I'm the Mama

Dammit!

This evening I was talking to my mom. Early in the day she called me on my cell phone while JP and I were stranded* at Costco in a not great (not terrible) part of town. Truthfully, I wouldn't go there at night by myself but during the day it's fine.

Apparently she told my father what I had done who informed her to tell me that he didn't want me taking the kids to "that part of town."

Let's refresh:
1. I'm the Mama
2. I spent 53 hours in labor with JP and four with SG. I have earned the right to take them anywhere I damn well choose.
3. I'm not reckless, stupid or prone to endangering the kids' welfare.
4. I'm 28-years old, own my own home, car and haven't lived with my parents for nearly seven-years. I haven't killed myself or burned the house down. I have, I admit, wrecked many cars**.
5. I'M THE MAMA!!!

I got a little huffy about the lecture and told my mother to remind my father of the above points (not all of them but the general gist) and further reminded her that JP and SG were my children, therefore his opinion on where they did or didn't go wasn't any of his business.

Now she's huffy with me, will probably tell my father about our conversation and he'll get his skivvies in a twist. Next time I see him, I'll get a lecture. In front of my kids.

It's not like this is the first time that this has happened. It happens a lot, usually over little stuff- reminding me to dress the kids warmly, not to go out because the roads are slick, put sunscreen on, etc.

Once again, I have never, ever not taken care of my children! They're always dressed weather appropriate in very cute clothes*** when we go out. They always get fed. They each ride in very safe, very expensive car seats. Child Protective Services has never come to my home (nor will they ever need to). I have never lost or injured one of my children due to negligence. I'm a good mom! Not perfect, maybe not even great but I love my kids more than anything.

I love my parents, too, and I know they mean well but I don't appreciate being second-guessed all the time.

Will I ever truly be a grown-up? Is this because I'm an only child? Worse still, will I do this to my kids when they have kids?

*I was in Mr. Tonks' car and decided to buy an outdoor storage box. It wouldn't fit in his little car so I had to have him come with my larger car so we could get the dang thing home.

**I have totaled three cars. In an 18-month period. The two big ugly accidents were not my fault (truly) and I still maintain that the last car committed suicide by drowning. All three accidents were pre, pre- JP and SG. However I have never lived any of them down.

***They usually look cute. Sometimes the dress themselves (or, in SG's case, insist on certain items) in the same sweet clothes but in more interesting ensembles.

Tonks: 1, Ice cream sandwich: 0

Ha!

I think I have mentioned before that I'd very much like to lose some weight. Between the hoopla of moving, the holidays and miscarriage I've added some extra padding in the last six-months. Ten to 15-pounds of padding. Not a lot, except I'm only 5'3" and normally weigh under 120-lbs.

I've been working out every Tuesday and Thursday for the last two months, walking occasionally and even tried yoga, but haven't been being very mindful of the crap I'm putting in my mouth. I'm a sucker for candy, cookies and all sorts of goodies that only contribute to the chubs.

I'm tired of being fluffy and ready to get back to normal. I'm throwing down the gauntlet. I've got two-months or so before swimsuit season and, dammit, I'm not going to the pool looking the way I do right now*.

This evening I got into the freezer for some ice and saw and Klondike Bar sitting there, calling to me, practically begging to be eaten. I'm a sucker for ice cream, too.

BUT, I practiced self-control and restraint and didn't eat the Klondike Bar! I stared at it as if daring it to jump out of its wrapper and into my mouth before I forced myself to read the label. For reasons I don't understand, finding out that something has trans fat causes the food to lose all appeal. Klondike Bars, by some miracle, contain trans fat.

It feels good, like I've done something stupendous. Instead of throwing away the hour-long ass kicking I had this evening I, just maybe, benefited from it. Woo-hoo!


*Here's the deal: I'm a perfectly healthy weight (as far as I can tell- I don't weigh myself) but I'm not comfortable in my own skin right now. Plus, my height and bone structure mean I don't carry excess weight well at all.

I almost killed the dog (seriously)

Zoie came dangerously close to entering that great dog house in the sky today.

We have been having some ant issues (due to the all the rain) so Mr. Tonks and I placed a couple baits outside- one behind a large, potted plant and one on the outside ledge of the kitchen window.

I let our Wonder Mutt outside this morning and after several minutes I realized she was being unusually quiet and well-behaved* so I went out to check on her. I found our tiny dog happily munching on the ant trap that had, apparently, fallen off the windowsill.

I called the vet whose receptionist called to his assistant who uttered a very discouraging, "Oh God. Oh no. She needs to get here now."

En route the necessary phone calls were made (Mr. Tonks, my parents**), prayers were uttered, truthful explanations were given to four-year old JP who knew something was up and I experienced my first nosebleed which I blame on stress and humidity.

Long story, slightly short, Zoie didn't actually get to the bait inside the trap and she lives. Hooray! My gross little dog drives me crazy. I threaten, a lot, to strangle her, ship her to A White Bear, etc. but I love her almost as much as I love my kids.

I'm relieved beyond words. The ant traps are gone. The dog is alive. All is well.

*Zoie is a total butt outside. She eats sticks, rolls in unidentifiable stuff on the ground and barks at every damn thing she sees/ hears/ or smells.

**My parents were called to come pick-up the kids because I feared Zoie was a goner and I didn't want them to see that.

5 Questions part II

See this post for info regarding 5 Questions.

From CharleyCarp
1. How did you choose your undergraduate major?
My first major was my first love: theatre. My second major, after I left theatre*, was journalism. I don't love it but I'm damn good at it.

2. You've won a month-long vacation, half with the kids, half without. Where do you go (you don't have to be in a single place for the whole time, but you only get one plane round trip)?
I'm assuming money is no object so I'm going all out. We start in Australia with the kiddos. I'd take them to Australia Zoo, the outback and the Great Barrier Reef. We'd head to New Zealand for a week or so to explore, hike and raft (again, with the kids). The time spent in Australia and New Zealand would probably take the whole portion of the kids' vacation with us. Once they were safely in the care of my parents, Mary Poppins or Super Nanny* Mr. Tonks and I would spend a blissful five-days doing nothing on a beach in Tahiti. We'd spend a couple days doing Tahitian-type activities and then we'd go to Fiji and spend a few more days basking. We'd rip ourselves away from paradise a few days early to come back to reality so we could spend a couple days at home, alone, to recover from our jet-lag.

3. You're going to visit a friend in NYC for a long weekend (sans entourage) and pick up a copy of the paper to see what entertainment is in town: what is the most pleasing surprise?
A whole weekend with A White Bear? Woo-hoo! I don't know where to begin! A terrific Broadway musical, for starters (not Grease, The Sound of Music, Bye Bye Birdie or any other show I don't like). Beyond that, I'd let AWB take the reigns and follow her lead. I'd would like it, however, if she threw one of her famous parties and made me sorbet. I love her sorbet!

4. You can go back in time to 9th grade: what do you change generally, and what specifically with regard to school sports?
I don't change a thing, generally. As far as school sports go...I didn't do sports- at least not through high school. With the activities I did do, I would prep harder for a couple auditions my freshman and sophomore years, I would've bowed out of debate* my sophomore year before the season ever started. I would've campaigned harder to be the managing editor of the school paper my senior year (I didn't get the title but I got many of the duties in addition to my own section's). I would've thumbed my nose at my parents and gotten scholarships so I could go to the school I wanted to go to.

5. You can go back in time to the 19th century, any location and time, but you have to be a member of the same social class you are in now, and have to stay a whole year. Where do you go, and what work do you do (you may switch gender for the year, if you want)?
Can I just not go? I have no desire to be a man and being a woman in the 19th century in the middle class (no matter the locale) just doesn't sound like my idea of fun.

*I loved debate and I was good at it (state ranked my freshman year). The problem was that I didn't want to devote my life to it, I wanted to spend more time in the theatre and journalism departments. This ticked my coach off to no end and she stuck me with a horrific partner and we didn't even make it to a single tourney. A miserable experience that wasn't worth the effort.

I love monkeys

The Monkey Story*

I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for 5¢ a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead. Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.

I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.

*I came across this story my junior year of high school. I have no idea who wrote it.

If there's nothing to hide

...why so secretive?

Do you suppose Bush and Cheney can feel the noose tighten around their necks?

Hell no!

For future reference, you will never catch me here.

Five Questions

Via Belledame...

Here's the scoop:
Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."I respond by asking you five personal questions so I can get to know you better. If I already know you well, expect the questions may be a little more intimate!You WILL update your journal/bloggy thing/whatever with the answers to the questions.You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Here are Belle's questions for yours truly:

1) If you weren't "Tonks," which literary character would you name yourself after?
Hmm...there are many but I think I'm going to go with Ibsen. I identify with his characters Nora (going from my father's house to my husband's, so to speak) and Hedda (her self destructiveness).

Other contenders: Darcy (I like to think I'm a bit like Elizabeth) and Anne for Anne of Green Gables. My very favorite book in the world.

2) How did you meet AWB?
A White Bear and I met about 15-years ago in middle school French class. She says I called her a bitch and it changed her life. We didn't like each other much back then. We were thrown together again in our high school theatre department and she quickly became one of my favorite people. Now she is JP and SG's favorite "aunt" and I practically count the days between her biannual visits.

3) What's the most beautiful language in the world?
I love French. It's smooth, lovely and even makes fights sound elegant.

4) Did you want brothers and sisters as a kid?
Yes. Being an only child sucks. I would go through catalogues and mark the babies, begging my mother for a brother or sister. In an ideal world I would've had an older brother and younger sister. The older I get the more I wish I had a sibling. It's hard to be an only child (married to a fellow only child) when your parents begin to age.

5) What's a typical day's menu look like at your place?
Breakfast: Carnation Instant Breakfast (chocolate) for everyone.

Lunch: Turkey dogs for me and the kids or (and this has been happening a lot lately) the kids opt for ham and turkey roll-ups* and I drink Carnation Instant Breakfast.

Dinner: Just about anything goes. I cook with red meat about once a year (if that) so there is a lot of chicken and turkey (ground, sausage, etc.) eaten at our house. I make really good ribs, baked beans and cheesy corn. My mac and cheese doesn't come from a box. I've successfully transitioned to whole grain pastas but still don't love brown rice. I prefer fresh veggies but will use frozen. I avoid canned unless I'm using corn or beets.

Snacks: Fruit, yogurt, crackers, I love pretzel chips, the kids love fruit snacks. Ooh, a yummy snack tip: popcorn, lightly sprayed with Smart Balance Buttery Burst Spray and sprinkled with Penzey's Taco Seasoning. Yum.

*Deli sliced turkey and ham wrapped around a stick of string cheese. JP refers to this as a "harvest lunch." I don't know why...

Anyone else want to play?

Poop

Our next door neighbors have two large black labs. For reasons I don't understand the prefer letting the dogs go to the small front yard to poop as opposed to their large backyard. The stinky bombs sit there, undisturbed, for weeks on end. They look nasty but smell is worse.

The husband (we'll call him Bob) used to turn a blind eye while the dogs did their business in our adjoining side yard. Until one day last fall when I happened to catch the dogs and Bob in the act, activated my car's panic button, and watched in satisfaction as the dogs tore off toward their owner and Bob's cell phone conversation was cut short.

That was a good day. Now the dogs stay in their yard to cop a squat (this makes me happy) but the poop remains.

Many of our neighbors walk, spend time in their yard, and are outside often. Everyone comments to us about the Poop Yard- as though we have control over it. On warm days or when the wind blows from the North the smell is atrocious. The Poop Yard's aroma drifts and can be smelled from three or four houses away. Gross.

What to do? Bob and his wife seem like nice enough people*, they're DINKS** so they're not home all that often. Aside from the poop their yard is well kept but the smell drives the rest of the neighborhood crazy. Do we ask them nicely to do something about the poop? Go over when they're not there and clean it up? Wear face masks while outside and hope they take a hint? Leave an anonymous note?

Down with the poop!

*I say they're nice enough people BUT shortly after moving in I went over there to ask a question and was horrified to see a hardbound copy of Ann Coulter's book on the sideboard.

**Double Income No Kids

It's Foreign Language Day!

Comment accordingly. All languages accepted- even Pig Latin.

Starting...

Maitenant!

Speaking American

The whole debate over whether or not to make English the "official" language of various cities, the US, etc. annoys me. Do people really believe that we're going to wake up one morning and suddenly be required to speak Spanish? Or French? Perhaps Mandarin? Maybe Latin will make a resurgence...

I digress.

What irks me more than anything are the soundbites played in the media of people saying, "If they're gonna live here then they better learn to speak English!" or, "This is 'Merica. They need to speak 'Merican!"

I've traveled a fair amount overseas and am always struck by Americans' brazenness (and sometimes downright rude behavior) when it comes to speaking a foreign language in a foreign country. I'll never forget standing in a store in Paris while a woman very loudly and crudely asked the proprietor, "Parlay vouse Englaze?" When the man ignored her, she persisted, this time in her native tongue, "Do you speak English?" He continued to ignore her (rightly so) until she left the store. Such behavior was not an isolated case. The same people who insist that English should be spoken here because, dammit, this is America, won't be bothered to (properly) learn a few token phrases when vacationing in another country.

Tomorrow, I think, should be Foreign Language Day at Into the Thick of It. Bring your favorite foreign phrase and share it with the rest of the class.

Ciao!

What did you do today?

We built a fire pit and then roasted hot dogs for dinner followed by s'mores for dessert.

Saturday morning ick factor

It's Saturday morning so, naturally, the children are watching cartoons.

A commercial came on for a new Barbie doll and for reasons still unknown to me, I watched it.

This morning they were selling the Barbie Forever Barbie Doll with Tanner the Dog. Barbie is bad enough* but Tanner the dog is nasty!

You feed the dog "biscuits" which the dog promptly poops out. Barbie very responsibly picks up the poo with her magnetic pooper scooper and tosses it into the waste bin. When it's time to feed Tanner you dump the waste bin and feed her the poo because the food and poo are all the same.

Don't believe me? The sentence below is taken directly from Amazon's item description:
At this point, Barbie can pick it up with her scooper, and then Tanner will eat it again-- just like your real dog!

"Just like your real dog"? Perhaps we're strange but we do not feed our dog her own bodily waste!!!

Ew! Ew! Ew!

The morning after pill

A news story ran this evening about parents of a murdered teenager trying to get Alexa's Law passed in Kansas. The potential law is so-named after the unborn baby of the murdered teenager.

I'm not commenting about the law or the potentially far-reaching implications. I haven't read it and know nothing more than what's in the story.

This is the statement that sent me reeling:

The bill would not charge a mother who harmed an unborn child, nor would it charge for death caused by abortion or by medication, such as the morning-after pill.

Now, being a wise little feminist, I lurk, on a daily basis, around Bitch Ph.D.'s blog and distinctly remember this post.

To reiterate: Plan B (aka the morning after pill) is not the abortion pill. It prevents pregnancy from occurring.

News dispute

Mr. Tonks and I are at an impasse.

He has a habit of channel surfing during the 10 o'clock news*. He buzzes back and forth between the four stations which often means I get to watch the same story- three or four times.

This annoys me to no end.

When asked why he does this, Mr. Tonks says, "I didn't think you were paying attention."

In my humble opinion, that response is dumb and makes no sense. Yes, I'm blogging while the news is on but I can pay attention to two things** at once.

I just want to watch/ listen to the news, all the news, not the same news story 4-times in a five minute period. Is that too much to ask?

*The ten o'clock news is usually the only news I get to watch.

**This should come as no surprise. My time is generally spent watching Thing 1 (JP) and Thing 2 (SG) all day, every day. Except of course, when I'm not watching them and they make each other scream.

PITY PARTY!!!

This evening Mr. Tonks is having a pity party for himself. I hereby invite you all to drop by and placate his bruised ego.

I wish my kids could've seen that

I have decided that we (the kids and I) are going to start using our garage as a main point of entry into the house. I think it will cut down on some dirt and clutter. Maybe. Okay, probably not but right now it seems like a good idea.

Anyway, in an effort to make this change more feasible, Mr. Tonks and I worked on the garage this evening. I was putting some things in the loft area above the garage which consists mostly of wood joists.

Good thing those trusses were there.

I had just finished putting the leaf blower away and was getting ready to climb back down the ladder when the ladder fell. Using my swift, catlike reflexes* I grabbed one of the joists and held on for dear life. I dangled, about eight or nine feet above the concrete floor, for a couple seconds before Mr. Tonks (my hero!) rescued me and returned me safely to ground level.

My only regret, other than the big bruised knot on my shin, was that my kids were not awake to see my stunt work. I have no doubt that JP would think his mom super cool. I love it when he thinks I'm cool.

*Go ahead and laugh.

The worst dream ever

The dream I had last night was wretched. Wretched.

I dreamed I was going to the bathroom. It was one of those dreams that was vividly real. The kind that leaves you disconcerted upon waking because, in your sleepy state of mind, you're not sure what's dream and what's reality.

So, as I said, in my dream I was perched on the toilet, answering the call of nature. Midway through my business I woke-up, terrified to find myself in bed. I felt around cautiously, certain that my hand was going to eventually hit a wet spot. It didn't, thank God. Can you imagine that conversation at two in the morning? Having to tell my husband that his 28-year old wife had wet the bed? Something, incidentally, that I've never done- not even as a toddler!

Needless to say, my remaining five-hours of sleep were not good.

Easily amused

Confession: I love to go through the Sunday engagement and wedding announcements and study the couples and make predictions as to how long the relationships will last.

Guinea pig

JP wants a guinea pig. We place the blame solely on Wonder Pets.

He has a really cute, realistic looking stuffed guinea pig, which reduced the number of guinea pig requests, but hasn't stopped them completely (which was the goal).

I told JP if he wanted one two things had to happen: he had to use his own money and Daddy had to agree to it. The latter did not occur. When JP readily agreed with the first stipulation, I explained that buying a guinea pig would delay buying the Nerf crossbow thing that he wants. He didn't care.

We went to the pet store* today and while there he blissfully cradled a guinea pig for half-an-hour. There is no doubt that he truly wants one.

Mr. Tonks and I have pondered the possibility of the Easter Bunny bringing JP a guinea pig but, quite frankly, the Easter Bunny is on the fence as to whether or not s/he really wants one!

*While there a woman was purchasing something in a big cardboard box. JP asked about the box's contents and she said, "A bunny. It's dinner for a Burmese python."

A LOT

When I was but a wee high school sophomore taking J-1 (the prerequisite journalism class) our advisor strode into the room and wrote the following on the board in huge letters red letters.

ALOT = TWO WORDS DAMMIT

A LOT

She went on to list other offending words: your/ you're, its/ it's, their/ there/ they're, etc . You get the picture. More often than not, when I see "alot" spelled that way, it makes me cringe. It drives me crazy and it makes me want to yell, "Two words, dammit!"

I feel much better having gotten that off my chest.