Hey y'all (I'm totally embracing southernisms),
Just in case there was any doubt, it's hot here. Almost hot enough to keep Jeff from his weekend exercise of sprint mowing (Really. He sprints up and down the lawn, pushing the mower).
If you haven't tried it, he highly recommends it for the cardio benefits, the tanning potential (if you're willing to perform said exercise san clothes), and for its effect on the neighbors.
You already know my feelings about all of the creepy, poisonous bugs and the giant snakes, but it's getting so I've started having nightmares, and am seriously considering becoming a seasonal agoraphobic.
I've been told that this is just a particularly bad year for snakes, but I think they just have a short memory.
Up until I moved here, I had only ever seen one tick in my ENTIRE life. We have now seen three in the last few weeks - all of which were on family members.
Last week Addie came into the kitchen and said, "Daddy, there's a spider in Bubbles' ear." Surely you can see where this is going . . . Needless to say; said spider was in fact a tick sucking the life out of Bubbles, one ear vein at a time.
Since I'm normally such a tough and brave person, I promptly got the tweezers and was all set to pull that little sucker out.
But as it turns out, I would rather deal with a severed limb, than have to contend with a tick. Who says shrieking like a mad woman isn't the new brave and stoic?
Bad enough that they lurk in bushes and trees, but the ticks here are some kind of freaky high-bred. I assume the nuclear power plant is to blame for this.
They have actually learned to parachute from the sky onto their unsuspecting victims.
I was standing on our front path (not tromping through the woods, or hiding in the bushes mind you), and a huge, nasty, freakishly accurately aimed tick landed on Lorelei's leg.
EEEAAAKKK!!!
That's all I have to say about that.
As if these attacks weren't bad enough, we had some friends in town this weekend and decided to take the kids on a walk. And to make a long story short, it is not recommended to let your child sit on a red ant hill.
And those giant snakes we've seen in our yard, apparently are not restricted to just our yard . . . who knew?
Although Bubbles has not found a new home yet, she has developed a new hobby.
I've had several reports now that a black and white cat that bears a suspicious resemblance to Bubbles, has been jumping out of the bushes at joggers.
Since she can't sneak into a new family's house, she must have decided that she will try to catch a new family.
More power to her.
I just found out that Addie is the only kid in Rock Hill not attending Vacation Bible School. They really should consider printing rules for outsiders.
I've been told that there are several parents who sign there kids up for one week after another of free vacation bible school at as many churches as they can find. Although really, since there are at least six different churches for each religion, you really wouldn't have to go outside the faith to fill the summer.
I'm just miffed that no one told me this little secret earlier. Just think of the money I could have saved. And just think how how smart Addie would have been after a summer of VBS hopping.
Addie has had some sleeping issues lately (okay, not so much lately as always). One fateful night there was no sleep to be had by me - partly due to a huge thunder cloud sitting on top of the house, and partly due to my fall down the stairs (I had even turned on a light) when I went to get something for Addie.
Minus the big bruise on my ego and my tukas, I was okay.
You know these are tough economic times when people are resorting to trucking their personal golf carts to the cheap public course.
Though I suppose since one in five South Carolina families owns their own golf cart (not just for golf mind you. Many use it to carry their beer coolers while they cruise), it shouldn't come as such a surprise that the economic condition has forced these serious sacrifices.
I recently had the privilege of shopping for fireworks, and wow are rules different here. In Oregon, you may only legally set off fireworks that don't shoot higher than 5 ft. As best I can tell, the rule here is they have to shoot At LEAST 50 ft. to count.
Totally overwhelmed with what I was seeing at the Discount Firework Factory, I asked for help. I explained that I was afraid for the safety of everyone in our neighborhood, and wanted something simple and small. At which time I was directed to something with a military name and was told, "these here are the smallest we got - they only go up 50-60 feet."
We were in Charleston last weekend, and enjoyed it very much. If you've never been, the architecture is beautiful. And outside of the 102 degree weather, the 100% humidity, and the run-in with the rude carriage driver, it was a great trip.
Since we were on vacation, we decided to go out to a nice Italian restaurant (Charleston is known for its restaurants, and Rock Hill is not). When we walked in and they saw that we were a family of four, you could visibly see the wait staffs' faces tighten up. Nothing like a toddler and a baby to get you some fast service.
Both girls behaved beautifully outside of one small incident when Addie fell out of her chair. Thankfully Jeff was able to catch her before she hit the floor. She would have even gone through dinner clean, had he not had his calzone in his hand at the time . . .
Although there is a $200 fine for feeding alligators in SC. It leaves me wondering if a pet (say a cat, for example) were to accidentally fall into the water, would it actually count as feeding them?
The Rock Hill Herald did cover the big celebrity deaths this week, but the favorite topic of course was Gov. Sanford.
Poor Jeff feels so betrayed by the whole thing, as he really felt like he had found his political home here (and yes, we are on different planets politically speaking).
On the bright side, it's been a little while since South Carolina has made national news.
Here's the best joke I've heard so far:
Governor Sanford's staff misunderstood him when he said he was hiking the Appalachian Trail. He really said he was going after some Argentinean tail . . .
Take care,
Kate
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Steak sauce and inappropriate uses for toothpaste
Hi there.
It's nap time at our house, so I thought I would take a moment to write.
Since I know y'all are dying to hear about the latest installment of Bubbles the Wonder Kitty (AKA Bubbles the Cat Who Hates Her Family), here is the latest update:
Imagine my surprise when the "new" family Mom I mentioned in my last letter approached me at the pool and apologized for feeding our cat.
She said she felt like she had clearly offended someone, and just wanted to make sure I understood that she was very sorry, and wanted to know what to do in the event Bubbles showed up at her door again.
Apparently when "other family" Mom called her to tell her it was in fact Bubbles she had, and not a stray, she read "new" Mom the riot act. So, in addition to having multiple families, and fast becoming the most notorious cat in the neighborhood, Bubbles now has an agent who acts on her behalf. I guess legal owners need not be present when kitty power of attorneys are signed . . .
And as it turns out, the only reason "new" family (for the record, "new" family will thusly be referred to as "temporary" family) fed Bubbles tuna and milk, was to get her out of their house.
In typical Bubbles fashion, she saw an open door and ran for it. But since "temporary" Mom is "not an animal person" (her words), she was afraid to pick her up.
"Temporary" Mom made valiant efforts to bribe her eldest son into picking kitty up, but turns out he had no idea how to pick a cat up (apparently the whole family "are not animal" people). So, for lack of a better way to do it, "temporary" Mom opened a can of tuna, and lured Bubbles out of the house.
Safe at home, we kept her inside for three days. But Addie let her out, and off she went, again. No further sightings, and two days later, we received a call at 10:30pm (so late in our world) from a different neighbor telling us that Bubbles was at their house, and was looking lost and confused.
Since it is purely on principal that we keep this cat (because lord knows there is no other reason), I was half expecting a ransom call that late at night . . . (imagine a deep husky whisper) "You got a cat named Bubbles? Unless you want her to sleep wid da fishes, ya better pay up."
Perhaps I have an overactive imagination.
We had quite an adventure last week - Addie was sick, and I had the privilege of choosing between the kid throwing up on the floor, and the kid screaming to be fed . . .
At nap time last week, I walked past Addie's room and saw her laying on the floor (not so unusual, since she only actually sleeps IN her bed about 40% of the time) covered in something blue. Silly me asked her what it was, and she responded, "it's bottom cream."
Upon further inspection, I discovered that in fact, it was toothpaste she had spread all over her jammies, diaper, bottom, floor, dresser and so on. When I told her it was toothpaste, and not intended for one's behind, she said, "Daddy said it was bottom cream, and my bottom hurts."
I thought she was just using that active imagination of her's, and wrote it off as one of those things kids do.
Well, unbeknownst to me, in an effort to keep Addie from opening yet another tube of toothpaste (she already has four open tubes in her drawer. Of course, I guess you need that many when you have eight toothbrushes that you alternate between), Jeff had in fact told her it was bottom cream.
He should have been wary when she immediately put the tube in her diaper drawer . . .
Lately we've been feeling like we live in some sort of wildlife park, which is good and bad. I don't mind the large turtles coming by, but I draw the line at 5 ft. snakes. At least we've been able to keep them from carrying Lorelei off.
Good news on the potty training front. Addie has finally connected sitting on the toilet with treats. And wonder of wonders, we've had a few successes. Of course, the biggest challenge is training us.
When the girl says she needs to use the potty, we should listen.
A year of sitting her on the pot to no avail, has us a bit jaded. But we'll learn, I'm confident.
In addition to a small sweet treat, Addie also gets a tattoo if she actually uses the potty for its intended purpose. That's all well and good, but what does one do if afore-mentioned child uses the potty five or six times in one day? At the moment she only has three tats, but I'm a little concerned the conservative religious preschool she attends, will not approve of our "painted" child when she shows up to school covered from head to toe in temporary tattoos (because god forbid she let us clean any off).
Addie is really embracing the wonderful world of her imagination, and has extended her conversations to (and with) her food.
The other day at breakfast, she told me she had a little tiny chicken wrapped in her washclothe, and at lunch she held a small piece of ham in her hands like it was a baby bird and said, "Shhhh Mommy, this is littly tiny baby ham."
Well of course it was.
You'll all be happy to know there were no arrests during any of the Rock Hill HS graduations. Two people were seen being escorted out, but police could not be reached for comment.
They reprinted the graduation expectations just for my benefit and amusement - "Attendees were to wear 'appropriate attire (no shorts, tank tops or t-shirts),' not leave their seats to take pictures during the program, hold their applause, and not stand or shout until all diplomas are awarded."
Remember, these rules were not for the graduates, but their parents.
In addition to the recap on the uneventful graduation ceremonies, these two pieces of shocking news headlined our paper recently:
Sidewalk to Close for Utility Work - My favorite part about this one, was that it was not a significant stretch of sidewalk, nor was it in a heavily traveled area. Yet, there it was.
Shoplifter escapes with $60 worth of steak hidden in his pants. But don't worry, he shoved a bottle of steak sauce down there too. I'm just glad to see we have a high enough caliber of thief that he'd think to grab some condiments.
So just between you, me and the fencepost, that's all the news that fit to print.
Take care,
Kate
It's nap time at our house, so I thought I would take a moment to write.
Since I know y'all are dying to hear about the latest installment of Bubbles the Wonder Kitty (AKA Bubbles the Cat Who Hates Her Family), here is the latest update:
Imagine my surprise when the "new" family Mom I mentioned in my last letter approached me at the pool and apologized for feeding our cat.
She said she felt like she had clearly offended someone, and just wanted to make sure I understood that she was very sorry, and wanted to know what to do in the event Bubbles showed up at her door again.
Apparently when "other family" Mom called her to tell her it was in fact Bubbles she had, and not a stray, she read "new" Mom the riot act. So, in addition to having multiple families, and fast becoming the most notorious cat in the neighborhood, Bubbles now has an agent who acts on her behalf. I guess legal owners need not be present when kitty power of attorneys are signed . . .
And as it turns out, the only reason "new" family (for the record, "new" family will thusly be referred to as "temporary" family) fed Bubbles tuna and milk, was to get her out of their house.
In typical Bubbles fashion, she saw an open door and ran for it. But since "temporary" Mom is "not an animal person" (her words), she was afraid to pick her up.
"Temporary" Mom made valiant efforts to bribe her eldest son into picking kitty up, but turns out he had no idea how to pick a cat up (apparently the whole family "are not animal" people). So, for lack of a better way to do it, "temporary" Mom opened a can of tuna, and lured Bubbles out of the house.
Safe at home, we kept her inside for three days. But Addie let her out, and off she went, again. No further sightings, and two days later, we received a call at 10:30pm (so late in our world) from a different neighbor telling us that Bubbles was at their house, and was looking lost and confused.
Since it is purely on principal that we keep this cat (because lord knows there is no other reason), I was half expecting a ransom call that late at night . . . (imagine a deep husky whisper) "You got a cat named Bubbles? Unless you want her to sleep wid da fishes, ya better pay up."
Perhaps I have an overactive imagination.
We had quite an adventure last week - Addie was sick, and I had the privilege of choosing between the kid throwing up on the floor, and the kid screaming to be fed . . .
At nap time last week, I walked past Addie's room and saw her laying on the floor (not so unusual, since she only actually sleeps IN her bed about 40% of the time) covered in something blue. Silly me asked her what it was, and she responded, "it's bottom cream."
Upon further inspection, I discovered that in fact, it was toothpaste she had spread all over her jammies, diaper, bottom, floor, dresser and so on. When I told her it was toothpaste, and not intended for one's behind, she said, "Daddy said it was bottom cream, and my bottom hurts."
I thought she was just using that active imagination of her's, and wrote it off as one of those things kids do.
Well, unbeknownst to me, in an effort to keep Addie from opening yet another tube of toothpaste (she already has four open tubes in her drawer. Of course, I guess you need that many when you have eight toothbrushes that you alternate between), Jeff had in fact told her it was bottom cream.
He should have been wary when she immediately put the tube in her diaper drawer . . .
Lately we've been feeling like we live in some sort of wildlife park, which is good and bad. I don't mind the large turtles coming by, but I draw the line at 5 ft. snakes. At least we've been able to keep them from carrying Lorelei off.
Good news on the potty training front. Addie has finally connected sitting on the toilet with treats. And wonder of wonders, we've had a few successes. Of course, the biggest challenge is training us.
When the girl says she needs to use the potty, we should listen.
A year of sitting her on the pot to no avail, has us a bit jaded. But we'll learn, I'm confident.
In addition to a small sweet treat, Addie also gets a tattoo if she actually uses the potty for its intended purpose. That's all well and good, but what does one do if afore-mentioned child uses the potty five or six times in one day? At the moment she only has three tats, but I'm a little concerned the conservative religious preschool she attends, will not approve of our "painted" child when she shows up to school covered from head to toe in temporary tattoos (because god forbid she let us clean any off).
Addie is really embracing the wonderful world of her imagination, and has extended her conversations to (and with) her food.
The other day at breakfast, she told me she had a little tiny chicken wrapped in her washclothe, and at lunch she held a small piece of ham in her hands like it was a baby bird and said, "Shhhh Mommy, this is littly tiny baby ham."
Well of course it was.
You'll all be happy to know there were no arrests during any of the Rock Hill HS graduations. Two people were seen being escorted out, but police could not be reached for comment.
They reprinted the graduation expectations just for my benefit and amusement - "Attendees were to wear 'appropriate attire (no shorts, tank tops or t-shirts),' not leave their seats to take pictures during the program, hold their applause, and not stand or shout until all diplomas are awarded."
Remember, these rules were not for the graduates, but their parents.
In addition to the recap on the uneventful graduation ceremonies, these two pieces of shocking news headlined our paper recently:
Sidewalk to Close for Utility Work - My favorite part about this one, was that it was not a significant stretch of sidewalk, nor was it in a heavily traveled area. Yet, there it was.
Shoplifter escapes with $60 worth of steak hidden in his pants. But don't worry, he shoved a bottle of steak sauce down there too. I'm just glad to see we have a high enough caliber of thief that he'd think to grab some condiments.
So just between you, me and the fencepost, that's all the news that fit to print.
Take care,
Kate
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Kung Fu Kitty
Hi Everyone,
Sorry it's taken me so long to write. Not sure what we've been doing, as I am unable to account for most of any given day . . .
I can now say with 100%assurancece, that I am dumb.
Daily, things are happening around me that I have no recollection of later. So much for a good memory as a key employment attribute . . .
Addie is adjusting quite well to her new big sister role. She gets concerned if someone besides Jeff or I take Lorelei out of view, and loves to give her kisses and hugs. We often have to make sure she's not squishing her in the process, but she loves her all the same. Minus the near smothering incident, they're both doing well.
A few weeks ago, Addie managed to cover Lorelei with every blanket and pillow she could get her hands on. Not sure if she was trying to build a fort for her, or whether she'd had enough of her crying . . .
We also tested the neighborhood emergency response system the other day. Jeff and Addie were in the backyard. Addie was digging in the bark-a-mulch (attempting to bury one of Jeff's yard statues), and I was in the garage. Suddenly I hear her scream like she's never screamed before. Instantly my mind flashed to giant snakes dragging her away by the toes, or a colony of fire ants swarming all over her body.
Sprinting to the backyard, I see Jeff laughing (Addie is still screaming mind you). At that point, our next door neighbor comes running outside, and a neighbor three houses down comes running up the road.
Turns out Addie had a mosquito on her arm, and Jeff thought it was a good idea to point it out to her. Needless to say, it freaked her out. So now we can add mosquitos to the list of terrifying things Addie's afraid of - right up there with frogs.
After seeing how quickly our neighbors came running, I wonder that all y'all don't test your own neighborhood emergency response systems.
It's one thing when your kid is being bullied, but what are you supposed to do when your cat is being beat up? Turns out Bubbles gets beat up almost daily by two cats in the neighborhood. I've thought about having a stern conversation with them, but not sure that wouldn't make it worse for Bubbles (you know, being called a mama's cat and all). I've considered teaching her some self-defense, but after a quick search on the internet, there doesn't seem to be a great market for feline martial arts.
To top it off, we thought we'd lost Bubbles for good. She was missing for five days, and the neighbors who we've mentioned as Bubble's "other" family, we're asking and calling around. Not that we weren't concerned for her, but frankly, between being beaten up by bully cats, and being accosted by Addie, I can't say I blame her.
As it turns out, she had found a "new" cat-loving family, just the other side of the road, and they had been feeding her tuna fish and milk. But the "other" family came to her rescue, and called the "new" family and told them to stop feeding her. Although, as I understand it, that was after a heated debate as to whether it was in fact Bubbles, as the "new" family claims the cat they were feeding looked unkept and homeless . . . Fortunately for us, she had a distinguishing injury on her right leg (from her most recent cat fight).
So Bubbles got hungry again, and when she found the tuna/milk supply had been cut off, shbegrudginglyly (you should have seen the look on her face) came back to us.
Being the responsible owner that I am, quicklyly went out and purchased her a brand new shiny collar with a little bell on it. But frankly, I think I just gave Bubbles another reason to hate me.
When a friend explained to me that she had taken her son's toys and books away when he had thrown a fit (the kind that only a 2 1/2 year old can throw), I thought, "what a good idea."
Except that Addie doesn't play with traditional toys.
It's not for lack of toys mind you, just lack of interest. Of course that got me thinking, and I'd thought I'd share some of the things Addie prefers to play with:
+ Used tin foil
+ A wet wash cloth
+ Batteries
+ Empty packages of any kind
+ Any box left unattended
+ Nearly rotten limes
+ Placemats
+ Band Aids
Keep in mind, these are not little things she picks up and plays with for a minute - she'll carry on an entirdialogue with and about each of these things for hours on end.
I like to think she chooses these types of things because she has such a vivid imagination . . .
About this time last year, Rock Hill made national news for arresting several people at a high school graduation for . . . (drum roll please) cheering when their family member received their diploma.
Since it's graduation time again, and fearing repeat offenses, the newspaper and radio stations have been putting out public service announcements about rules and regulations for graduation ceremonies held within Rock Hill city limits. Granted, some DJ's were less than kind in there delivery, but can you really blame the city officials for wanting texpeditete the graduation ceremonies?
Take care,
Kate
Sorry it's taken me so long to write. Not sure what we've been doing, as I am unable to account for most of any given day . . .
I can now say with 100%assurancece, that I am dumb.
Daily, things are happening around me that I have no recollection of later. So much for a good memory as a key employment attribute . . .
Addie is adjusting quite well to her new big sister role. She gets concerned if someone besides Jeff or I take Lorelei out of view, and loves to give her kisses and hugs. We often have to make sure she's not squishing her in the process, but she loves her all the same. Minus the near smothering incident, they're both doing well.
A few weeks ago, Addie managed to cover Lorelei with every blanket and pillow she could get her hands on. Not sure if she was trying to build a fort for her, or whether she'd had enough of her crying . . .
We also tested the neighborhood emergency response system the other day. Jeff and Addie were in the backyard. Addie was digging in the bark-a-mulch (attempting to bury one of Jeff's yard statues), and I was in the garage. Suddenly I hear her scream like she's never screamed before. Instantly my mind flashed to giant snakes dragging her away by the toes, or a colony of fire ants swarming all over her body.
Sprinting to the backyard, I see Jeff laughing (Addie is still screaming mind you). At that point, our next door neighbor comes running outside, and a neighbor three houses down comes running up the road.
Turns out Addie had a mosquito on her arm, and Jeff thought it was a good idea to point it out to her. Needless to say, it freaked her out. So now we can add mosquitos to the list of terrifying things Addie's afraid of - right up there with frogs.
After seeing how quickly our neighbors came running, I wonder that all y'all don't test your own neighborhood emergency response systems.
It's one thing when your kid is being bullied, but what are you supposed to do when your cat is being beat up? Turns out Bubbles gets beat up almost daily by two cats in the neighborhood. I've thought about having a stern conversation with them, but not sure that wouldn't make it worse for Bubbles (you know, being called a mama's cat and all). I've considered teaching her some self-defense, but after a quick search on the internet, there doesn't seem to be a great market for feline martial arts.
To top it off, we thought we'd lost Bubbles for good. She was missing for five days, and the neighbors who we've mentioned as Bubble's "other" family, we're asking and calling around. Not that we weren't concerned for her, but frankly, between being beaten up by bully cats, and being accosted by Addie, I can't say I blame her.
As it turns out, she had found a "new" cat-loving family, just the other side of the road, and they had been feeding her tuna fish and milk. But the "other" family came to her rescue, and called the "new" family and told them to stop feeding her. Although, as I understand it, that was after a heated debate as to whether it was in fact Bubbles, as the "new" family claims the cat they were feeding looked unkept and homeless . . . Fortunately for us, she had a distinguishing injury on her right leg (from her most recent cat fight).
So Bubbles got hungry again, and when she found the tuna/milk supply had been cut off, shbegrudginglyly (you should have seen the look on her face) came back to us.
Being the responsible owner that I am, quicklyly went out and purchased her a brand new shiny collar with a little bell on it. But frankly, I think I just gave Bubbles another reason to hate me.
When a friend explained to me that she had taken her son's toys and books away when he had thrown a fit (the kind that only a 2 1/2 year old can throw), I thought, "what a good idea."
Except that Addie doesn't play with traditional toys.
It's not for lack of toys mind you, just lack of interest. Of course that got me thinking, and I'd thought I'd share some of the things Addie prefers to play with:
+ Used tin foil
+ A wet wash cloth
+ Batteries
+ Empty packages of any kind
+ Any box left unattended
+ Nearly rotten limes
+ Placemats
+ Band Aids
Keep in mind, these are not little things she picks up and plays with for a minute - she'll carry on an entirdialogue with and about each of these things for hours on end.
I like to think she chooses these types of things because she has such a vivid imagination . . .
About this time last year, Rock Hill made national news for arresting several people at a high school graduation for . . . (drum roll please) cheering when their family member received their diploma.
Since it's graduation time again, and fearing repeat offenses, the newspaper and radio stations have been putting out public service announcements about rules and regulations for graduation ceremonies held within Rock Hill city limits. Granted, some DJ's were less than kind in there delivery, but can you really blame the city officials for wanting texpeditete the graduation ceremonies?
Take care,
Kate
Monday, May 11, 2009
Furry ears and a unibrow
Hi Everyone,
I've been meaning to write sooner, but I find there is limited time these days. Unless of course I neglect my children . . . which I am considering.
First off, I wanted to share a unique thing I heard today. In order to truly appreciate it, you must imagine a stressed out mother with a VERY deep southern accent (I'm mean really deep). And I quote, "I like pancakes so much y'all, that I could put them in my bra and carry them around. I mean really y'all."
I'd like to say that put into context, that would have made sense, but alas, it wouldn't have helped at all. This particular friend has a wide variety of colorful sayings ("warn slap out"?!?), but many are not suitable for mixed company.
Things are going relatively well, considering. I caught Addie with a toy drill in her hand, leaning over her sister, and pressing it up against her forehead. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, "I just drill holes Mommy, I just drill holes." Nothing quite like a do-it-yourself lobotomy, right?
Although I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised, considering she has taken to pretend eating the cat. I use the word "pretend" loosely, as she often comes up with kitty hair on her nose and mouth . . .
On that note, our neighbors (the ones who have been trying to coerce Bubbles to come live with them) got a kitten of their own last week. Now I was thinking this might be the end to the Bubble-napping, but no, apparently it just means that Bubbles has been upgraded to her very own room . . . I kid you not.
The mom over there told me with a straight face (albeit, with slightly slurred words, as she'd had several cocktails), that all we needed to do was give Bubbles a bedroom of her own, and she'd be perfectly happy. Huh. Well, that might have been when I reemphasized my feelings about the cat, and might have told her that Bubbles has a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) order in the event she is injured.
Now that summer (spring here is as hot as summer anywhere else) is here, we must be mindful of all of the aggressive and poisonous animals/insects/snakes/critters.
We've just discovered a giant fast-as-hell black snake living in our down spout. We think it's non-venomous, but are not 100% sure. But in the event that this guy decides to attack, we're SOL - I think he can run (slither) about 300 mph.
Jeff and I also had the unique experience of having a full-grown copperhead snake try to attack our car. Needless to say, although they might be aggressive, they are no where near as fast as our new neighbor, Mr. Fast-as-hell Black Snake. Thankfully.
On the upside of the aggresive animals that live in the south (is there really an upside?), Alligator hunting season starts soon. Hunting permits can be had for a mear $10. Who knew?
I'm considering getting one. Not because I want to actually kill an alligator, I just think it would be neat to have a stuffed one sitting in our living room. How much do you think it costs to stuff an alligator? Maybe for a few extra bucks, they'd cut cup holders into it (because afterall, everything is so much cooler with a cup holder).
Now that Addie can dress herself, she has also learned the fine art of undressing herself. In addition to the 5+ costume changes she makes daily, she is also experimenting with nudity. Case in point, we had Naked Lunch the other day. My only solace was being able to convince her to wait until we were finished with our walk to start said naked lunch.
In addition to her new found dressing independence, it seems we have a drama queen in the making (I wouldn't have any idea where she gets that, regardless of what my mom might tell you).
The other day Jeff and I watched Addie sit in front of the mirror and practice saying, "stop mommy." Considering I hadn't done or said anything to her to incite this type of thing, we were flabbergasted. She must have said it about 10 times, with different facial expressions and voice inflection each time.
As some of you may know, sometimes baby girl children have breast buds, and can actually produce milk from said buds (I know, I think it's totally weird too). Although the doctor said it was nothing to worry about, what I really want to know is, does this mean she could nurse herself?
Considering I contemplated feeding Lorelei the left-over kitten formula, the whole nursing herself thing isn't such a bad idea . . . Needless to say, I don't love nursing, but am married to the self-appointed La Leche League President.
As several of my more observant readers (remember, I'm a reality TV star, and you are all my adoring fans) quickly pointed out, I forgot to explain the power of Elmo undies. First off, I am only operating on half a brain, so please excuse me. Second, we thought we found the key to potty training Addie, but instead just succeeded in creating a monster.
Jeff thought it might be a good idea to let Addie wear some big girl underwear, and when she had an accident, she'd understand the feeling of needing to pee, and thus potty training would be accomplished.
Well, as it turns out, Addie seems to understand the concept quite well, but just has no interest in sitting on the potty (you should hear the list of treats she'll get IF she ever actually goes to the bathroom on the toilet). To further said underwear efforts, we explained that if she successfully used the potty, she would get some new Elmo underpants. Needless to say, all that did was send her into a screaming crying fit, demanding Elmo underpants. Have I mentioned that 2 1/2 is a rough age?
To date, there are no potty successes to be had. And at this very moment, Addie has regressed and wants to be changed like a baby, instead of using her pull-ups (or in our case, I had been magically turning her diapers into pull-ups. But god forbid you call them diapers or that would start an entirely new fit).
Lest I forget to write about this month's subject:
Addie has started growing a fabulous unibrow, and Lorelei now has nearly braidable length ear hair. I'd like to be able to blame these hairy phenominons on Jeff, but alas, the hairy beasts come from my side of the family (thanks Dad).
Do you think it's too early to start waxing them?
One more thing, I was happy to see that the local chapter of Friends of the NRA meets at the club house in our subdivision.
Take care,
Kate
I've been meaning to write sooner, but I find there is limited time these days. Unless of course I neglect my children . . . which I am considering.
First off, I wanted to share a unique thing I heard today. In order to truly appreciate it, you must imagine a stressed out mother with a VERY deep southern accent (I'm mean really deep). And I quote, "I like pancakes so much y'all, that I could put them in my bra and carry them around. I mean really y'all."
I'd like to say that put into context, that would have made sense, but alas, it wouldn't have helped at all. This particular friend has a wide variety of colorful sayings ("warn slap out"?!?), but many are not suitable for mixed company.
Things are going relatively well, considering. I caught Addie with a toy drill in her hand, leaning over her sister, and pressing it up against her forehead. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, "I just drill holes Mommy, I just drill holes." Nothing quite like a do-it-yourself lobotomy, right?
Although I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised, considering she has taken to pretend eating the cat. I use the word "pretend" loosely, as she often comes up with kitty hair on her nose and mouth . . .
On that note, our neighbors (the ones who have been trying to coerce Bubbles to come live with them) got a kitten of their own last week. Now I was thinking this might be the end to the Bubble-napping, but no, apparently it just means that Bubbles has been upgraded to her very own room . . . I kid you not.
The mom over there told me with a straight face (albeit, with slightly slurred words, as she'd had several cocktails), that all we needed to do was give Bubbles a bedroom of her own, and she'd be perfectly happy. Huh. Well, that might have been when I reemphasized my feelings about the cat, and might have told her that Bubbles has a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) order in the event she is injured.
Now that summer (spring here is as hot as summer anywhere else) is here, we must be mindful of all of the aggressive and poisonous animals/insects/snakes/critters.
We've just discovered a giant fast-as-hell black snake living in our down spout. We think it's non-venomous, but are not 100% sure. But in the event that this guy decides to attack, we're SOL - I think he can run (slither) about 300 mph.
Jeff and I also had the unique experience of having a full-grown copperhead snake try to attack our car. Needless to say, although they might be aggressive, they are no where near as fast as our new neighbor, Mr. Fast-as-hell Black Snake. Thankfully.
On the upside of the aggresive animals that live in the south (is there really an upside?), Alligator hunting season starts soon. Hunting permits can be had for a mear $10. Who knew?
I'm considering getting one. Not because I want to actually kill an alligator, I just think it would be neat to have a stuffed one sitting in our living room. How much do you think it costs to stuff an alligator? Maybe for a few extra bucks, they'd cut cup holders into it (because afterall, everything is so much cooler with a cup holder).
Now that Addie can dress herself, she has also learned the fine art of undressing herself. In addition to the 5+ costume changes she makes daily, she is also experimenting with nudity. Case in point, we had Naked Lunch the other day. My only solace was being able to convince her to wait until we were finished with our walk to start said naked lunch.
In addition to her new found dressing independence, it seems we have a drama queen in the making (I wouldn't have any idea where she gets that, regardless of what my mom might tell you).
The other day Jeff and I watched Addie sit in front of the mirror and practice saying, "stop mommy." Considering I hadn't done or said anything to her to incite this type of thing, we were flabbergasted. She must have said it about 10 times, with different facial expressions and voice inflection each time.
As some of you may know, sometimes baby girl children have breast buds, and can actually produce milk from said buds (I know, I think it's totally weird too). Although the doctor said it was nothing to worry about, what I really want to know is, does this mean she could nurse herself?
Considering I contemplated feeding Lorelei the left-over kitten formula, the whole nursing herself thing isn't such a bad idea . . . Needless to say, I don't love nursing, but am married to the self-appointed La Leche League President.
As several of my more observant readers (remember, I'm a reality TV star, and you are all my adoring fans) quickly pointed out, I forgot to explain the power of Elmo undies. First off, I am only operating on half a brain, so please excuse me. Second, we thought we found the key to potty training Addie, but instead just succeeded in creating a monster.
Jeff thought it might be a good idea to let Addie wear some big girl underwear, and when she had an accident, she'd understand the feeling of needing to pee, and thus potty training would be accomplished.
Well, as it turns out, Addie seems to understand the concept quite well, but just has no interest in sitting on the potty (you should hear the list of treats she'll get IF she ever actually goes to the bathroom on the toilet). To further said underwear efforts, we explained that if she successfully used the potty, she would get some new Elmo underpants. Needless to say, all that did was send her into a screaming crying fit, demanding Elmo underpants. Have I mentioned that 2 1/2 is a rough age?
To date, there are no potty successes to be had. And at this very moment, Addie has regressed and wants to be changed like a baby, instead of using her pull-ups (or in our case, I had been magically turning her diapers into pull-ups. But god forbid you call them diapers or that would start an entirely new fit).
Lest I forget to write about this month's subject:
Addie has started growing a fabulous unibrow, and Lorelei now has nearly braidable length ear hair. I'd like to be able to blame these hairy phenominons on Jeff, but alas, the hairy beasts come from my side of the family (thanks Dad).
Do you think it's too early to start waxing them?
One more thing, I was happy to see that the local chapter of Friends of the NRA meets at the club house in our subdivision.
Take care,
Kate
Sunday, April 19, 2009
The power of Elmo underpants
Hi there,
As some of you questioned my "free minute" to send an email, I felt compelled to explain. At the time, Addie was asleep in her mini-tent and I was dutifully ignoring Lorelei's crying.
I figure there's no time like the present to learn that she has a bad mother . . .
Actually, poor little thing has severe gas bubbles that make her cry for long painful (for all of us) stretches of time, so in the interest of my sanity, I thought it best to take a moment out.
In an effort to stop the crying binges (hers, not mine), I have taken myself off dairy products. I am on day one, and am now frightfully aware of how many dairy products I consume in a day.
Jeff was supposed to help me remember what to eat and not eat, but so far he just succeeded in making me two lunches with cheese.
Now that I am no longer pregnant, and have two little ducklings to attend to, I can no longer indulge in my favorite pass-time of napping. But never fear, I have now taken up power eating.
Since I am nursing (for now, but that's a different subject all together), I find myself practically starving nearly every hour. Thus pre-breakfast and pre-lunch have been introduced - smaller, quicker meals that can be consumed while real breakfast and lunch are being prepared. I have also discovered the joys of having a toddler who doesn't know how to count or keep a close eye on her Easter basket haul.
Before #2 came along, Jeff and I had harbored fantasies that Addie would be a wonderfully adoring, gentle older sister.
Considering her reputation with Bubbles, I can only assume we were having sleep-deprived delusions.
Although she is vocally a supportive loving sister, she is a little aggressive, and I find myself having to say things like, "don't sit on your sisters head" and "don't smother her with the blanket."
Shel Silverstein's poems One Sister for Sale and Someone Ate the Baby often come to mind.
Now that Addie has a sister to pick on, I also would have thought that she might leave the kitty alone (that, and Bubbles is now spending EVERY night at the neighbors and only comes to our house to eat and when they are out of town), but no. The other day, I actually heard myself say, "Addie, don't lick the cat!"
Clearly I have been living in a fantasy world.
Most of you have heard the gory details of my labor and delivery, but I want to take this moment to re-emphasize that those of you who willingly had drug-free deliveries are insane.
While at the hospital, we learned some colorful terms from the nurses.
1) Baby Low Jack System - that's the ankle security bracelet they slap on the newborn so he or she does not walk away. But I am left wondering if there will be any long-term ill effects that might involve house-arrest and ankle bracelets in the future . . .
2) She has a suck like a Hoover - No joke, this is actually what one of the nurses said to me, about Lorelei upon our first nursing effort. It could have had something to do with the fact that she very nearly sucked the nail polish right off her finger, but I'm not sure.
Just in case any of you were wondering what kind of food they serve in a North Carolina hospitals (that's right, we moved ALL the way across the country to South Carolina, and our child was born in North Carolina), they do in fact serve grits and sweet tea as standard fair. Sadly they were plain grits, which taste nearly like soggy cardboard.
While at a Babys R Us before #2 came along, I discovered a whole quarter machine (you know, the ones normally reserved for gum balls and candy) filled with glow-in-the-dark crosses. They were kind of like those necklaces and bracelets that you "brake" to activate, only they were small crosses. They weren't even necklaces as far as I could tell.
Outside of some mid-night proselytizing, I can't imagine what they would be used for (okay, I can imagine, and it's something along the lines of Children of the Corn and scaring the hell out of your neighbors).
I just can't believe there is a market big enough for such things that there would be an entire (and it wasn't a small one) quarter machine devoted to them. Actually, that was only a minor thing in comparison to what they sell at Hobby Lobby for Easter.
Who wants a Jesus Loves You paddle ball in their next Easter basket?
I'm afraid there hasn't been a whole lot happening locally to report in the news, but I'm sure you'll all be as pleased as I was to know that Bake Sales have their own column on the Community Events page.
Take Care,
Kate
As some of you questioned my "free minute" to send an email, I felt compelled to explain. At the time, Addie was asleep in her mini-tent and I was dutifully ignoring Lorelei's crying.
I figure there's no time like the present to learn that she has a bad mother . . .
Actually, poor little thing has severe gas bubbles that make her cry for long painful (for all of us) stretches of time, so in the interest of my sanity, I thought it best to take a moment out.
In an effort to stop the crying binges (hers, not mine), I have taken myself off dairy products. I am on day one, and am now frightfully aware of how many dairy products I consume in a day.
Jeff was supposed to help me remember what to eat and not eat, but so far he just succeeded in making me two lunches with cheese.
Now that I am no longer pregnant, and have two little ducklings to attend to, I can no longer indulge in my favorite pass-time of napping. But never fear, I have now taken up power eating.
Since I am nursing (for now, but that's a different subject all together), I find myself practically starving nearly every hour. Thus pre-breakfast and pre-lunch have been introduced - smaller, quicker meals that can be consumed while real breakfast and lunch are being prepared. I have also discovered the joys of having a toddler who doesn't know how to count or keep a close eye on her Easter basket haul.
Before #2 came along, Jeff and I had harbored fantasies that Addie would be a wonderfully adoring, gentle older sister.
Considering her reputation with Bubbles, I can only assume we were having sleep-deprived delusions.
Although she is vocally a supportive loving sister, she is a little aggressive, and I find myself having to say things like, "don't sit on your sisters head" and "don't smother her with the blanket."
Shel Silverstein's poems One Sister for Sale and Someone Ate the Baby often come to mind.
Now that Addie has a sister to pick on, I also would have thought that she might leave the kitty alone (that, and Bubbles is now spending EVERY night at the neighbors and only comes to our house to eat and when they are out of town), but no. The other day, I actually heard myself say, "Addie, don't lick the cat!"
Clearly I have been living in a fantasy world.
Most of you have heard the gory details of my labor and delivery, but I want to take this moment to re-emphasize that those of you who willingly had drug-free deliveries are insane.
While at the hospital, we learned some colorful terms from the nurses.
1) Baby Low Jack System - that's the ankle security bracelet they slap on the newborn so he or she does not walk away. But I am left wondering if there will be any long-term ill effects that might involve house-arrest and ankle bracelets in the future . . .
2) She has a suck like a Hoover - No joke, this is actually what one of the nurses said to me, about Lorelei upon our first nursing effort. It could have had something to do with the fact that she very nearly sucked the nail polish right off her finger, but I'm not sure.
Just in case any of you were wondering what kind of food they serve in a North Carolina hospitals (that's right, we moved ALL the way across the country to South Carolina, and our child was born in North Carolina), they do in fact serve grits and sweet tea as standard fair. Sadly they were plain grits, which taste nearly like soggy cardboard.
While at a Babys R Us before #2 came along, I discovered a whole quarter machine (you know, the ones normally reserved for gum balls and candy) filled with glow-in-the-dark crosses. They were kind of like those necklaces and bracelets that you "brake" to activate, only they were small crosses. They weren't even necklaces as far as I could tell.
Outside of some mid-night proselytizing, I can't imagine what they would be used for (okay, I can imagine, and it's something along the lines of Children of the Corn and scaring the hell out of your neighbors).
I just can't believe there is a market big enough for such things that there would be an entire (and it wasn't a small one) quarter machine devoted to them. Actually, that was only a minor thing in comparison to what they sell at Hobby Lobby for Easter.
Who wants a Jesus Loves You paddle ball in their next Easter basket?
I'm afraid there hasn't been a whole lot happening locally to report in the news, but I'm sure you'll all be as pleased as I was to know that Bake Sales have their own column on the Community Events page.
Take Care,
Kate
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Wet t-shirt contest for pregnant women
Saturday March 14, 2009
Good Morning,
Let me start off by saying - no baby yet. I officially have three weeks left, but am doubtful (as is everyone else in my neighborhood) that I'll make it that long. Attached is a recent picture, and in an effort to bring the group together, and make me feel a little more connected to friends and family, I am now accepting wagers as to when you think #2 will arrive. The winner will receive some fabulous prize . . . or not. Just depends on how I feel (nothing like being at the mercy of a pregnant woman).
Although my brain may have checked out as of late. Thankfully, I'm still able to channel Martha Stewart. After all, what does one do if they are unable to cultivate their most domestic instincts?
That being said, I have finally finished my quilt (after a long and arduous battle of wills), and even managed to bake three loaves of Friendship bread to put up in the freezer. As if those two feats aren't enough, I managed to bake and quilt at the same time. I know, I know, I very nearly put Martha to shame.
Never mind that I've only managed to make waffles and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner . . .
We've had some mad weather here lately, and as a result, find it quite confusing to dress appropriately (of course, the bigger I get, the more limited my options are). On Sunday night we got six inches of snow, the temperature fell to 15 degrees, and then was up to 78 degrees by Friday . . . Fortunately, we got a great snow day, and Jeff got to stay home for a half a day (he actually worked from home, but we got him for breakfast and lunch).
As a result of some highly technical and advanced snowman building on Jeff's part, his status has been elevated among the neighborhood boys, and now when they know he's home, we have little knocks on the door, and request for Mr. Jeff to come out and play. Addie is also often included, and I, sadly, am last to be asked for. Oh well, I suppose if I have to choose between being domestically gifted, and favorite playmate, I'll stick with Martha. After all, I'm fairly certain she has never been asked to come out and play.
In the midst of our 80 degree weather last weekend (it is now 40 degrees and rainy), after Tom Sawyering the neighborhood girls into washing our cars (who says you can't buy labor with a juice box and snacks?), we innocently supplied them with 100 water balloons, and may or may not have introduced them to the concept of sabotage.
Needless to say, those poor boys never knew what hit them, and by the end of the fight, the smart ones were trying to defect to the girls' team.
Only one broke down in tears for being accused to joining the "girls team" (as we all know, there is no bigger insult for an eight year old boy than being accused of siding with girls). We were quick to inform him though, that he joined the winning team, girls or not.
Anyone who has been pregnant knows what and where the pregnancy stain threshold on your shirt is. For those who haven't experienced it, it's the place just below your chest where your belly sticks out that seems to attract anything and everything (normally the offending item would just fall to the floor, but because of the protruding plateau, all items stop mid-air). Sadly, most stains remain unseen until you've been out and about all day.
But I digress. Last week as Addie and I were going to Plaza Fiesta to meet some of her preschool friends, I managed to drop my mocha mid belly. Not only did it empty it's contents all over my shirt (thankfully midway between what would have looked like lactating leaks and broken water), it also managed to triple it's volume and cover our backpack and my purse. Needless to say, walking into La Plaza was a bit humbling. Fortunately, there is a great amount of sympathy for the pregnant and most people just gave me pathetic pitying looks. Except of course from my friends - they just burst out laughing.
It's times like that that those little hand dryers are useful (because we all know they're not useful the rest of the time). Too bad they were all at kid levels which required a complex and ornate bending and balancing act on my part (because after all, pregnant woman are really quite graceful and flexible). It's a wonder more pregnant woman aren't asked to participate in wet t-shirt competitions, because let me tell you, people couldn't keep their eyes off me.
Sadly, there are those out there who don't sympathize with pregnant woman, and instead try to extort their "condition". And by condition, I mean their inability to lift a full keg of beer
into the back of a car.
Since South Carolina has the Blue Law, and a variety of other confusing laws about alcohol, the Package Stores (aka booze emporiums) close at 6pm, so I (with my infinitely flexible schedule) have been elected beer schlep. On one of my trips to the package store to buy a keg for Jeff (don't laugh, it's a lot cheaper than buying cans), the man who wheeled my keg out to my car asked me if I had any cash to tip him for loading my keg.
After asking if that wasn't in fact part of his job, and he had informed me, no, it was not, I was left open-mouthed and flabbergasted. On my early trips to said package store, they (including this particular man) had loaded my keg without so much as a word. Had I actually been able to lift the keg on my own, I would have tried - after all, I have been known to do things in spite of my best interests. I was envisioning something like telling him off, then summoning up all the strength and energy that is normally directed at growing a healthy baby (and of course, bending at the knees), I would have hoisted the keg over my head, grunted like an Olympic power lifter, and gently place said keg in the back of my car. Then, just to make sure he understood that he was the one who forced this course of action, I would have gone into labor right there on the spot. That would have showed him.
Instead, after my dumbfounded silence, he told me that I had better bring cash next time.
I know you all look forward to our local news updates, so I feel like I should explain something about our little Rock Hill Herald. Only a few of you have had the pleasure of reading it, so the rest of you aren't aware that it only has two sections four days out of the week - the front page and sports. On Saturday, they expand it to three sections which includes the Religion section. I can only assume that it's size limits it's ability to report on world news, so they are forced to choose which stories get top billing on the front page.
That being said, here you go:
"Fort Mill man escapes burning tanning bed." Now keep in mind, this happened the same time as the shooting in Alabama and Germany.
If that wasn't tantalizing enough, the follow-up story (again, front page center) was, "Officials: Tanning bed fire was first on record in S.C." Well thank goodness for that.
As titillating as the tanning bed fire story was, I had to search further back in the paper for this one: "S.C. man cited for hyena in yard." Now the really interesting thing about this article was that he didn't get in trouble so much for having said hyena, but for "displaying a wild and exotic animal." So much for the wild and exotic animal peepshow I was planning . . .
Take Care,
Kate
Good Morning,
Let me start off by saying - no baby yet. I officially have three weeks left, but am doubtful (as is everyone else in my neighborhood) that I'll make it that long. Attached is a recent picture, and in an effort to bring the group together, and make me feel a little more connected to friends and family, I am now accepting wagers as to when you think #2 will arrive. The winner will receive some fabulous prize . . . or not. Just depends on how I feel (nothing like being at the mercy of a pregnant woman).
Although my brain may have checked out as of late. Thankfully, I'm still able to channel Martha Stewart. After all, what does one do if they are unable to cultivate their most domestic instincts?
That being said, I have finally finished my quilt (after a long and arduous battle of wills), and even managed to bake three loaves of Friendship bread to put up in the freezer. As if those two feats aren't enough, I managed to bake and quilt at the same time. I know, I know, I very nearly put Martha to shame.
Never mind that I've only managed to make waffles and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner . . .
We've had some mad weather here lately, and as a result, find it quite confusing to dress appropriately (of course, the bigger I get, the more limited my options are). On Sunday night we got six inches of snow, the temperature fell to 15 degrees, and then was up to 78 degrees by Friday . . . Fortunately, we got a great snow day, and Jeff got to stay home for a half a day (he actually worked from home, but we got him for breakfast and lunch).
As a result of some highly technical and advanced snowman building on Jeff's part, his status has been elevated among the neighborhood boys, and now when they know he's home, we have little knocks on the door, and request for Mr. Jeff to come out and play. Addie is also often included, and I, sadly, am last to be asked for. Oh well, I suppose if I have to choose between being domestically gifted, and favorite playmate, I'll stick with Martha. After all, I'm fairly certain she has never been asked to come out and play.
In the midst of our 80 degree weather last weekend (it is now 40 degrees and rainy), after Tom Sawyering the neighborhood girls into washing our cars (who says you can't buy labor with a juice box and snacks?), we innocently supplied them with 100 water balloons, and may or may not have introduced them to the concept of sabotage.
Needless to say, those poor boys never knew what hit them, and by the end of the fight, the smart ones were trying to defect to the girls' team.
Only one broke down in tears for being accused to joining the "girls team" (as we all know, there is no bigger insult for an eight year old boy than being accused of siding with girls). We were quick to inform him though, that he joined the winning team, girls or not.
Anyone who has been pregnant knows what and where the pregnancy stain threshold on your shirt is. For those who haven't experienced it, it's the place just below your chest where your belly sticks out that seems to attract anything and everything (normally the offending item would just fall to the floor, but because of the protruding plateau, all items stop mid-air). Sadly, most stains remain unseen until you've been out and about all day.
But I digress. Last week as Addie and I were going to Plaza Fiesta to meet some of her preschool friends, I managed to drop my mocha mid belly. Not only did it empty it's contents all over my shirt (thankfully midway between what would have looked like lactating leaks and broken water), it also managed to triple it's volume and cover our backpack and my purse. Needless to say, walking into La Plaza was a bit humbling. Fortunately, there is a great amount of sympathy for the pregnant and most people just gave me pathetic pitying looks. Except of course from my friends - they just burst out laughing.
It's times like that that those little hand dryers are useful (because we all know they're not useful the rest of the time). Too bad they were all at kid levels which required a complex and ornate bending and balancing act on my part (because after all, pregnant woman are really quite graceful and flexible). It's a wonder more pregnant woman aren't asked to participate in wet t-shirt competitions, because let me tell you, people couldn't keep their eyes off me.
Sadly, there are those out there who don't sympathize with pregnant woman, and instead try to extort their "condition". And by condition, I mean their inability to lift a full keg of beer
into the back of a car.
Since South Carolina has the Blue Law, and a variety of other confusing laws about alcohol, the Package Stores (aka booze emporiums) close at 6pm, so I (with my infinitely flexible schedule) have been elected beer schlep. On one of my trips to the package store to buy a keg for Jeff (don't laugh, it's a lot cheaper than buying cans), the man who wheeled my keg out to my car asked me if I had any cash to tip him for loading my keg.
After asking if that wasn't in fact part of his job, and he had informed me, no, it was not, I was left open-mouthed and flabbergasted. On my early trips to said package store, they (including this particular man) had loaded my keg without so much as a word. Had I actually been able to lift the keg on my own, I would have tried - after all, I have been known to do things in spite of my best interests. I was envisioning something like telling him off, then summoning up all the strength and energy that is normally directed at growing a healthy baby (and of course, bending at the knees), I would have hoisted the keg over my head, grunted like an Olympic power lifter, and gently place said keg in the back of my car. Then, just to make sure he understood that he was the one who forced this course of action, I would have gone into labor right there on the spot. That would have showed him.
Instead, after my dumbfounded silence, he told me that I had better bring cash next time.
I know you all look forward to our local news updates, so I feel like I should explain something about our little Rock Hill Herald. Only a few of you have had the pleasure of reading it, so the rest of you aren't aware that it only has two sections four days out of the week - the front page and sports. On Saturday, they expand it to three sections which includes the Religion section. I can only assume that it's size limits it's ability to report on world news, so they are forced to choose which stories get top billing on the front page.
That being said, here you go:
"Fort Mill man escapes burning tanning bed." Now keep in mind, this happened the same time as the shooting in Alabama and Germany.
If that wasn't tantalizing enough, the follow-up story (again, front page center) was, "Officials: Tanning bed fire was first on record in S.C." Well thank goodness for that.
As titillating as the tanning bed fire story was, I had to search further back in the paper for this one: "S.C. man cited for hyena in yard." Now the really interesting thing about this article was that he didn't get in trouble so much for having said hyena, but for "displaying a wild and exotic animal." So much for the wild and exotic animal peepshow I was planning . . .
Take Care,
Kate
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Prom for Preschoolers
Feb. 24, 2008
Subj: Prom for preschoolers
Hello Everyone,
Happy Tuesday. I know I've been remiss about writing more often, but the fact of the matter is, I've been actively avoiding the bonus room (where the computer is), for fear that the quilt I'm supposed to be making (yes, another one, but this one is supposed to be for Baby #2 - or as the girls in the neighborhood call her, "Adeline 2) will jump into my lap and insist upon some attention. So as a result, I have been using this time to perfect my napping skills.
We've been having more computer problems, and I suppose it could have something to do with the bubble wands Addie inserted into the fan area of the hard drive, but I just can't imagine how something as low tech as bubble wands (that's right, not just one, but two), could effect such a highly scientific and advanced thing as a computer hard drive. I'm more inclined to believe it's the quilt (it's not even a quilt yet, just a pile of fabric, but in spirit it's a beautiful baby quilt) exacting it's revenge on me.
Little does it know I can still go to the library to use the computer. It has no idea what kind of procrastinator it's dealing with - I will overcome!
Addie's preschool hosted a father/daughter dance for Valentines, and moms were only allowed if they were helping out with something. Of course Jeff wasn't going to go unless I was there, so I dutifully signed up for ticket taking, dressed Addie in her finest Christmas dress, and off we went.
Now, since this was a preschool function (although it was open to the public), we thought Jeff would be fine in a sports shirt and slacks. Of course, we forgot to adjust our thought process to east coast time. Jeff was by far, the most under-dressed of all the 100+ dads there. Suits are of course the most logical next step up from a sports shirt, but there were dads in tuxedos (remember, preschool dance here). And at least half the girls had corsages and outrageous up-dos (also known as Prom Hair). Many of the girls had visibly spent time at the beauty salon, and had even had their nails and toes done for the occasion.
After watching all these dolled up kiddos come and go, I realized that this must be where beauty queens come from . . .
Aside from all the outrageous hoopla, there is nothing cuter than a room full of dads dancing the night away with their exhausted little girls (the dance didn't start until 7pm, so most of us didn't have a fighting chance to last the whole night).
Good news, we took a hospital tour, so now we know where to go when #2 is ready. And, as luck would have it, while I was sitting in the maternity ward waiting room, I had a chance to peruse my new favorite magazine, "American Rifleman." It truly is the "world's oldest and largest firearm authority." Do you think a lifetime subscription the American Rifleman would be a more suitable birth gift than a quilt?
Jeff and I have taken up bicycling on the weekends, and have quickly discovered that in fact, we are invisible. You'd think that two adults and a bike trailer (which we refer to has the princess chariot because Addie loves it so much) would be at least a little visible, but every time we try to cross an intersection (mind you, from the sidewalk, when the hand is green) we nearly get creamed by someone trying to turn right. But the good news is, we have found what we believe to be the only bike rack in the whole city. Conveniently, it's located in front of the local hippy market in town.
Addie had her first haircut today, and she did wonderfully. Admittedly, Great Clip's haircut sale was really what spurned me into action (you just can't beat $6.99). That, and I didn't want to have one of those kids who goes through school with their hair wrapped around their waists because their moms just won't let them cut it. And, I think if Addie's hair got too long, it might become problematic in the potty training area.
Speaking of poo, (let those who don't have children be forewarned - we will be talking about another well kept parenting secret), I had another one of those moments when I just sat back, and thought, "good lord, how did I get here?"
As if catching vomit with your hands isn't bad enough. . . Addie had a little bottle in the shower, I looked down and it had a little dark thing in it. Clearly not thinking, I picked up the bottle, looked at it, dumped it out into my hand, and realized almost immediately, that I had poo in my hand. Of course the first question I asked myself was, "how did I get poo in my hand?" But the second question that I know you are all asking yourselves is, "how did the poo get in the bottle in the first place?" I wish I knew.
Somehow I think the answer to that would lead to all the answers to all the most difficult questions out there.
In the headlines this week: "Fort Mill teen charged in Dairy Barn Burglaries."
If you're anything like me, you were probably hoping for some great modern day cattle rustling story, but alas, the story didn't actually have anything to do with cows at all.
I'm afraid I have nothing more to report. We pretty much stick to a rigid schedule of eating, napping and playing. It's grueling and exhausting, but someone has to do it.
Take care.
Love,
Kate
Subj: Prom for preschoolers
Hello Everyone,
Happy Tuesday. I know I've been remiss about writing more often, but the fact of the matter is, I've been actively avoiding the bonus room (where the computer is), for fear that the quilt I'm supposed to be making (yes, another one, but this one is supposed to be for Baby #2 - or as the girls in the neighborhood call her, "Adeline 2) will jump into my lap and insist upon some attention. So as a result, I have been using this time to perfect my napping skills.
We've been having more computer problems, and I suppose it could have something to do with the bubble wands Addie inserted into the fan area of the hard drive, but I just can't imagine how something as low tech as bubble wands (that's right, not just one, but two), could effect such a highly scientific and advanced thing as a computer hard drive. I'm more inclined to believe it's the quilt (it's not even a quilt yet, just a pile of fabric, but in spirit it's a beautiful baby quilt) exacting it's revenge on me.
Little does it know I can still go to the library to use the computer. It has no idea what kind of procrastinator it's dealing with - I will overcome!
Addie's preschool hosted a father/daughter dance for Valentines, and moms were only allowed if they were helping out with something. Of course Jeff wasn't going to go unless I was there, so I dutifully signed up for ticket taking, dressed Addie in her finest Christmas dress, and off we went.
Now, since this was a preschool function (although it was open to the public), we thought Jeff would be fine in a sports shirt and slacks. Of course, we forgot to adjust our thought process to east coast time. Jeff was by far, the most under-dressed of all the 100+ dads there. Suits are of course the most logical next step up from a sports shirt, but there were dads in tuxedos (remember, preschool dance here). And at least half the girls had corsages and outrageous up-dos (also known as Prom Hair). Many of the girls had visibly spent time at the beauty salon, and had even had their nails and toes done for the occasion.
After watching all these dolled up kiddos come and go, I realized that this must be where beauty queens come from . . .
Aside from all the outrageous hoopla, there is nothing cuter than a room full of dads dancing the night away with their exhausted little girls (the dance didn't start until 7pm, so most of us didn't have a fighting chance to last the whole night).
Good news, we took a hospital tour, so now we know where to go when #2 is ready. And, as luck would have it, while I was sitting in the maternity ward waiting room, I had a chance to peruse my new favorite magazine, "American Rifleman." It truly is the "world's oldest and largest firearm authority." Do you think a lifetime subscription the American Rifleman would be a more suitable birth gift than a quilt?
Jeff and I have taken up bicycling on the weekends, and have quickly discovered that in fact, we are invisible. You'd think that two adults and a bike trailer (which we refer to has the princess chariot because Addie loves it so much) would be at least a little visible, but every time we try to cross an intersection (mind you, from the sidewalk, when the hand is green) we nearly get creamed by someone trying to turn right. But the good news is, we have found what we believe to be the only bike rack in the whole city. Conveniently, it's located in front of the local hippy market in town.
Addie had her first haircut today, and she did wonderfully. Admittedly, Great Clip's haircut sale was really what spurned me into action (you just can't beat $6.99). That, and I didn't want to have one of those kids who goes through school with their hair wrapped around their waists because their moms just won't let them cut it. And, I think if Addie's hair got too long, it might become problematic in the potty training area.
Speaking of poo, (let those who don't have children be forewarned - we will be talking about another well kept parenting secret), I had another one of those moments when I just sat back, and thought, "good lord, how did I get here?"
As if catching vomit with your hands isn't bad enough. . . Addie had a little bottle in the shower, I looked down and it had a little dark thing in it. Clearly not thinking, I picked up the bottle, looked at it, dumped it out into my hand, and realized almost immediately, that I had poo in my hand. Of course the first question I asked myself was, "how did I get poo in my hand?" But the second question that I know you are all asking yourselves is, "how did the poo get in the bottle in the first place?" I wish I knew.
Somehow I think the answer to that would lead to all the answers to all the most difficult questions out there.
In the headlines this week: "Fort Mill teen charged in Dairy Barn Burglaries."
If you're anything like me, you were probably hoping for some great modern day cattle rustling story, but alas, the story didn't actually have anything to do with cows at all.
I'm afraid I have nothing more to report. We pretty much stick to a rigid schedule of eating, napping and playing. It's grueling and exhausting, but someone has to do it.
Take care.
Love,
Kate
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