I can't even speak right now. Kyle just went out with his Christmas Best Buy certificate and bought the new iPod.
Take a moment to bask in that.
Keep in mind that he already has a video iPod and the Nano, one iPod more than any human being should have.
Keep in mind that I also have my own Nano (which he bought me, even though I already had the shuffle at the time).
So the house already had three iPods.
When he broke the news to me, I just stared at him, unable to respond out of complete and utter shock.
Once my vocal cords started working again, all I could manage was a weak, broken, "But why?"
"Well," he said. "It'll be good for biking."
"You don't bike."
"I'm going to start."
"You already bought a special attachment to mount your Nano on the bike."
"Well. Yeah."
"So?"
"So...it'll be good for biking."
"That makes no sense."
"I went with the spirit of the gift certificate, haven't you ever done that?"
Oh my sweet Lord. Again. Can't. Even. Speak.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Random Observation
I noticed that I will pretty much chat up anyone on the playground- from other moms, to grandmas, to babysitters, with one notable exception: I won't strike up a convo with good-looking dads unless their wives are there.
Why?
Because they get this smug look in their eyes, like "Oh, she wants me. Not only am I totally hot, but I'm here with my kid which totally makes me look like a total catch! Every mom here totally wants a piece of this!"
Okay, maybe that's completely my imagination.
Still- hot dads? Not gonna touch them.
Why?
Because they get this smug look in their eyes, like "Oh, she wants me. Not only am I totally hot, but I'm here with my kid which totally makes me look like a total catch! Every mom here totally wants a piece of this!"
Okay, maybe that's completely my imagination.
Still- hot dads? Not gonna touch them.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Work it, own it...
I played this kid's version of Go Fish! with Owen and Stewart today. It's basically the same game as with regular cards, except the cards have actual pictures of fish on them.
This resulted in some confusion, as one of the fish was a golfish, so whenever I told them to say "Go fish," they'd hold up th goldfish card and say "Goldfish!"
Also, one of the fish was poorly drawn, prompting Stewart to ask me if I had any dinosaurs.
The white one was some kind of freaky albino catfish, which was creepy in the manner of Gollum, and for some reason caused both boys to laugh hysterically and say "Ew, white fish, I don't like the white fish!"
But my favorite part of the game was how Stewart handed over the cards he was asked for. "Stewart," I'd say. "Owie asked you if you have any blue fish, so give him your blue fish." Stewart would then toss the cards in the air and yell "Work it!" in this intense voice like some kind of drill-sergeant-cum-Jazzercise instructor.
The box did promise fun for all ages, and I have to say that it didn't disappoint.
This resulted in some confusion, as one of the fish was a golfish, so whenever I told them to say "Go fish," they'd hold up th goldfish card and say "Goldfish!"
Also, one of the fish was poorly drawn, prompting Stewart to ask me if I had any dinosaurs.
The white one was some kind of freaky albino catfish, which was creepy in the manner of Gollum, and for some reason caused both boys to laugh hysterically and say "Ew, white fish, I don't like the white fish!"
But my favorite part of the game was how Stewart handed over the cards he was asked for. "Stewart," I'd say. "Owie asked you if you have any blue fish, so give him your blue fish." Stewart would then toss the cards in the air and yell "Work it!" in this intense voice like some kind of drill-sergeant-cum-Jazzercise instructor.
The box did promise fun for all ages, and I have to say that it didn't disappoint.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
How It Is
I'm adding a new feature to my site, much like Alyson's Trends I Don't Get, called How It Is, where I school people like my husband, other drivers and white trash in the ways of the world, by telling them How It Is.
How It Is: 12-10-06
Us stay-home parents have plenty of things we like to bitch about.
But one thing I think we can all agree on is how annoying it is when the parent who works outside the home (read: Kyle) and usually doesn't do much of the housework complains about where things are placed, how they are arranged, and just in general lips off.
Here's an example. Since I clean up 95% of household messes, Kyle didn't even know where our "nasty" towels were until the recent Barf-Fest '06 descended upon the household. However, when he finally had to go get a towel to clean up a mess, he immediately complained because there were picture frames on top of them. "Those picture frames have GOT to go! Why on Earth would you put them there? That's the worst place for them!"
I had to explain to him that A: he was grabbing the wrong towels- those were the beach towels, and B: I put them there to make room for Christmas decorations, not thinking that the beach towels would come into play until long after Christmas when the frames were put back in their proper place.
Another example: Ordinarily I get up with the boys in the morning, so Kyle has no idea how early they get up (in the winter, it's typically between 6 and 6:30). However, yesterday, Stew woke up while I was feeding Wilbur, so it was hard to take care of both. Kyle came upstairs and immediately started complaining- "We need to set up some kind of alarm system so they don't get up so early...blah blah blah."
Funny how it never bothers him when I get up with them. I just told him to go back to sleep since he was obviously cranky :).
I find it amusing that he thinks the whole household should be set up for maximum convenience to him for the one time out of one hundred that he does something.
Please don't take that the wrong way- Kyle does a lot for our family, and I don't mean to say that he doesn't do anything around the house.
It's just annoying that when he steps out of his normal role to help me out a little, he then has to try to tell me where things should go and how they should be done.
I'm like, dude, when you do that EVERY DAY, like I do, then you get to pick how it's set up. When you do something once a month, then not so much. I will set things up how I like them and in a way that's convenient for ME.
I'm Sarah Ford, and that's How It Is.
How It Is: 12-10-06
Us stay-home parents have plenty of things we like to bitch about.
But one thing I think we can all agree on is how annoying it is when the parent who works outside the home (read: Kyle) and usually doesn't do much of the housework complains about where things are placed, how they are arranged, and just in general lips off.
Here's an example. Since I clean up 95% of household messes, Kyle didn't even know where our "nasty" towels were until the recent Barf-Fest '06 descended upon the household. However, when he finally had to go get a towel to clean up a mess, he immediately complained because there were picture frames on top of them. "Those picture frames have GOT to go! Why on Earth would you put them there? That's the worst place for them!"
I had to explain to him that A: he was grabbing the wrong towels- those were the beach towels, and B: I put them there to make room for Christmas decorations, not thinking that the beach towels would come into play until long after Christmas when the frames were put back in their proper place.
Another example: Ordinarily I get up with the boys in the morning, so Kyle has no idea how early they get up (in the winter, it's typically between 6 and 6:30). However, yesterday, Stew woke up while I was feeding Wilbur, so it was hard to take care of both. Kyle came upstairs and immediately started complaining- "We need to set up some kind of alarm system so they don't get up so early...blah blah blah."
Funny how it never bothers him when I get up with them. I just told him to go back to sleep since he was obviously cranky :).
I find it amusing that he thinks the whole household should be set up for maximum convenience to him for the one time out of one hundred that he does something.
Please don't take that the wrong way- Kyle does a lot for our family, and I don't mean to say that he doesn't do anything around the house.
It's just annoying that when he steps out of his normal role to help me out a little, he then has to try to tell me where things should go and how they should be done.
I'm like, dude, when you do that EVERY DAY, like I do, then you get to pick how it's set up. When you do something once a month, then not so much. I will set things up how I like them and in a way that's convenient for ME.
I'm Sarah Ford, and that's How It Is.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Marylou on the fine art of parenting...
Sarah: Am I a bad mother? I bought Wilbur the Kirkland (Costco's house brand) baby formula. Is that wrong?
Marylou: (laughing) What happened to the Similac?
Sarah: Oh, I was never that highbrow. I always did Carnation Goodstart cuz it's the cheapest. But I never went for (whispering)... generic. But it was only twenty bucks for like four pounds of it. Do you think he'll like it?
Marylou: At that price, he'll learn to love it!
HAHAHAHAHA! That's my favorite Marylou quote since the following about Zoopals paper plates:
"Yeah, the kids like them cuz they have animals on them. I don't care if they have Satan on them, so long as I don't have to do dishes."
Marylou: (laughing) What happened to the Similac?
Sarah: Oh, I was never that highbrow. I always did Carnation Goodstart cuz it's the cheapest. But I never went for (whispering)... generic. But it was only twenty bucks for like four pounds of it. Do you think he'll like it?
Marylou: At that price, he'll learn to love it!
HAHAHAHAHA! That's my favorite Marylou quote since the following about Zoopals paper plates:
"Yeah, the kids like them cuz they have animals on them. I don't care if they have Satan on them, so long as I don't have to do dishes."
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Not for the faint of heart
It's been a rough month. Here's a brief timeline of my experiences from Nov. 5 to Dec. 5, for those interested in the sordid tale of barf, cross-country travel, and marathon running.
Sunday, November 5: Owen started brewing our first bout of stomache flu on the airplane home from Joanna's wedding, where he crapped his pants twice with awful diarrhea. Let's just say his underpants ended up being tossed out in a barf bag, and his pants were washed in an airplane sink. Yeah. Try to picture that.
Thursday, November 9: Owen has been barfing and crapping for about four days at this point, whereupon Stewart picked up the baton and spent three nights straight crapping himself and his bed about three times a night. Meanwhile, Kyle spent much of these three days lying in bed, typing weakly at his keyboard amidst a fever and chills.
Saturday, November 11: I took care of everyone all week, getting pretty much no sleep. So I was looking forward to a little "me" time. I did my twelve mile practice run for the half marathon, came home, showered, then promptly fell into a raging fever. My throat swelled up like a toad's, my tonsils hurt so badly I couldn't swallow without bracing myself and the back of my mouth was covered with little pus sacks.
Monday, November 13: My mom called to let me know that my Grandma had died.
Tuesday, November 14: I raced to the doctor, hoping to get some drugs in my system so I could improve in time to fly home for the Friday memorial.
Diagnosis: Strep. The cure: Penicillin.
Thursday, November 16: I felt good enough to fly to Illinois for Grandma's memorial, though weak and in a sweat.
Monday, November 20: Wilbur and I returned, and I had just about a week to get the house back in order from all the travelling and barfing. I unpacked, did about a zillion loads of laundry, revisited all the old barf sites with Febreeze and just in general tried to catch up from all the chaos, while of course, decorating the house for Christmas and cooking Thanksgiving dinner.
Monday, November 27: Kyle left for Palo Alto for a business trip, so I had three difficult days trying to meet everyone's needs and get everyone to school on time with no help.
Thursday, November 30: Kyle was home, and thank God. Stewart was up barfing all night. Diarrhea followed all day long, and for the next three. Once again, the couch, floor, and "crap towels" got a workout. Loads and loads of filthy, vile towels and jammies were washed.
Sunday, December 3: I ran my half-marathon. My knee started aching almost immediately- either because of the cold weather, or because I didn't stretch enough- who knows? I pushed through the pain okay for about the first seven miles. Miles seven, eight and nine, I limped along by "running" on my left foot- basically, I just let my right leg touch the ground instead of using it to propel myself. Still, however, the impact of it on the ground hurt so much it nearly buckled under me, and I thought about stopping and seeing the medics on the sidelines, but I was afraid they wouldn't let me finish the race.
My knee hurt so bad I walked/limp-jogged miles 11 and 12, and limp-jogged mile 13 to the finish line. My time was 2:30:20, which is not horrible, but very disappointing, because my time on my twelve mile practice run was 2 hours. So I really thought I'd come in pretty close to two hours, ten minutes, or thereabouts. And it was just depressing to have all this adrenaline going and all this energy to finish the race, but just not being able to run on my knee. I know, I know, pity party, right?
Suck it up and get ready for the next race was Steve's advice.
So anyhow, on the way back from the marathon, Kyle gives me a call- "Can you pick up lunch?" I call back to find out what he wants.
"Actually," he said, "Owen is throwing up, and Wilbur just woke up covered in barf and diarrhea. Maybe you should just skip the food and come right home."
Great. Back home to the cesspool.
I get home, calm the kiddies, try to help Kyle while he showers, then take my own shower and nap.
I woke up from said nap queasy, and spent the afternoon knowing exactly how why Owen kept saying his stomache hurt. Finally at like 4 pm I barfed and felt better. The diarrhea didn't begin in earnest until the next day.
Monday, December 4: Too weak from diarrhea to cook dinner, I order pizza for the Ford fam. Owen, who seemed to be improving, ate pepperoni and cheese pizza heartily. One hour later, he unleashed a torrent of barf on the couch unlike any I've ever seen. Half digested pepperoni dripped down several cushions, soaking them through and running into the carpet. Kyle and I had to spend the evening cleaning up.
Tuesday, December 5: About 12:30 am- Kyle went upstairs to help Owen, who had of course diarhea'd his pants. Two minutes later, I heard Kyle calling for me. "I need your help right now!" he said.
I got up just as he was rushing down the stairs like a madman. He made it to the bathroom door before spewing barf all over the hallway and bathroom entry.
I was treated to another view of half-digested pepperoni pizza, this time with wings included, as I wiped it from the floor and walls.
Another day, another load of barf-soaked towels.
Tuesday, December 5: Spent the morning using a hair dryer on the couch cusions, hoping to dry them enough so they're usable, though crusty and vomit-scented. Then I decided to create a timeline of all this drama, brining us to the present moment.
Let's just say it's been a weird month.
(Interesting side note: This November was much like two years ago, when we had the great 2004 November of Horrors. That was the November that started with Owen spending four days in the hospital with ITP which we thought might be leukemia, and and ended with a vomit soaked drive from Phoenix to L.A. that is the stuff of nightmares. I hope having a horrifying November every two years isn't some kind of weird pattern...)
Sunday, November 5: Owen started brewing our first bout of stomache flu on the airplane home from Joanna's wedding, where he crapped his pants twice with awful diarrhea. Let's just say his underpants ended up being tossed out in a barf bag, and his pants were washed in an airplane sink. Yeah. Try to picture that.
Thursday, November 9: Owen has been barfing and crapping for about four days at this point, whereupon Stewart picked up the baton and spent three nights straight crapping himself and his bed about three times a night. Meanwhile, Kyle spent much of these three days lying in bed, typing weakly at his keyboard amidst a fever and chills.
Saturday, November 11: I took care of everyone all week, getting pretty much no sleep. So I was looking forward to a little "me" time. I did my twelve mile practice run for the half marathon, came home, showered, then promptly fell into a raging fever. My throat swelled up like a toad's, my tonsils hurt so badly I couldn't swallow without bracing myself and the back of my mouth was covered with little pus sacks.
Monday, November 13: My mom called to let me know that my Grandma had died.
Tuesday, November 14: I raced to the doctor, hoping to get some drugs in my system so I could improve in time to fly home for the Friday memorial.
Diagnosis: Strep. The cure: Penicillin.
Thursday, November 16: I felt good enough to fly to Illinois for Grandma's memorial, though weak and in a sweat.
Monday, November 20: Wilbur and I returned, and I had just about a week to get the house back in order from all the travelling and barfing. I unpacked, did about a zillion loads of laundry, revisited all the old barf sites with Febreeze and just in general tried to catch up from all the chaos, while of course, decorating the house for Christmas and cooking Thanksgiving dinner.
Monday, November 27: Kyle left for Palo Alto for a business trip, so I had three difficult days trying to meet everyone's needs and get everyone to school on time with no help.
Thursday, November 30: Kyle was home, and thank God. Stewart was up barfing all night. Diarrhea followed all day long, and for the next three. Once again, the couch, floor, and "crap towels" got a workout. Loads and loads of filthy, vile towels and jammies were washed.
Sunday, December 3: I ran my half-marathon. My knee started aching almost immediately- either because of the cold weather, or because I didn't stretch enough- who knows? I pushed through the pain okay for about the first seven miles. Miles seven, eight and nine, I limped along by "running" on my left foot- basically, I just let my right leg touch the ground instead of using it to propel myself. Still, however, the impact of it on the ground hurt so much it nearly buckled under me, and I thought about stopping and seeing the medics on the sidelines, but I was afraid they wouldn't let me finish the race.
My knee hurt so bad I walked/limp-jogged miles 11 and 12, and limp-jogged mile 13 to the finish line. My time was 2:30:20, which is not horrible, but very disappointing, because my time on my twelve mile practice run was 2 hours. So I really thought I'd come in pretty close to two hours, ten minutes, or thereabouts. And it was just depressing to have all this adrenaline going and all this energy to finish the race, but just not being able to run on my knee. I know, I know, pity party, right?
Suck it up and get ready for the next race was Steve's advice.
So anyhow, on the way back from the marathon, Kyle gives me a call- "Can you pick up lunch?" I call back to find out what he wants.
"Actually," he said, "Owen is throwing up, and Wilbur just woke up covered in barf and diarrhea. Maybe you should just skip the food and come right home."
Great. Back home to the cesspool.
I get home, calm the kiddies, try to help Kyle while he showers, then take my own shower and nap.
I woke up from said nap queasy, and spent the afternoon knowing exactly how why Owen kept saying his stomache hurt. Finally at like 4 pm I barfed and felt better. The diarrhea didn't begin in earnest until the next day.
Monday, December 4: Too weak from diarrhea to cook dinner, I order pizza for the Ford fam. Owen, who seemed to be improving, ate pepperoni and cheese pizza heartily. One hour later, he unleashed a torrent of barf on the couch unlike any I've ever seen. Half digested pepperoni dripped down several cushions, soaking them through and running into the carpet. Kyle and I had to spend the evening cleaning up.
Tuesday, December 5: About 12:30 am- Kyle went upstairs to help Owen, who had of course diarhea'd his pants. Two minutes later, I heard Kyle calling for me. "I need your help right now!" he said.
I got up just as he was rushing down the stairs like a madman. He made it to the bathroom door before spewing barf all over the hallway and bathroom entry.
I was treated to another view of half-digested pepperoni pizza, this time with wings included, as I wiped it from the floor and walls.
Another day, another load of barf-soaked towels.
Tuesday, December 5: Spent the morning using a hair dryer on the couch cusions, hoping to dry them enough so they're usable, though crusty and vomit-scented. Then I decided to create a timeline of all this drama, brining us to the present moment.
Let's just say it's been a weird month.
(Interesting side note: This November was much like two years ago, when we had the great 2004 November of Horrors. That was the November that started with Owen spending four days in the hospital with ITP which we thought might be leukemia, and and ended with a vomit soaked drive from Phoenix to L.A. that is the stuff of nightmares. I hope having a horrifying November every two years isn't some kind of weird pattern...)
Monday, December 04, 2006
Mousetrap Sucks
Is there a worse game on the face of the earth than Mousetrap?
Kyle brought it home from Target on Saturday, and I immediately washed my hands of the entire thing.
I told him I didn't want to set it up or take it down or be involved in any way.
Why? Because Mousetrap is completely pointless. There's ZERO gameplay or strategy, just the building of an elaborate Rube Goldberg device (the construction of which cannot deviate in the slightest way from the directions or the entire thing will fail), which then traps fellow players IF and only IF- one player is on the cheese space and another player is on the crank space which, in my experience, NEVER FREAKING HAPPENS.
You're left rolling the dice pointlessly over and over again, praying that the next one will somehow allow you to set the trap in motion. And when your prayers are finally answered, the trap doesn't work nine times out of ten because you didn't put the marble in perfectly, or line up the cheap plastic legs on the scaffolding just right.
However, despite Kyle's assurance that he would be in charge of the entire thing, I ended up spending the morning playing a frustrating game of Mousetrap with Owen. My favorite part is how every time you reach across the board to move your piece, you set off a fraction of the mousetrap, leading to a long re-tooling session.
Even if none of the marbles is unleashed, at the very least the mousetrap cage shakes loose from its post and shivers down to the board on EVERY SINGLE TURN.
GRRRRR. Mousetrap.
Kyle brought it home from Target on Saturday, and I immediately washed my hands of the entire thing.
I told him I didn't want to set it up or take it down or be involved in any way.
Why? Because Mousetrap is completely pointless. There's ZERO gameplay or strategy, just the building of an elaborate Rube Goldberg device (the construction of which cannot deviate in the slightest way from the directions or the entire thing will fail), which then traps fellow players IF and only IF- one player is on the cheese space and another player is on the crank space which, in my experience, NEVER FREAKING HAPPENS.
You're left rolling the dice pointlessly over and over again, praying that the next one will somehow allow you to set the trap in motion. And when your prayers are finally answered, the trap doesn't work nine times out of ten because you didn't put the marble in perfectly, or line up the cheap plastic legs on the scaffolding just right.
However, despite Kyle's assurance that he would be in charge of the entire thing, I ended up spending the morning playing a frustrating game of Mousetrap with Owen. My favorite part is how every time you reach across the board to move your piece, you set off a fraction of the mousetrap, leading to a long re-tooling session.
Even if none of the marbles is unleashed, at the very least the mousetrap cage shakes loose from its post and shivers down to the board on EVERY SINGLE TURN.
GRRRRR. Mousetrap.
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