black now. And when's the next pot going on?

Correction, blah, blah, blah until I went cold turkey 2 days ago.

And woke up with this raging cold that the mens in my house have been kind enough to keep giving to each other. All the while I'm doing the "I'm The Mom I Don't Get Sick" happy dance.

Until I have given up the last of the apparently miraculous antioxident qualities in my Mayorga Blue Mountain dark roast. And awaken in the middle of the night. And found myself unable to sleep. For the rest of the night. Because my throat is so swollen that I think it may actually have closed.

Not far enough that I couldn't get a Nathan's Ice Cream Cone down it tonight, but closed nonetheless.

If ever I have contemplated weaning this child, it is today. That is, until I contemplate the 8 months of bottles I will have to make. I guess I'll be moving on to my EmergenC. It really is too bad that they don't make a sinus vacuum. Now that would sell.

If only the coffee kept me awake too

Kristen — Mon, 02 Jul 2007 14:48:00 GMT

K: OMG, The Baby was up from 10 am to 10 pm yesterday. The kid won't sleep.
Jen: Maybe it's the coffee.
K: Huh?
Jen: Maybe you need to just step away from the coffee.
K: You think that's it?
Jen: Uh, YEAH.
K: So you are saying the pot of coffee I'm drinking every day to keep me awake so I can keep The Boy from burning down the house is keeping The Baby awake?
Jen: You are drinking A POT OF COFFEE A DAY?
K: Actually, yesterday I drank a pot and then 3 cups at the diner so I guess that would be 7 cups of coffee.
Jen: Yeah, I'm thinking it's the coffee.

If you have the opportunity, I would highly recommend flying across the country with an infant and a toddler

Kristen — Thu, 28 Jun 2007 14:48:00 GMT

To spice it up a little, throw in three middle seats not even near each other, two family members with congestion, the woman three rows up with TB, and a husband who thinks that since he paid $670 for his seat, he should be able to watch "Breach" unmolested for 2 hours. On a plane. Because it's free and all.

Two hours.

Then rent a minivan with California plates. In Oregon. You can ask the nice lady at Alamo if you are going to get beat up for having a minivan with California plates and she will assure you that you will be fine because the good people of Oregon wouldn't hold it against you, but you may still find yoursef in a dirt ditch at 10:00 p.m. With babies in the car.

But the best part about going away. Coming home to your own bed. And sleeping in. Until the person who was so kind to wake you up 2 hours early every single day of your vacation forgets that the alarm is on and sets it off. Two hours before you should wake up.

Oh, the joys of "vacation."

So you are saying we should get a StairMaster

Kristen — Wed, 20 Jun 2007 18:31:00 GMT

D: Can you see him?
K: Sort of. I can see his feet. Uh, now I can only see his shadow.
D: Can you see him now?
K: Nope, but I can see the door and that's his only way out.
D: Are you sure he is still there?
K: I can hear him banging around on the other side of the gumball machines.

Suddenly the nice young man busing tables across the room made a motion to us with his hand.

K: You should definitely go get him. That guy is pointing. Maybe he left.
D: You think?

As my husband climbed out of the booth and turned around to go retrieve our son from wherever he disappeared, The Boy suddenly reappeared before our very eyes.

He had scaled the two levels of gumball machines and was staring at us from the top of the highest machine. Five feet in the air.

Busboy: He sure is a good climber.
K: Even better than we thought....

Update: Potty Training, aka Signs that The Boy May One Day Enter a Nudist Colony

Kristen — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 14:57:00 GMT

As seen on dictionary.com

training--v. tr.

To coach in or accustom to a mode of behavior or performance.
To make proficient with specialized instruction and practice. See Synonyms at teach.
To prepare physically, as with a regimen: train athletes for track-and-field competition.
To cause (a plant or one's hair) to take a desired course or shape, as by manipulating.
To focus on or aim at (a goal, mark, or target); direct. See Synonyms at aim.
To let drag behind; trail.

As, is the case in number 6, I find myself training.

So, after listening to all the advice, I decided to go with that new-fangled training method of taking your child's diaper off and hoping against all hope that you don't find puddles all over the house. I thought this was a good idea now rather than before moving because I now have 95% carpet as opposed to the 95% oh-so-easy-to-clean-hardwood floors at the old house. Let me say, it has been slightly disconcerting to the army of workers attempting to put Humpty Dumpty back together again over here at the Money Pit and now the neighbors are POSITIVE we are white trash sent to bring the 'hood down, but whatever.

Can I just say it's working like a charm? Except for the incident where he held it in for 3 hours until he could get onto the front porch to, and I quote "see the pee on the front porch, Mama." There was a couple of incidents of taking a dump in the yard ("EEEETHAN!!!! WHO GOES TO THE BATHROOM OUTSIDE???? E: Zinni, Mama.....see, Mama, I go poop") right by the driveway. I mean, I have 3.3312 acres now so it seems logical to poop DIRECTLY BESIDE THE DRIVEWAY.

Other than that, the only downside is that now I can't get clothes back on him.

E: NNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If you feel like you just can't hear it in your hear it in your head, imagine "no" in lieu of "GOAL." That's about right.

"Oh, just put the clothes on him. You Parents These Days." That's what you are saying, right?

Come on over and show me how it's done. I gotta go. Naked Bike Rider is doing the laps in the house. Maybe I can head him off at the pass.

Cause I am always looking for a freebie

Kristen — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 19:49:00 GMT

check my pictures out here. They are giving away a trip to Blogher and the more popular you are, the better your chances...

It looks like I may turn into one of those annoying Weight Watchers people that is constantly informing everyone exactly how many points are in that margarita

Kristen — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 16:07:00 GMT

Here we have it, people. You are witnessing Day #2 of "the-first-diet-Kristen-has-ever-done." Except for that pesky 6 year stretch of anorexia in high school and college, but who really considers starvation as a diet?

I'll spare you the weight loss ticker but I'll let you know that I have 23 pounds to lose. 17 pounds until my "damn-you-look-fine" weight. 23 pounds to my fighting weight. 23 pounds until my "you'd-better-watch-your-husband-cause-he's-gonna-be-CHECKIN'-ME-OUT" weight.

My inspiration is a number of things. The pictures of my fat ass being plastered over the Internet after Blogher Business, for one. You people who propogated that cruelty, you know who you are. There will be no cocktails for you at Blogher next month.

"But you just had a baby." Four months ago. It's time to STEP AWAY FROM THE BOX OF PASTA FOR LUNCH every day.

Remarkably, my scale said I lost 5 pounds since yesterday. I didn't know a pound of pasta, pepsi, chocolate and ice cream weighed so much. Or my shirt and shorts.

If you are going to start a diet, I highly recommend figuring out your starting weight just after lunch and weighing yourself for the first time at the crack of dawn the next morning. After you have peed. And nursed. And nursed again.

But that's just me.

The saddest thing to see go--the 16 point homemade margarita on the rocks that really made me happy.

And right now the leg of the chair is looking pretty edible. I can see this is going to take a period of adjustment.

How small is the Internet and would you know this writer if you met her on the street??

Kristen — Fri, 08 Jun 2007 15:35:00 GMT

The internet is SO SMALL that your by-far favorite Match.com boyfriend with whom you have not conversed in, oh, I don't know, 5 years, finds you by googling "half-assed parenting." And despite your clever concealment of your identity and relying on the fact that your life is such a mere shell of what it used to be, said by-favorite Match.com boyfriend comments on your blog that he knew it was you.

Oh, Internet, it is clear that I am the person in this blog.

Hi, tvtown. Congrats on the impending arrival of your baby! Stay tuned for more tips on half-assed parenting.

This is the post you just blow off if you really don't want to read about the "Adventures in Potty Training"

Kristen — Thu, 07 Jun 2007 13:35:00 GMT

I bring this up because today shall hereby be referred to as "The Day The Boy Finally Decided to Use the Bathroom in Lieu of Stinking Up the Whole Damn House." He didn't really decide to do it on his own. I am just holding his diapers hostage.

And boy is he pissed off.

E: I wanna wear my DIAPER.
K: Uh, no.
E: DIIIIIIIIIII-A-per.
K: Let me think...... uh, no.

I can't do it anymore. If, when I am discussing with your father whether or not we should go get i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m and you say, "I go eye cream, Mama," I think it's safe to say that you can take care of your OWN nastiness from here on out.

I guess the final straw was when, for the 100th time in his life, he climbed up onto my lap and began grunting. I'm sure my sister would say something like, "see, he feels secure enough with you" or some other crap, but do you know what I see? My son coming over to crap on me. That was it. That and it's T minus 14 days until we go to Nana's house and she perhaps mentions that The Boy could be potty trained if I had more time to do it.

Off came his diaper. And I pulled out all the stops.

K: If you put ANYTHING in the potty, you can have a malted milk ball.

He looked at me suspiciously. What was this "malted milk ball" and would it be as good as, say, blueberries?

I gave him a piece of the bait in order to lure him in. Then I gave him the biggest cup of blueberries and a glass of OJ to wash them down. Two items that must be repelled from the intestines IMMEDIATELY upon contact. And I turned on the first of 30 Dora episodes we are going to watch today, seated on the portable throne located in front of the t.v.

I think he is going to have permanent potty marks on his ass. Which beats the hell out of diaper rash.

I'm off to dump the mini loo again....

But when you mix it with the organic lowfat milk, can you really taste a difference?

Kristen — Wed, 06 Jun 2007 01:59:00 GMT

I'm sitting at my breakfast table/dining room table/didn't someone buy this for a desk-table, drinking a White Russian. I have just gotten off the phone with my 2 year old son who was singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th inning stretch. Feel free to look at the time stamp again... He was cracked out on peanuts, popcorn, cotton candy, cracker jacks, hot dogs and soda. I fear he may need blood replacement therapy to totally detox.

Back to the White Russian. As I sit here sipping my white russian (which, if I may say, is so very 1980's/Vegas blackjack table-ish/maybe-it's-the-horrifying-1980's-borders-in-every-room-of-my-house), I am reminded of my White Russian.

Dmitri.

My sisters, as they read this, will give a collective sigh. If you could hear them in their respective living rooms as they read this post, you would overhear, "I loved Dmitri." "He would have made the perfect nanny." Or the every popular, "Boy, that Dmitri, he sure was a pip." Not spoken in a he's-better-than-Derek kinda way but more in a didn't-Kristen-date-the-most-hilarious-people(other-than-that-asshole-who-threw-out-her-baby-Jesus) kinda way.

Dmitri was an island bartender. How can you beat a man who does your laundry? He was one of the Two Russians on the entire island. They were together, the Two Russians. There were rumors of jumping ship in the Panama Canal and trekking across South America. Who knows? My money is still on KGB plants in the Caribbean.

As I poured my Stoli Vanillin into my cup tonight, all I could hear was Dima's voice in the back of my head...

"Kres-tin, they use Stoli in Russia for jet fuel. For God's sake, drink Grey Goose if you want decent vodka."

I shall now return to my small, small world that is decidedly NOT a Caribbean island with 365 days a year of sun.

other than having no key to the door, no internet access, no phone, nearly non-existent cell service, black gunk coming out of the jets in the bathtub and no hot water

Kristen — Wed, 30 May 2007 22:50:00 GMT

it's a lovely house.

Funny thing about foreclosure houses, the owners can kinda see it coming (what with not paying the bills and all)so they do crazy things like eat dinner directly off the carpet. Electric blue carpet. it's hot in an '80's kinda way.

After 5 hours on the cell phone over the last week, i have come to the realization that Com-effing-castic was the way to go. Verizon has made me do crazy things like throw a wet diaper at my son and stick my entire head in a sink full of cold water in order to keep myself from throwing myself off that lovely deck I have now. Clever folks over there at Verizon, they realize that 5 hours of overage charges on your cell phone to try to get residential service is brilliant. If they can also make you go into the crawl space to check your phone line, less work for them.

on the child front, The Boy has killed the new vacuum, new carpet cleaner, the phone (which i guess doesn't matter if i don't have a functioning phone line anyway), spilled a 44 oz. bag of coffee beans on the kitchen floor, lost the other phone, taken all my credit cards and hidden them and sat on the baby's head. And that was just today.

i'll be auctioning him off on E-bay later. Or just hanging a sign around his neck that says 'free to a good home' and plop him in front of the house.

Just a little note to my neighbors: there is no two-sided glass in front of our house. When you stop your car in front and blatantly stare at us, WE CAN SEE YOU. If you are going to stare, you should at least throw us some food. Sometimes it's okay to feed the bears.

If you are going to try to Top Secretly pee in the shower when someone else is in the bathroom, it's best to have passed on the asparagus at dinner

Kristen — Tue, 22 May 2007 14:15:00 GMT

Enough said.

Back to packing...

In case you were wondering about the progress of our Less Spirited Child

Kristen — Mon, 21 May 2007 13:55:00 GMT

We aren't exactly sure what made him open his mouth for the picture

Kristen — Mon, 21 May 2007 13:11:00 GMT

The picture is for you, Britt. I knew you would be dying to know how they looked.

Despite cracking the screen of my brand new laptop, spending 3 hours in the ER getting The Boy 4 stitches and Derek drinking Lemon-Lime vinegar in the midst of trying to pack an entire house...

Kristen — Mon, 21 May 2007 00:39:00 GMT

I'd have to say it was a pretty uneventful weekend. How was yours?

Please send sugar packets

Kristen — Fri, 18 May 2007 12:35:00 GMT

It will be refreshing for all of you to hear that my whining is getting on my last nerve too. I'm officially on sabbatical from whining and complaining.

Septic tank has to be dug up and the bank won't even let us do it before closing to make sure that someone else's crap isn't backing up on us the first time we flush? Who cares? Multiple hornet's nests in the attic when husband was at the home inspection? It's not like he got stung and died. Ancient heat pumps that don't function? It's summer, for heaven's sake. The lawn was mowed with a weed eater? Jagged grass is the new fresh cut lawn. Old rusty treadmill still on the back porch? We're all up to date on our tetanus shots. Closing pushed back to 5 p.m. so now we won't be in the house before 7 and have to get everything ready for all the work already scheduled for 7 a.m. Friday morning? I LOVE all-nighters.

Lourdes came yesterday and packed up the kitchen for me. I left some things to the side and told her that Derek would show up at her house if the coffee maker got packed by accident. It seems that I forgot to put the sugar aside. And with Lourdes around, we are lucky she didn't pull up the vinyl and pack it. Talk about "everything goes." So this morning it was coffee sans sugar. It's probably better for me, right?

Let's dwell on the positives. My mom is coming on Thursday to save the day. I am painting my laundry room "midnight blue" since I didn't buy the midnight blue washer/dryer set. I have a brand new carpet cleaner that costs less than it would for a professional to clean one room (and I get to keep it) and despite the fact that my new house is leaking like a sieve, it's going to be MY leaking sieve in just one week. So after I dry my tears from my temporary nervous breakdown, I'm off to pack another box. 'Cause that's how you do it.

One box at a time...

At least it wasn't a sip of stout at the Anchor Brewing Company tour

Kristen — Wed, 16 May 2007 02:03:00 GMT

I'm a food nazi when it comes to my babies. When Ethan was born, I put it right out into the universe that he was going to survive on boo until he turned 6 months old. It was actually a form of torture for my in-laws. My FIL bemoaned that fact that I wouldn't let The Boy suck on a chicken wing when he was 5 months old. This, of course, was before my SIL gave The Boy his first unwashed carrot at the supermarket (not to be confused with the pizza crust the next night and a sip of her beer at our brewery tour). Call me crazy but after you and your husband have made it very clear that you are "food free for baby," dark beer isn't really in a gray area. (Best comment on my freak-out over this one--"You are right, she really should have asked first."

Although we are a little more laid back with The Baby, I still maintain my food mantra with The Boy.

K: Ethan, can Nathan have goldfish?
E: NO!
K: Can Nathan have toast?
E: NO, Maaammmmaaa!
K: Can Ethan have candy?
E: Mama, No can-key for Nathan.
K: What CAN Nathan eat?
E: BOO, Mama. Nathan drinks the boo.
K: That's right.

We play this game EVERY SINGLE DAY. The Boy is male, so he needs to be reminded of the big ticket items repeatedly.

So you can imagine my surprise today while watching The Sopranos (because in all the ways I am a great mother, I am an equally horrible mother on some other end of the spectrum), I realized that The Boy was talking into his cup of Corn Flakes. I looked over at The Baby sitting on his father's lap and his face broke out into a HUGE GRIN.

And nestled in that grin was what appeared to be A CORN FLAKE.

K: EEEEEEEEETHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNN!!! DEREK!!! Is that a corn flake in Nathan's mouth? (digging it out)
E: I gived him see-rall, Mama!
K: What???? Derek? Hello?
D: I don't know. I didn't see him do it.

Because when both on them are on your lap, I can see how one child feeding the other CORN FLAKES could easily be missed.

If you were hoping for a little levity, go elsewhere today

Kristen — Mon, 14 May 2007 21:14:00 GMT

This morning was the home inspection at Baby Boom. Luckily for me, it's not difficult to wake up at 5:30 a.m. when you have been up since, I don't know, around 2:30 a.m. We were all up and running in no time.

To a locked house. That's right. After our 45 minute drive, we (along with our real estate agent and the home inspector) discovered that the lock box has time constraints. So despite the seller's agent knowing we were coming at 8 a.m., the house was locked up tighter than a bug in a rug. Right before the home inspector left to inspect homes that were OPEN, he did a termite inspection. Which resulted in termites. No problem. We'll just put that stuff in the ground to get rid of them. No, wait. Your well has to be 50 feet from the house to use that stuff. The well is 48 feet from the house. Yeah, that non-chemical remedy is going to cost you twice as much. But boy will we be green.

We finally got into the house in time for the well and septic inspection. Oops, there is a problem with your septic and your drain field needs to be dug up. Who said there is no such thing as karma?

I'm just gonna go now and lie down in traffic. With a little luck, maybe a Mack truck will run me over. If it doesn't, I have a home inspection on Wednesday to anticipate.

But on a lighter note, my husband did buy me this pretty little number for Mother's Day.

and it's brother, the dryer. OK, so we got the white set because after spending all that money on a damn washer and dryer, can you really live with yourself to spring for the pretty color for $250 more?

I know. I should have. Because when you are spending all that money, what's a little more? OK, maybe not.

So I'm just going to pretend my washer is blue.... with my mood, it's a matching set.

Who knew there were so many utilities to order

Kristen — Thu, 10 May 2007 21:35:00 GMT

First off, to The Boy, who decided today to rip off his diaper in a motion that could have been confused as a Chippendale's move (not that I would know personally, of course), I could have done without the CRAP ON THE FLOOR. Sure the timeout/spanking/screaming may have been excessive punishment but did you really think that ripping off a poop-filled diaper and flinging it at your brother in his swing was going to get any less a reaction from me? Really? 'Cause as the nuggets flew through the air and onto the carpet (the only carpet in the WHOLE DAMN HOUSE), you appeared to be unsurprised by my Postal-like reaction.

Back to the house BS. Because, Internet, that's what it is. I just occasionally pay the bills online when I remember to do it. I don't think about the utilities. I treat them like one treats hot dogs. You have a vague idea where it comes from but it's probably a better policy to just pay the bill and call it a day.

Despite reading Mir's 9 million posts on why she hates Comcast, I tried to order Comcast online. Which is hilarious because after you order online, you still have to call. And your call gets routed to Ottawa. And then to Ottawa. And then Ottawa is affronted because you don't already have Comcast service even though the county you live in now is currently IN BED WITH ANOTHER CABLE COMPANY WHICH IS NOT COMCAST. And then your call gets dropped. And then you call back and Ottawa tells you to call the office right up the street from you. And then the office says you aren't entitled to any discount unless you order 45 services.

And then you go online to order Verizon instead (that will show them). But you can get the bundle discount until 5 days before you move (and you can't call until 5 days before you move) and then they can't guarantee service within 5 days.

And this is all right after you tried to order water service. Which would be right after you scheduled the inspection of THE WELL. I swear to God and on my grandmother's grave that if I AM PREGNANT (clearly the only explanation for such behavior), I WILL KILL MYSELF.

"Diaper Man, Diaper Man. Does everything a Diaper can"

Kristen — Wed, 09 May 2007 21:00:00 GMT

Everyone knows how I feel about potty training. It's not like I'm against it. It's just that I don't like to be told that NOW IS THE TIME and WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU and IF YOU DON'T DO IT NOW HE'LL BE CRAPPING HIS PANTS IN HIGH SCHOOL. He is 27 months, for heaven's sake. The problem is, he is well on his way to potty training himself. I say, "Hey, have at it."

Pampers decided that it would assist in the potty training process by coming up with this little gem. And I use the world "gem" in loose terms. His father decided to be helpful and pick a box of these up on a trip to BJ's. Call it his contribution to the torture that is his mother's obsession with The Boy's lifetime pursuit of his personal control of his bodily functions.

Feel and Learn. "Feel" the raging diaper rash and "Learn" not to tell mom when you need to be changed because as bad as that diaper rash feels, those damn wipes she uses to scrape the poop of your backside are even worse.

Spiderman is supposedly the hook. "Even Spiderman puts his poops in the potty. Don't you want to be a big boy like Spiderman?"

Unless you are 2 1/4 years old and you don't have any clue about Spiderman. And to add insult to the injury to all that is Marvel Comics, your son has missed the boat and is for some reason calling him "Diaperman."

E: Mama, I wear Diaperman.
K: Ethan, don't you mean Spiderman? Either way, you still have an open sore on your bottom from your last run-in with Diaperman last week. I would rather you wear Elmo on your ass.
E: NO, MAMA! I WEAR DIAPERMAN.
K: Fine, whatever. Just put them on yourself.

And now Diaperman is on his ass. For clarification purposes, Diaperman is supposed to be up front, able to see the world. But he put it on himself and doesn't seem to mind that his ass is hanging out the back of his diaper.

Sorry Toby. Although after last weekend's ticket sales, you probably don't even care if my kid is wearing Spiderman pull-ups on his head.

"We got it! Oh, oh, We GOT IT!"

Kristen — Tue, 08 May 2007 22:18:00 GMT

This collossal Baby Boom is the new Chateau Cookie.

So the roof is looking a little dicey. Who cares if you have this back porch to sit upon as you drink lots and lots of cocktails?

Not to be confused with THIS part of the back porch OFF the back porch.

I'm off to IKEA to buy curtains for 700 windows. Wish me luck!

What we have here, People, is a failure to negotiate.

Kristen — Tue, 08 May 2007 11:43:00 GMT

Yeah, motherhood has made me soft. It is clearly evident on my lack of negotiation skills in my real estate endeavors. In the old days, I would have put all my money on the number 8. I would have then rolled an 8 six times, taken nearly all my money off the table and then thrown a 7 and crapped out. These days I feel like I'm throwing a 7--every single day. Every day is one day closer to sleeping with my husband and two kids on a queen size mattress on the floor of my nephew's bedroom, just waiting for my sister to crack the door open just enough so that the light from the bathroom shines directly into my face, blinding me.

Oh, to be back to my tricky-trickster days. I used to pretty good at my job. I would just throw a question out there and wait.

The person would answer.

And then my silence.

Nervousness would ensue and suddenly the person was talking more. And more. And more. Oops, there's the truth. Who would have thought?

Now? Now I'm driving my husband crazy with my poor negotiations.

I wanted to buy a house today because I liked the owners. Only the house is smaller than the shoebox I am living in RIGHT NOW. But they were so nice. Maybe we could live in a shoebox with no storage, no attic and no basement and only 3 bedrooms? Maybe.

Maybe I just need that big house. We can just throw money at those people. No word from the bank about our offer? I'm calling the real estate agent to offer more money. Still no word? How about more money? Not a peep? Maybe I could take the Bank VP out to dinner? How about a Baby Brewing shirt for his pregnant wife for Mother's Day?

K: Call the mortgage company and ask for more money.
D: How much?
K: As much as they'll give us. MONEY IS NO OBJECT. WE WILL USE THE CHILDREN AS COLLATERAL. Maybe we can sell your truck.

Yeah, that one went over as expected. But still there is a very small part of me that knows that I could hang with The Donald on residential property purchases. We won't regret this. I know it. And yet we are now 16 days and counting. Anyone interested in purchasing a lovely deforested rain forest Teak bedroom set from Costa Rica? How about a 6 year old Volvo with 105K miles on it? Every cent counts. 'Cause when I get that phat house with the smokin' pool, you are gonna be glad you know me.

It's just that the flaky scalp was getting on my nerves

Kristen — Mon, 07 May 2007 16:32:00 GMT

I'm going to ignore the fact that in 17 days I will be homeless and that the bank that owns the McMansion that we are trying to buy came back after 3 days with a counter offer of 75 cents less than the list price and their real estate agent asked for more time to talk some sense into them (which was last Thursday) and still there is no word. Let's move on to why we are all really here--to read about my poor parenting skills.

K: Are you taking a shower soon?
D: Yeah, why?
K: Can you take the baby in with you?
D: Sure. What's on his head?
K: Olive oil. That's what "The Internets" told me to do.
D: For his cradle crap?
K: Yes, Derek, for his "cradle crap."
D: Isn't that what it's called?
K: Of course the medical community would refer to the excess skin on a baby's head with the same word commonly used to refer to "feces." And just to let you know, I'm going to forego your suggestion of scrubbing his head with "an old toothbrush" and just use his little baby brush that I found in an old crate.
D: He smells good.
K: I'm thinking now that when they said to put olive oil on his scalp, they probably didn't mean EVOO with rosemary, huh?
D: We were just talking about what to have for dinner.
K: We could grill him up.

He stared at us like we had lost our minds. And somehow in that very moment I realized there were going to be lots and lots more of those stares before it was all said and done...

Remind me to hide my purse

Kristen — Sun, 06 May 2007 01:40:00 GMT

'elp me, 'elp me, 'EEELLLLPPPP MEEEEEEE, MMMMMAAAAAMMMMAAAA!

I looked over to see The Boy trying to pry open the doors to a little silver car.

K: Ethan, nothing opens up on that car. It's a Matchbox. The doors don't open, the hood doesn't come up. Nothing.
E: I just need the keys, Mama.

And I venture he would add "a keyless remote" if given enough time...

I got nothin'

Kristen — Fri, 04 May 2007 17:47:00 GMT

So I'm sitting on my couch trying to decide how exactly to spend my 1 hour and 55 minutes without the Tornado when The Baby starts to cry.

Before I can stop myself, I reached for the remote control and pushed fast forward.

No lie.

Fwd: Big Ass Job With Your Name On It

Kristen — Thu, 03 May 2007 11:33:00 GMT

Note to self:

If you are trying to help a friend out by forwarding on her resume, make sure that in addition to cleaning up all your conversations, you CHANGE THE INAPPROPRIATE SUBJECT LINE.

You wouldn't want the recruiter to get his hopes up that maybe HE was getting a better job than the one he is sporting now.

But at least you weren't the person yesterday that allowed her husband to video them on his cell phone in a, shall we call it, compromising position and then allowed her best friend to borrow the phone. Although her hopes were high that the video was not played, I'm guessing the "You are SO HOT" text message she received later would suggest otherwise.

All I did was ruin my friend Amy's chances of getting a lucrative job. That's gotta be better than having your best friend see your husband's package.

Desperate times call for desperate measures

Kristen — Wed, 02 May 2007 12:12:00 GMT

"Mrs. Derek, I installed the new electrical panel box and now that I have completed that work which will cost you $1300, I have found that the OLD WIRING in the kitchen trips the ground every time so if you want GFCI circuits installed, I will have to rewire the kitchen AND the dining room. The dining room too because it's on the same circuit."

That will only cost $600. I think.

Did I mention that our offer on the house was summarily rejected? Not even a "no, thanks."

The Boy watched the Blueberry episode of Dora and for hours was saying "I want blueberries, I want blueberries, I want blueberries, I want blueberries" ad nauseum. I hate that Dora. She is a pain in my ass.

My husband isn't speaking to me because after relaying a conversation Jen had with Mir about how to plan an entire wedding in 2 weeks, and she knew this because my sisters helped me plan my entire wedding in 2 weeks--the 2 weeks BEFORE my husband proposed, he got pissed off at me. He didn't think it was funny. Like I was going to be surprised about a proposal. This coming from a man who asked what kind of ring I would like when we had been dating for 2 months. I find all of this unfair because some women spend their entire lives planning their wedding (since the age of 5) and I get a little proactive and suddenly I'm ruining his surprise. The man just doesn't understand the importance of getting married in the perfect setting as opposed to the local VFW. Nothing against the VFW, but I wanted to have options.

So I did what any self-respecting woman would do last night. I made a plate of homemade brownies. This before I realized that brownies are b.s. because they take 40 minutes to cook and then they are supposed to cool for 2 hours. What kind of instant gratification is that? There isn't anyone in the world who could not talk herself out of eating a plate of brownies if she had to wait nearly THREE HOURS FOR THEM.

But I was strong. My depression after my day was borderline clinical so I waited. and waited. and waited. And then I cut myself the biggest brownie you have ever seen. And I poured myself the largest glass of milk, I mean White Russian, you have ever seen. If you are gonna have milk with your brownies after a long hard day, it may as well have Kahlua and Vodka in it...

The race is on

Kristen — Tue, 01 May 2007 10:26:00 GMT

My husband is a pack rat. If you know him, you are laughing right now, thinking, "pack rat is putting it nicely." For heaven's sake, the man would have his gall stones in a jar on a shelf in the basement if Dr. John had given them to him.

He is incapable of throwing anything out.

When my sister helped me organize the house about 3 years ago, she commented that she came across a picture of him with his first wife and his sister and her first husband.

"Do you want to see it?"

I'll pass. OK, maybe I peeked. I was dying to see what the evil ex-husband looked like and slightly curious about the ex-wife.

Curiousity killed the cat.

So when we finally got into the "the-bastard-will-be-in-breach-of-contract-if-he-bails" portion of this house selling crap, I realized that curbing the beast was going to be more difficult than I could probably imagine. You wouldn't believe the amount of stuff he snuck past me and squirreled away in one of the TWO PODS. But I will not be thwarted this time. It's a fire sale over here. Everything goes.

So when he went to work yesterday, I started on the kitchen. I could not poor those bottles of expired salsa down the drain fast enough. Olives (hate 'em)--gone. The water they are in is not supposed to be cloudy, is it? How about that cranberry sauce (using the "sauce" term lightly) in the can marked JAN2001? Edible when fresh? Debatable. Edible now? Not so much. I was very sad to see that 47 grams of carbs per serving go down the drain. We read "The Omnivore's Dilemma." It's not like we are going to eat that can of Chef Boyardee ever again.

Anything canned and unexpired went into the donation box. Scandalous, I say. Double scandalous if your husband has been building up a food pantry in the basement that would make the Mormon's pantry look bare. When the big one hits, I'm gonna be glad. Until then, I'm going to mock him incessantly.

K: I got rid of most of the stuff in the pantry.
D: Why did you do that?
K: One word for you. 1999. Or is that 3 words?
D: HEY. That food is still good.
K: How about this? At the end of the world, I'll take a pass on a meal.

He'll hold me to it. You can be sure of it...

1 down, 1 to go

Kristen — Mon, 30 Apr 2007 11:22:00 GMT

Derek was outside mowing the lawn when we got the call that Hottie Batottie did in fact sign the paper to remove the contingency and to put the "Window Horror" into our hands for immediate attention and corrective measures prior to closing.

I must say that going from $4000 of required repairs to $2000 of repairs was quite a relief. And Derek determined that we only have to borrow Cath's lawn mower ONE MORE TIME before a May 24'th closing. I'm thinking we may have 2 more mows in our future.

We celebrated by drinking homemade margaritas and when The Boy brought it to our attention that we had forgotten HIS margarita, I made him a nice class of homemade lemonade that looked exactly like a margarita. Without the benefit of helping him sleep at night. Damn.

Gotta run. Despite the continual mantra--"Where do we write?" and continally receive the correct response--"on paper at the table," my son has just drawn a line across my computer screen with a green crayon. My brand new computer screen. I would think that he just forgot the rule, but since he has been able to give us directions home from a mile away since he was 14 months old, I'm finding it difficult to believe that when he had that green crayon in his hot little hands, he forgot that he wasn't supposed to DRAW ACROSS A COMPUTER SCREEN. WHILE HIS MOTHER WAS TYPING.

Now to sit on pins and needles until we hear if we got the other house. At least I'll have a computer screen to clean and an entire house to pack while I wait...

Can we just pretend this is page A14 of the Times and the font is so small you can barely read it?

Kristen — Sat, 28 Apr 2007 11:13:00 GMT

This is the post where I am forced to retract all the evil things I said about my buyer. Apparently he just feared for his life with the windows in our house and he was led to believe that they would need to be replaced. OF COURSE he isn't trying to milk us for 2 grand and he just is safety-conscious and wants the windows fixed.

As soon as the contract is signed (supposedly tomorrow), I will rest easier. Now I am just milking an ulcer waiting to see if our incredibly low offer on a McMansion is accepted. Before I get emails about how hypocritical this may appear, I would like to say that my incredibly low offer is because I am poor and the seller is a bank. They don't care about my poorness nor will they be personally offended and affronted by my audacity in presenting them with such a crappy offer. However, any more money offered and we would be condemning ourselves to at least 4 years of eating only Top Ramen noodles and Kraft Mac and Cheese, if and only if, it was on sale. So we are rolling the dice on the opportunity for Mama to become Diane Keaton in Baby Boom (thanks for the analogy, Kate). Otherwise, we'll be off looking for a shack in the lamer part of town...

So maybe the bank will just be looking to unload this house and then we will be the lucky new owners of a house so large that every single person in our family, if in opposite corners, would never have to see anyone else for days on end. We will only have to overlook the leaks in the roof and the 20 year old carpet covering the entire place.

If I haven't visited your blog lately, I apologize. Of course since I am the crappiest commentor in all of the Internet, how would you ever know that I visit your blog? But my summer goal is to become a better commentor. So if you leave a comment here, I promise to go by and leave one from wence you came. It might be totally irrelevant, but what can I say? Now I have to go try to get rid of the ever-so-faint poop smell on my body. Maybe it's just the house. Who knows?

Because I just can't say enough great things about Bath and Body Works products

Kristen — Fri, 27 Apr 2007 09:37:00 GMT

I know I was a fantastic plug for the Cinnamon Vanilla Bacon, I mean Cinnamon Vanilla Home Fragrance Spray just three weeks ago when I attempted to cover the smell of bacon in my house. But I must say that I have found a new Bath and Body Works product that exceeds even that one.

After lying in bed with 2 hours of insomnia thinking about how I are going to deal with these crazy people that are either trying to get out of their contract OR are just trying to be sure that my son will forever be wearing $1 consignment sale pants with holes in them, it came to my attention that there was an inordinate amount of banging around going on in my living room for 4 a.m. I went to the top of the stairs to try to figure out WHAT IN GOD'S NAME THE DOG WAS DOING when I got that whiff.

The smell of diarrhea wafting up the stairs.

Oh, crap. Literally.

God love him, my husband, upon hearing my "oh, crap," crawled out of bed and followed me down the stairs. And there we found 9 piles of it. Only 4 were on the carpet. You know the one. The ONLY CARPET in my entire house. It never ceases to amaze me how the dog feels the need to either vomit or crap directly on the carpet in lieu of the easily cleaned hardwood floors.

Midway through the mess I lit up this lovely gem. My house instantly smelled better. Not even like Vanilla Coconut Crap.

I turned around to find my husband using the 409 to clean the carpet. Not the Resolve carpet cleaner resting on the floor beside him. Oh well.

Expect the best, proceed with caution

Kristen — Fri, 27 Apr 2007 00:02:00 GMT

That was Jen's brilliant idea.

Just because the hottie batottie's real estate agent said I was messy and that I would never sell my house unless I cleaned up and then I did all this work on the house that his client never saw before he put in the contract for $37,000 under list, Jen said that maybe when it came to the home inspection, someone would suddenly develop a soul.

HA!

In keeping with my real estate experiences where the agent says his client will walk away if I don't change a $9 chain inside the crapper that isn't broken, these morons decided to see that atrocity and raise it with something that boggles the mind.

My real estate agent called to say that she just talked to Satan and that he said that he was sending over the home inspection. He complained that his client was VERY DISAPPOINTED with the house, that there were tons of things wrong and that his client was having buyer's remorse. He said that one of our windows almost chopped the inspector's finger off.

I may have said that I wished the real estate agent's HEAD had been under the window when it fell.

You see, we have a few windows whose springs have broken. That means that when you unlock them, they just fall down. So the buyer included an addendum saying he wants $2000 in cash (small bills, unmarked, clustered in stacks of hundreds) at closing to purchase 5 new windows.

Right. Like he is taking that $2000 and replacing windows. You can throw a kicking kegger for $2000. Intrigued, I looked at the report to find the 5 offending windows. Because there are only THREE offending windows. My REA called back to say the inspector told her himself that one window wouldn't open.

Maybe because he didn't unlock it? They want $400 for a window that the three rocket scientists couldn't open?

We called the window installers. It will cost $65 to fix the 5 windows. I guess that would be 4 windows. We are waiting to hear back from Satan if it will be ok for us to just fix the windows that really don't need to be replaced.

I watch "My Name is Earl." Maybe Satan should have watched it a couple of times. Cause no good can ever come from being so not very nice.

This is why you should buy a Sony VAIO VGN-TXN17P

Kristen — Thu, 26 Apr 2007 01:43:00 GMT

Because when your Sony VAIO comes, you may find yourself inexplicably telling the DHL delivery guy that you are so happy you could kiss him on the lips and when he stares at you in abject horror, you won't even care.

AND I'M BACK IN THE GAME!!!

In celebration of one very crappy contract on the house and Jen's newest acquisition...

Kristen — Mon, 23 Apr 2007 00:06:00 GMT

Nothing like a little biking weather to make a sister go out and get a fancy-shmansy bike.

what is the only thing worse than the Terrible Two's? Two Terrible Two's.

And then there's that moment when your playing is going SO GREAT that it curls a toe.

And as always, you should never turn down a good nap.

Just because it hit 70 degrees doesn't mean we are too good for an ol' redneck hot tub

Kristen — Fri, 20 Apr 2007 22:26:00 GMT

First you need a little hot water, because who wants to get into a cold pool?

As a matter of fact, that IS hops growing up the side of my house. Doesn't everyone have hops growing up the side of the house?

Then you run the hose OVER the fence, because under it would be too much work.

Now if you saw those blooming azaleas, wouldn't you buy my house?

The Boy, after he took the hot water hose out of the pool and climbed in and right before he did this...

Which means that all is right with the world.

Reeling from my win at www.notesfromthetrenches.com, I can only communicate in Haiku now

Kristen — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 13:49:00 GMT

Rusty nails in paint.
Is this love that I'm feeling?
Day care looking good.

Soaking wet bedding.
But I just changed that diaper.
Never buy Target.

Live for tomorrow.
My new computer coming.
Back to my old life.

And what won me a "major award" over at www.notesfromthetrenches.com (thanks, Chris),

Taxes due today.
Should have kept better records.
I hope I like jail.

I keep thinking maybe he'll pop the question

Kristen — Fri, 13 Apr 2007 12:32:00 GMT

K: Do you think it's odd when, before seeing your house, and then after seeing your house, someone asks how soon you can move out?
D: Yes, but what did you tell him?
K: I told him that we could move out as soon as he needed us to.
D: That's good.
K: He said he'd call tomorrow. I guess I shouldn't get excited because that's what the last 6 people said. And how about Hottie Batottie? He came to see the house 3 times in one week. If I had been dating him, I would have been taking a shower EVERY SINGLE DAY, doing my hair so it would look good in the "we-just-got-engaged" picture and going into every single Tiffany's I could find to envision how my ring would look. And where is he now? Probably leading some other homeowner on. Bastard.

Knock me over with a feather--Things I never even imagined could come out of my mouth.

Kristen — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 13:10:00 GMT

If you poke me one more time with that screwdriver, you are going in time out.

Your brother's foot does not bend that way.

DON'T YOU DARE (click) lock me in the basement again.

I can't bribe you to pull weeds but you can't seem to leave the damn tomato plants alone.

You can't run down the street in a diaper in 50 degree weather.

Stop putting your fingers in your brother's ear (or mouth, or nose, or eyes).

Get down from the top of that cabinet right now.

Why is there a gallon of milk in your bedroom?

Stop drinking the bath water after you have peed.

Come to think of it, just stop drinking the bath water.

You would think that 5 1/2 hours with a tube down your throat would be a reminder that "NO, vitamins are NOT CANDY."

Yes, that is a toy, but it's Mom's toy. Now get OUT of my dresser.

Your nose is running. It's not "Broken."

Stop eating the salt.

Pipe down, Chachi. I was asking Dad what he wants for dinner, not you. Everyone knows your vote will be for hot dogs.

You're not hugging me because you love me. You just want to wipe your boogers all over my shirt. Knock it off.

Stop trying to ride the dog like he's a horse.

No, you cannot paint the floor with the oil-based latex paint and there is no amount of crying that is going to change my mind. Now gimme that paint brush back.

Why do you have to tell Dad I was swearing? You don't think that when you are talking about how you fell when you tried to climb down from the changing table that Dad is going to figure out that I wasn't telling you a story about "Jesus" when it happened?

Life at Chateau Cookie...in Haiku

Kristen — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 22:05:00 GMT

Mostly naked boy,
Full of too much energy,
Diaper falling down.

Lanes ending merge left,
Three lanes closed during lunch rush,
Too hard for morons.

Crying baby boy,
Brother trying to burn down house,
Mom is certifiable.

Friend said Xanax saves,
Still screaming at crazy kids,
She should try drinking.

Forty-five degrees.
The news promised spring weather.
Why is it so cold?

Web host dropped Mommy's site.
For not paying 3 dollars.
Bastard big business.

Husband getting hot.
Got birth control prescription.
No baby worries.

The bacon seemed like a good idea at the time

Kristen — Mon, 09 Apr 2007 00:04:00 GMT

When I woke up this morning, I asked my husband if he thought anyone would show up unannounced to see the house today. Which means, should I get my lazy ass moving and clean up? It's not like we were going to church this morning or anything. At my church, they told us to either come to church on Saturday night or at 7:15 a.m. on Sunday morning so as to not clog up the parking lot. I was worshipping at the Church of Ikea last night so that was out and I love God and all, but I'm thinking he'll give me a pass for a 7 am service.

D: Babe, it's Easter. Who's gonna go house hunting on Easter?

So I cooked up a pound of bacon and made some kick as bacon, egg and cheese bagel sandwiches. The whole house smelled like bacon. It was truly a spectacular way to start out the week.

And then the phone rang. It was the friend of my neighbor who saw the house last weekend. She was 2 minutes away. Could she bring her husband by to see the house?

K: DEREK!!!!! They are coming over now. What are we going to do? The house smells like bacon. They are Muslim.
D: WE smell like we rolled in bacon.
K: Nothing says "BUY THIS HOUSE" like a family smelling of bacon.

I threw open the windows hoping that the bacon smell would waft out the back door. Then I sprayed this little gem Marelle brought for me last week.

And then the house smelled like cinnamon-vanilla flavored bacon. Sometimes a girl just can't get a break.

Sony Support: Why every single one of you should go out and buy a Sony Vaio

Kristen — Sat, 07 Apr 2007 12:21:00 GMT

K: But I don't KNOW how the "extensive water damage" got in my computer and I don't want to lie.
Sony Tech: Ma'am. We aren't asking you to lie and we don't WANT you to lie. If you don't know how it happened, we can file a claim about what may have happened. Sometimes if you just walk though something again, you may be able to remember something you had forgotten. Do you have any children?
K: A 2 year old boy. Can you hold on a second? (Ethan, stop eating that styrofoam!)
S.T.: Where do you keep your laptop normally?
K: On the desk. (DEREK, can you get that styrofoam out of his mouth? I'm SERIOUS, ETHAN! Knock it OFF!)
S.T.: Would your son be able to climb on a chair and get to your laptop?
K: If he can climb up on the sink, scale the cabinet, get out a bottle of Flintstones, open the childproof lock and eat 70 of them in under 4 minutes, I think it is safe to say he could reach my laptop on the desk. (Ethan, styrofoam is DANGER. Do you want to go to the hospital?)
S.T.: Does he ever carry a drink around?
K: Well yesterday he was thirsty and I was upstairs so he brought me a gallon of milk to give him a drink. (Ethan, Dad took away the styrofoam. Where in God's name did that piece come from and take it out of your mouth, for the love of God.)
S.T.: That answers my question, Ma'am. I think we may be able to figure this one out.

This is supposed to be my 'ode to Derek' post

Kristen — Fri, 06 Apr 2007 13:10:00 GMT

but can I just take a moment to say that when Don from Sony support called to say there was extensive water damage to my laptop and that the underwriters need a REASON for the water damage, it felt disturbingly like the time I was on the phone with the cell phone insurance trying to get a new phone and they told me I had extensive water damage after that one miniscule snowflake landed on a contact. Not to be confused with the time The Boy put my cell phone into the gin and tonic. I fessed up to that one. You think I would have noticed extensive water damaging behavior. I explained to Don that my laptop doesn't even come near liquid, and he acted as if I was lying. Besides the fact that it is wrong, I have no incentive to lie. I have Sony laptop insurance that covers absolutely everything. Despite that, Don told me he would give me a day to think about it (I want you to go to your room and think about what you have done and no dinner for you, missy) and he'll be calling me back for a reason for the "extensive water damage." Also known as the "when-we-don't-know-what-is-wrong-we'll-blame-it-on-water." I intend to tell him today that The Boy dropped the laptop into a gin and tonic.

Back to my husband, who is making JP2's fast track to sainthood look like a leisurely walk in the park.

This weekend I decided that the reason my house isn't selling is because of the 1970's vinyl in the bathroom. I went to Home Depot and got some high class $18.88 vinyl to replace it. I got home and my husband flat out refused to pull up the old stuff. He wanted to just leave the old because it was too difficult. My MIL said she absolutely LOvED the old vinyl and said my bathroom looks beautiful. I don't fault her for blatantly lying because ever since I became a mother, I realized that's what mothers do for their children. My FIL did convince my husband to buy me a $30 hoe-like contraption that I insisted they take back because who has $30 for a hoe?

Until I started the project. That I worked on for 1 1/2 hours while the children slept (I'd like to take a timeout to give God a shoutout for that brief moment of sanity) and still isn't done.

MY HUSBAND WAS RIGHT, I WAS WRONG, THAT'S WHY I WORSHIP HIM.

Getting 30 year old vinyl to do anything is like getting any 30 year old man to do anything. If it isn't his idea, it ain't gonna happen. So now I have my work cut out for me today. Thank God for the $30 hoe.

Apparently my ISP found out I was selling prescription drugs for "CHEEP PRYCES"

Kristen — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 12:50:00 GMT

or maybe it was the Irish Lottery scheme I was running. But my husband reset the modem and I have a new random IP address that does NOT keep me out of my blog and every other important website in my life. I would like to say that 6 days without internet access has resulted in a sparkly clean house or only clean clothes but it is not so. We are 90% done with the repainting, rescreening, redooring of the porch though. The project that was supposed to take 2 days. huh.

My husband came home from a work-related conference yesterday with 3 free packets of Starbucks coffee and a free 2 week subscription to Netflix.

The Starbucks does not surprise me as I'm sure there will be a Starbucks on every corner in heaven AND hell. In heaven, there will never be a line, the barista will be a male model and my Caramel Macchiato will have--and this is going to wig you out--caramel in it. And it will taste exactly the same every single time.

In hell, Starbucks will always have a line, you'll always find yourself holding an infant in a heavy-ass infant carrier, trying to keep a toddler from grabbing the coffee mugs found in the bin on the floor and throwing them over his head as fast as he can. The girl in front of you will be talking loudly on her cell phone, explaining to her best friend how her latest walk of shame resulted in a case of the clap, the cashier will not speak a word of English, even the limited English required in Starbucks (Coffee. Coffee.) Someone will keep stealing your drink from the counter because you are too busy trying to keep the kids in order and when you finally get your Caramel Macchiato, it will be decaf and have no caramel in it.

But Netflix? If you knew my husband's line of work, you, along with me, would realize that Netflix is apparently now officially everywhere. He was so very excited and showed me how to order movies from their website.

I didn't have the heart to remind him that we have no DVD player. You know where it is. In storage.

Father-in-laws say the darnedest things

Kristen — Sat, 31 Mar 2007 01:50:00 GMT

"Hey, is there any way you can milk yourself tomorrow and give us a bottle so you guys can go out alone?"

Uh, sure???

If there is a God in heaven, could he please help me?

Kristen — Thu, 29 Mar 2007 11:06:00 GMT

My laptop died today. It was deathly ill yesterday, but it just gave up the ghost today. I feel as if there has been a death in the family. Not an immediate relative but some distant very elderly relative that lived a good life, was kind to animals and small children, and was a great contributor to society.

I spent hours and hours on chat with the Sony technicial "Kevin" last night, who refused to just give me the phone number to cash in on my extended warranty. Not to be confused with when I was chatting with "Corey" about my laptop problems. Does Sony think I'm an idiot? OK, I am an idiot but how can Sony possibly know that? My sister said that Sony must be picking names from a baby book for their international technicians. No one could help me and Kevin even told me to open up the back of my laptop.

This, when relayed to supervisors on the phone today, resulted in hyperventilation.

Tech. Supervisor: YOU DID WHAT?
K: I did exactly what (insert dramatic pause) KEVIN told me to do.
TS: Um, you should never take your laptop apart.
K: You think I don't know that? I couldn't get the damn thing off and then I couldn't get it back on right.
TS: You should never take your laptop apart.
K: Tell that to (insert dramatic pause) KEVIN.
TS: What kind of warranty do you have?
K: I have the "I hate this damn laptop so I'm gonna throw it out the window and Sony will still fix it" warranty.
TS: What's the serial number?

OK, people. You are gonna love this one. The serial number is only found on a sticker on the bottom of the laptop. A sticker on the bottom of the laptop. The sticker that came off around 15 months ago and I said to myself, "self, I can't imagine ever needing this again" and I threw it in the trash. So Sony can sell me a ridiculously priced laptop direct but no one ever thinks to write down the serial number? For what I paid for the damn thing, you'd think that serial number was engraved in a gold plate on the bottom of that thing.

TS: We can't process the claim if we don't have the serial number.

I could feeling Kristen, The Lawyer, rearing her ugly head. TS could apparently see me coming to San Diego to beat on her ass so she was all, "I'm so sorry. We'll fix it right away."

I'm a little sad to be separated from it for the next 7 to 10 business days and I'm really glad I backed up the 22 GB of pictures the night before. I probably should have been responsible and, I don't know, BACKED UP MY WORK FOR MY JOB, but really, who has time for that anyway?

If I had known you were coming, I would have baked you a cake

Kristen — Wed, 28 Mar 2007 12:06:00 GMT

My real estate agent left me a message saying that when she talked to the agent who showed my house to one of his clients on Sunday, he mentioned that the house was "messy."

Could I try and straighten up a little before I went out in the future?

I'm torn. We had cleaned the house before we went out. So should I be more pissed off by the "messy" reference or should I be more pissed off about the suggestion that I clean my room before I am allowed to go to the high school football game this weekend or to have my friend Marelle over to watch the Top Gun VHS just one more time? My mother will attest to the fact that any suggestion by someone other than my own personal internal monitor to "clean my room" will result in total lockdown whereby ants and other bugs will have free reign and not even a pair of underwear will be cleaned for weeks and weeks.

The kicker is, I know I should be leaving my house in immaculate condition 24/7 if I want one of the three people within 50 miles who will actually buy a house to pick mine to buy. And I kept my house in pretty good condition for the first 7 months it was on the market. I painted the rooms, lit the Jasmine candles before anyone came, baked banana bread before open houses.

Then I was too big, too tired and too over it to play the game. Maybe it's all those times real estate agents cried "wolf" that has me down. All the phone calls I got about showing my house only to have no one ever come.

How about the time 5 weeks ago when I was all alone with my toddler and my 1 week old baby and a real estate agent called to say she wanted to come by in an hour to show the house? My toddler held his crying baby brother for 50 minutes while I cleaned the entire house--only to have no one show and the agent not answer her cell phone when I called to see if she was still coming.

Mr.-Tell-Her-The-House-Won't-Sell-If-My-Fat-Ass-Has-To-Step-Over-Your-Kid's-Two-Matchbox-Cars-On-The-Living-
Room-Floor apparently called my cell phone on Sunday but he never left a message. I didn't get to the phone in time (shocking as all I am doing is lounging around my house ignoring my newborn and toddler, eating bon bons and staring at my "messy" house wondering when the maid is going to arrive) and it isn't my practice to randomly call back unknown numbers that are on caller I.D. But I should be ready at all times just in case someone may show up at my house? It happened last night when I was steaming artichoke hearts in water with vinegar. You SO know those people are gonna wanna buy this house now that they have had the ever pleasant vinegar smell to associate with my house.

I am feeling a little tempted to call Mr. Messy back now. I know that it's a "buyer's market" and that owner's should just stand there and take the beating that they deserve, but don't I get a waiver for having a brand new baby AND a 2 year old who should be nicknamed "Tornado?" Am I asking too much here? Then I look over to see the child's size 7 footprint on the wall. An.actual.foot.print.on.the.wall. And I think that maybe Mr. Messy is right.

I'm never gonna sell this house

Kristen — Tue, 27 Mar 2007 12:38:00 GMT

sigh.

I have always wanted to use the prevalent blog "sigh." It's so powerful. You can just see my defeated shoulders hunched over, can't you? But back to the show, kids.

This house has been on the market for 8 months. I know the market is crap, but if I had known how crappy it was, I probably wouldn't have, I don't know, put EVERY SINGLE THING I OWN into 2 pods in order to make the house look miraculously spacious. This would be for all the people that neglect to add up the square footage of each room of the house to realize that I live in a shoebox. With a man who probably still has his drawings from preschool somewhere in a box.

We filled up two pods full of our (read "his") crap and sent it on its way to a warehouse at the end of the earth. Did we bother to remember what we put in there? Noooooo. Do we even know what crap is in which pod? Nooooo. We were going to sell our house in 2 months and buy a big fat house out in the boonies that would make even Ted Kaczynski proud in its remoteness. All the baby stuff? Ah, we'll dig it out when we get to the new house. I didn't even keep one crate of baby clothes. I have two kids, born in the exact same season, weighing only 1 ounce different at birth, and I've got nothin' for #2 to wear.

So I have decided to retaliate and I want you good people of the Internet to help me. Nothing says "BUY ME" quite like spending copious amounts of money that will not even be remotely be recoverable in the sale of the house. You can vote for your favorite.

I can allow Derek to build his dream shed. Coming in at just under $2,500, it would be built on a foundation, thus making it impossible to move to a new house. Translation--money thrown down the drain.
I can allow the kind contractor to build that bedroom, bathroom and walk-in closet he has been dying to add to my house. I would have to sell both of the children to get the $51,500 to pay for the addition. With said addition I could probably ask $25,000 more for the house. While never a Mathlete in high school, I'm gonna take a guess that this puts me in the hole.
I can have the same contractor enclose my screen porch off the side of my house for $4,500. This would add nothing to the value of my house and would mean that the grill AND the dog would be out of a home.
I can allow Derek to enclose the screen porch. See above, plus add guaranteed divorce.
I can have above-mentioned contractor convert my 1/2 bath that rivals a 737 lav in size into a full bath. That would mean installing a shower fit for a 2 year old.
I could paint the dining room that beautiful blue I have been coveting for 2 years. Then my child can come through the dining room on his tricycle and slam into the wall repeatedly, scuffing up my blue wall beyond repair. I could paint all the other rooms in my house, following the ever-popular Pottery Barn/Restoration Hardware color theme. Said child could then ruin all those walls as well.
Bring the pods back. It only took 2 weeks to pack them half hazardly. I'm sure it will be a snap to put 4,500 sq feet worth of stuff back into a 1,500 sq ft house.

So help me decide, people. What do you think we should do over here at Chateau Cookie?

I'm gonna go and retrieve my stomach from my shoes

Kristen — Mon, 26 Mar 2007 16:03:00 GMT

I have on occasion been called a permissive parent. I mean, if The Boy wants to try something, why shouldn't he be able to try? Isn't that what life is all about? But I'm thinking we may have gone a little too far yesterday.

It was his father's brilliant idea to take him canoeing. I mean, the man has been longing for this moment since he was 18. And that was more than half his life ago. All he ever wanted was to have a son to take canoeing. What the heck, why not?

This is how they started out. Note the bike helmet. His father's idea, but it's purpose, I know not.

I called Jen because now that they were gone (thanks to me pushing the canoe off the sand and into the water, with a newborn infant under my arm), I was free to chat. We were talking about nothing when I started to freak out.

K: OMG, OMG, OMG.
Jen: What? What?
K: You aren't going to believe what is happening.
Jen: What's going on?
K: Derek and Ethan are canoeing in the lake.
Jen: Your two year old is canoeing? What is wrong with you people?
K: Yeah, but that's not the problem.

This was the problem.

K: Ethan is moving to the front of the canoe.
Jen: In the middle of the lake?
K: Yeah. Did I mention that he is carrying a 4 foot paddle in one hand? Thank heavens canoes are so stable and that my child has such incredible balance. Do you think his father is asleep in the canoe because no good is going to come from this.
Jen: Why are you people always flirting with danger at your house?
K: Up, he got there safely.

And there he was. As if he was born to canoe.

When they got back to shore, I asked his father what had crossed his mind to allow our 25 month old son to go from the back of a canoe to the front of the canoe while on the water.

D: He wanted to.

Doesn't that just sum up a father's logic?

Everything was OK until the 2nd Yahootini

Kristen — Sat, 24 Mar 2007 15:39:00 GMT

Shameless. That's my son. Here he is--making friends with Karen at Blogher Business '07. Not to be confused with when he was making friends with Chris or Liz or Kristin. Or Mir.

Or any other of the 180 people who at some point held my baby. I would just like to say carrying a newborn is like having a black lab puppy. Not one person can walk past me without talking to the baby.

I left my brain at home and that is clear. I had a discussion with my table about Twitter and I said that even John Roberts, Presidential hopeful, Twitters. Liz kept saying, "who, who?" It only took me 7 hours and relaying the story to Jen that she brought to my attention that John Edwards Twitters, not Supreme Court Justice John Roberts.

K: I said John Edwards.
Jen: You said John ROBERTS.

I then had to go BACK to Liz to say that I wasn't really a moron and I was talking about John Edwards. Nothing like screwing with a pregnant woman's brain. She was very gracious.

And to think this was BEFORE Yahoo's cocktail party.

With Yahootinis! Yummy, yummy Yahootinis. Which explains why all my pictures were really crappy.

This does, however, also explain why I lent Marc, a stranger, my lens and flash to try out on his new Canon XTi. If it makes you feel any better, this was AFTER my sister formally introduced us and told me that it was Marc's party. Right after I had my hand and shoulder massage. I mean, Marc gave a party that had martinis a hot bartender made by running alcohol through the "Y" of Yahoo and a group of masseurs were giving hand and shoulder massages. Have you ever heard of a better party? I think not. The least I could do is encourage the further purchase of Canon equipment. It was my duty.

I was on my way to dinner with James, Stephanie, Jenn, Laurie, Laura, and of course the great Jen Lemen when I relayed this little tidbit of giving away most of my camera equipment to a veritable stranger to my husband.

D: You gave him the short lens, right?
K: Yeah....no.
D: Babe, you might want to skip the wine with dinner tonight.

I saw Emily again and convinced her that she loves me more than she loves Jen. Emily was so kind to me at Blogher 2006 when I had a toddler running around acting like a lunatic. She confessed to us that she doesn't have a sister and so we made her an honorary one. I'm not sure whether she'll think that is a good thing when it is all said and done. WE LOVE YOU, EMILY!!!

Day 2 was just as great as Day 1 and I got an opportunity to talk to Jean of PBS Parents about the concept of blogs on their website. We are huge fans of PBSKids over here at Chateau Cookie so it was great to have a conversation about something that relates so much to the small world we live in over here.

I also had a great time competing with Jen about who could plug our ever favorite Minti more and I'll have to say she may have had me beat. I know. This is not shocking to anyone who knows Jen Lemen.

I heart Blogher Business. Even WITH a newborn. I met so many fantastic people and had a fantastic time.

Identity Crisis, circa Blogher Business '07

Kristen — Fri, 23 Mar 2007 21:32:00 GMT

The new Jen Lemen.

A SAHM's spin on the UN's old "Food for Oil" program: the "Poop for Candy" initiative

Kristen — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 13:41:00 GMT

I don't even like to use the phrase "potty training" as its mere mention causes certain people to then ask incessantly about the progress of any form of potty training. In fact, it will be the only phone conversation for at least 4 weeks and it may be implied repeatedly that the only reason The Boy is not, in fact, potty trained already is because his mother is lazy. It may even be implied that The Boy's Mother is "holding him back" from his true desire of being potty trained.

Whatever. When I caught him climbing onto the toilet a few months ago, I went with it. Then when I suggested it, he flipped out and didn't want any part of the potty. I tried to buy his performance with candy. This was a problem because the kid can pee on command. 100 times a day if candy is involved. The candy was out. I gave up and told him to tell me when he wanted to go on the potty. It's been hit or miss ever since but I'm not getting him all worked up at the tender age of just-turned-two.

But even though he is pretty young, I can't take the smell anymore. I mean, I signed on "for better or worse" when it comes to his father's smell, but I shouldn't have to take the dead-animal-smell eminating from my son's backside. Especially when we both know it's coming and yet one of us choses to just lift a leg while sitting on the couch so it can all come out a little easier.

Sitting on the couch beside me. I have suggested he go into a corner to do his business but he insists on sitting RIGHT BESIDE ME when he fills the diaper. It appears calculated. Call me crazy with my conspiracy theories, but it ain't a conspiracy theory if it is actually happening. So today I trotted off to the bathroom and for some reason he followed me.

K: If you put your poops in the potty, you can have candy.
E: Can-key, Mommy.
K: Gotta put the poops in the potty.

And then I did the unthinkable. I went over to the cabinet and pulled the candy down. I sat down on the stool in front of him and began to eat the candy. He panicked and was up on that toilet as fast as could be.

He miscalculated and then he was standing in the toilet. He pulled his foot out and swung it over the side.

Then he lowered his entire body into the toilet until he was resting in the bowl. Bidet style. Five minutes later and there was still nothing.

One leg and one ass in the toilet bowl water and still no poop. And now he is sitting beside me on the couch. Doing you know what. Guess I can finish off that candy myself.

Why do I get the distinct feeling that it is going to get worse WAY before it ever gets better?

Kristen — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 01:52:00 GMT

Tonight, after a brief stop at Baskin-Robbins, where my husband asked if I really NEEDED that 2nd scoop of ice cream on my cone, we stopped in at the Talbot's Outlet for their 75% off everything sale.

I'm not really a Talbot's girl, or is it Talbot's gal? But I am a 75% off everything kind of girl. And I just found out that I am going to Blogher Business thanks to Minti and I have absolutely nothing to wear. Unless you want to count my Lucky Jeans and . . . oh, that's it. Derek thought it was a brilliant idea but maybe he just thought that because he was still reeling from the blow he had received in Baskin-Robbins for being a dumb ass.

Suddenly The Baby was crying hysterically. I offered him the boo under the cover of his sling, but he just wanted to be pissy. His father took him and he suddenly went silent. It was the first time I hated him all day.

The Boy was off and running. Literally. His father lost him a total of 5 times in the store. I just kept pulling clothes off the rack. Not exactly the size I would like to be wearing but for $7, they are the equivalent to paper plates. I kept hearing women say, "he's over there." The child never stopped once. He did slow down to a jog to put on a pink high heel and a green high heel. His father let him wear them around the store for the next 15 minutes. I thought it was fascinating that the underlying fear that allowing him to wear heels will turn him "gay" was forgotten for the brief time that the heels seemed to curb The Boy's speed.

It was one of the many moments in life that I wished I carried my camcorder around with me. Derek running around behind The Boy as he ran through clothing racks, dodging accusatory glares from women who NEVER took their 5 week old infant out to a store during a sale and who would certainly NEVER lose a child in a store.

I pretended not to know any of them. That'll teach him to question me about my ice cream consumption again....

Why I hate UPS

Kristen — Mon, 19 Mar 2007 21:13:00 GMT

Let me tell you something. If you want to finish off a perfectly horrible week, quite possibly the worst week of your life (if you are feeling HIGHLY melodramatic), I would highly recommend going to the DMV to get your driver's license renewed.

I would suggest going to the DMV AFTER you have cried for 30 minutes because UPS lost the shirts you sent to Cathy of Canadia (sic intended), the 2 shirts that took you 2 WHOLE days to make, that you then spent $3 MORE than the entire order to ship, just so that Cathy could have her shirts for the party at which she was going to announce her pregnancy with YOUR shirt. Except apparently Overnight Delivery when defined by UPS takes 6 days. 6 days. Did I mention that UPS Overnight Delivery to Canadia took 6 days? For heaven's sake, it's Canada, not Kazakhstan.

The package apparently spent two nights in Louisville. I'm not exactly sure WHY it went to Louisville and I don't know if it had a good time, but I would have preferred it had taken the red eye to Ontario. And this choice in shipping is because the woman at UPS said, "at least we don't lose packages like the Postal Service does." RIIIIIIGGGGHHHT.

So after talking to three people at UPS, and when I came to the realization that Cathy was NOT getting her shirts in time, I may have had a small breakdown.

I like to refer to it as a "small breakdown" for those (she who shall remain nameless) who may want to diagnose me with post partum depression. Believe you me, people, I am one of the three people on the Internet NOT taking Zoloft, so if anyone wants to write me a script, have at it. It's not like I'm threatening to kill my kids on a daily basis. No, wait. Rewind. It's not like I'm GOING to kill my kids. But back to the breakdown. There I was, crying on my couch, with my son desperately saying, "no cry, mommy, no cry" when my husband came in the door. I told him I was off to the DMV.

Where I realized too late that our state's fun little perk of recycling your fantastic DMV photo from when you were 20 pounds lighter, wearing your money outfit, tan as can be, clearly single and fabulous, has also been recently changed.

"Sorry, Ma'am. We are going to need a new photo."

I looked at myself in the plexiglass reflection of the Monet print on the wall. Oh, dear. There's looking bad for your driver's license photo and then there is being 4 weeks postpartum after having eaten an entire cheesecake AND crying for 30 minutes over Cathy's failed order. And did I mention I was wearing a baby?

K: Can you see the baby in the photo?
DMV lackey: Don't worry about it.

I just looked like I was wearing an attractive Mayan wrap over my sweater. Aren't those just all the rage these days?

But wait. There's more. B showed up with a present for The Boy--a Thomas the Train that really runs.

It only took him three days to do this...

I'll spare you the picture of the pink scissors used to cut the train out of my hair. Props to Derek for making my ear look thin.

I realized they did this kind of crap. I just didn't realize they were going to do it to me.

Thank God that "tomorrow is another day."

Because breastfeeding is just all the rage with the kids these days

Kristen — Fri, 16 Mar 2007 18:00:00 GMT

Derek asked what I was attempting to do just 15 minutes before Amy and T. were supposed to show up for dinner.

K: I'm trying to nurse the baby now so that T. doesn't have to look at my bare breasts all night.
D: Well, everyone else in America has seen them. Why can't he?

I don't know. Because now I can practically tuck them into my pants? Because T's from Maine? Because the state from which they are hailing is just slightly less uptight than the mother of a 15 year old girl on prom night? And he's not the blogger friend. He's the blogger friend's husband. He's an attorney, for God's sake. We all know how uptight attorneys can be. And frankly, there were one too many "cleaning-out-the-deep-freezer-so-there-will-be-room-for-your-bodies" IM's. He's probably traumatized by the thought of entering a stranger's house. A stranger who has repeatedly plastered her husband and children's identities online but who somehow remains comfortably anonymous. While the average blogger has no problem with inviting a veritable stranger into one's home and calling that person "my friend Amy," maybe a non-blogger is not so trusting.

Oh, I refer to her as "my friend Amy" because I had great faith that once I met her, she would be "my friend Amy." Maybe it was the fact that she showed up with flowers and a bottle of Bacardi. Maybe it was the 2nd Mojito talking. Maybe it was the commonality we had regarding, shall we just judiciously call it "family drama?" Maybe it was the 2nd Mojito talking. But she is most definitely now "my friend Amy." Even though she Laughed Out Loud when I explained that "of course I made a cheesecake for dessert. That's what stay-at-home-mother's do."

What I don't understand is why my husband laughed. I mean, that's what SAHM's do. I've heard that somewhere, I swear.

Special thanks for all your kind words

Kristen — Fri, 16 Mar 2007 17:17:00 GMT

Thank you to everyone who commented or sent me nice emails about how I am NOT the worst mother in America for handing my son a bottle of children's vitamins and forcing them down his throat until the bottle was half-empty. You all are too kind. I will respond to each one personally as soon as Fed Ex delivers the shackles for my son's ankles. Until then, I am spending my days sitting on top of him to keep him out of trouble...

Four minutes

Kristen — Wed, 14 Mar 2007 23:55:00 GMT

The approximate amount of time it took to take the childproof top of the bottle off and to down around 70 Flintstone vitamins.

Four hundred seventeen minutes...

The amount of time it took to go to call the pediatrician, poison control, drive to the ER, have a tube inserted down a throat, induce vomiting, ingest 340 ml of laxative which took 3 hours and 45 minutes to take affect and to be released.

To the ER doctor who looked at me with distain, thanks. I wasn't feeling awful enough.

To my newborn, who only cried once in 6 hours, I would have crumbled on the floor in the hospital and died had you cried any more. You, today, are my favorite.

To the ingestor, that was quite an impressive feat. How many 25 month olds can open a childproof cap of the vitamins? Located on the top shelf in the bathroom? Who are we kidding? How many adults can open childproof caps?

To my husband, who dropped everything and showed up in the ER, I married the right man. Thanks again for reminding me of that.

He's two. I am SURE he is going to be the death of me...

They may hate children but they sure do love dogs

Kristen — Sun, 11 Mar 2007 22:01:00 GMT

This afternoon we decided to take advantage of the spectacular weather by heading to Old Town to rub elbows with the "haves." Actually we were just in the mood for fish and chips.

We brought the dog. Or shall I say Derek brought the dog. I told him that under no circumstances would I be responsible for the dog. So there I am at fish and chips placing a to go order because we have the DOG and now we have to eat outside, when I look out the window to see Derek conversing with a stunning blond woman who is scratching Zinni's ears enthusiastically. She was sporting her $400 pair of shoes and $350 sunglasses. She basically looked like every other rich overgroomed woman in this town.

K: Hey, Ethan. There is nothing quite like having a friendly dog to pick up hot chicks.

It was only then that I noticed her clearly-out-of-his-league-husband standing behind mine.

D: You didn't actually say that out loud in the fish and chips restaurant, did you?

Not really. I thought it but then again I was in charge of TWO children because my husband brought the DOG and one of my children was determined to have COKE and to get it from the cooler himself. I was too busy to be outwardly clever or catty.

Not moments later we were walking down the street when an equally excellently dressed woman leaned over and exclaimed, "BEAUTIFUL BABY!!!!!!!!!!"

To the DOG.

Not my beautiful children, but to my Dog.

Only in Old Town...

Sometimes I just have to get a little political--Warning: Libertarian leanings sighted ahead...

Kristen — Wed, 07 Mar 2007 15:37:00 GMT

Yesterday I went to the DMV. I know, what the hell was I thinking? But when your state is responsible for randomly giving driver's licenses to terrorists, then they get all bad-ass and change the laws and now decent, self-respecting citizens are forced to GO TO THE DMV to get a license renewed. Ridiculous, I know.

I left The Boys with their dad because what reeks more of tuberculosis more than the DMV? That and hepatitis-es. I don't know which ones, but until The Baby has his 17th booster shot to protect him, it's better to be safe rather than sorry. I would have gone during the day, but The Boys dad determined that 5:30 p.m. was the best time for me to go. Because what better time to go than when The Baby has reached maximum overload and is wailing?

So after perusing the DMV website 60 times to make sure I had THE EXACT PAPERWORK I need to renew my license, I was off to the mall DMV.

Where I was told that since my license expired last week, I now needed to prove my legal residency in this country. And my marriage license, which clearly meets the definition of "secondary proof" does not show legal residency proof. Even though I had to show my birth certificate to GET MY EFF-ING MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE and it clearly states that I was born in a quaint country town in one of the 13 original COLONIES, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, was not THE legal residency proof I needed. Now I needed to show my driver's license and my birth certificate or passport. Those are my only options.

If I am not a United States citizen, then I can show one of, and I am quoting here, 47 different INS documents which will show various stages of legality in this country.

The driver's license is 6 days expired and now I need to prove that I am legal. My passport is with my birth certificate. And God in heaven himself only knows where those two things are. My husband cracked open the safe to discover his passport, 2 old passports and The Boy's passport, our marriage cert, The Boy's birth certificate and nothing else. I'm starting to smell a conspiracy here.

Mama's passport is no where to be found. What if Hillary becomes president? How am I ever going to flee? Just like the bureaucratic government to screw the regular people. This definitely stops terrorism. Who would have thought that all it would take is making it impossible to get a driver's license?

When I asked Renee how many more times she thought I would find him curled up beside his brother when he disappeared, she answered, "everytime?"

Kristen — Tue, 06 Mar 2007 15:17:00 GMT

For more pictures of the rugrats, clink on the ethan and nathan link to the right...

And we were so worried that his brother would have a problem sharing

Kristen — Fri, 02 Mar 2007 21:37:00 GMT

K: You are gonna have to walk home from the train station today.

It was a cruel thing to do, since he went in late this morning after we took Nathan to the doctor's YET AGAIN. Between 3 well visits and 4 calls for illness (cold from his brother--check. thrush--check. not pooping for days and DAYS--check), we just absolutely positively HAD to go again. This time was for the smoker's cough he has developed at 2 1/2 weeks. I swear I checked all his pockets and not a pack of Marlboro's to be found. Maybe he already quit and it's just the emphysema.

Or the croup. Or is it just croup? Is calling it "the croup" like saying "the diabetes?" I don't know. All I know is that only a steamy shower fixes it. A steamy shower that creates so much steam that when a person goes to turn the light off, she shocks her hand, arm and entire torso. And not in a good way. In a "when is my privacy not going to tingle anymore" kind of way.

On a phone call to Renee not long after:

K: What is the worst thing that could happen to me?

Other than having to take my son to the pediatrician's office YET AGAIN, forgetting my husband had office hours for class after work, going to pick him up at the train station with two screaming kids anyway only to realize that he had office hours, taking two screaming kids to Trader Joe's to buy food only to realize at the checkout that I didn't have my wallet, telling The Boy to stay out of the puddle by the truck only to have him fall INTO the puddle and sit there crying without getting out of the puddle...

Renee: Someone wants to come over to see the house.
K: Bingo. The same people that called the other night to see the house that after an hour of cleaning, never showed up. Those people. And did I mention that Derek won't be home to help?
Renee: You poor thing.

Yes. Poor thing I am. In more ways than one.

It's not that I envisioned it being easier. I just envisioned it with less whining and crying. And that's just me.

What is the quickest way to get a contract on this house?
	Shed--$2,000
	Bedroom, bathroom and closet--$51,500
	Screen porch--$4,500 (contractor)
	Screen porch--$2,000 (Derek)
	Convert bathroom--$5,800
	Paint house--$500
	Retrieve pods

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