So Many Costumes Only One Halloweeen

I am lucky to have a semi costume for Halloween, but Gio has too many to choose from.

And too many isn't enough. "Mommy can I be a spider for Halloween," he asks after seeing a spider in the bathroom. After watching the cartoon version of, "The Hobbit he asks, "Mommy, can I be Golum for Halloween?" thus proving T.V. really is the root of all evil.


David Lee Roth

He can't make up his mind on which
Village People he should be.

Roar!

Oh d-d-dear what ever will I be for
Halloween?

Roar take 2!

Before I had kids I could not for the life of me
figure out why Grover suddenly had blue fur,
la la la la Gio's world.


The Boss, in more ways than one, and Little Steven.




Flag waving liberal, oops, I mean pirate.

The force is with me on Vinny's costume:
He only has one that fits him.

In the background Gio asks, "Can I wear Vinny's costume? Does it fit me?"

Toilet Paper Bong

Both Nay Nay the Cat and Gio the Kid love playing with the roll of toilet paper. What a cheap pet toy. What a cheap kid toy. But no matter who is playing with it, it is a very messy toy.

I haven't had this problem with the kitty for years. When she first discovered the toilet paper toy we went through a few recycled rolls before realizing putting the roll in backwards put an end to all of her fun.


Now with Gio, once again we are using recycled rolls of toilet paper. At first I rolled them back onto the roll. This gave the toilet paper a lopsided look.

However, Gio's last unraveling detached the paper from the roll leaving a creative looking project on the floor. Rather than put it back on the roll I've resorted to pulling what I need from the pile.

I can probably only do this in the, "almost complete after nearly three years bathroom." All the urine seems to make it into the toilet, probably because I am the only one who uses it. And it isn't as if I have said, "Don't use the new bathroom. It's all mine, my precious."

I don't say that because I don't have to. The bathroom has been out of commission for nearly three years, and it doesn't occur to anyone besides myself to use this bathroom. It is almost as if it doesn't exist in their minds. Actually I only thought of using it just the other day.

Did someone just ask,"What the heck took you so long?"

Well, I like to surf. And then there is the whole, "we've been overwhelmed by the entire parenting experience for over seven years, which makes it hard to get anything done besides breakfast +dishes , lunch+dishes and dinner +dishes and laundry," issue.

And it didn't help that we remodeled the bathroom in baby steps. We pulled out the old tile and sink before I picked out the new floor tile and wall tile and deco tile and sink and faucet and floor grout and wall grout .

It's hard to find purple and yellow tile. I won't even mention the funny looks I got at the tile store when I asked, "Where is the purple and yellow tile, please?" The expressions grew more bewildered when I clarified my request with, "Well, I need the tile to match my aura."

Oh and at first I wanted to have some surfing wave thing happening, but the ocean is blue not purple and that just doesn't go with my aura so I had to let go of that design idea. Although once the tile people realized I was a surfer, this summed up all my weirdness into one perfect stereotype in their heads, "Pothead." Excuse me, do I look like Jeff Spicoli? I don't even talk like him, dude!

For the blog record, I am not a pothead, although I might have been at some point in my life before I surfed. Recovered druggies like to make drug references because it recreates that "flashback feeling." Hold, please, I'm flashingback...................................

I wouldn't exactly say Stoner is an inaccurate stereotype of surfers. But surfing actually made me say, "No to drugs!" I'm backwards like that.

Surfing bliss is an amazing natural high, but I guess a lot of surfers don't feel the same way I do. "Dude, I surf so much better when I'm stoned." Sure you do, Jeff.

Hence, this may possibly explain my surfing addiction. One crutch traded in for another crutch. But hey, I hear it's a "healthy addiction." And that has a lot to do with my yellow aura, which if it has healthy addictions, is not tempted by the negative ones, usually.

Wait what was I talking about? Oh yeah, right the bathroom. Wow. At first we couldn't use the shower. But we could still relieve our bladders and be sanitary immediately after. Then the old sink and cabinet got ripped out replaced by a new cabinet with no sink or faucet. There goes sanitation. Then the toilet went. No need for sanitation. And for a long time we had to take mini vacations in the middle of the night just to use the bathroom. "Taxi!"

We've almost come full circle. Now we can go to the bathroom and wash our hands. It is nice to be able to do those two activities in the same room. A lot can happen on the way to finding an alternate hand washing venue. Fortunately there is a sink with running water in the kitchen, where we handle the food.

And someday soon I am sure I will be able to take a shower in their as well. Serious foreshadowing.

So now when I want a little private time I go into the bathroom that no one thinks of using. Sometimes it takes them hours to find me. Especially when I don't answer their calls. And now everyone knows why many of my blog photos are taken in the bathroom.

Did someone say, "Ewwww, that's grooooooooooooooooos!" Wait, that was yesterday, never mind.

Let the Government bail YOU out!

"I got an email saying I could get money from the government bailout," I say to my friend. "Can you believe that?!"

"You didn't open it, did you?" she asks concerned.

"No. It didn't have a paperclip, anyways." Only emails with attachments, indicated by a paperclip, have viruses, right?

Let the Bail Out Games begin. Are people starting businesses helping people attain bail out funds? Why didn't I think of that? Or is it just a play on words? Even with the economy in the crapper people are still creative, inventive and ready to make a quick buck. Read: greedy, which is how we got into the bailout business in the first place. Only in the good ole United States of America.

And I will assume the folks at Fight Foreclosure who sent me an email saying, "Don't go into foreclosure," have a nice little racket going as well.

How do you spell s-c-a-m o-n -t-o-p- o-f -s-c-a-m?

Suddenly, the spam that I used to get, "Make your penis larger," is much easier to swallow.

My Deepest Condolences

Tragedy has struck Academy Award Winner Jennifer Hudson. Her mother, brother, and now seven year old nephew, died in what investigators are calling a domestic dispute involving guns. Go home guns!

I missed Jennifer on American Idol, but I am sure she would have been my favorite. Talent isn't limited to a body that fits into a size 0, Simon.

My first introduction to Ms. Hudson was on the Dreamgirls Soundtrack with the song, "I love You I Do." At one point this was mine and Vinny's favorite song. We would listen to it over and over and over in the car on the way to and from school. We got so much joy listening to her sing that song. I wish I could bottle our joy and send it to her and her family right now.

Every time I see the headlines I feel sad as I am reminded of the world of pain she's living in right now.

I am sure something good will come of this tragedy. Like maybe everyone will turn in their guns to a police station. Or maybe all the guns will disappear into a universe without any people. Oooh. I like that one. Okay everyone focus.

PCEXPURT

Figment of my imagination.

When I am not thinking of surfing I am usually thinking of sex. Thinking about sex isn't just for guys anymore. Besides, the biggest philosophical debate among surfers is: Is surfing better than sex? All I can say, without directly answering that question is, if the waves are bad I can find better things to do. But when it comes right down to it, I'd rather not have to choose.

I saw this license plate while flying my airplane the other day. Just kidding. I was driving, silly. I thought the license plate said, "69CEXPRT." I was about to start following the car, for advice an all, when I realize the driver is just a computer expert.

Digital reenactment.

Don't get me wrong with the craziness of computers the world needs all the computer geeks it can get. I thought the P was a 6 and I was pronouncing the C like an s, as in, "ssssssssss." Just like the c found in precise, brace, face, mace.......Yes,

A few blocks later the car was gone and I thought to myself, "What if the P stood for something else entirely?" But the car had disappeared into the traffic, just like another beautiful face in the crowd.

I am wondering, Internet, what did you see? I can't wait to hear from you. And please, notice, I capitalize your name, because I respect your feedback and I can't wait for your comments. Thanks! Oh and for those who would like to leave a comment but are shy, select the anonymous option. Also, all comments must be approved by the editor of this blog, me, before they are posted, meaning you won't instantly see your comment.

Driving and Cellphoning

A few weeks ago I was talking to my friend who was driving and cellphoning.

"I feel so much better using a headset in the car," she says.

I agree, having been on the hands free bandwagon for as long as I can remember. I am headset proponent even when I am not driving. How else can I spend 900 minutes a month on my phone and ever get anything done? Plus, when I hold the phone for more than 15 minutes I get a crick in my elbow joint. Meaning my elbow is stuck in the phone holding position for at least three days. When it finally straightens, it continues to ache for three more days.

I can hear readers now saying, "Oh yeah, that stuff happens when you get old." People, this has actually been happening my entire phone talking career, which I started at a very young age. Don't get me going on the old age conspiracy, please! First of all "retired" needs to be fired. What is that some sort of refried bean? Oops, I said I wasn't going to do that. I apologize.

"So many driver's don't wear headsets, even with the new law," my friend unfortunately reminds me.

I decided many years ago not to look at what other people were doing while driving. Why? It is too darn scary to know I am on the road with so many other distracted drivers, who are also pretending to be in the Indy 500 or playing Nintendo, depending on their age. At least Indy drivers and Gamers concentrate on what they are doing.

However, for the next few days after my friend's comment, "people still drive and talk on their phones without a headset," I couldn't stop noticing all the people driving and cellphoning by hand on the road.

In fact, one person was even juggling and talking to their cat, while driving and cellphoning without a headset. Yikes! I couldn't stop staring, when the distracted driver suddenly felt my heavy eyes. He proceeded to give me the evil eye staredown, which immediately averted my eyes to another driver, who was picking his nose while shaving and texting, "Ldy n cr nxt 2 me wnt stp starin' WTF?!"

Later that same day a police officer snapped my neck out of its rubber necking position. I pull up to a stop sign, stopping completely, as I notice the cop at the stop sign adjacent to me. I glance at the officer, trying to look and feel legal in the company of the law, when I notice he is holding a cellphone in his hand and talking.

Wilco, not whiskey, Tango Foxtrot (WTF)??? If cops are supposed to be upright outstanding law abiding citizens, at least in uniform, what is the hope for everyone else? Either way I no longer peer voyeuristically into other people's cars while driving, especially not Jonny Law's car.

When I Grow Up I Want to be a Makeup Artist

No wonder Sarah Palin looks great. Her traveling makeup artist was paid over $22,000 for the first two weeks in October according to a report in the New York Times. But her hairstylist only received $10,000 for the same time period. Maybe her whole family is getting the make up treatment, as well. This would expalin some of the costs.

If I were her hairstylist I would threaten to walk out if I didn't start getting equal pay immediately. Who do those artists think they are anyways? Besides, aren't artists supposed to be dead before they make money? What's going wrong?

All hail Queen Palin! Sure she's a hockey Mom. A regular gal just like me. Oh wait I'm not very regular am I?

"Makeup, please!" No, actually I prefer to go natural because if people see me with makeup then don't see me with makeup on they often ask, "Oh my gosh, what's wrong with you? Are you dying or something?"

Positive Feedback Poop

"Mommy I just went poo poo!" Gio exclaims almost as excitedly as I do when I poop. "Houston we have touchdown!"

Thrilling his bowel movement would be if he didn't do it all day. As in every time he sits down on the potty. Now he poops more often than he brushes his teeth, but only by a slim margin. I know how important teeth brushing is, but he brushes before meals, after meals and almost every time he walks into the bathroom. Teeth brushing 8. Pooping 9.

I am not complaining. It is much better than the diaper alternative. He has learned to poop at will, not unlike great actresses who can shed a tear drop in the blink of an eye. And now I can soundly say I have wiped his butt more in the last three weeks, than I have wiped my own, in my whole entire life.

I know, since I suffer from constipation, and safe toilet syndrome, constipation on strange toilets, my wiping experience pales in comparison to say, someone with regular bowel movements. But still.

And during wiping, poop often manages to find its way onto my hand. Did someone say, "Ewwwwwwww!?" Yes, parenting has caused me to squat to new lows I never thought myself capable of.

The other day while Gio was taking a shower I mistakenly left a small Tupperware^TM container in the shower.

"Mommy I neeeeeeed you!" he yells.

"Yes, what do you need?" I ask

"I just peed in here," he says smiling and holding up the container.

Upon inspection it didn't look even slightly yellow so I say, "Pour it out." Yes, I have reached a new parenting low.

"In here?" he asks referring to the bathtub doubting my words.

"Yes," I say. He complies.

"Mommy I neeeeeeed you!" he yells five minutes later. Yes, we take long showers, sorry Planet Earth.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I pooped in here!" he shouts.

I was out of eyesight range and I feared he had pooped in the bathtub. "Oh no," I think knowing this has the potential to be another one of those "poop just got on me" moments. Go ahead say it, "Ewwwwwww!"

I walk in the bathroom and he is holding up the Pooperware^TM bowl. I move in to get a closer look and there are two tiny poops in there, swimming around like goldfish from the fair. Yes, the same fish that die the day after they are brought home. Then the battle began to rage in my head.

"Should I take a picture of this? Is that going too far, even for me? No, don't take the picture it will stink up the blog. But it would be a great picture. This is a great photo opportunity I am passing by." Right now I really wish I had taken the picture. Oh wait. What is this picture?????


"Give that to me," I say. "Out to the ocean you go, Nemo. Swim and be free. All toilets lead to the sea. And most of all, please don't touch me!"

Life Ahead of Time

Does anybody have a copy of this Life Magazine issue from 2004 featuring Tina Fey and John McCain on the cover? Do I smell an eBay auction brewing?

Oh well, at least I now understand why McCain picked Sarah Palin as his Veep running mate. Yes, it is all starting to make sense. Does McCain know Tina Fey and Sarah Palin are two different people? Or is he thinking, "Wow, what happened? She was so witty in 04. Politics sure can age a girl."

Or maybe this is some sort of liberal conspiracy. John McCain could be in on the whole thing. Hasn't he made some Republicans mad or something? Wait. I'm a liberal. Ssh. I think it's working.

Modern Mama

My Mom has recently taken up the modern medium of texting. Wow, that gives literal meaning to Marshall McLuhan's, "the medium is the message." Get it, "the medium is the message?" Wait did he mean that litterally?

She even knows how to picture text.

"The exhibit is awesome."

She likes to text and tell me how the play was, "Play was soooooooooooooo good."

She keeps me informed of our schedule, "Be at church Sept 28 11:15 for first communion meeting. MOM."

She keeps me abreast of her whereabouts, "I'm on the bus to S.F. Will be back tonight."

"Me and my friend were texting back and forth during my bus ride to the museum!" She exclaims. "It was so fun."

"Mom how many text messages have you sent? " I ask knowing it was at least a two hour bus ride.

"Oh, I don't know lots, I guess," she says.

"I think we better get you on a text plan," I say in a concerned daughter voice.

"What do you mean?" she asks confused.

"When you don't have a text plan you have to pay for each text individually, both when you send and receive a text," I answer.

"You mean I have to pay for those?" she asks in astonishment.

"Yes," I say.

"How much?" she asks.

"They usually range from .10 to .25 cents each," I say dialing #data. I discover she has sent and received a total of 38 text messages.

"Well, I am not doing that anymore," she says disgusted.

However, by the next day she was wildly texting me, her friend and Stefan. She was addicted to texting just like a driving, gum chewing, one-hand texting teenager. Pretty soon we won't even be able to call her on the phone.

She'll be just like those twenty-somethings who sound surprised when they answer their phone, that is if they answer the phone. "Oh my gosh, this thing is ringing! What's wrong with this texting machine?" Bang, Bang, Bang.

"Mom, I am going to have to put you on a plan," I say in my "who's the parent?" voice, which I will regret using the day my grown up boys use it on me, and not a day sooner.

I punched 6-1-1 on my phone and got her on a texting plan. Afterwards, I promptly sent her a text that read, "Mom can u plz bbsit 2morrow @12 plz plz plz plztnx .

Phone ringing, "Ain't no rhyme or reason, no complicated meaning, ain't no need to over think it, let go laughing......."

"Hey Mom," I say.

"I just got your text," she says. "What were you trying to say?"

Sarah Palin Please Move to Hollywood

The gang at Saturday Night Live is at it again, this time with a hilarious song titled, "The Palin Rap." Sarah Palin balked at performing it herself, but watching her be bop along to the song, it is obvious she is no stranger to the camera. Hopefully she will forget this whole political dealio and march straight to Hollywood, as her viewer ratings are soaring off the charts.

SNL had a record 14 million viewers for Saturday night's show. Palin also has the highest number of internet searches for any political candidate ever. Whether Americans love her or hate they seem to be obsessed with her persona.

Now I am going to church to pray for a Palin movie. My mantra will be, "Move to Hollywood. You will be richer and famouser and no one will object to you bringing your kids along. Everyone does it. The weather is much better in L.A. Move to Hollywood."

Get Amped on Ballet

I found this video the other day. I may be the only person on Planet Earth who hadn't seen it til a few days ago. The ballet, "Hand in Hand," was performed at a dance contest in China in 2007.

I am dedicating this video to anyone who has ever been told they couldn't do something or even felt a goal was out of their reach. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that applies to everyone, including me.

The two dancers, Ma Li and Zhai Xiaowei, are amputees. She lost her arm in a car accident at the tender age of 19 while aspiring to become a professional dancer. Through perseverance, dedication and inspiration from other handicap people she managed to keep her dream alive.

He lost his leg in an accident involving a tractor at the age of four. When the two met she was looking for a dance partner, and found him, a cyclist athlete in training with zero dance experience. She managed to convince him to take up dance. When they first met, he thought she was crazy asking him to dance with only one leg. He also didn't realize she was an amputee as she designed her own clothes to camouflage her missing arm.

After two years of training and many falls including a fall that dislocated Xiaowei's shoulder, the pair entered the 4th annual China Central Television Dance Contest. They got second place, even though they competed against over 100 able bodied dancing pairs.

The ballet depicts overcoming life's challenges and affairs of the heart. I find myself watching the video repeatedly mesmerized by their grace and athleticism. And I feel inspired by their violet auras, meaning their job on Planet Earth is to inspire the masses to be all they came here to be. With nearly 5 million hits for this YouTube video alone, I'd say they are doing an excellent job.

Dental Drama

Okay well it wasn't enough for the dentist to take 69,000 x-rays. Oh no.

"You need a crown," he happily informs me. Do I look like the Queen of England?

Actually I knew I needed the crown, but I was pregnant and remember I didn't want to harm my unborn child. Has anyone seen my crack pipe?

"Can you people give me a break. I haven't been in for four years and now for my good behavior you treat me like this. I'll think about it." Yes I really said that out loud. Go ahead turn me in for dental abuse.

A week went by and I incorrectly thought they had forgotten me.

"You have 100% dental coverage for your crown, want to come in tomorrow?" they ask.

Thinking..........................................................."No," I say. Needless to say they scheduled me in two weeks for the crown and unfortunately my babysitter didn't cancel. Dammit Janet!

"Are you going to be okay?" they ask. "Do you need anything?"

"No, I took a quarter of a muscle relaxant when I got here," I say.

"Are you driving after this?" they ask.

"Well, yes, but the procedure takes two hours doesn't it?" I say. "It will be worn off in two hours."

"Yes it does. But just so you know it is a DUI if you get caught."

"Oh," I say. "Yeah I can call someone if I need to, but did you hear me say a quarter, as in one fourth, as in 25% of a muscle relaxant?"

I was starting to feel as if they were going to notify the authorities when I walked out the door.

After listening to the loud drilling noise and unsuccessfully crawling out of my skin for 15 minutes I finally say, "Can I get some of that nitrous oxide, please.."

"Oh we're done," they say in happy cartoon voices.

Now they need to make my three quarters crown on their computer and they are all very fascinated and proud. "Your going to have the first computer tooth on your block," they say with glee.

Now I'm thinking two things. "Are they going to print my crown on some kind of enamel based paper and glue it on? Is that going to be toxic? Oh no, oil based paint is bad, but water based enamel paint is good, so I'm okay, I think?

Actually it wasn't a printer, it looked more like a cross between a dishwasher and a printer. The second thought going through my mind was, "Wait.........Have they done this before or am I a virgin being sacrificed on some sort of dental alter? My wild imagination now working against me.

"Would you like a magazine, while you wait?" they ask.

"Yes, please."

"Is People magazine okay?" they ask.

"Fine," I say hoping looking at beautiful people with beautiful bodies will numb my brain.

However, what I didn't realize was I had fallen into another dental trap. Of all the magazines they could have brought me, remember they suggested and chose the issue, they give me the one about the actress who got a DUI, while on prescription drugs.

Does that remind you of anyone? Now I am sure they are notifying the authorities. Good thing I don't have my crack pipe on me.

The crown is done and they put it on while saying things like, "Wow, it's almost perfect!" Where is the mute button, I can't find it? Is "almost perfect" good news to anyone? Don't worry they used more noisy dental tools to get it "just right."

I left the dentist office with my new crown secured in my mouth and drove soberly to Gio's swim lessons, where the lifeguard said I couldn't swim on a full stomach.

"But I haven't eaten, I just got out of the dentist office," I say in my defense. "What is my stomach bloated again? And no, I'm not pregnant."

Do people not know about the rule that states, "Never, ever ask a women if she is pregnant even if you are sure she is. Wait until you are told she is pregnant or just let it go. She may be experiencing bloating, and therefore likely PMS as well, wherein you will definitely run the risk of bodily harm upon said inquiry."

Hygienic Crush

I hadn't been to the dentist in four years. I have a lot of excuses for not going. One, I was pregnant, and I didn't want to harm my baby. I held on tightly to my crack pipe, though. Actually I hid it in a drawer where no one would find it.

Wait.......I haven't been pregnant for a long time, but when I'm bloated I look pregnant, does that count? Okay, I just don't like going to the dentist.

Did someone say, "No one likes going to the dentist." True, but I like it much less than everyone else. Anyways, recently my husband came home from one of his bi-annual dental cleaning exams, and for some reason, the dental hygienist's name kept coming out of his mouth.

"So and so said if I brush my teeth like this, blah, blah , blah," he says on day one.

"Do you know so and so's blah blah blah, because her blah blah blah is you know who," he says on day two.

"Wow she is the best dental hygienist ever," he says on the third day.

"You have a crush on the dental hygienist," I say and promptly schedule an appointment.

And this is what it takes to get me to the dentist: jealousy, curiosity and the hope that maybe she really is good, and not just beautiful. Beautiful is okay, but I need someone really good.

Over summer the dentist called me himself not to schedule an exam, but for an alternate reason. Still I took it as a sign. Also, my friend's four year old is no longer afraid of the dentist. So I thought, at ten times her age, I probably need to get over my dentaphobia, too.

But my husband's crush was the kick in the butt that got me through the dental office door.

"Do you want to keep your teeth?" was one of the first questions on the in take form. Really? Are there people out there who say, "No I don't like these teeth, take 'em away." Or is that some sort of dental bully scare tactic?

After 69, 000 x-rays, I finally meet the hygienist. And fortunately for me she was awesome. She kept saying, "Wow, your teeth look really great. You're lucky you have great genetics. Keep up the flossing! It really works." Everyone needs a good cheerleader. She was better than anything I had imagined myself, which wasn't very good, to be honest.

Cavity Prevention Tools Save Teeth!

I don't believe in genetics. I don't want all my parent's diseases or behaviors, but that didn't stop me from soaking in all of her positive feedback, right down to the dentin.

Will the Real Sarah Palin Please Stand Up?

Last night's skit on Saturday Night Live was so funny I am double blogging today. Plus, it is kind of cheating to run videos and blog about them, so I am totally doing this out of guilt over my laziness. Besides, I know many people are asleep or too drunk on a Saturday night to watch SNL.

"Angel"

"Angel," by Sarah Mclachlan, is one of my all time favorite angel songs. When I listen to this song I imagine my angels' wings are wrapped around me like a warm cozy blanket of unconditional love. I make Angel Mixes on my, not an ipod, mp3 player. For the record, an ipod is an mp3 player. Ah, the wonders of marketing.

Well, I used to make Angel Mixes until my nai mp3 player started malfunctioning in the remembering department. Don't feel sorry for me, I dropped it in a deep puddle of toxic rainwater, while hurriedly getting my surfboard out of the car. And it actually worked fine for a few years (Thanks Stefan!), but now it's having memory issues.

Besides it's giant! "That is the biggest mp3 players in the entire world!"one of it's observers noted. It is almost the same size as my very first Sony Walkman. I affectionately refer to it as "my walkman." Some of my friends think that is funny and are probably laughing, right now. "Ha,ha." Did anyone else hear that?

Big and Small.

I will get a new mp3 player when I decide on the right one for me, but I have a hard time making up mind when I have too much information. I also have a tiny Sansa Clip 4 GB player that "clips" onto my clothing. I absolutely love the clip, and it also isn't an ipod. I can't figure out how to make playlists on it, even though some people think of me as a techie, I'm unfortunately not. Maybe if it were an ipod I could figure out how to make playlists because everyone tells me, "They are so easy to use."

The only criteria for a song to make an Angel mix is, the song must have a positive, inspiring message. If anyone would like to list their top 1-5 Angel songs in the comment section, I might get inspired to get a new mp3 player to make more angel mixes.

Then maybe I will put the playlists on the blog. I think there is a way to do that, right, someone, please help? I may not be a true techie, but I am smart enough to surround myself with people who are tech savvy. Enjoy.

Boogers

The other day I was making a deposit at the drive through ATM. Suddenly I hear grunting coming from the backseat. "Are you pooping?" I ask worrying I am missing a "potty training opportunity."

"No," responds Gio.

"Well, what are you doing?" I say not believing him because it sure sounds like pooping to me.

"I'm getting a booger," he says.

Nasal Excavation Reenactment.

"Oh," I say. Who does he get that from? I never grunt when I pick my nose.

Later that night, I ask my husband if he grunts during nasal cavity excavation.

"No, and I haven't had to pick my nose for four days since I've been using Nasonex," Stefan says proudly.

All hail Nasonex. However, I still have no idea where the grunting comes from. Oh well, I guess he really is his own person.

Pancake Pizza

On our way home from school Gio asks, "Where are we going?"

"Home," I say.

"I don't want to go home," he says. "I want Pizza."

"Well, I don't know where to get pizza around here," I say not wanting to make the effort to find pizza by the slice." I was freezing from surfing in freezer water and my blood sugar was dropping faster than my body temperature. Yes, I said freezer water, the temperature of water right before is freezes. Yes, I can now be found recreationally insane. (The judge smashes the gavel against her stand as the crowd screams, "Guilty!")

Being a problem solver he says, "let's go find some pizza."

Being a party pooper and serial fun killer I say, "No, we're going home."

On the way home, we both agree on pancakes for lunch, "but I'm only making pancakes if you let me write my blog right after."

"Pancakes, then blog," he repeats and agrees on the contract.

And for those readers who are thinking, "What?! She can't make pancakes! What is the world coming to if slacker Moms now make pancakes?" I know. I know. But it isn't as if I make them from scratch or anything. Phew!

Actually I have this new BFF (best friend forever) and she isn't a mean girl. Her name is Aunt Jemima. We are really close. In fact, she is smiling at me right now. I see her as somewhere between a human being and an angelic being. Yes, I still have my vivid imagination intact. Whose idea was it to get rid of imagination upon reaching adulthood anyways? Must have been some sort of grown up.

And due to pressure I also indulge Gio with syrup dipping sauce. However, I don't give him quite as much syrup as my husband gives him.

"What? That is too little syrup," Gio complains the first time I indulge his syrup sipping. To which I respond, "it's a little syrup or nothing." Reluctantly, and after plenty of screaming, he settles for a "little syrup." Also, I never give him a spoon with his syrup because we all know what will happen then.

We get home and make pancakes together, Gio, Aunt Jemima and me. She is so nice. I just love her. I feel a girl crush coming on. The song playing in my head is embedded below.


Stefan says he isn't even jealous, "because my ingredients are way better than hers." However, upon reading AJ's ingredients list he discovers, "Wait a second. She uses exactly the same ingredients as me." His last realization is followed by very loud silence.

I place the pancake in front of Gio who is sitting impatiently at the table when he reads my mind and says, "Hey this looks just like pizza."



.
Score twenty points for parental creativity.

Thank goodness for mind reading children. If I had used words to sell my "pancake pizza," he would have never gone for it.

"No, I won't eat pancake pizza," he would have said in protest without ever taking one bite. "It's yucky."

In order for Telepathic Parenting^TM to work, the child must mistake the telepathic message as his own idea, not the parent's idea. Otherwise, Telepathic Parenting^TM is as ineffective as parenting with words and the end result is usually the opposite of what the parent desired in the first place. Also, tricky visuals are a bonus in getting the psychic message across effectively.

Good luck with Telepathic Parenting^TM. I would love to get some comments on real life uses of telepathic parenting, even unsuccessful ones. Any press is good press. Don't believe me? Go ask Madonna. She loves her haters.

However, I only recommend using this telepathic technique on one's own children, otherwise, readers run the risk of being accused of manipulation, especially by parents and spouses. And please don't even attempt to use it on me because I almost always do the opposite of what everyone thinks.

Surfing Hair Alternate Ending

I know rerunning a blog with an alternate ending is a sad excuse for a blog entry, but the pressure of writing everyday is starting to get to me. Plus, I felt I owed it to everyone to post some pictures of my hair after it goes surfing. Besides, surfing hair is what led me to become a hair product whore in the first place.

My hair had so much fun surfing today!


Being out in public with surfing hair is embarrassing. Before I had kids I would just go home and wash surfing hair down the drain. But now I find myself picking up my kids with surfing hair and generally being seen in public with surfing hair.


In the winter, I hide my surfing hair under a beanie. This behavior amusingly got me invited to a knitting group. I don't knit. I am not that kind of girl, yet. Yes, at forty I enjoy being called a girl, but I hated it at 18. Oh how perceptions change with time.


Surfing Hair making my nose look big.
I thought only pants could make butts look big.


In the Fall, Spring and Summer it is often too hot for a beanie. Hence, my once innocent quest began to find a solution, other than hat, for my surfing hair. I started with one curl enhancing product that Jennifer Nettles says she can't live without. Turns out I am allergic to this headache inducing hair concoction. Even great hair can't make headache face look good, I am afraid. Since then I been trying out reams of other hair products to find the perfect one. Does that sound familiar to anyone?



The other reason I didn't originally run the alternate ending is I have a self imposed no swearing rule for the blog. But thanks to Dan, I am now clear that whore and slut are not curse words. If however, he is wrong about the classification of whore and slut as non-curse words, then let today mark the point in time this blog became trashy.

Old Blog, New Ending

A few days ago, the waves were small, so I decided to run at least one errand while Gio attended school. I am proud to say I ran three errands and still managed to go for a walk on the beach. In my world, this is a record.

Normally, I ditch all my errands and just go for a surf, or a walk or a bike ride. Any surfer's only hope of getting anything done is for the waves to be unsurfable. And no real surfer ever wishes for that. Fortunately, Mother Nature schedules down days for us poor folks. And this works if we don't find something else fun to do, which we usually do.

I made a great parental discovery in the check out line during one of my glorious errands that day. The check out guy had an uncanny knack for scaring small children into complete silence. "Want to come home with me," I didn't say knowing my husband would mind even if Check Out Guy could get the kids to be quiet.

Drawn to his superb talent I ask him, "if I bring my kids into the store could you please scare them into silence too?"

"No problem, it's all good!" he says happily. "I can give them stickers, too."

"No, they like stickers and if you give them stickers they will like you too," I say not wanting him to diminish all his scariness in one fell swoop.

"So what do y'all do for fun?" he asks.

"Oh well we hang out and I surf a lot," I say.

"You surf?" he asks. "You surf?" he says slowly trying to wrap his brain around the concept. In his head he's thinking, "did she mean to say her husband surfs and she sits on the beach in her g-string bikini watching the kids?" Oh yeah right and I also take pictures of my husband every time he surfs, too. (Every surfer's wet dream.)

"Yes," I answer for clarification barely holding back my, "what you think 40 year old Moms can't surf or something?" attitude.

"That's tight," he says totally pulling me out of my cloud of self defensiveness. Still looking me up and down, not totally convinced I surf he adds, "well you have the hair for it."



Me and my surfing hair.


I spent the rest of the day wondering wilco tango foxtrot (WTF), "well you have the hair for it," meant. Was my hair messy and unkempt? Blond? Did I have sand in my hair? Did I have Jeff Spiccoli hair? Did I have post-surf hair, even though I hadn't actually surfed? Has he seen Kelly Slater's lack of hair lately?

New Ending:
Hmmm. Oh my gosh. I figured it out. He could tell from my hair that I am a hair product whore, which would naturally lead any logical person to the conclusion that I am obviously a surfing slut.

Surfing Hair

A few days ago, the waves were small, so I decided to run at least one errand while Gio attended school. I am proud to say I ran three errands and still managed to go for a walk on the beach. In my world, this is a record.

Normally, I ditch all my errands and just go for a surf, or a walk or a bike ride. Any surfer's only hope of getting anything done is for the waves to be unsurfable. And no real surfer ever wishes for that. Fortunately, Mother Nature schedules down days for us poor folks. And this works if we don't find something else fun to do, which we usually do.

I made a great parental discovery in the check out line during one of my glorious errands that day. The check out guy had an uncanny knack for scaring small children into complete silence. "Want to come home with me," I didn't say knowing my husband would mind even if Check Out Guy could get the kids to be quiet.

Drawn to his superb talent I ask him, "if I bring my kids into the store could you please scare them into silence too?"

No problem, it's all good!" he says happily. "I can give them stickers, too."

"No, they like stickers and if you give them stickers they will like you too," I say not wanting him to diminish all his scariness in one fell swoop.

"So what do y'all do for fun?" he asks.

"Oh well we hang out and I surf a lot," I say.

"You surf?" he asks. "You surf?" he says slowly trying to wrap his brain around the concept. In his head he's thinking, "did she mean to say her husband surfs and she sits on the beach in her g-string bikini watching the kids?" Oh yeah right and I also take pictures of my husband everytime he surfs, too. (Every surfer's wet dream.)

"Yes," I answer for clarification barely holding back my, "what you think 40 year old Moms can't surf or something?" attitude.

"That's tight," he says totally pulling me out of my cloud of self defensiveness. Still looking me up and down, not totally convinced I surf he adds, "well you have the hair for it."



Me and my surfing hair.


I spent the rest of the day wondering wilco tango foxtrot (WTF), "well you have the hair for it," meant. Was my hair messy and unkempt? Blonde? Did I have sand in my hair? Did I have Jeff Spiccoli hair? Did I have post-surf hair, even though I hadn't actually surfed? Has he seen Kelly Slater's lack of hair lately?

Baby Mama

My Mom's friend, Rose, was nice enough to let us stay at her "cabin" on our trip to Yosemite. We had many visitors, of the deer variety. The first morning Rose brought out a bag of restaurant bread to feed the deer.

"Are we supposed to feed the deer?" I ask already knowing the answer.

"No, we aren't, but I can't stand looking at their ribs," replies Rose.

Baby Mama and babies.

Now I am wise enough (sometimes and with some people) to know when to fan a fire and when to let it go out. "Let It Be," not by the Beatles, is playing in my head. One of the things I have learned on Planet Earth is sometimes people need to be met where they are, not where I think they should be. Plus, where would we sleep if I started causing a bunch of "trouble?"

After fifteen minutes of the boys tossing bread to the deer and me taking pictures with a cellphone excuse of a camera, Vinny's tummy starts talking.

"I'm hungry!" grumbles Vinny's tummy. The funny thing is we had just finished breakfast. His tummy is prone to incessant chatter of this nature all day, everyday.

"Mommy, can you ask her if I can have some bread?" Vinny whispers in my ear.

"What?!" I say laughing. "The bread is stale and old."

"But I like that kind of bread," he pleads.

"Trust me, you don't want to eat that bread, unless you want some sort of a tummy ache." I certainly didn't want him to have a tummy ache. If his day was ruined, then everyone's day would be ruined. We had places to go and trees to see.

"Okay," he gives up.

Ten minutes after we finish illegally feeding the deer, Gio asks, "Can I eat the bread? I'm hungry?"

"No its real, real old," I say using my now standard response. Although with his eating finickyness it was a tempting offer.

"Oh," he says without any begging at all. Did I mention we had just finished breakfast?

Throughout the duration of our stay, the deer visited whenever we were home. I have to admit it was hard looking into their eyes no longer having any food to offer them.

On this trip the Mama Deer were my closest mirrors. I think I have problems with my kids' constant wrestling and their relentless use of outside voices, inside. Deer Baby Mamas are much worse off scrounging for food. Although, I was terribly jealous of their "oh so quiet" babies and how all the siblings seem to get along. How do I teach my kids those skills?

While I complain about how much one kid eats and how the other only wants cookies and candy to eat, Deer Baby Mamas are relying on finding food in a habitat overrun by humans. And worse off, they are teaching their young to rely on humans, who are often times unreliable beings running amok on Planet Earth.

Gio's Response to Sunday School

"Just because Daddy is Jesus, doesn't mean you have the Stigmata, honey." Good thing he didn't use the color red. I would be really worried if he had used the actual color of blood.


Gio brandishing a pseudo stigmata. Or is it?

Sipping Syrup

Can I complain about breakfast if my husband is making it? Do I even need to answer that question? In case I do the answer is yes, of course, I can still complain, I am his wife and that is my duty. Please, don't feel sorry for him I perform the other wifely duty well and happily. There are only two duties, right?

"Why does Gio have a bowl of syrup with his pancake?" I ask in a disturbed voice.


"What?" asks Mr. Aloof. "He's dipping his pancake into the syrup," he says explaining the mechanics of Gio's actions as if I am confused. "He's a dipper," he says gleefully.

"Okay," I concede since I am going surfing and I don't want to take time to right the wrong. Besides, when the sugar sets in, I will be long gone. Everyone knows real life consequences are the best teacher.

Suddenly, something amazing happens. Gio loses total interest in the pancake dipping process. He grabs his spoon (why did he have a spoon to eat pancakes?) and starts scooping syrup into his mouth. Being the bad parent, I watch out of the corner of my eye waiting for my Mr. Aloof to catch sight of this. I really wanted to take a picture, but that would have required Gio ingesting more sugar and I am not that bad.

"Gio, wait, what are you doing? You can't eat the syrup," says Stefan swooping the syrup away in horror quickly realizing the error of his ways.

I am now an even bigger fan of real life consequences than ever before. I didn't even have to spend my precious breath on any words such as, "I told you so."

Later the same day, were eating out when Gio says, "I need sauce for my French Fries." Too lazy to open the ketchup packets, I hand him one of my spicy cocktail sauces to dip into, thinking I will have to open the ketchup next.

"Hey he likes it," I say in surprise noting the burning sensation on my lips. Wow he really is a dipper!"

The lady behind Gio generously gave us some Indian
Nan bread. It was yummy. Thanks!

Meat Versus Meatless

The New York Times ran an opinion piece endorsing California's ballot Proposition 2. The proposition, "would prohibit the confinement of certain farm animals in a manner that does not allow them to turn around freely, lie down, stand up, and fully extend their limbs." A being is a being no matter how small, large or fury.

If prop 2 passes, farmers have until the 2015 to comply with the new regulations which would apply to pregnant pigs, egg laying hens and calves raised for veal consumption. Although the bill is hardly timely, if passed, it will make a statement regarding voters' sentiments on the humane treatment of all beings.

Maybe I can find a way to become a vegetarian. I have thought about it more than once after reading about PETA's uncovering of horrific abuse at an Iowa sow farm in September. In fact, I think I used to be a vegetarian in another life. If I become a vegetarian maybe I can make sexy videos for PETA like Alicia Silverstone. And no I'm not making fun of her. Personally, I think she is inspiring. Kudos to all the vegetarians or anyone at least buying buying organic. I can hear planetary consciousness raising right now. Om.

Alicia Silverstone’s Sexy Veggie PSA
Order a FREE vegetarian starter kit at GoVeg.com


Of course, I'm not sure I can pull off vegetarianism, nor am I preaching that anyone else should. And to be fair I want to include both sides, meat and meatless. Here is the video response to Alicia Silverstone's PETA video. Warning the follow up video is graphic in nature and isn't intended for the eyes of the squemish or vegetarians/vegan. The deadline in California to register to vote is October 20th.

Do I Hear Waves?

Two days ago, I returned from what appears to be our 2nd Annual Fall Pilgrimage to Yosemite Valley.

I thought last Fall if I went once, every one would be happy I finally took a trip away from the Ocean. I thought they would never make me do it again. Actually, a shark attack, where I had been surfing daily preceded my agreeing to go inland on that trip last year. I left the Ocean to get away from the shark. Now look what I started. Give 'em an inch and they go inland for miles and miles with no hope of an Ocean in sight.

Now my husband is claiming, "part of my soul lives in Yosemite Valley. But I wouldn't want to live here," he says reassuringly. Although I am not sure I believe him.

I agreed to go on the second annual pilgrimage to Yosemite on one condition.
"I am only going if my bike can come, too," I say stubbornly.


"No problem," my Mom agrees, buying us a bicycle rack before I change my mind. Thanks Mom. Bicycling is kind of like surfing. If I don't ride in a straight line, every embankment transforms into a wave to carve and slash. "Do ta do," is the song that plays in my head when I ride my bike according to Stefan. Although what I really hear is No Doubt's, "Just A Girl."


While riding around the Valley I easily imagine Half Dome (above) and El Capitan(below) are giant waves cascading down on me. And this might explain the recent Yosemite Valley landslides.

At least twice while we were there on October 7th we heard a sound that could easily be mistaken for giant waves breaking, or even thunder. But my brain was definitely going with sound of pounding, enormous waves. After the second booming sound we saw dust. Then we heard sirens from various rescue vehicles.



The whir of the helicopter replaces the sound
of thundering waves as the musical backdrop
in God's playground. (Trust me the helicopter
is there you just can't see it. And yes I accept
free digital cameras with 10x optical zoom.)




"There was a landslide in Curry Village," my Mom informs us. "Thank God you weren't still there."

We had all just been there together eating lunch. My Mom took the shuttle bus to the Ahwahnee looking for earrings. Vinny ditched his bike in Curry Village, to tag along with her remembering the delicious licorice he got there last year. Apparently it is a grandparent's duty to spoil her grandchildren. Just as it is a child's duty to drive her parent crazy.

Stefan, Gio and I lingered in Curry Village, hitting the gift store for t-shirts and dark chocolate espresso beans. We gave Gio one bean, and he begged for more as we headed back to Yosemite Village saying, "please Mommy chocolate coffee."

After realizing the thunderous noise was a landslide and not a humongous, crashing wave, we raced to the bridge behind the Ahwahnee on our bicycles to meet my Mom and Vinny.

"I feel like we are always on the edge of impending doom," I say to Stefan's shock. At this point, we weren't yet worried that Curry Village might be closed preventing us from getting Vinny's bike.


We set off to the museum at Yosemite Village, us by bike, Vinny and my Mom by shuttle. When we arrive at the museum we realize we might not be able to get the bike. "Curry Village is closed," states an informed shuttle driver.

We leave the kids with my Mom in Yosemite Village and shuttle over to retrieve the bike. As we cross the yellow police tape we see rangers heading our way.

"I'm going to quickly grab the bike before they stop us," says Stefan as he sprints to get the bike. "Look they're after us," he says.

Jesus saves the bike. (I tried to get
him to pose without his shirt for this
picture, but obviously it didn't work.)


"You wish," I say looking back, watching as they remove the police tape implying a safe passage. False foreshadowing, in my opinion.

I went with Stefan to get the bike, mainly so I could get out of a trip to the museum. The problem with museums is they are so inside and full of people. "I could have gotten back to Curry Village so much faster without you," Stefan complains.


We returned home, after spending only two days in Yosemite. We came back for Stefan's doctor's appointment. Of course, I complained how I much I missed riding my bike in Yosemite all the way home. By the way, I decided part of my soul may reside there as well. I was sad to leave and would have loved another day on the Valley floor.

Until two nights ago, that is. I was reading the newspaper online and discovered there was another landslide Wednesday morning in Curry Village. This time it was more serious, with a few people sustaining minor injuries. Campers were roused out of their sleep around 7 a.m. by another landslide that reportedly smashed tents and desroyed cabins.

"It's good to be back at the Ocean," I say to myself, quickly recovering from my Yosemite crush.