Because Who Really Wants Pepto Bismol For a Holliday?

Last week the flower catalogue came in the mail.  We get one every year, and every year Aaron orders the same two dozen red roses.  (Clearly he doesn’t get the exact same roses, as those would be looking rather sad after all of these years.)  As lovely as they are, this year I decided to tell him to pass on it.  Our budget is a bit tight lately and there is little point in spending $40 to $50 on flowers that are going to sit on our cluttered dinner table and die.  I told him if he insisted on getting me something, to get something I could use.  I would love some beading needles, a tatting shuttle, and some tatting thread.  All of this would probably cost no more than around $15 and is much more useful than some dead flowers.  It seems much more practical to me.

Last weekend we went to the grocery store and as we passed the holiday isle I wanted to retch.  It was even pinker than the Barbie isle at the toy store, and filled with more nauseating crap.  There’s boxes of waxy chocolate, scratchy cheap stuffed animals, and all sorts of other completely useless crap.  I remember being younger and thinking that all of this stuff was so cute and surely a sign that a guy cares.  Now it all looks like an after thought or a desperate attempt from someone who has no idea what you would actually want or like so he’s getting you the cheesiest piece of fluff he can find.  And dear heaven is some of this stuff cheesy!  A toy monkey that says “I’m bananas for you,” all kinds of other animals who simply say “I love you,” and don’t even get me started on the damn things that sing and dance.  Seriously, how is “A Hunk of Burning Love” romantic?  Sounds a lot like VD to me.  And no, by VD I do not mean Valentines Day.

So the question is, have I gotten cynical?  Is it from age?  Is it from being in a committed relationship for this many years?  Does it come with becoming a parent?  Or was this stuff always this cheap and crappy and I just now noticed?  I wonder if I’m the only one who feels this way.

Hey look!  I made it a whole post without mentioning Ashton!  (Oh shit.  Never mind.)

Published in: on January 30, 2009 at 8:02 pm  Comments (1)  

Toddlers and Grief

Living with a toddler can be similar to the grieving process at times.  This hadn’t occurred to me until today when I was trying to get him to take a nap.  The only issue is that you have a tendency to go back and forth through the steps instead of hitting one at a time and then moving on.  It’s exciting.

Denial – “This can’t be my child.  My child was an amazing, smart, and well behaved kid.  This child showed up a few months ago and is making our lives miserable.  He’s evil, EVIL!  He screams like a banshee and demands everything and gets into things and is trying to destroy the house.  It’s our job to keep him safe, but he insists on spending several hours a day attempting to kill himself with these dare devil acts.  This can’t be the same kid!”

Anger – “SO HELP ME CHILD IF YOU DON”T STOP ACTING LIKE THIS I WILL LOCK YOU IN YOUR ROOM UNTIL YOU”RE 30!”*

Bargaining – “Listen baby.  If you stay in bed and take a nap like a good boy, we can watch Monsters (Monster Inc) when you get up.  Do you want to watch Monsters?  Well you have to be a very good boy and stay in bed.  If you get out of bed you’ll get in trouble and Mommy doesn’t want to be mean anymore.  So go to bed, and we can watch Monsters when you get up because you’ve been a good boy.”

Depression** – “My life is over and I’ll never get to watch a movie again that isn’t Toy Story, Monsters Inc, or Little Einstein and I’m losing my mind and I know all of the songs and dialog from these movies by heart.  My house is a pit and I never get a chance to clean and I havn’t gotten dressed in two days and I want to go to the bathroom ALL BY MY SELF JUST ONCE!”

Acceptance – “Honey?  Yeah it’s your wife.  Call your parents and see if  we can pawn off the demon monkey*** for a night and do something that doesn’t involve crayons play dough or cartoons.  I’ve given up wanting to spend quality time with him, I want quality time without him.  Thanks love!”

*No I would not lock my kid in his room until he’s 30.  But that’s not to say that the thought has never entered my mind

** I am not actually depressed. or suffering any actual grief.  I’m just exhausted.

*** Yes we do call him demon monkey sometimes.  What?

Come On Dude

My son has interesting names for his grandparents.  He’s two years old and his speech has never been the best (not for lack of talking and trying).  He’s brilliant in several other areas.  His problem solving skills are high for his age, his social skills are rather up there, and he’s got the best rhythm of any two year old I’ve ever met.  He just doesn’t speak all that clearly.  He’s getting considerably better, but the words “Grandma” and “Grandpa” are a bit tricky.

This was just fine with my mother in law, Gerry.  She wanted to be called Nana.  Everyone was ok with this, except Ashton.  Somehow Nana morphed into Lala.  It’s stuck.  She is now Lala, and she loves it.  Her husband Jay wanted to be Grandpa Jay.  So far all he gets is Pa, but he loves Ash so much that I’m not sure he really cares.

He’s really started to make an effort with my mother.  Some days she’s Ahma, and some days she’s Rama.  This is an improvement over the pointing and mumbling incoherently that he used to do.  With my father it’s been a bit tricky though.  We can’t decide if he’s a grandpa or a papa.  Ash seems to have solved this dilemma for us.  He has taken to calling my father “Dude”.

To be perfectly fair, it’s Dad’s own fault.  For some impossible to understand reason, whenever my father gets around my son he starts talking like a surfer from Southern California.   Trying to count the number of times that the word “dude” comes out of my father’s mouth between the time he walks through my door and the time he walks out again is a daunting task that no one in their right mind would attempt.  Recently Ashton started repeating the word after him and giggling insanely.  This last weekend when they came to visit, Ashton decided that this must be this man’s name.   We were all standing in the kitchen, getting things ready for dinner, and Ashton ran in, grabbed my dad’s hand, and said, “Come on, Dude.”  Everyone killed themselves laughing.

So there you have it.  We have Lala and Pa, and we have Grandma (however he’s going to pronounce it this week) and Dude.  But the question is… is he a Grandpa Dude, or a Papa Dude?

Published in: on January 19, 2009 at 7:37 pm  Leave a Comment  

Through the Eyes of a Toddler

For Christmas Aaron and I got the kid some really kick ass toys.  We got him the guitar which he loves, we got him some books that he likes, and the new workbench is not exactly unpopular either.  But the gift, the one that everyone loves, is the camera.

It’s cute.  It’s durable.  It’s got a cool weird pattern on the front.  It has a double view finder as well as the image window.  It has easy buttons to push.  And while this is all very cool, the coolest thing of all is that it is a REAL CAMERA!  Ashton can now take his very own pictures.  And he does.

So far I haven’t found anyone who isn’t completely in love with this silly thing.  We couldn’t get it away from his cousins.  His grandpa wanted to play with it.  There are plenty of shots from Christmas that Ashton didn’t take because he couldn’t get the silly thing back from anyone.  It would just pass from hand to hand taking sub par photos of people’s elbows and feet.

The quality of the photos is not good.  I admit, it looks like a shot taken with a camera phone.  They’re grainy and out of focus, and usually the color is very dull.  But ask Ashton if he cares and I’m sure you’ll get a resounding “MINE’ as he wrestles his new found form of expression out of your critical hands.

So, being the kick ass mom that I undoubtedly am, I have set up my boy with his very own flickr account.  His grainy and random photos of people’s elbows and knees can be found here.

The shots of Ashton playing with other toys or making faces were taken by one of his grandparents, great grandparents, aunts and uncles, and in some cases, his cousins.  Occasionally his parents.

Sorry about the insane Mommy Blog content.  And sorry that I’ve been a whiny pouty bitch lately.  And sorry for doing two posts so close together and possibly giving you false hope and expectations that I might actually update more often than I do.  I assure you, this was just a fluke.

Published in: on January 12, 2009 at 8:32 pm  Comments (2)  

In The Event of My Death

I’m dying. I can’t breath, and seem to be oxygen deprived. I’m dizzy ALL THE TIME and it doesn’t seem to matter if I take drugs. I can’t sleep. Sleep tends to include breathing, and as we’ve already covered…
This sucks. I’ve sneezed so hard over the last couple of days that my throat actually hurts. My abs hurt from sneezing so hard, and from a bad case of… well… abdomen pain that I suffered through on Wednesday. I was actually immobile for a couple of hours. This was not my favorite experience ever.
I went to the doctor on Thursday. This had nothing to do with being sick or my tummy hurting, and everything to do with our attempts to continue spawning. They checked a bunch of hormones, talked to me about how to remain healthy (as I sat there clearly DYING from not being able to breath) and general stuff like that. As it turns out the results from the test they did a few months ago have changed, and I am now suffering from hypothyroidism. This is a bad thing, especially for people trying to get pregnant. So it’s getting treated. They want me to be super healthy, so they MADE ME take a flu shot. I have not had one in years, and let me tell you just how pleasant they are. I forgot how much those fuckers hurt.
The reason my Doctor is going through all of this is because of Ashton. When I had him he was very sick at birth, and if it had not been for my own intuition, he might not have survived. When I went to the hospital with him, everyone (husband and nurses alike) told me that all of my discomforts and fears were perfectly normal at that stage. I went in anyway and they were all like, “See? We told you this was normal. Silly overreacting pregnant lady. Oh wait, shit, um… the baby’s not happy and we have to take him out RIGHT NOW or he might die. So… good for you for coming in even when we told you that you didn’t need to.” So there is a lot of preliminary prep for the next baby that will possibly eventually happen. Lets all keep our fingers crossed that when and if it does that everything goes well.
So… hypothyroidism, flu shots, plague and not breathing. I smell like mentholated rub, and I am so ok with that. As bad as I feel (and Aaron has the same ick) menthol is the sexiest smell in the world.

Good Bye 2008

This was not an exciting year for me.  Really, it wasn’t.  I didn’t work, didn’t have any great revelations about myself, didn’t grow, didn’t change.  I’m a little annoyed with myself, actually.

Ashton changed so much that it was scary.  But then again, he turned two in October, so I think that’s a requirement. Aaron picked up his violin again and has started to combine hobbies.  He’s played violin for studio functions twice now, and played for Isis’ New Years Eve show.

I look through my Myspace and I don’t see anything.  Sure, I performed at different events, and I joined the MultiCultural Dance Team at the studio, but that’s really all I’ve done.  I guess I’ve read some good books.  I’ve become nothing but a mom who happens to have some hobbies.  My weight hasn’t changed much – it may have even gotten worse over the last couple of months –  so there wasn’t any great accomplishment there.  I just existed.

So I have some goals…

I need to get myself out of the “routine” routines that I’ve been doing for the studio.  I need some new inspiration.  I’m working on it

I want to light a fire under Isis’ ass and see about getting a parade detail worked out.  We (the studio) haven’t done a single parade in the last year, unless you count Scarborough Faire.  I’d like to have an actual group who does parades, and actual small choreographies within them.

I want to pick up a more productive hobby.  I want to get better with my jewelry making and actually see about setting up an Etsy acount and sell some stuff.  This is going to reuqire some new equipment, instead of me faking it with what I have (peyote beads don’t work with a regular needle very well.  I need some proper bead needles).  I would also like to learn to tat and combine the tatting and bead work.

If I could find a way to pick up some extra time working on flowers, I would love that.  I’ve offered to help some friends who have a shop, and I would like to learn as much as I can.  I really want to do this for a living.

So there you have it.  Not very lofty goals, but you have to start somewhere.  Most of them involve educating myself further in the things I enjoy.  Hopefully I can take the things I love and become successful with them.  Wish me luck!