Some typical Fruit Loop-isms:

******

"I'm going to eat a lot of carrots so I can see God."

"Are you kidding? It's fantastic."

"I know."

"Mom, I put my hands down my pants and through my underwear and messing with the parts where the pee comes from. Can I do that? Is that okay?"

silence (as he ignores me)

"NO."

silence (see above) (He is really getting quite accomplished at this whole blatant disregard thing.)

"Mom, why are my underwear so soggy?"

While he's supposed to be falling asleep: "I put my fingers in my nose, but ... can you tell me to wash my hands in the morning?"

******

There are others, but after an evening of particularly incessant chatter, that's the best my brain can come up with. I will spare you any more. You're welcome!

Fruit Loop was born Sept. 9th, 2005. That makes him a whopping 4 and one-half years old. Amusingly, most (read: all the flippin' ones I have spoken with - up, down, private, public, religious, YOU NAME IT) have a cut-off birthday for their entering class of Sept. 1st.

Did I say that was amusing?

In the immortal words of the writers at Disney: It is time. Fruit Loop is ready for school. Mentally, socially, everything-ally ready. But. BUT. (There is always a but. And no, not my gravity-friendly butt. A however but. Hardy har har.) There is that pesky little Sept. 1st cut-off.

So now I must plan my attack. I must launch a full-scale assault on all potential schools, their administrators, their teachers, the moms on the PTA board, the ladies in the cafeteria... I must wage war on the system. I must fight tooth and nail for my son's admission to THE school we want him to attend. I have to show how awesome he is (because, let's be honest, he really is as awesome as I think he is), and I have to beat those other kids' moms off with a stick. (What? They're our competition!)

In short, it's time to don my Urban Yuppy Competitive Mom outfit. Because not only are we after a coveted spot in a "good school," we are after it for a child who is ostensibly too young and (I can only infer) too "incapable." THAT is where the real battle lies.

We just need to get a foot in the door. Just a chance to shine Fruit Loop's Shining Light of Awesomeness, (which may or may not be his dump truck-cum-flashlight, if he decides to bring it). Prepare to be amazed!

If you are anything like me, you have a drawer or cupboard or countertop or darn near entire bookshelf that looks something like this:



Devoted entirely to cookbooks. (For the record, mine are squirreled away in various boxes, cupboards, and piles of organized chaos. And, no, I have not yet amassed the collection quite as pictured. But I am well on my way.)

Now, if you have actually opened said cookbooks and done more than just salivate over the, well, salivatingly beautiful pictures inside, you may have discovered that some recipes are better than others. In fact, you may have discovered that some cookbooks are better than others. If you have not made this discovery yet, well, 1) some day you will, and 2) you're welcome.

Some years ago, when I was a kitchen newbie (read: did nothing but sat on my tuchus eating bonbons all day) and complaining about my baffling lack of prowess in the kitchen, a friend once told me I was using the "wrong" cookbooks. In other words: it is not your fault if you fail in the kitchen. (Well, maybe that's being a bit generous... But I'll give us all the benefit of the doubt. Keep reading. Please. There is eventually some worthwhile content.)

For all of you who have experienced such complete and total dejection as accompanies a failed recipe, I give you this:



50 Great Curries of India by Camellia Panjabi. This is definitely one of the "right" cookbooks. The recipes are authentic, and she includes an array of homestyle cooking and restaurant dishes from across India. In addition to curries, you will see recipes for various rice dishes, vegetables, fruits, breads, and desserts. The entire first portion of the book is devoted to ingredients and all of their permutations - spices, (powdered, whole, dried, fresh), rices, etc. Tips about how to create a complete meal, what to drink, typical accompaniments, and serving suggestions are all provided.

One of the biggest reasons this cookbook succeeds is the clear, detailed writing. Instructions are precise, and if you trust the author and her recipes (as in, don't second-guess why she's adding what she is, and don't think you can go off and tweak the recipe because, well, you just know better), you will be rewarded with a delectable variety of dishes and the experience and confidence to create more on your own. You will also begin to get a feel for good Indian cooking, and thus can better assess a potential recipe (or tweak it as you make it, because now you really will know better!).

One drawback: the recipes are a bit "involved." Especially for the first-time cook, I recommend minimizing other distractions and having all of your ingredients at hand. (Don't let that scare you! Just be prepared to have to add things 2 or 3 or 4 separate times instead of just dumping it all in a pot at once, e.g.)

Thus far I have made: Rogan Josh, Lamb Korma Pilaf (or what is almost biryani - ha, can you believe there is a Wiki page for biryani? Awesome.) , Meat Curry with Cumin-Flavored Potatoes, Green Chicken Korma (chicken rizzala), and assorted other entrees and sides. Coming soon: CHICKEN MAKHANI. For those of you who don't know what makhani is, it = BUTTER HEAVEN. I am salivating already - and I'm not even looking at the picture!

Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep.
Little Despot has lost a slipper
She doesn't know where to find them.
And doesn't give a hoot about it.
Leave them alone and they'll come home,
Glancing hurriedly around, like she's out of her mind,
Wagging their tails behind them.
Mom laments and overanalyzes the accursed windy day's events for what they really are: the step away from babyhood
Mom has nothing to do but leave it.

So not my best work, that little poetic attempt at being Cutesy Yet Profound.

I have shown an ability in the past to cut people out of my life with an alacrity that is a bit disconcerting. And yet things like this, like losing one part of a pair, losing a piece of some larger whole, or even having a blemish or damage to an item (be it an appliance, toy, article of clothing, etc.)....these things stick with me. Especially when it involves the loss of something. I experience a rather idiotically notable sense of sadness and, well, loss.

Pretty sure I can classify this as (one of many) Issues.

In a drab world of hand-me-downs, a bright spot of color emerges...

BIRTHDAY PRESENTS!!

Okay, so it's not like The Despot is entirely reliant on hand-me-downs from Fruit Loop. He has had some new clothes of his own in his quickly-passing-me-by twelve months of life thus far. However, it is his lot in life, as the second-born of the same sex (and I don't think anyone would argue with me on this), to receive more hand-me-downs than anyone would care to know.

So: a birthday is always a great time for gifts. Mostly family is responsible for the good stuff. Mom and Dad, on the other hand? Well, here is what we gave The Despot on his 1st birthday:

*His one-year checkup at the pediatrician's, complete with two (just? only?) vaccinations, a thorough poking and prodding, a tongue depressor, and The Despot's absolutely certainty that THE WORLD WAS ENDING.

*His first haircut, wherein we made just so many futile attempts to keep the hair off of us and in some manageable collection elsewhere. (Towel? Floor? Random piles and tufts all over anyone within a 20-foot radius - because that's what ended up happening, as it would so happen. GO FIGURE.) I would post the before and after shots, but I don't know you well enough, internet.

*His first real, legitimate bite of sweets. And of chocolate. We celebrated with chocolate cupcakes. Which Fruit Loop and I totally neglected The Despot in his highchair by for which to make said cupcakes. To celebrate The Despot's birthday. Which he should have TOTALLY understood. But something about him being one and all, well... Anyway. So he was not happy with the whole preparation thing. And by the time it came to eating them - after his shots, after his traumatic haircut, at the end of the day when he was just done and ready to sleep - THEN we give him a chocolate cupcake.

And he was mildly interested. Mostly in smashing it to bits. He did eat one or two bites, then turned his head to the side, clamping his mouth shut and squinching up his eyes because WE WERE OBVIOUSLY TORTURING HIM BY EVEN SUGGESTING HE HAVE ANOTHER BITE OF CHOCOLATE SUGARY GOODNESS.

Whatever. He's one. What does he know?

So, anyway, the end of it is: tears. Birthday tears. But a momentous day nonetheless, one that he is too young to remember as not being an entirely happy day, (ah, the consolation of moms everywhere), and one that is already fading fast in the rearview mirror as he hurtles ahead to the next big thing in life. (Which, right now, could really be anything from more teeth to walking to not being obsessed with putting everything he finds on the floor in his mouth.)

Seriously. This is totally true. Diaper-Changing Dads Hurt Moms' Self-Esteem.

Now before you get all Anti-Sexism Pro-Feminist on me, dear internet, know this: I was once like you. I mean, besides a few anatomical changes, men and women are totally interchangeable - equal in capability, potential, intelligence, etc., etc., etc. Right?

YET. NOT TRUE. Honestly, how many of you are holding a double standard when you say men and women are/should be completely equal - and yet, you expect (whether explicitly or implicitly) women to do certain things in certain realms better (e.g., childcare) and men to do certain things in certain realms better (e.g., Mr. Fix-It)? Or, if you want to argue semantics, perhaps "better" isn't exactly correct. How about "more innately?"

(**Aside: This speaks to a larger issue of whence such double standards were derived, and we can most easily blame our own upbringing for instilling girl-y and boy-y ideas. So, long story short, there are many arguments that get caught up in the crusade for feminism.

HOWEVER. That was me then. This is me now. And I TOTALLY AGREE with girl-y and boy-y ideas. Yes, I am sexist in many ways. Yes, I stereotype men and women. I ASCRIBE TO GENDER ROLES.**)

I know, you newfangled and progressive little internet, I KNOW. You now disown me. SO BE IT!

My change in thinking regarding gender roles is really just a realization that yes, men and women are fundamentally different in many ways. That doesn't mean men and women can't be equally good at the same things, or that men and women may excel in opposite-sex arenas. It just means that I'm one of those antiquated believers in gender roles, and think that men and women are innately better at certain things - things that we have tended to stereotype and assign in the realm of gender roles.

I'll elaborate more later, perhaps, but it's nearing the end of the day and my brain is quickly turning to mush. Blame it on the hormones, if you will.

Although, to be honest, I'm not sure it's a tradition just yet if we've only done it once. And plan on doing it again. ANYway.

The first haircut. THE first haircut. The. First. HAIRCUT.

It's a simultaneously sad and jubilant time. So long to the fine, curly baby locks. Hello, coarse, thick big boy hair. Speaking from experience, I know time starts to move even faster now. It becomes a world of one accomplishment after another, milestones flying by - and now, with two on my hands, even less time to document and enjoy the last remnants of babyhood.

The Despot turns ONE today. I know, you're all probably thinking "Lady, calm down already. It's only a year. He's still a baby!" NO. YOU ARE WRONG. Why do people even have kids? The heartbreak of them outgrowing babyhood is enough to make me call up the doc and request that ye olde tubes done git tied. (Oh yes, I just did that. Olde English and Redneck. What a beautifully imperfect union.)

So, anyway, a bit of coherent summary for you: we did this with Fruit Loop, and it's been my intention since to do the same with any future offspring, and that is to reserve the first haircut for their first birthday. Just because. A bit of a "graduation," definitely time for it, and the overall appeal of an official milestone + commemorative event combo.

A lady asked the other day - for token confirmation of a conclusion she had already reached in her head, such was her tone of voice - "A girl, right?"

I'd say it's about time for us to work on that tradition.

We live in a small-ish (COZY!) apartment. It has always been temporary, and we are (hopefully) in the homestretch of figuring out where the roadmap of our lives will lead. All this to say: I had to ("had to") finish up a carton of ice cream to make room for a chicken in the freezer.

So sad.

So. Question: how much of our kids' taste preferences for kid-centric cuisine is nature, and how much is nurture?

Do they love PB&J because we shove it down their throats when we have no time to make anything that requires more than two minutes' worth of attention more complicated nutritious? Or because we think it's a kid-appropriate food? ARE WE STEREOTYPING OUR CHILDREN'S BASIC FOOD PROFILE??

How much do we box our kids in with our expectations of them wanting only kid food?

OR: Are we just pushovers for when your kid has a very decided preference for kiddie bites?

I realized this morning that now is the first time we have had hot dogs (Vienna beef) on hand. In his 4 years thus far, Fruit Loop has eaten pretty much everything we eat (for better or for worse, depending on what stage of culinary prowess I was at at the time). Indian, American, Italian, with only the occasional PB&J, mac & cheese, hot dogs, Happy Meal, etc.

We (so far) have seemed to avoid the usual food strikes or demands for only food that is typically within the realm of fried, junky, and/or otherwise not-so-nutritious kid stuff - hot dogs, mac & cheese, PB&J, etc. (There is nothing wrong w/ these, in moderation, btw. For the record. You know, so you don't think I'm a Food Nazi or something.) The kids have good appetites (though The Despot has GOT to get himself some table manners. Oy, the YELLING he does over his food! "Faster, woman! Feed me NOW! GIVE ME THAT STEAK!").

How much of this is temperament? Culinary explorers from the beginning, especially The Despot (who will eat anything that he dubs "real food" - read: grown-up food), we might have just lucked out.

Or maybe I was such a bad cook that Fruit Loop will eat anything now after his people-pleasing personality started out on some rather questionable dishes in the beginning...

Or maybe The Despot is just showcasing his pugnacious, disdainful attitude towards all things baby, and his stubbornness requires him to force down grown-up food that may not be to his tastes otherwise...

Or maybe they saw THIS:

Source: Wise Eats

Yeah...about those Happy Meals. I am permanently instituting a ban on Chicken Nuggets. Now, please, if you'll excuse me...I think I need to be sick.

Hip hip hooray!

Hip hip hooray!

Hip hip hooray!

Because that, ladies and gentlemen (toyed w/ the idea of saying "gentleblogs" there, but...eh, no), is what you are getting tonight. In no particular order:


*I signed up for the whole Google AdSense thing. I have yet to follow thru and implement the code. Eh, eventually.

*Spent a bajillion hours on the phone w/ California bureaucracy. Actually, no, not a bajillion. That would be impossible. But it sure did take a while. The ladies were VERY knowledgeable, and I think we eventually figured out what we needed to have done. Bottom line: very impressed w/ the folks in the Orange County Recorder's office.

*Took out the jogging stroller/bike trailer (sans bike, which, by the way, reminds me that I did not return to its home in the garage bike cage thing to fix the chain after the third (and final) time it fell off on the return trip home yesterday because, seriously, like I needed one more thing? No.), just for a quick trip down the street to what is sometimes the world's slowest post office. Surprisingly empty. I think I will plan all of my post office trips for 4:30p on a Thursday afternoon.

*Weather = BEAUTIFUL.

*Mentally reviewed my to-do list, including reviews promised (including a new Indian cookbook!) but nixed doing tonight because they require too much mental exertion.

*...

*...

Erm, yeah, looks like I'm done! Aren't you glad you read this? Like, total time waster - and not even a good one! Sorry, really, but thanks for stopping by.

So...yeah. Harsh reminder today of why I should not be allowed to make decisions for myself. Or have fun ideas. Or think I'm going to take off on a whim and have an adventure. Because I just don't think quickly enough on my feet. And I still have Issues. (Yes, it gets capitalized.) Like, why do I freaking care what other people think? So what's a little embarrassment? Who cares if something is EASY if it goes against what you've decided you're not going to do?

Here are the details. Not that you care, little blog, but just fyi. So, you know, I don't sound any MORE crazy. I know, real funny, har har.

We recently purchased a Nordic Cab bike trailer/jogging stroller. I, being the idiot that I am who plans poorly and has Issues (you know, like putting her own discomfort before anything else - keep reading, you'll see), decided it would be great to go off on a spur-of-the-moment adventure across town to the library to pick up books. With my older, little-used bike. And the bike trailer. On city streets. Using the bike+trailer for the second time. (First time was to the beach over the weekend w/ Hottie McHotts. A much more manageable trip. One that buoyed my confidence, though I admit there was more rash decision-making at play here than legitimate confidence combined with a well-thought-out "adventure.")

Our destination in sight, I'm relieved things have gone well - though probably not going to do this again, as it's a little dangerous and all - and then the chain. THE CHAIN. IT COMES OFF. (Yes, yes, I know they do these sorts of things. But did it ever cross my mind? You know, what with my OLDER bike and all? NOOOOOOOOOO. That's how my brain operates, just assuming right along, thinking everything works out and contingency plans? Who needs THOSE?)

So I used up the last functioning brain cell when I decided that, "Hmm, maybe stopping to fix this on the street is not the best idea. I should probably move to the sidewalk." Which was easy, the getting the bike up over the curb and onto said sidewalk. The attached bike trailer, slanted at an angle when I have yet to learn how to freaking steer/maneuver the bike to redirect said trailer? Yeah, not so easy. I stand there for a few seconds (which feel like 5 minutes), feeling acutely conspicuous and inept and embarrassed... and then some guy asks if I need help.

Now. Let me say. I HAVE A RULE. And I am usually pretty good at following it, as much as I can. RULE: I DON'T TALK TO GUYS. I go to female cashiers. If I have a question for an employee, I find a female employee. If I'm out on the street and some male talks to me, I ignore him. I don't even make eye contact with men. Those are the rules. (Yes, I think most people would call that a bit extreme or ridiculous or crazy or whatever. But I am more comfortable that way, and I think it's an important behavior for me to practice and model for my kids - although since they're both boys, for them the rule is also no talking to girls when Mom's not around, just like Mom (hopefully giving them the foundation that the kind of girl they will want to marry is not overly friendly with other men) doesn't talk to guys and the boys don't talk to guys when Dad's not around. THAT'S THE WAY IT IS.)

But what did I do when a guy asked if I needed help with the bike trailer today? I SAID YES. And what did I do when he said he could fix the chain? I SAID YES.

And then I thought: WHAT IN THE SAM HILL, WOMAN?? "Because it's easier" = BAD REASON. Same goes for "because I was embarrassed, because I needed more time to think of a plan, because because because."

Guy finishes, I keep my eyes down and say a quick "Thank you" (WAS THAT EVEN NECESSARY?), and walk away.

The rest of my day? Colossal train wreck. Emotionally and mentally, anyway. I've held it together better than in the past, which is maybe improvement? But the fact that this happened at all, that I lapsed on a rule...Yeah, can't let that happen.

You probably think I'm a looney tune at this point. But I'm serious about this! It's a hugely important boundary for me. It's like the all-or-nothing mentality - if I don't completely eliminate the possibility of interacting with another man who is not my husband, then I run the very real risk of becoming too friendly, allowing another man to develop a connection with me (and vice-versa)... Nothing good can come of it. So why even go there?

Ugh. That's my attempt at a humorous interpretation - sardonic? self-deprecating? all of the above? - of a rather bad event. Overall bad, like that gets me all crazy and emotional and depressed and hard(er) on myself. And then I think of all the other crappity crap crapness that I have failed at of late - like, looking around to find SOMEthing to bolster my importance and success as a human being and life's work and really, frankly, anything to point to as some small small measure of something that I did that was good or even marginally okay (and is anybody still reading at this point, because I'm starting to lose even myself), and ANYway. So the list of failures grows, and it's like WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING FOR THE LAST WEEK? Because it certainly wasn't laundry. Or the huge success of homeschooling-that's-not-homeschooling. Or personal erudition. (Religion, politics, world news, fill in the blank.) Or ANYTHING, frankly. BECAUSE I SUCK AT LIFE.

And I don't even have any peanut butter Oreos on hand. ANOTHER FAIL.





*Although I suppose now, in this modern era packed to the gills with oodles and oodles of technology, "drunk text" is more appropriate.**

**Actually, neither is appropriate. Here is why. 1) I don't drink. 2) I don't text.***

*** I used to text. Just...no, not anymore, it is a bad, bad idea.****

****Speaking of bad ideas: Things I Used to Do But Don't Because I Have Dubbed Them Bad Ideas.

MySpace.
Facebook.
Friends of the Opposite Sex.

Let's just keep those doors shut, shall we? I could add to the list, but y'all don't need to be bogged down in the minutiae of me trying to figure out how to survive Life.

GAH! I HAVE NO BUTT!

Correction: I have a butt. However, it is approximately a foot and a-half lower than where I last left it.

A FOOT AND A-HALF.

Q.
F.
T.

You know, I understand physics. I could probably even work out the Newtonian mechanics of how my butt sank? (Dropped? Got lower? You call it.) And why it ended up where it did. I could maybe even make a projected calculation of where precisely my butt will be in 5, 10, or 20 years from now. (That last sentence right there is going to send me for the Edy's Thin Mint ice cream. Posthaste.)

But with all of that understanding and science and whatnot, I ask you: WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN? Was it after Child #1? Was it somewhere sitting on my duff during medical school? (Does extended seatedness literally smush and flatten?) Was it after Child #2? (I refuse to consider said ice cream and previously posted-about peanut butter Oreos had anything to do with such a nefarious and deliberately unsexy deed...)

I used to have a butt. In fact, I always thought it was somewhat of a bubble butt, just a bit too high and "out there" (thank you, Sir Mix-a-Lot). Now, though? Oh, what I wouldn't give to have the butt of my youth back, in all of its collagen and elastin-ated glory. Instead I am left with this totally NOT gravity-defying...Well, I don't know what to call it. No self-respecting butt would be caught dead looking like what mine does. It's...sagging. It's...squishy. It's...defeated. Poor thing. IT HAS LOST THE WILL TO LIVE! WOE AND ABJECT MISERY!

And, with that pleasant visual, please, Hottie McHotts, disregard everything you may have just read and/or continue pretending my butt in all its present state of NOT GLORY is indeed a beautiful thing.

What? Hello? A-hem, excuuuuuuse me!

Ah, yes, there, now I have your attention.

I AM HEEEEEEERE!

What, too loud? You're not excited to see me? But you should be! See, it's a beautiful, dysfunctional cycle. I write on you for a few days, little blog, then I disappear mysteriously without so much as a what-for or goodbye....and then I return to shower you with my attention and love and egotistical ramblings about my comfortable - nay, privileged/spoiled - life, about which I'm sure you care not a whit but you pretend to because then I will keep writing and rambling and divulging either far too much or nothing at all but I AM HERE!

So. Anyway. A preview of things to (hopefully) come:

*Review of our recently purchased bicycle trailer/stroller. Hint: TWO THUMBS UP.
*Review and maybe recipes of our recently purchased Indian cookbook. Hint: HAVE NOT USED YET.
*Beyond that I don't know. There are ideas tumbling around in my head somewhere, yet I am unable to locate them at the moment. Call it suspense.

I can hardly wait. Wooooooo!!

I'm wondering if the content of this post will have me on a permanent first-name basis w/ the folks over at the Department of Homeland Security - not that I'm saying anything crazy, just that I'll probably hit a majority of watch words that they flag things for. Or tap people's phone lines for. (Maybe I should cancel the impending appointment w/ Comcast and their land line...) Or have foreign security folks come into your apartment and rough you up for should you happen to be staying in a foreign country (notthatthishashappenedtoanyoneIknowAHEM).

So. Right. Content that is totally not a matter of homeland security but gets people riled up anyway:

"Jihad Jane?" Really? I mean, I know you want to be all "look at me and my trendy moniker skillz" and "buy mah newspaper you masses stahving for juicy sensational newz." But I think that's unnecessary. Sure, the lady was operating a la Benedict Arnold. Sure, she was -

Okay. Scratch that. Flip it. Reverse it. *Removes foot from mouth.*

HAAAA, haha, ha....er. Well. In an effort to link you to said reference ("Jihad Jane"), I figured I would actually get the link for the story and, well, you know, READ IT. At which point I REALIZED: she done gave herself the nickname.

I was all ready to dust off ye olde soapbox and say how we need to see both sides and not trivialize but instead seek to understand such mentalities and causes that people espouse so wholly and don't fuel the whole terror fire and yadda yadda yadda.

You have my apologies, sensational news people. And federal government. Please don't tap my phone. (Unless you want a daily rundown of The Despot's feats of a gustatory and "eliminatory" manner...Or want said despot and accomplice - Fruit Loop - yelling like feral children in the background. It's up to you.)

This morning, my breakfast consisted of the following:

*Pancakes with syrup
*Hot chocolate
*Extra syrup

At least I had breakfast this morning. Doesn't usually happen. Probably would've done better this a.m. if I had stuck w/ that trend, as I'm sure my future diabetic and extra pudgy self won't be sending me any thank you notes. Whatever. She's a sour old wench anyway.

***
Edited to add: lunch was peanut M&M's. At 3:15pm.

Maybe I should change the title of this to modeling healthy eating habits...'cuz I have TOTALLY got that one in the bag...

Actually, you don't have to answer that. I recall full well (See? The old memory banks still work on occasion!) that I have said, NUMEROUS times, that I could never homeschool my kids. I have not the patience, nor the discipline, nor the motivation.

Until now. Of late I feel I have been stuck in a downward spiral of sludgy inertia-ness. The whole "get up and go" done got up and went to take a nap or something, I don't know. Fruit Loop's activity schedule has lightened up considerably, and now we have much more time stretching endlessly before us. Do I fill that constructively? Maybe 15% of the time. On a good day, 20%. So: time for some changes.

Change around here frequently happens like this: I stew on something for a while, often experiencing emotions that I don't accurately sit down to assess, label, or otherwise address. Hottie McHotts identifies a problem, takes the time out to think about it, and comes up with a comprehensive, driven idea for how to address the issue at hand. He should not have to delegate in this way to me, yet that is how it inevitably happens. My self-reflection and self-starterness are infantile at best. It is something I need to work on more proactively. (Yes, I see the irony there. Is irony the right word? Not exactly. There is a joke to be had somewhere, some wry and self-deprecating something or other, but the ol' brain cells are firing few and far between right now. Lucky you!)

So, anyway: change. Now. I won't homeschool for real, but after speaking it over with Hottie McHotts tonight, I am motivated and totally digging his idea to structure our home education more. CURRENTLY, we do a light bit of reading work and math 4-5 days/week. We work on religious memorization and instruction a similar amount. We do a hodge-podge of art projects, and scattered throughout all of this is the constant barrage of questions by the fruit loop about the world around him.

NOW, however, the plan is to take the instruction and flesh it out. Weekly themes, more goal-driven, more broadly educational regarding the world and Fruit Loop's place in it...

Surprisingly, I am excited. I hope it lasts, and, more importantly, I hope it translates into motivation and enjoyment and productivity on all levels.

We shall see...

So, riiiight, I know you have been all pins and needles for the outcome of my HUGELY IMPORTANT and TOTALLY RELEVANT to LIFE and DEATH things like WORLD PEACE, solving WORLD HUNGER, combating WORLD POVERTY, and curing AIDS shopping decision from yesterday.

You weren't? Oh. You can probably stop reading now, then.

ANYway, for those who haven't yet tried to reach through their computer screens to claw my eyes out and scalp me for my completely and totally asinine posts all about my earth-shatteringly vacuous and overprivileged decisions SUCH AS WHETHER OR NOT TO ATTEND A DESIGNER DENIM SALE, I give you the following update on said sale:



I mean, not TOTALLY, but I was certainly able to shop at ease with both kids in tow. The bummer was that there were no jeans in my size (or, rather, none of the 2 jeans marked in my size were truly to size - nor did they look good, anyway, which probably explains why they were on sale in the first place...or fifth place...or however many times they have been sale'd so far...). I did, however, pick up a hoodie and some jeans for the kids.

Which, let me clarify, means: I picked up a hoodie, as in one, and a pair of jeans, also as in one. For the kids. As in plural. Because The Despot is such a hand-me-down child, and because Fruit Loop has SO MANY clothes (hearkening back to the days when I stayed home and played w/ the fruit loop without doing anything else...like, no laundry, so I was always "Man, I can't believe how quickly this kid goes through clothes, I just have to ("have to!") go buy him more!")... So yeah, buying clothes now is often an exercise in planning for the future day when The Despot will grow into them.

And now I may have rivaled yesterday's breathtakingly absurd and entitled post with one that's even more absurd and entitled. YOU ARE WELCOME.

Hint: it's NOT in your Netflix queue.



I'm not sure if I'm allowed to do that, so FYI: Confessions of a Shopaholic, a Touchstone Pictures film directed by P.J. Hogan...anything else? That covers it, right?

ANYway. Debating on whether or not I should hit up a sale (a ridiculous, probably too-good-to-be-true sale where they either have size -2 (yes, negative 2) or size 42ZZZ and nothing in between) tomorrow a.m. when it opens. With Fruit Loop and The Despot. During prime Despot napping time. In a basement. Of a boutique-y denim shop.

Let me clarify.

$200+ jeans (nearing $500 for some) for....wait for it...waaaaait for it....



("Hold...HOLD.......HOOOOOOOLLLD....NOW!" Sorry for the last part, Birdo from Mario - I think - but the rest is, if not clever, unexpected at least.)

$19!!

That probably doesn't really deserve two exclamation points. And, in fact, the very reality that I have written this much on such a frivolous and ultimately inconsequential subject is, well, shaming. A bit. I mean, it IS a good deal. And I HAVE been thinking I need ("need") a few more pairs of jeans... You know, so Hottie McHotts and I can both pretend my saggy mom butt dressed up in a pair of fancy schmancy jeans isn't really all that bad...

Oh, my, the enormity of these kinds of decisions in my life. It is almost unbearable.

"Insomniiaaaaa-aaaaaa..."

Anybody else get that? Rihanna? Disturbia?

It's totally dead-on. Look. Just because.



It is 2am. I have no idea why I am awake. Also: why is there not more for me to waste time and rot my brain on these vast interwebs? Seriously. You should be ashamed of yourself, internet. Get thee from my sight.

It is 2am. (Yes, I am well aware that I said that already. Typed that already. WHATEVER.) You can't possibly expect coherent thought right now.

Everyone else is asleep. Except people who may or may not be inhabiting the new construction I can see from our living room windows. Because lights are on. All night long. Yet outwardly there are no signs of ongoing construction. Is it finished? If it IS finished, WHY HAVE I NOT FOUND IT ONLINE? Not that we would move there. I just want to see the inside. BECAUSE IT'S NEW. AND I LIKE NEW THINGS. I'm the sucker that falls for new things all the time at the grocery store, Target, etc. Is it new? I'll take it!

Anyway. Yeah. This insomnia thing. Not cool. (There's nothing like stating the obvious when that's about all your brain cells can muster.) Maybe I should put us all out of our misery and end this post now.

That's it! Done! Fin!


Edited to add: I found it/them. The last line is a killer. 'Cuz, yeah, totally just have THAT lying around.

Oh, you poor little blog. How I neglect you so. If it makes you feel any better, you are not quite at the very bottom list of things I neglect in my day-to-day life. Eh, small consolation, I know.

And instead of a real post, I am going to give you a hodge-podge of random things that could have been real posts, (if I fired up enough brain cells...though sometimes I think I can actually feel them shriveling up and dying - makes me wonder if I have that many left. Should I use them sparingly? Do they have a finite amount of brain juice? Am I wasting it RIGHT NOW? COULD I BE ANY MORE INANE?), things that could in no way stand on their own as a real post, and other assorted stuff.

This list will probably only make it to 2 or 3 points before I lost interest and go searching for ice cream in lieu of posting. I'm sorry, but I did tell you you were towards the bottom of the list of things I neglect. Friends? :)?

So. Things. Like:

*Changing Cracker Jack's moniker to The Despot. Yes, it is capitalized, even in my head. It is much more fitting.

*Speaking of, WE HAVE CREATED A MONSTER. Kid can't wait to grow up, and has been desperate (DESPERATE, I TELL YOU) to eat real food for, like, ever. He's to the point where baby food is no longer an option. GIVE ME REAL FOOD OR GIVE ME DEATH! And you'd think he would be fine once I gave him real food - but NOOOOO. I must feed him as fast as his little mouth can chew, because if I don't his world will...what, be forever entombed in Babydom? I don't know. He just yells. A lot. Especially when there is food involved. Especially when he is not getting said food as much or as quickly as he would like.

Is there a Guinness Book of World Records category for speedfeeding a baby? Or speedeating babies? Not that way - "speedeating babies" as in the baby is eating speedily, not eating as many babies as fast as you can. Sheesh, people.

*Many bouts of incredibly bad parenting over the last few days. Perhaps you will see one of those emotionally unstable FUBAR posts on this in the next few days. Or not.

*A great date night w/ Hottie McHotts. More food than you can shake a stick at.

*As part of that date night, finally saw Avatar. Was good, more (as in substance) than I expected, and has been added to a very small, selective list of Movies We Should Really and Truly Own...As In, Like, Buy the DVD and Everything.

*Making decisions in the near future re: LIFE. Moving, to where, when, etc.

*Need to get rid of stuff. Sooo much stuff. Am going to try craigslisting it. Problem: craigslist is full of a bunch of crooks who will rob you blind and not think twice about it. (Not a word about me sentimentally overvaluing my secondhand/used STUFF.)


Wow, look at that. Made it WAY past 2 or 3 points! That deserves some ice cream!


***Edited to add: no title until I post this and look at it and realize I forgot all about a title. And then went back and did one because I felt guilt. Over not titling a blog post. AS IF YOU CARE. :)