Workin' for the weekend

We had a fabulous weekend thanks in part to the simply divine weather. It was sunny with highs in the upper 60’s and bit on the breezy side. There is something about being able to open the windows and let the sunshine and the clean air in that makes living with two ankle biters who want nothing more than to beat the crap out of each other in between asking for something to eat- something that they will either

a. Throw on the floor thus ensuring the Chihuahua and/or vacuum will have a well balanced meal
b. Chew it up and spit it back out this ensuring the Chihuahua and/or vacuum will have a well balanced meal that requires no chewing
c. All of the above


- more bearable.

On Saturday I took the kids shopping and promised if they didn’t touch anything I would take them to the park. The no touching rule lasted for about a nanosecond before I lowered the ante to if they didn’t break anything we would go to the park. I didn’t want to not go to the park because they couldn’t keep their paws off of all the goods and let’s face it, the park is more for the parent than it is for the kid. I mean, sure the kids have fun and all but the parent gets to let their kids run around like crazy in a kid safe area and bonus! There is no cleaning up afterwards! Plus, if you run ‘em good and hard then not only do you get a little calorie burn, the kids will probably nap better and longer and oh holy day, you might actually get a shower.

It didn’t work for me on Saturday but on Sunday I took them to the park, took them on a walk and we went for ice cream so they were really worn out by the time we got home and I was able to enjoy a hot shower for the first time in 48 hours. It is such a cliché but I swear, I never knew how much I would appreciate a shower after becoming a mom. I really don’t think it is something people who aren’t parents can truly understand- the bliss that is the kid free shower. It's right up there with my thinking it would be a GREAT idea to fortify the nation's food supply with Vitamin Z. Sure, I may have thought it was an ok idea before kids but now? GREAT idea.

Sunday evening I had my neighbor and her kids over for a “playdate”. I hate the term “playdate”. I mean, why don’t we call it what it really is? I had my neighbor and her kids over so my neighbor and I could drink a glass or two of wine and have an adult conversation that did not involve telling the other one to move their penis while the kids ran around and beat the crap out of each other thus ensuring an early bedtime (or so we hoped).

Hmmmm, “playdate” is easier to type. I think I’ll just stick with “playdate”.

In the wild

In an attempt to make our neighborhood a happier and more fun place to be, the homeowner's association decided to start a little game. Oh that cooky homeowner's association; always up to wild and crazy things like playing games and taking $200.00 from us and not doing a damn thing. Gotta love 'em!

The game really isn't much of a game but rather sticking two flamingos in your frontyard. Then, someone is supposed to take the flamingos and put them in their yard until someone else comes and takes the flamingos and puts them in their yard. Whoever has the flamingos is "supposed to take good care of them!". HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! My side! It hurts from laughing so much!! Two plastic flamingos going from yard to yard to yard!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I can't take it!! Really, people, you all should give your homeowner's association $200.00 so you can see flamingos go from yard to yard to yard! I mean, come on! Who really needs the homeowner's addociation to do anything else? The fun I have had over the past few months watching the flamingos move from house to house is well worth going without food for a month!

Every night when I'm going on my walk I'm all "kids, looky there! Well I'll be! It's two plastic flamingos!!" We have such a good time looking at the flamingos and wondering where those crazy flamingos will turn up next that I've pretty much forgotten about the the homeowner's association meeting where grown adults yelled obsenities at other grown adults in front of children and neighbors sticking signs up in front of their house to declare their hate for another neighbor using incorrect grammar and really, with two flamingos moving from house to house and brightening all of our days, do we really need to care if people stop at a school bus' stop sign or not?

Well, finally, my prayers have been answered and the flamingos have turned up on my end of the neighborhood. My kids have been in love with them ever since they showed up and they always run across the street to pet the flamingos and Grace points and yells "CAT!". Three teenage boys live in the house where the flamingos are hanging and either those boys have a sense of humor after my own heart or there is some kind of flamingo aphrodisiac in their grass but last night, the flamingos were... ahem... having wild and crazy flamingo love right there in the front yard for all to see.

Not exactly $200 funny but still, pretty damn funny.


You know what they always say; like moths to a flame, so is a goose to humping flamingos.

Grrrlzz Rule!

I try to stay hip to what all the kids are into these days. I work with children, I live in a neighborhood with a ton 'o children (and rednecks... lets not forget the rednecks), and, well, I have two children of my own so I think it is important for me to keep my fingers on the pulse of all things young. I could blame myspace on the desire to be in touch with my inner child but in reality, I am really just that cheesy and I lurve myspace (word). Also, I don't know about you all, but my own childhood does not seem like that long ago. I keep waiting for the day when I feel like an adult and it hasn't happened yet. Of course, maybe this is how being adult feels- like a child who gets shocked everytime s/he looks in the mirror.

Perhaps it is because I am immature in touch with my inner child that I'm always trying to hang out with all the kids in the neighborhood all the kids in the neighborhood are always trying to hang out with me. I take the kids out to play in the cul-de-sac every evening and there are usually the same six kids out there- 4 girls and 2 boys. While the boys are into cars, trucks, scooters, bikes and doing their best attempts to wind up with traumatic brain injuries before the sixth grade; the girls are into bitching, name calling, fighting, nagging, screaming, back-stabbing, and doing their best attempts to wind up on Jerry Springer before the sixth grade.

Girls are vicious. They will play with one girl all day just to get into her pool but once the cool girls comes home they will drop the pool girl like a bad habit and call her names like "fat" and "ugly" to get the girl whose pool they used ALL day to go home. I watched this exact same thing go down yesterday and the punchline came when the cool girl- who all the girls are always trying to hang with (myself included)- dissed them all and didn't answer her door (word) so they all had to go back to the "fat" and "ugly" girl's house and attempt to get back on her good side. Seeing as how she is fat and ugly it was an easy task. Later the cool girl came out and joined in the fun of trying to run off pool girl. They were all yelling names at each other while walking in circles around the cul-de-sac. I have honestly never seen anything like this (with the exception of a few mating rituals on Animal Planet).

In my day, the girls fought on occasion but not like this. This is an every day thing. My friends and I were more concerned about being a united front against the boys and doing things like making sure we all had our fingers crossed in order to keep the cooties at bay when the boys touched us.

When the name calling and circle walking made its way into my driveway, I figured I could try and be the voice of reason. Afterall, I am the cool, hip, with-it adult. You know, the one with the myspace page. That's me. Booyah.

I tried three different approaches to try to appeal to the girls' sensibilities.

First up was the "united front" approach:

"Come on girls, stick together! It's you all against the boys! Not against each other. Say it with me now- girls rule, boys drool. Girls rule, boys drool. Girls rule, boys drool."

When that didn't work, I tried the "wise elder" approach:

"Let me tell you girls about a little thing called karma. That's right. K.A.R.M.A. Karma. Every mean thing you do now as a kid will come back and bite you in the butt a million times over when you're an adult. Trust me".

Crickets.

So finally, I tried to appeal to their down-home, southern upbringing by going with the "spiritual" approach:

"I tell you what, if you girls don't stop being so mean, you AND all your little Bratz dolls are gonna burn in hell one day."

I'm not one to get all fire and brimstone up on people but I can say without a shadow of a doubt, if Bratz dolls don't burn in hell one day, they should.

Sign 'O the times

On my way to work this morning- just as I was getting ready to make the right turn out of my subdivision- a school bus pulled up and did its whole little flashing lights, high-pitched beeping, and sticking out the stop sign number. I sat and waited at the stop sign because turning right would have meant that I went by the school bus, therefore running the school bus’ stop sign.

Because when a school bus sticks its little stop sign out it’s a, you know, stop sign and well, you’re supposed to stop at it.

I know it. You know it. The American people know it (or at least they should). But rednecks? They don’t know it.

As I sat there waiting for the school bus to suck its stop sign back in, three cars came from the opposite direction as me and took a left turn, past the school bus, and straight past the school bus’ stop sign. The bus driver hung his head out the window and yelled at each of the cars and I honked but the cars and the rednecks who manned the cars just kept on going.

I called the husband because I was so furious (because, you know, driving while talking on a cell phone is much safer than running a school bus’ stop sign) and told him what had happened. He asked if I was serious and I was all “hell yeah, I’m serious” and we agreed, once again, that our neighbors are rednecks.

“You know what this means??” I asked him.

“No. What?”

“It’s sign makin’ time!" I told him.

That’s right. It’s on.

A cute picture of the Gavinator and the Goose to whoever can come up with a catchy and grammatically correct slogan to put on a sign that express my dislike for rednecks who run school bus stop signs.

Memories Stuff Sold Here

The yard sale was a smashing success. We made about $500.00 ($600.00 total but we sold some stuff for my neighbor and my sister) and that will be enough to cover the three nights in our hotel and gas to and from the beach. Once we get back from the beach we're going to sell the rest of the stuff on EBay and hopefully make a nice little chunk of change.

Yard sales certainly bring out all types of people. Our's was definitely an expecting parent's dream but unforunately the majority of those who came were looking for items non-baby related and were sorely disappointed. The few preggers and soon-to-be-grandparents who did make their way to our yard sale left the sale very, very happy because not only did we have a ton of stuff, we had a ton of nice and barely-used stuff. As you can see from the pictures above, the husband and I worked hard to display everything prominently and neatly hoping that would help us make sells.

That said, I live in Redneckville, South Carolina, where people put signs on their houses to proclaim their dislike for neighbors and nary a person bought any of the like-new, neatly hung, name brand clothing for $1-2. Most people went straight to the random boxes of stained and worn out mismatched pieces that we were selling for quarters.

I had an entire table of breastfeeding pumps, accessories, playtex nursers, breastfeeding books (The Nursing Mother's Companion and Dr. Sear's The Breastfeeding Book), storage bottles, storage bags, spare parts, and Medela steam bags. I honestly didn't think I would sell any of the breastfeeding stuff since I live in the Formula Capitol of the World but around 10:00 an expecting mama showed up and squealed with delight over all the breastfeeding stuff. She pulled me to the side to reveal to me that she is only 20 weeks and her breasts are leaking AND she wants to breastfeed until her child is at least two (what is it about being pregnant and/or female that makes you disclose information like leaky breasts and the size of their child's explosive poops to all the world?) She bought all the breastfeeding stuff up.

I thought I would be said to see all of our memories being carried off like that. I'm not and it feels weird.

I'm usually a sentimental sap about everything. I have a Hardee's Chicken Fillet wrapper that my best friend, Sarah, and I signed when we were in the 8th grade in a scrapbook upstairs. I have every card ever given to me since I was 10. I have empty packs of cigarettes leftover after a wild and crazy night in Morgantown stuffed inside of a shoebox under my bed. I have diaries, notes, letters, pictures, matchbooks with telephone numbers, gifts, flowers, leaves, blades of grass, and everything in between either given to me or saved because they all remind me of something or someone.

I did save some of the kids' stuff but not a lot. I just don't feel the desire to hold on to everything. I guess because when I was younger, I knew moments were fleeting. I knew a matchbook with a telephone number in it wouldn't always mean so much as it did when I was 21. I knew a validation of friendship inside of a sandwich wrapper wouldn't always be something I wanted or needed. I knew staying out until midnight on the golf course with my boyfriend while my parents slept wouldn't always be wild and fun so I needed a blade of grass from that night to remind me.

Don't get me wrong, I know my babies will grow up entirely too fast but I have them and that is all I need. The stuff doesn't mean a lot. They do. They're always going to mean the world and I don't need anything to remind me.

It's much less about the imprint their stuff leaves in the carpet and much more about the imprint that Gavin and Grace leave on my heart.

Well that and can I get a "hell yeah" that I can walk through my bedroom and Grace's room without climbing over 16,000 piles of toys and clothes!!!

HOA: I know what the "A" stands for

HOA: Homeowner's Association, right?

Wrong.

Homeowner's is right but the "A" stands for something else. It starts with an "ass" but instead of ending in "ociation", it ends in a "hole".

I mentioned my HOA drama in a previous entry and spoke of the old retired dude who everyone hated" but what I failed to mention was his name.

His name is Raymond.



Apparently the rednecks are not only a vindictive bunch but they are also proficient in sign-making and plays on words related to pop culture. Although I really don't think the ' before the "s" was necessary, I think their point was made. Unfortunately it was made only a brief walk from my house.

I can't believe this garbage is going on in my neighborhood. I'm only thankful that my children are too young to really grasp what is going on. I am enjoying a good chuckle but I am bothered because both the rednecks and Raymond are raising children old enough to be aware of this insanity and possibly be influenced as to this is how adults handle their problems.

Between this and my my morning Dixie Chick debacle, I am seriously considering looking for a quiet piece of country land somewhere in the New Englad area of the US.

On a more positive note, I have FINALLY figured out how to upload video so enjoy this clip of the Goose showing off her sweet vocabulary skills!

Carjacking

I'm house-sitting for my neighbor while she is in Chicago for her father's funeral. I take Gavin over there with me to bring in the mail, let the dogs out, feed the dogs, clean the pool, and to do some house cleaning. Gavin LOVES to help and it is something me and my boy can do together. My neighbor had to leave in quite a rush and since she had company for two whole weeks prior to her father's death, she left her house in quite a disarray. I figure the least I can do is make sure she comes home to a tidy house with a fridg stocked full of beer and wine. What are neighbors for, eh?

If there is anyone who is more in love with matchbox cars than my own son, it is my neighbor's son. The kid has about 15 million mathcbox cars. They are everywhere. I try not to wear my shoes in other people's homes but in the case of my neighbor, it could potentially be a liability to not weat shoes in her house.

Have you ever stepped on a matchbox car with your barefeet? Yowza!!!

Every time I take Gavin over to my neighbor's house with me, he ends up leaving with a fistfull of matchbox cars. He makes a quick getaway and tries not to draw attention to the fact that he is all hunkered over grasping his beloved matchbox cars in both hands and holding them close to his chest so not to let them slip. Way to be icognito, Gav. I barely noticed the fact you were bent all the way over at the waist carrying ten more toys home than the ZERO toys you came over there with.

I let the carjackings slide because I'm a lazy parent and allowing him to come home with the stolen goods beats the hour long tantrum that would ensue if I tried to take them away and/or playing with him outside for an hour in the 100 degree heat to distract him from the matchbox cars.

As usual, taking what I believed to be the easy road has turned out to be the more bumpiest most out of the way road. Parenting shortcuts are NEVER shortcuts. When will I learn?????? I am left with the task of figuring out which of the 15 million matchbox cars in my own home belong to my neighbor and how I can return them without the Gavinator going absolutely crazy. I know my neighbor wouldn't mind but I would hate for my neighbor's kid to come home and live out "Gone in 60 Seconds- Mathcbox Edition".