Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
adventures in tampon buying
Since Aaron had to go to the store last night I asked him to pick me up a box of tampons.
“Not an ordinary box, tampax pearls, with the yellow writing”, I told him.
“No way!” he said. “I’m not buying tampons”
At first I was annoyed. Then I remembered that time years ago, right after Andrew was born, when I got a nasty yeast infection (sorry if I am grossing anyone out but all women get them at some point). Anyway, it was really bad. I won’t go into details or anything but I needed some Monistat pronto. Only thing was that due to my rigid catholic upbringing I could not bring myself to buy a box of Monistat. I didn't want it to be known that just like all other woman, I did in fact have a vagina, and not just any vagina, a yeast infected one. Like your average avoidant person I decided to just let it get worse. Finally, while shopping at target, I asked my friend Cami to please buy me something for my awful, hellish, infection. She did it, just like that! She walked up to the counter, without the least bit of hesitation, and handed it to the cashier. I was impressed. At the same time I hated her a little for being so normal and nonchalant about vaginas.
To this day, as a 29 year old woman, I still only go to female cashiers when buying tampons. Also, I have always been embarrassed when buying pregnancy tests because a pregnancy test is actaul proof that I do in fact have sex. That's just gross to have out there hanging in the air at a local drug store. It's almost like having the word "Hussy" written in vivid black marker on my forehead.
After Aaron's flat out refusal, we all went to Wal-Mart, the whole family, to avoid Aaron’s fear of tampon buying. I asked him, just to be annoying, if he was worried that the cashier would think he had a vagina. He was not amused. I was.
While at Wal-Mart I found the tampon aisle adjacent to the condoms, lubes, and feminine itching products. Awesome! There was a man in the aisle an honest to God living, breathing, man, and he was looking at stuff. I was about to congratulate him on his bravery since my very own husband was hesitant to buy a simple box of tampax pearls. Then I noticed that his arms were filled with lube, boxes of condoms, and other stuff that I was afraid to look at. Since I am prude I was automatically convinced that he was a sex addict. I envisioned one of those swings in his room, mirrors, lots of them everywhere, whips, and handcuffs. I was certain he was the type to ahve sex ads on craigslsit and hosted orgy parties on the weekend. Then I snapped back to reality and realized that I might be the creepy one for staring and for thinking about sex swings. So there the two of us stood, he proudly and unashamedly searching for the perfect brand of lube, me humiliated over a box of tampons. I was definitely the freaky one. Oddly enough I found the lube man refreshing. Maybe I will try to be more like him when it comes to tampons and other vaginal products.
“Not an ordinary box, tampax pearls, with the yellow writing”, I told him.
“No way!” he said. “I’m not buying tampons”
At first I was annoyed. Then I remembered that time years ago, right after Andrew was born, when I got a nasty yeast infection (sorry if I am grossing anyone out but all women get them at some point). Anyway, it was really bad. I won’t go into details or anything but I needed some Monistat pronto. Only thing was that due to my rigid catholic upbringing I could not bring myself to buy a box of Monistat. I didn't want it to be known that just like all other woman, I did in fact have a vagina, and not just any vagina, a yeast infected one. Like your average avoidant person I decided to just let it get worse. Finally, while shopping at target, I asked my friend Cami to please buy me something for my awful, hellish, infection. She did it, just like that! She walked up to the counter, without the least bit of hesitation, and handed it to the cashier. I was impressed. At the same time I hated her a little for being so normal and nonchalant about vaginas.
To this day, as a 29 year old woman, I still only go to female cashiers when buying tampons. Also, I have always been embarrassed when buying pregnancy tests because a pregnancy test is actaul proof that I do in fact have sex. That's just gross to have out there hanging in the air at a local drug store. It's almost like having the word "Hussy" written in vivid black marker on my forehead.
After Aaron's flat out refusal, we all went to Wal-Mart, the whole family, to avoid Aaron’s fear of tampon buying. I asked him, just to be annoying, if he was worried that the cashier would think he had a vagina. He was not amused. I was.
While at Wal-Mart I found the tampon aisle adjacent to the condoms, lubes, and feminine itching products. Awesome! There was a man in the aisle an honest to God living, breathing, man, and he was looking at stuff. I was about to congratulate him on his bravery since my very own husband was hesitant to buy a simple box of tampax pearls. Then I noticed that his arms were filled with lube, boxes of condoms, and other stuff that I was afraid to look at. Since I am prude I was automatically convinced that he was a sex addict. I envisioned one of those swings in his room, mirrors, lots of them everywhere, whips, and handcuffs. I was certain he was the type to ahve sex ads on craigslsit and hosted orgy parties on the weekend. Then I snapped back to reality and realized that I might be the creepy one for staring and for thinking about sex swings. So there the two of us stood, he proudly and unashamedly searching for the perfect brand of lube, me humiliated over a box of tampons. I was definitely the freaky one. Oddly enough I found the lube man refreshing. Maybe I will try to be more like him when it comes to tampons and other vaginal products.
I love thrift shopping
Here are a few of my favorite recently thrifted items:
Shoes:
vintage heels, $1.50 at the thrift store by the san diego airport
boys, Diesel shoes $1, St. John of the cross rummage sale
Amelia's fancy euro mary janes, $2.50 @ St. John of the cross rummage sale. these puppies sell for $45+
other stuff:
H&m shirt for Amelia 95 cents
dress for me $5.95, at the thrift store on El Cajon BLVd off the 15
I love the colorful buttons on the sweater and hearts on the hoodie for Amelia!
More Amelia stuff! I am not a huge fan of the shirt but I bought it because I knew Aaron would love it. The purple peasant skirt is much cuter in real life! The jeans are basic jeans since she has outgrown just about everything!
Stuff the boys picked out:
They are obssessed with both books but especailly the cook book that offers bascially zero healhty options.
Not thrifted but bought on super super sale/ebay:
I obviously didn't buy the kid. That's cute Andrew who was not cooperating when I asked to take his picture! I bought that really ultra soft yellow shirt that is rad in person at nordstrom rack for $5. His pants are sweet in person. They are skinny legged plaid volcom dress pants. I actaully bought them for Jake but Andrew is kind of obsessed with them. I bought them on ebay with two t-shirs and a pair of jeans for a really good deal.
This purse is going to serve as my school bag in the fall. It was around $10 at Marshalls. I have an unhealhty fixation wiht discount stores!
Last but not least, thrifted school clothes. Amelia has to wear a uniform to preschool. Basically she can only wear khaki, red, or blue. It's very boring but luckily she has lots of fun tights, socks, and shoes. I got all of this for under $10.
Shoes:
vintage heels, $1.50 at the thrift store by the san diego airport
boys, Diesel shoes $1, St. John of the cross rummage sale
Amelia's fancy euro mary janes, $2.50 @ St. John of the cross rummage sale. these puppies sell for $45+
other stuff:
H&m shirt for Amelia 95 cents
dress for me $5.95, at the thrift store on El Cajon BLVd off the 15
I love the colorful buttons on the sweater and hearts on the hoodie for Amelia!
More Amelia stuff! I am not a huge fan of the shirt but I bought it because I knew Aaron would love it. The purple peasant skirt is much cuter in real life! The jeans are basic jeans since she has outgrown just about everything!
Stuff the boys picked out:
They are obssessed with both books but especailly the cook book that offers bascially zero healhty options.
Not thrifted but bought on super super sale/ebay:
I obviously didn't buy the kid. That's cute Andrew who was not cooperating when I asked to take his picture! I bought that really ultra soft yellow shirt that is rad in person at nordstrom rack for $5. His pants are sweet in person. They are skinny legged plaid volcom dress pants. I actaully bought them for Jake but Andrew is kind of obsessed with them. I bought them on ebay with two t-shirs and a pair of jeans for a really good deal.
This purse is going to serve as my school bag in the fall. It was around $10 at Marshalls. I have an unhealhty fixation wiht discount stores!
Last but not least, thrifted school clothes. Amelia has to wear a uniform to preschool. Basically she can only wear khaki, red, or blue. It's very boring but luckily she has lots of fun tights, socks, and shoes. I got all of this for under $10.
I'd like an order of butt fries with that
The other day I had a conversation with the boys that I never considered having. While innocently driving to Target I accidentally spaced off and missed the turn. Upon realizing my mistake I turned around in the first driveway we came upon. That driveway was the driveway to pure platinum; a local nudie bar that I had no idea was in the area.
“Why does it say nude?” Andrew asked. Because I have never been one to sugar coat and like to keep things honest with them I just went with it and told him matter a factly that the ladies who worked there were all naked.
The car was dead silent
“You’re joking!!” Jake laughed. “Very funny mom!”
Both of the boys proceeded to laugh their tiny little heads off. They never take me seriously.
“No really,” I assured them. “People go there to see naked ladies.”
The boys were shocked and totally amazed.
“Why is there a naked place?" Andrew asked
"That’s gross!" added Jacob "Do people go there to eat too?”
"I don’t know? Probably." I shrugged “I definitely wouldn’t go in there. Who wants to eat french fries that have been near butts?” I asked
“Eww butt fries, gross.”
And that was that. Now the boys are aware of the seedy world around them. Who knew that the conversation about strip clubs would come at the tender age of 7 and 9?
“Why does it say nude?” Andrew asked. Because I have never been one to sugar coat and like to keep things honest with them I just went with it and told him matter a factly that the ladies who worked there were all naked.
The car was dead silent
“You’re joking!!” Jake laughed. “Very funny mom!”
Both of the boys proceeded to laugh their tiny little heads off. They never take me seriously.
“No really,” I assured them. “People go there to see naked ladies.”
The boys were shocked and totally amazed.
“Why is there a naked place?" Andrew asked
"That’s gross!" added Jacob "Do people go there to eat too?”
"I don’t know? Probably." I shrugged “I definitely wouldn’t go in there. Who wants to eat french fries that have been near butts?” I asked
“Eww butt fries, gross.”
And that was that. Now the boys are aware of the seedy world around them. Who knew that the conversation about strip clubs would come at the tender age of 7 and 9?
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Legos!
In the process of cleaning my house this weekend I got carried away with all sorts of side projects and ended up completely destroying every single room. Every time I try to clean something I make a huge, crazy, mess. I get these big ideas and creative plans and then I destroy all cleanliness that is in my path. It ridiculous; it really is. I have a backwards version of OCD. The anti OCD. The kind of OCD you wouldn’t wish on your very largest, knurliest, enemy. I get ideas; I like to think of them as ground-breakingly, unique, ideas, to organize something differently. I start dumping out drawers and closets and then half way through I say fuck it, this is more work then I expected and there the mess, that I once had such high expectations for, stays for days upon days. It’s really disastrous. I am a human tornado. I’m like an annoying toddler that gets into stuff. It’s kind of how I live my life, half assed.
Last weekend I decided to waste hours upon hours on legos of all things. I had loads upon loads of laundry to do and dishes but instead I decided to tackle my kid’s ginormous Lego collection. I live my life in the most absurd manner. In the middle of the madness that I like to call organizing (the rest of the world calls destruction) Aaron walked into the boy’s room and very simply raised an eyebrow. I could tell by the simple, yet slightly condescendingly mockinking manner in which that eyebrow was raised that he was certain I would, as usual abandon said project half way through. That’s all it took for me to stay committed. I love a challenge and any and all opportunity to prove Aaron wrong. Every now and then I like to remind him of the fact that I am a perfectly capable human being. It’s the way our off kilter, happy, marriage works
My reasoning behind the Lego organizing was this: The boys are super duper into legos right now which I find pretty rad. Lego’s are a combination of creativity, mathematical calculations, and shear geniusness. I am all about them playing with Lego’s. Only problem is that they build stuff and then lose all the pieces and end up with a huge mass of Lego’s at the bottom of their toy bin.
I decided to separate all their legos in to colored categories: Gray, beige, brown, black, white, yellow, red, blue, green, and the less popular orange. They literally had one 20 gallon bin filled to the rim with all sorts of legos and another smaller bin of what I now call plastic cockroaches, because once you find one there are millions more everywhere. This was an all day task. The boys helped for about an hour and then realized that their mom is bananas and that the work was much too tedious, and abandoned the project altogether. SO, on my own, I organized thousands of tiny little legos into their own color coded little baggies.
I actually plan on eventually constructing shelves with jars drilled in to house this color coded system. My dad has a similar set up in his garage workshop that houses different kinds of nails and screws (why is that everything carpentry related has to be sexual, who came up with using nail and screw in a perverse way anyway, it was always so disconcerting to me as a carpenters daughter that all my dads tools were linked to sexual phrases like Hammer, screw, and nail. Why is the world so gross?). After I finished separating all of the legos into their own little baggies Aaron told me that the wiser move would have been to separate them by size shape and connecters
“You know, to make it easier to build stuff”.
I kind of wanted to punch him. He always comes up with the plans after all said and done. Besides, if I had done it that way it wouldn’t look as Martha Stewart esque. Sure it would have been more functional but there is something to be said for aesthetics. Anyway, along with the Lego madness I scrubbed and cleaned the boy’s room and it is now totally spotless. Sure the rest of the house is a complete disaster but at least their room looks good. Here are some pictures of the madness. I wish I had taken a before and after photo. This is the final result minus the shelves with jars which I will get to one of these days:
A couple of the baggies!
Kind of what I have in mind to do
the kid!
Seriously, it’s almost worth the entire day of color coding.
Last weekend I decided to waste hours upon hours on legos of all things. I had loads upon loads of laundry to do and dishes but instead I decided to tackle my kid’s ginormous Lego collection. I live my life in the most absurd manner. In the middle of the madness that I like to call organizing (the rest of the world calls destruction) Aaron walked into the boy’s room and very simply raised an eyebrow. I could tell by the simple, yet slightly condescendingly mockinking manner in which that eyebrow was raised that he was certain I would, as usual abandon said project half way through. That’s all it took for me to stay committed. I love a challenge and any and all opportunity to prove Aaron wrong. Every now and then I like to remind him of the fact that I am a perfectly capable human being. It’s the way our off kilter, happy, marriage works
My reasoning behind the Lego organizing was this: The boys are super duper into legos right now which I find pretty rad. Lego’s are a combination of creativity, mathematical calculations, and shear geniusness. I am all about them playing with Lego’s. Only problem is that they build stuff and then lose all the pieces and end up with a huge mass of Lego’s at the bottom of their toy bin.
I decided to separate all their legos in to colored categories: Gray, beige, brown, black, white, yellow, red, blue, green, and the less popular orange. They literally had one 20 gallon bin filled to the rim with all sorts of legos and another smaller bin of what I now call plastic cockroaches, because once you find one there are millions more everywhere. This was an all day task. The boys helped for about an hour and then realized that their mom is bananas and that the work was much too tedious, and abandoned the project altogether. SO, on my own, I organized thousands of tiny little legos into their own color coded little baggies.
I actually plan on eventually constructing shelves with jars drilled in to house this color coded system. My dad has a similar set up in his garage workshop that houses different kinds of nails and screws (why is that everything carpentry related has to be sexual, who came up with using nail and screw in a perverse way anyway, it was always so disconcerting to me as a carpenters daughter that all my dads tools were linked to sexual phrases like Hammer, screw, and nail. Why is the world so gross?). After I finished separating all of the legos into their own little baggies Aaron told me that the wiser move would have been to separate them by size shape and connecters
“You know, to make it easier to build stuff”.
I kind of wanted to punch him. He always comes up with the plans after all said and done. Besides, if I had done it that way it wouldn’t look as Martha Stewart esque. Sure it would have been more functional but there is something to be said for aesthetics. Anyway, along with the Lego madness I scrubbed and cleaned the boy’s room and it is now totally spotless. Sure the rest of the house is a complete disaster but at least their room looks good. Here are some pictures of the madness. I wish I had taken a before and after photo. This is the final result minus the shelves with jars which I will get to one of these days:
A couple of the baggies!
Kind of what I have in mind to do
the kid!
Seriously, it’s almost worth the entire day of color coding.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Inside the mind of a three year old!
I made the mistake of allowing Amelia to ride her big wheel to the community pool today. I didn’t factor in the towels and shoes that always spill out of arms after a day at the pool. Needless to say, I was trying to make the walk home as quickly as possibly because my arms ached with the weight of our swimming gear. Amelia had other plans. She wanted me to look at the butterflies, to acknowledge the way she knows how to move her ears (she really doesn’t it’s more her eyebrows then anything else) and can I hold her shoes because she thinks there might be a rock in one, and look at that tree, and that bird. Holy moly who knew a kid on wheels could move so slowly. There are all sorts of hills on the walk home. Due to a previous accident that sent her flying off her bike and doing a little somersault on the cement she is terrified of them. Each time we reached a hill she would somehow manage to pick up her bike like a tiny little weight lifter and very, very slowly inch down the hill with it in her arms. The whole thing was pretty impressive. I started walking faster in the hopes that she would speed up and maybe get over her fear and tackle one of the hills. Instead, I hear her yell from behind me
“Mommy! Mommy! Stop beating me up!”
I pause for a second taking in what she has just said. I am shocked. What does she mean beating her up? Slowly, dumbly, I realize what she means is that I am beating her. Perhaps in her slow snail way she thinks we are racing. Clearly, she is not going to tolerate me beating her. Again, very loudly as if she has produced a magical microphone she yells piercingly, in my neighborhood with all sorts of windows open,
“Mommy, don’t beat me up!”
I turn around quickly before she can utter it again.
“Amelia, you mean wait for me, or stop going so fast, it’s not a race so you don’t need to say beating, definitely not beating up, beating up means someone is hurting you. I am by no means beating you up.” I say that last part loudly just in case someone is calling 911 due to the persistent shrieks of my disgruntled child. “You say slow down mommy you are going too fast.”
She looks at me for a second then yells. “Stop beating me!” I shrug my shoulders at least it sounds a little better.
A few hours later while trying to get dinner ready I hear Amelia’s desperate pleas form the boy’s room. I find her on the top bunk.
“I NEED pillows!” She tells me, “lots of pillows!”
I hand her two, thinking she wants to lie down for a bit before dinner. Clearly it’s not good enough because she wrinkles up her face with dissatisfaction the way she does when her expectations have not been met.
“Two is good enough.” I tell her.
A few minutes later I hear her yelling again.
“I need more!”
I Ignore her. When I check on her a little while later I notice a pile of pillows strewn on the floor directly under the top bunk, the boys most have given in to her pleas.
“Mommy watch me jump!” She says as I enter the room.
“Amelia, that’s way too high for such a little person! You’ll crack your head! We will have to go to the hospital and it won’t be fun” I tell her.
She looks at me for a long time like I have just said the most ludicrous thing in the world. In a very matter of fact tone as if speaking to a complete imbecile she says. “Mommy, I am real girl. I am not pretend! She holds out her arms to as if to offer proof of their fleshy realness “only pretend girls crack their heads!
“You’re real?” I ask.
Yes, mommy!” she giggles. “Real girls can’t crack!” she assures me.
And those are some of Amelia’s thoughts for the day.
Amelia with her slow poke bike!
“Mommy! Mommy! Stop beating me up!”
I pause for a second taking in what she has just said. I am shocked. What does she mean beating her up? Slowly, dumbly, I realize what she means is that I am beating her. Perhaps in her slow snail way she thinks we are racing. Clearly, she is not going to tolerate me beating her. Again, very loudly as if she has produced a magical microphone she yells piercingly, in my neighborhood with all sorts of windows open,
“Mommy, don’t beat me up!”
I turn around quickly before she can utter it again.
“Amelia, you mean wait for me, or stop going so fast, it’s not a race so you don’t need to say beating, definitely not beating up, beating up means someone is hurting you. I am by no means beating you up.” I say that last part loudly just in case someone is calling 911 due to the persistent shrieks of my disgruntled child. “You say slow down mommy you are going too fast.”
She looks at me for a second then yells. “Stop beating me!” I shrug my shoulders at least it sounds a little better.
A few hours later while trying to get dinner ready I hear Amelia’s desperate pleas form the boy’s room. I find her on the top bunk.
“I NEED pillows!” She tells me, “lots of pillows!”
I hand her two, thinking she wants to lie down for a bit before dinner. Clearly it’s not good enough because she wrinkles up her face with dissatisfaction the way she does when her expectations have not been met.
“Two is good enough.” I tell her.
A few minutes later I hear her yelling again.
“I need more!”
I Ignore her. When I check on her a little while later I notice a pile of pillows strewn on the floor directly under the top bunk, the boys most have given in to her pleas.
“Mommy watch me jump!” She says as I enter the room.
“Amelia, that’s way too high for such a little person! You’ll crack your head! We will have to go to the hospital and it won’t be fun” I tell her.
She looks at me for a long time like I have just said the most ludicrous thing in the world. In a very matter of fact tone as if speaking to a complete imbecile she says. “Mommy, I am real girl. I am not pretend! She holds out her arms to as if to offer proof of their fleshy realness “only pretend girls crack their heads!
“You’re real?” I ask.
Yes, mommy!” she giggles. “Real girls can’t crack!” she assures me.
And those are some of Amelia’s thoughts for the day.
Amelia with her slow poke bike!
Monday, July 21, 2008
Old school baby!
Last year while in Chicago, my mom showed me an entire closet filled with my old journals. They dated back to when I was an 8 year old little person. I actually filled one entire duffle bag with some of the journals and flew back home to San Diego with them. They are truly hilarious, heartbreaking, and stupidly dramatic, all at the same time. I have read through most of them and hate and love the awkward teen me. For your viewing pleasure here is one dating back to 1993:
09/1993
There is not a single hot guy in the freshman class. They are all ugly. Homecoming is coming up and the prospects of me actually going have severely diminished due to:
A. the massive cold sore on my bottom lip
B. The fact that somehow I have magically become a loser.
C. The fact that the two boys whom have showed an interest in going with me are both huge losers.
So..Gerky wants to ask me to Homecoming. I can tell because he talks about the dance over and over to me. I almost want to punch him in the face and scream, “You have humongous teeth and a bad hair cut and you smell like BBQ chips. Hello! Clearly I am way to cool for you!” Part of me, a small part, is nice enough not to do that. He almost asked me yesterday in Spanish class. He got all sweaty and tongue tied and the bell rang. I rushed out quick before he could ask me. I will need to find some sort of date for this thing before Gerky asks me and my fate as a humongous loser becomes officially sealed at this god forsaken school.
Speaking of ugly guys I have never seen so many in one place at one time. It’s as if all the Catholics in the greater Chicago land area that were breeding boys in 1979 and 78 were terribly ugly people. Now there are hoards of pimply faced ugly boys roaming the halls of this school. The juniors and seniors are hot though. Unfortunately they are all too mesmerized my sisters humongous boobs to notice little loner kid me. Have I mentioned how much Nazareth academy sucks ass yet? This is all my sisters fault. She is the one who came up with the ridiculous idea of planning for her college career at the tender age of 14 by attending private school. Who does that? Aren’t we supposed to be young and carefree? She is an idiot. Hopefully an idiot that one day will have loads of money thanks to all of her idiot planning. Have I mentioned that my sister has single handedly ruined my life?
09/1993
There is not a single hot guy in the freshman class. They are all ugly. Homecoming is coming up and the prospects of me actually going have severely diminished due to:
A. the massive cold sore on my bottom lip
B. The fact that somehow I have magically become a loser.
C. The fact that the two boys whom have showed an interest in going with me are both huge losers.
So..Gerky wants to ask me to Homecoming. I can tell because he talks about the dance over and over to me. I almost want to punch him in the face and scream, “You have humongous teeth and a bad hair cut and you smell like BBQ chips. Hello! Clearly I am way to cool for you!” Part of me, a small part, is nice enough not to do that. He almost asked me yesterday in Spanish class. He got all sweaty and tongue tied and the bell rang. I rushed out quick before he could ask me. I will need to find some sort of date for this thing before Gerky asks me and my fate as a humongous loser becomes officially sealed at this god forsaken school.
Speaking of ugly guys I have never seen so many in one place at one time. It’s as if all the Catholics in the greater Chicago land area that were breeding boys in 1979 and 78 were terribly ugly people. Now there are hoards of pimply faced ugly boys roaming the halls of this school. The juniors and seniors are hot though. Unfortunately they are all too mesmerized my sisters humongous boobs to notice little loner kid me. Have I mentioned how much Nazareth academy sucks ass yet? This is all my sisters fault. She is the one who came up with the ridiculous idea of planning for her college career at the tender age of 14 by attending private school. Who does that? Aren’t we supposed to be young and carefree? She is an idiot. Hopefully an idiot that one day will have loads of money thanks to all of her idiot planning. Have I mentioned that my sister has single handedly ruined my life?
Friday, July 18, 2008
Camping!
We took a really short camping trip this week up to Carlsbad state beach. Normally we camp with friends but this time it was just the family. We had a really, really, great time. The boys hardly fought which is unusual and Amelia was in really good spirits the whole time. I even got to get out in the water to do a little bit of surfing with the boys. I didn't stay out long though because seaweed kept wrapping around my legs and each time I thought for sure it was really a great white brushing against me. I literally thought I was going to die! Every time I get into the ocean I am sure that I will be the victim of a random seal, whale, dolphin, stingray, or large fish attack. Aaron didn’t help matters when he recently told me that he routinely sees dolphins and seals out in the water while he surfs. Seriously, not something I want, nor need, to hear. I am psychotic.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
the hell that is swim suit season
I absolutely detest bathing suit shopping. I have been holding on to the same tattered up worn out suit for a couple of years now despite all the annoying comments over how "maternal" it is. At my sister's beach wedding last year my aunt Esther pulled me aside and whispered "Is that a swim suit or an outfit? What the hell is that? You’re not a fat ass, show a little skin!" It's true, my bathing suit was a total mommy suit. I have seen people wearing less at the grocery store. I hate to say this but it actually had a skirt attached that could've acted as a floatation device.
Anyway, my "mommy" suit has finally bitten the dust. It has become basically unwearable due to dangerously thinning fabric. Today I forced myself to buy a new bathing suit that, gasp, did not have a skirt attached. I have wanted a 1920's style retro bathing suit for years now but have yet to be able to find one for under $200 dollars. Shockingly I was able to find the exact style suit I have been wanting for a complete bargain. I guess that's the pay off for waiting until mid July to purchase a bathing suit! I wanted to buy this one:
But instead settled on this one due to the fact that it was on sale for $29 compared to the $98 the other would have set me back.
Here's hoping the purple pink color will not look alike ass on me and that weird cut out part under the boobs will not scare small children and animals.
Anyway, my "mommy" suit has finally bitten the dust. It has become basically unwearable due to dangerously thinning fabric. Today I forced myself to buy a new bathing suit that, gasp, did not have a skirt attached. I have wanted a 1920's style retro bathing suit for years now but have yet to be able to find one for under $200 dollars. Shockingly I was able to find the exact style suit I have been wanting for a complete bargain. I guess that's the pay off for waiting until mid July to purchase a bathing suit! I wanted to buy this one:
But instead settled on this one due to the fact that it was on sale for $29 compared to the $98 the other would have set me back.
Here's hoping the purple pink color will not look alike ass on me and that weird cut out part under the boobs will not scare small children and animals.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I am in love with the summer. Seriously. In. Love. There is so much stress during the school year what with the headache that is homework and the rushing back and forth to and from school and other activities. Structure is not a friend to our family. We are more fly by the raggedy seat of our pants kind of people. Needless to say, summer is the time of year that we all really look forward to. I have been squeezing in at least one fun outdoor activity a day, usually the pool, the beach, or hiking on the trails near our home.
I have to admit that while I am loving the summer, by 3pm nearly everyday I consider calling my mom and asking her if she’d mind if I sent all 3 kids out her way for the remainder of the summer. There is something so spectacularly frustrating about being at the beckon call of four little people all day long. They constantly need something or feel that they just have to tell me how horrible their brother, sister, or Leilahni is being. Sometimes I yell a lot. Mostly it’s about them not getting along or about the mess. They make the most ridiculous pig messes every single day! My windows are always open because our house is a freaking sauna due to our lack of air conditioning. I am sure that the really nice elderly man next door thinks I am insane and wished to death that I would shut my windows and stop begging my kids to get along already!!
Sometimes I am the grouchiest woman in the world and can’t believe that my children still even remotely like me. I wish that I had a tape recorder so that I could hear myself. The kids have picked up on some of my choice sayings. Tonight Andrew told Jacob. “I just need a little me time. You are constantly in my space!” He sounded like a 30 year old woman in need of a gin and tonic. Also the kids have stolen my “are you serious!’ complete with my sarcastic tone. Amelia has decided that she needs to tell Lehlahnia exactly how to do just about everything. Even mundane things like how she should chew her food. Amelia insists that Leilahni is in dire need of her assistance. She will literally sit by leilahni and watch her chew her food to make sure her bites are just the right size and that she doesn’t put too much food in her mouth at once. Can you say micromanager!
I constantly hear her saying “No, no lehlahnia this is how you do it.” As if her 9 month age advantage has made her that much more of a capable human being. Sometimes I wish I could hear Leilahnia’s inner monologue. I am sure that she is constantly wishing Amelia would stop talking! I always have to tell Amelia “Leilahni is an individual capable of making her very own decisions.” “But, but, I am helping her mama!” Oh, and have I mentioned that Amelia now refers to me as mama. Jake and Andrew ahve never ever called me that. I am slightly convinced that it is because I have gained like 500 hundred pounds this year. I think fat ladies go by mama. I am becoming a fat mama. Tonight Amelia, sounding exactly like me, told Jake “I am capable of making my own decisions.” This sounded really really cute coming out of a three year olds mouth. She said it with such sass! I am really, really hoping that the kids don't take up my sailor language that I use while driving. I am paralazed with fear that one of these days Amelia will yell over to the person pushing the cart in front of us at the grocery store to "fucking move already." it will happen!
My favorite summer pictures so far:
Amelia in Chicago!
Jacob with his BFF Jackson, celebrating the 4th of July
Andrew looking a little punk rock with his usual little attitude
Lelahnia during one of our beach outings
Amelia in chi town!
I have to admit that while I am loving the summer, by 3pm nearly everyday I consider calling my mom and asking her if she’d mind if I sent all 3 kids out her way for the remainder of the summer. There is something so spectacularly frustrating about being at the beckon call of four little people all day long. They constantly need something or feel that they just have to tell me how horrible their brother, sister, or Leilahni is being. Sometimes I yell a lot. Mostly it’s about them not getting along or about the mess. They make the most ridiculous pig messes every single day! My windows are always open because our house is a freaking sauna due to our lack of air conditioning. I am sure that the really nice elderly man next door thinks I am insane and wished to death that I would shut my windows and stop begging my kids to get along already!!
Sometimes I am the grouchiest woman in the world and can’t believe that my children still even remotely like me. I wish that I had a tape recorder so that I could hear myself. The kids have picked up on some of my choice sayings. Tonight Andrew told Jacob. “I just need a little me time. You are constantly in my space!” He sounded like a 30 year old woman in need of a gin and tonic. Also the kids have stolen my “are you serious!’ complete with my sarcastic tone. Amelia has decided that she needs to tell Lehlahnia exactly how to do just about everything. Even mundane things like how she should chew her food. Amelia insists that Leilahni is in dire need of her assistance. She will literally sit by leilahni and watch her chew her food to make sure her bites are just the right size and that she doesn’t put too much food in her mouth at once. Can you say micromanager!
I constantly hear her saying “No, no lehlahnia this is how you do it.” As if her 9 month age advantage has made her that much more of a capable human being. Sometimes I wish I could hear Leilahnia’s inner monologue. I am sure that she is constantly wishing Amelia would stop talking! I always have to tell Amelia “Leilahni is an individual capable of making her very own decisions.” “But, but, I am helping her mama!” Oh, and have I mentioned that Amelia now refers to me as mama. Jake and Andrew ahve never ever called me that. I am slightly convinced that it is because I have gained like 500 hundred pounds this year. I think fat ladies go by mama. I am becoming a fat mama. Tonight Amelia, sounding exactly like me, told Jake “I am capable of making my own decisions.” This sounded really really cute coming out of a three year olds mouth. She said it with such sass! I am really, really hoping that the kids don't take up my sailor language that I use while driving. I am paralazed with fear that one of these days Amelia will yell over to the person pushing the cart in front of us at the grocery store to "fucking move already." it will happen!
My favorite summer pictures so far:
Amelia in Chicago!
Jacob with his BFF Jackson, celebrating the 4th of July
Andrew looking a little punk rock with his usual little attitude
Lelahnia during one of our beach outings
Amelia in chi town!
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