| What Your Soul Really Looks Like |
 You are quite expressive and thoughtful. You see the world in a way that others are blind to. You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds. You believe that people see you for how you are, not how you look. But deep down, you know that's not exactly true. Your near future is a lot like the present, and as far as you're concerned, that's a very good thing. For you, love is all about caring and comfort. You couldn't fall in love with someone you didn't trust. |
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Drinkin’ Gin n’ Juice From A Sippy Cup
Actually it’s not gin… gin is a nasty, nasty liquid to have to get drunk on. It’s something much nicer and probably a bit more potent – Loki! But it is in a sippy cup.
* We Interrupt THIS Post As The CHILD Has Remembered To Ask About HOW BABIES ARE MADE! Yikes! I thought she FORGOT about that! No fair! I JUST now started to DRINK! Back to my drunken ramble after I educate my offspring and scar myself for life.*
Okay, I’m back and it only took half a drink and a few Google searches to give her an answer that wouldn’t make my brain hemorrhage. Hopefully the explanation involving alien abduction and probes will hold her for a couple more years.
Toilet of Doom…
(I’m moving on to another subject because I totally forgot what I was writing about due to the trauma of explaining how babies come into existence to my first born, so let’s move on…)
One day last week after I had spent most of the day helping D move, I returned home in the wee hours of the morning only to walk into my room and find squishy carpet in front of my bathroom. Fuck I said as I tried to figure out HOW my carpet got so damn wet. Fuck I said as I screamed angrily for towels and an explanation as to the wet carpet. *&^%$#@!@#?!?!^&$@# is what I said when I realized I could blame not my Tiny Terrorists nor my gay husband but only the gawd forsaken TOILET OF DOOM! So here I was at 1 am with all the towels in my home thrown on my carpet to try to soak up the water therein. Apparently the fucking toilet had overflowed and no one noticed it. Damn it, I need to perform another voodoo ritual in the bathroom! EVILNESS is CLOGGING my pipes! Er… the toilet’s pipes… and not totally clogging them, just making the toilet act funny. I hate that toilet.
Actually it’s not gin… gin is a nasty, nasty liquid to have to get drunk on. It’s something much nicer and probably a bit more potent – Loki! But it is in a sippy cup.
* We Interrupt THIS Post As The CHILD Has Remembered To Ask About HOW BABIES ARE MADE! Yikes! I thought she FORGOT about that! No fair! I JUST now started to DRINK! Back to my drunken ramble after I educate my offspring and scar myself for life.*
Okay, I’m back and it only took half a drink and a few Google searches to give her an answer that wouldn’t make my brain hemorrhage. Hopefully the explanation involving alien abduction and probes will hold her for a couple more years.
Toilet of Doom…
(I’m moving on to another subject because I totally forgot what I was writing about due to the trauma of explaining how babies come into existence to my first born, so let’s move on…)
One day last week after I had spent most of the day helping D move, I returned home in the wee hours of the morning only to walk into my room and find squishy carpet in front of my bathroom. Fuck I said as I tried to figure out HOW my carpet got so damn wet. Fuck I said as I screamed angrily for towels and an explanation as to the wet carpet. *&^%$#@!@#?!?!^&$@# is what I said when I realized I could blame not my Tiny Terrorists nor my gay husband but only the gawd forsaken TOILET OF DOOM! So here I was at 1 am with all the towels in my home thrown on my carpet to try to soak up the water therein. Apparently the fucking toilet had overflowed and no one noticed it. Damn it, I need to perform another voodoo ritual in the bathroom! EVILNESS is CLOGGING my pipes! Er… the toilet’s pipes… and not totally clogging them, just making the toilet act funny. I hate that toilet.
Forgive My Oversight!
It's been pointed out to me by an anomous person (K) that I have posted the PRINCESS photo of Coco previously. So sue me. She's a cute dog.
BUT contrary to what some people (K) thinks, the rest ARE new photos. AND though I've been accused of being SEXIST in posting my DOG photos, I am not, I'm just lacking in MALE DOG models. So there.
It's been pointed out to me by an anomous person (K) that I have posted the PRINCESS photo of Coco previously. So sue me. She's a cute dog.
BUT contrary to what some people (K) thinks, the rest ARE new photos. AND though I've been accused of being SEXIST in posting my DOG photos, I am not, I'm just lacking in MALE DOG models. So there.
Avoiding The Issue…
Just now:
Her: Who was that?
Me: None of your business. (eyes rolling up in head)
Her: Who was it?
Me: It’s none of your business really.
Her: Was it Aunt D?
Me: No really, it’s not your business. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that EVERY time the phone rings it’s not going to be for you. You’re 4 after all.
Kids.
So last night K set in motion a set of events that I had hoped to avoid for a couple more years. Super Girl asking “HOW ARE BABIES MADE???” Sheesh. It all started rather innocently. The Tiny Terrorists asked their daddy for slices of watermelon (ew) and the conversation went to how one should not eat watermelon seeds because as all 1st graders know, they will of course sprout and grow in one’s stomach. At that utterance of wisdom I turned from my computer screen and asked Super Girl who told her that (a girl in her class) little gem of info. Before I could stop myself I decided to have a little fun at the ignorance of my own offspring and went along with the watermelon growing in the stomach thing. Just as I was convincing two wide eyed progeny of this ‘fact’ K pipes in with something about that’s where baby’s come from, women who eat watermelon seeds. With wide amazed eyes Super Girl said “Really?!?” and like a really bad mom, I said “Yes! Haven’t you ever noticed how pregnant women look like they have a watermelon in their bellies?” This conversation continued for a few moments until I realized that I was doing something I swore I would not do to my children – I was LIEING to them! And I vowed from the time they were born that I would not lie to them about anything (except that brown cows give chocolate milk and that I really DO have eyes in the back of my head and that the tooth fairy exists). So quickly told Super Girl that we were just kidding that babies DON’T come from swallowed watermelon seeds and OF COURSE the NEXT thing out of her mouth was “Where DO babies come from?”
Dead silence from us. I suddenly wanted K to burst into flames and for the previous conversation regarding watermelon seeds and babies to have never happened. She’s 7, I suddenly realized that I was completely unprepared for this. My brain went into over drive, what to tell her that was accurate but not to graphic, what to tell her that wouldn’t illicit MORE questions from her and why had K just basically said “Ask your mother” just now? My answer “Uhhhhhh… why don’t we look it up on the internet when I’m done with this e-mail?” She said sure, then K said something about how babies are made when a man and a woman get together and make a baby. I thought “Oh great, now she thinks babies are made from a joint effort of a play dough project! I will look up age appropriate materials to explain this complex phenomenon so that my offspring won’t forever resent the fact that I concocted some lame watermelon story.” Then Super Girl said “Okay” in response to her father’s lame answer and went back to watching the movie. Half an hour later when the Tiny Terrorists headed for bed, I wiped the sweat from my brow as I realized that I had indeed dodged that bullet for the moment.
Just now:
Her: Who was that?
Me: None of your business. (eyes rolling up in head)
Her: Who was it?
Me: It’s none of your business really.
Her: Was it Aunt D?
Me: No really, it’s not your business. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that EVERY time the phone rings it’s not going to be for you. You’re 4 after all.
Kids.
So last night K set in motion a set of events that I had hoped to avoid for a couple more years. Super Girl asking “HOW ARE BABIES MADE???” Sheesh. It all started rather innocently. The Tiny Terrorists asked their daddy for slices of watermelon (ew) and the conversation went to how one should not eat watermelon seeds because as all 1st graders know, they will of course sprout and grow in one’s stomach. At that utterance of wisdom I turned from my computer screen and asked Super Girl who told her that (a girl in her class) little gem of info. Before I could stop myself I decided to have a little fun at the ignorance of my own offspring and went along with the watermelon growing in the stomach thing. Just as I was convincing two wide eyed progeny of this ‘fact’ K pipes in with something about that’s where baby’s come from, women who eat watermelon seeds. With wide amazed eyes Super Girl said “Really?!?” and like a really bad mom, I said “Yes! Haven’t you ever noticed how pregnant women look like they have a watermelon in their bellies?” This conversation continued for a few moments until I realized that I was doing something I swore I would not do to my children – I was LIEING to them! And I vowed from the time they were born that I would not lie to them about anything (except that brown cows give chocolate milk and that I really DO have eyes in the back of my head and that the tooth fairy exists). So quickly told Super Girl that we were just kidding that babies DON’T come from swallowed watermelon seeds and OF COURSE the NEXT thing out of her mouth was “Where DO babies come from?”
Dead silence from us. I suddenly wanted K to burst into flames and for the previous conversation regarding watermelon seeds and babies to have never happened. She’s 7, I suddenly realized that I was completely unprepared for this. My brain went into over drive, what to tell her that was accurate but not to graphic, what to tell her that wouldn’t illicit MORE questions from her and why had K just basically said “Ask your mother” just now? My answer “Uhhhhhh… why don’t we look it up on the internet when I’m done with this e-mail?” She said sure, then K said something about how babies are made when a man and a woman get together and make a baby. I thought “Oh great, now she thinks babies are made from a joint effort of a play dough project! I will look up age appropriate materials to explain this complex phenomenon so that my offspring won’t forever resent the fact that I concocted some lame watermelon story.” Then Super Girl said “Okay” in response to her father’s lame answer and went back to watching the movie. Half an hour later when the Tiny Terrorists headed for bed, I wiped the sweat from my brow as I realized that I had indeed dodged that bullet for the moment.
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