Oh...the injustices of being a woman.
Not only do we bear the burden of pregnancy, childbirth, periods, breastfeeding, and all the other hormonal challenges we face, we are also supposed to look good while doing all of this.
I often lament to the Politician how unfair this is. I give him a ten minute warning before we leave the house. In that ten minutes, he has time to get himself completely ready, get a snack, use the restroom, and he still usually has time left over. He'll throw on some jeans and shirt and cover his messy hair with a hat and voila! He's ready to go.
I, on the other hand, have been in the bathroom the past hour. Shaving, plucking, tweezing, brushing, using things on my eyelashes that I'm certain were modeled after medieval torture devices. After an hour+ of this I should look like a super model. Wrong. I now look fit to be seen in public. After an hour, I'm still not done either. I have to find something to wear.
Another half hour....
Squeezing myself into skinny jeans I curse the man that invented them. It had to have been a man. No woman would do this to another woman. Why aren't yoga pants in fashion? Sigh. I long for the olden days of Juicy Couture track suits. Those were my wonder years. After a half hour of smashing my body and contorting my internal organs, I now am dressed and ready to go.
Oh no...I'm not. I have to pack my bag! I forgot, I'm not supposed to just wander around and look pretty, I'm supposed to also be a pack animal at the same time. Sippy cup, snacks, wallet, giant make-up bag, little toys, and a zillion other things must be found and deposited into the giant bag I call a purse. At this point, my purse borders on an 'I'm backpacking across Europe' backpack.
Now that I'm finally ready, it's time to get the Dictator ready. Tears, bows, shoes, "I want to wear my pink sparkly boooooots! and mismatched (on purpose!) socks later, we can now leave the house! 2 hours after my 'start time'!
The Politician is merrily playing a computer game. I want to smack the hat off his head and force him to shave his legs, but I don't. We just don't have the time.
A couple weeks ago I finally got fed up with it. I decided I was going to rock my yoga pants, throw my hair in a pony tail, go without make-up and throw caution to the wind.
As we're getting ready to leave for the day, the Dictator asked me "Momma, why do you look like Ursula today?" Ursula....the SEA WITCH from the Little Mermaid.
Sigh....back into the bathroom I go!
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Monday, January 14, 2013
Creepy
Sometimes, little kids are just plain creepy. I realize they are living in a world that is half fantasy and half reality. Their gullible little minds eager to believe that at any moment a carousel might spontaneously appear in the backyard, or that Sesame Street really is just right down the road and you just have to know which way to turn. Little kids are the eternal optimists. And it's cute, and fun, and magical, until it's creepy. Then it's not fun anymore.
The Dictator has told me some things that have made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
She told us for a very long time, starting at 18mo old(!!), that she didn't like being in her room at night because the "Doctor" would come and stand over her bed and look at her. Uh....are you creeped out yet??
When probed about what the "doctor" looked like, the Dictator responded "Black wispy shadow with no eyes. He comes out of the closets if you don't close them all the way." I did not sleep for a week after that, and you can bet I checked EVERY closet in our house before bed. The showers too. Just in case. The Dictator slept happily in bed with us not knowing the reason she was allowed to do so was because Mommy was scared out of her mind! I think even the Politician was freaked out. I noticed he carefully closed her closet doors the entire way after that conversation.
Since then, The Dictator has told me equally frightening stories.
One evening, while driving in the car, the Dictator yelled "Look out Momma!" I, of course, freaked out and hit the brakes. Nothing was in the road or appeared to be wrong. The Dictator said "Didn't you see that man in the road? He was crossing the road! When you hit him, he disappeared! Why did you hit him!" I actually considered getting out and looking under my car, but really....I think I would have heard a thump. *Shudder* When we drove off I carefully looked behind me and on the sides of the road. I even checked my car when we got home.
The most recent scary stuff from the Dictator has come in the past week involving mirrors. I noticed while we were getting ready she would say "Hi!" to herself and talk to herself in the mirror. Like she was having a conversation with a real person. She'd tell me how the other her liked to wave and smile back and talk to her. I thought it was kind of cute. She'd tell me that "other Momma" liked when we talked to her too and so I started waving and smiling at myself in the mirror. Well....after this morning....NO MORE!
While brushing the Dictators hair and getting her ready for school, she was talking to her "mirror self". When she was all done and we were leaving the bathroom she said "Bye other me! Stay in the mirror today! You are not supposed to come out. I don't like when you come out and play with my toys! Sometimes you scare me!" I don't think we need mirrors anymore. Yeah. Those have to go. Next time you see me, if I look like a total sea hag, please just ignore it. I'm literally a little paranoid about being alone in my house and going to put my make-up on!
If my two year old can make me this scared, I can only imagine what she's going to do to me as a teenager. I don't stand a chance. I should probably take more cardio classes at the gym to get my heart ready!
The Dictator has told me some things that have made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
She told us for a very long time, starting at 18mo old(!!), that she didn't like being in her room at night because the "Doctor" would come and stand over her bed and look at her. Uh....are you creeped out yet??
When probed about what the "doctor" looked like, the Dictator responded "Black wispy shadow with no eyes. He comes out of the closets if you don't close them all the way." I did not sleep for a week after that, and you can bet I checked EVERY closet in our house before bed. The showers too. Just in case. The Dictator slept happily in bed with us not knowing the reason she was allowed to do so was because Mommy was scared out of her mind! I think even the Politician was freaked out. I noticed he carefully closed her closet doors the entire way after that conversation.
Since then, The Dictator has told me equally frightening stories.
One evening, while driving in the car, the Dictator yelled "Look out Momma!" I, of course, freaked out and hit the brakes. Nothing was in the road or appeared to be wrong. The Dictator said "Didn't you see that man in the road? He was crossing the road! When you hit him, he disappeared! Why did you hit him!" I actually considered getting out and looking under my car, but really....I think I would have heard a thump. *Shudder* When we drove off I carefully looked behind me and on the sides of the road. I even checked my car when we got home.
The most recent scary stuff from the Dictator has come in the past week involving mirrors. I noticed while we were getting ready she would say "Hi!" to herself and talk to herself in the mirror. Like she was having a conversation with a real person. She'd tell me how the other her liked to wave and smile back and talk to her. I thought it was kind of cute. She'd tell me that "other Momma" liked when we talked to her too and so I started waving and smiling at myself in the mirror. Well....after this morning....NO MORE!
While brushing the Dictators hair and getting her ready for school, she was talking to her "mirror self". When she was all done and we were leaving the bathroom she said "Bye other me! Stay in the mirror today! You are not supposed to come out. I don't like when you come out and play with my toys! Sometimes you scare me!" I don't think we need mirrors anymore. Yeah. Those have to go. Next time you see me, if I look like a total sea hag, please just ignore it. I'm literally a little paranoid about being alone in my house and going to put my make-up on!
If my two year old can make me this scared, I can only imagine what she's going to do to me as a teenager. I don't stand a chance. I should probably take more cardio classes at the gym to get my heart ready!
Friday, January 11, 2013
Moving
We found out this week that we are going to have to move. :(
Sometimes, being a renter really just sucks. I'm a permanence, deep rooter,
sentimental type of person at times, and I tend to become attached to where I live.
I take time and care to decorate. I've spent nearly two years decorating our house and I was just getting started. All while knowing it's just a rental and I'm going to move someday. I can't help myself. It becomes a compulsion.
When the Dictator heard we were moving, she didn't quite get it at first. She thought we were going on vacation. She asked if we could live in the castle at Disneyland with Cinderella. She also asked if we could eat ice cream and turkey legs every day. Her poor little sad eyes when I said no were only trumped by my own sad eyes. I'd love to live inside Disneyland!
I could tell that the news was starting to sink in and she has been slowly absorbing it and finding her own level of understanding with it. She started telling people "We are moving!" "I don't know where to!" I laugh, because as of right now, I don't know where to either!
I told her to consider it a game and a new adventure. That's what you're supposed to say, right? Yes...I think I read that on a parenting blog somewhere.... It seems like sound advice. I also told her that she could paint her new room pink. SHE could pick which color pink she wanted and SHE could help paint with her own brush. Suddenly, moving became much more lucrative and exciting. Every shade of pink we've seen the past few days has sparked much discussion over whether it's 'the right pink' or not. I can tell this is going to be a difficult decision and I anticipate many tense hours spent pacing the paint section at Home Depot looking at little swatches.
I never really realized though, that my daughter, who rarely takes after me at all, is also a decorator.
While using the potty today, she pointed up the large wall in our bathroom and said "Where did the butterflies go?" We had some butterfly art in frames that we had just taken down the night before as a start to operation:We must pack quickly or die trying. I told her they were packed for the new house and we'd have to find a new space for them. The Dictator said "But Mom! They go on that wall in this bathroom! They will not look right somewhere else! We should put them back!"I could see the OCD wheels turning in her head, because I too, worry that they will not look right anywhere else. In the end a compromise was reached and we put one frame back up, because "The bathroom looked naked without pictures."
I'm anticipating that the Dictator and I are going to have many decorating wars in the new house.
I was also anticipating that the Dictator might have a hard time adjusting to the idea of moving, and may get stressed when we do relocate. My fears were somewhat put to rest today though when I overheard her talking to her fish "Belle". Who is a male fish. Who lives in a pink castle. It's a sad life for Belle.
She told Belle- "Belle! Guess what?! I get to move to a new house! I get to paint my room pink!! I can't wait! I hate my room! It's sooooo ugly! Now I don't have to sleep in it! I get to sleep in pink!"
Sometimes, being a renter really just sucks. I'm a permanence, deep rooter,
sentimental type of person at times, and I tend to become attached to where I live.
I take time and care to decorate. I've spent nearly two years decorating our house and I was just getting started. All while knowing it's just a rental and I'm going to move someday. I can't help myself. It becomes a compulsion.
When the Dictator heard we were moving, she didn't quite get it at first. She thought we were going on vacation. She asked if we could live in the castle at Disneyland with Cinderella. She also asked if we could eat ice cream and turkey legs every day. Her poor little sad eyes when I said no were only trumped by my own sad eyes. I'd love to live inside Disneyland!
I could tell that the news was starting to sink in and she has been slowly absorbing it and finding her own level of understanding with it. She started telling people "We are moving!" "I don't know where to!" I laugh, because as of right now, I don't know where to either!
I told her to consider it a game and a new adventure. That's what you're supposed to say, right? Yes...I think I read that on a parenting blog somewhere.... It seems like sound advice. I also told her that she could paint her new room pink. SHE could pick which color pink she wanted and SHE could help paint with her own brush. Suddenly, moving became much more lucrative and exciting. Every shade of pink we've seen the past few days has sparked much discussion over whether it's 'the right pink' or not. I can tell this is going to be a difficult decision and I anticipate many tense hours spent pacing the paint section at Home Depot looking at little swatches.
I never really realized though, that my daughter, who rarely takes after me at all, is also a decorator.
While using the potty today, she pointed up the large wall in our bathroom and said "Where did the butterflies go?" We had some butterfly art in frames that we had just taken down the night before as a start to operation:We must pack quickly or die trying. I told her they were packed for the new house and we'd have to find a new space for them. The Dictator said "But Mom! They go on that wall in this bathroom! They will not look right somewhere else! We should put them back!"I could see the OCD wheels turning in her head, because I too, worry that they will not look right anywhere else. In the end a compromise was reached and we put one frame back up, because "The bathroom looked naked without pictures."
I'm anticipating that the Dictator and I are going to have many decorating wars in the new house.
I was also anticipating that the Dictator might have a hard time adjusting to the idea of moving, and may get stressed when we do relocate. My fears were somewhat put to rest today though when I overheard her talking to her fish "Belle". Who is a male fish. Who lives in a pink castle. It's a sad life for Belle.
She told Belle- "Belle! Guess what?! I get to move to a new house! I get to paint my room pink!! I can't wait! I hate my room! It's sooooo ugly! Now I don't have to sleep in it! I get to sleep in pink!"
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Tattletale
I sometimes grossly underestimate the level of attention the Dictator pays to me when I'm talking. I really *should* know better by now, but sometimes I think that whatever I am talking about seems so boring that the Dictator would have no interest in listening to me anyways. I'm always wrong about this.
This weekend I noticed the Dictator's eye looked a little red. As the day went on, it got redder. A note had been sent out from school earlier in the week stating that pink eye was going around. The Dictator has never had pink eye, but I've seen lots of other kids when they've had it. I was 99.9% sure the Dictator had it. Blarg. :(
Trying to not alarm the Dictator, I asked ambiguous questions about how she was feeling and if any part of her body felt itchy. She told me "I feel like a giant broccoli" and "my fingernail itches". Hmmm....... No mention of her eye bothering her, and I didn't realize fingernails could itch.
I did have to randomly hold the Dictator still and look at her eye a few times, just to stay on top of the situation. The Politician and I did discuss pink eye a few times and talked about it while we were getting the Dictator ready for bed. I didn't think she was listening. She seemed too busy singing inappropriate songs as loud as she could while dancing around in front of the mirror. Naked. Yeah....that's how we do Sunday nights around here.
The next day, her eye looked all better, but I decided to just keep her home from school. In case it started to look worse or flare up after she was awake for awhile. I didn't even mention to her why she was staying home from school. I swear I didn't! We went to the mall, we saw Santa, we had lunch with friends, we spent too much money. We had a fun day together. We didn't talk about her eye at all! Not once all freaking day long!!
The next day the Dictator went to school. The Politician dropped her off with instructions from me to not mention pink eye or why she wasn't in school. I knew at that point it was not pink eye and she was not contagious. I didn't want to have people staring at her eye all day at school checking it, since I knew it was okay.
I went to get the Dictator from school. The first thing her teacher says:
"Her eye seemed fine today. A little red, but not oozy or pink eye looking. I think it's fine. I watched it just to be sure, but she seems a-okay"
At this point, I assume the Politician has dropped the ball.
Then her teacher says: "Sounds like you had a fun day yesterday! Did you get a lot of shopping done?"
Uh....yeah.....why would the Politician tell you about that? Hmmm.....
The Dictator comes running over to me.....
The Dictator: "Hi Momma! I told my teacher all about my pinky eye! I told her you took me shopping and to see Santa instead of school! Hurray! It was fun" and then the Dictator runs away with her friends. Sigh.....
This weekend I noticed the Dictator's eye looked a little red. As the day went on, it got redder. A note had been sent out from school earlier in the week stating that pink eye was going around. The Dictator has never had pink eye, but I've seen lots of other kids when they've had it. I was 99.9% sure the Dictator had it. Blarg. :(
Trying to not alarm the Dictator, I asked ambiguous questions about how she was feeling and if any part of her body felt itchy. She told me "I feel like a giant broccoli" and "my fingernail itches". Hmmm....... No mention of her eye bothering her, and I didn't realize fingernails could itch.
I did have to randomly hold the Dictator still and look at her eye a few times, just to stay on top of the situation. The Politician and I did discuss pink eye a few times and talked about it while we were getting the Dictator ready for bed. I didn't think she was listening. She seemed too busy singing inappropriate songs as loud as she could while dancing around in front of the mirror. Naked. Yeah....that's how we do Sunday nights around here.
The next day, her eye looked all better, but I decided to just keep her home from school. In case it started to look worse or flare up after she was awake for awhile. I didn't even mention to her why she was staying home from school. I swear I didn't! We went to the mall, we saw Santa, we had lunch with friends, we spent too much money. We had a fun day together. We didn't talk about her eye at all! Not once all freaking day long!!
The next day the Dictator went to school. The Politician dropped her off with instructions from me to not mention pink eye or why she wasn't in school. I knew at that point it was not pink eye and she was not contagious. I didn't want to have people staring at her eye all day at school checking it, since I knew it was okay.
I went to get the Dictator from school. The first thing her teacher says:
"Her eye seemed fine today. A little red, but not oozy or pink eye looking. I think it's fine. I watched it just to be sure, but she seems a-okay"
At this point, I assume the Politician has dropped the ball.
Then her teacher says: "Sounds like you had a fun day yesterday! Did you get a lot of shopping done?"
Uh....yeah.....why would the Politician tell you about that? Hmmm.....
The Dictator comes running over to me.....
The Dictator: "Hi Momma! I told my teacher all about my pinky eye! I told her you took me shopping and to see Santa instead of school! Hurray! It was fun" and then the Dictator runs away with her friends. Sigh.....
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Twilight
I hate to admit this, but I actually kinda liked the "Twilight" movies. I know.....they are SO cheesy! I even read the books. All of them. I did want to stab my eye out multiple times while reading them, but the creepy corny romance of them compelled me to read until the end. How did that woman get published? The writing is just so tragically bad. Even for a teen novel. Although the story is interesting, and weird, and really just so wrong that you have to keep reading it to see how wrong it can get. Maybe I just answered my own question. Anyways....
On to the movies....
Yes....I have seen them all. Some of them on opening day, as was the case with the last one.
After we left the theater, I started to feel a little sad. No more Bella and Edward movies! I laughed at myself for having such a stupid thought on the drive home.
The next morning I was driving along and a song came on the radio. It made me think of "Twilight" and Bella and Edward. What??! I don't even know who I am anymore.....
At the heart of this movie, it's a propaganda piece for pedophilia, subordination of women and seems to set out to prove how stupid the human race really is. I mean...NOBODY noticed that the Cullens are vampires? Really??! Oh, they are just very pale and kind of weird acting and never seem to get any older or change at all. Yeah....that seems normal. Nobody has snuck into their house to check them out? Nobody has died in the process? I can't believe that none of the Cullens has taken a little 'snack break' while at school. If I had to repeat high school chemistry over and over again for hundreds of years, you bet I'd take a little bite out of somebody.
Whatever. Maybe we really are that dumb. Maybe I have vampires living next door to me. Although I'm doubtful of that, since all of my neighbors are bordering on their centennial anniversaries. Maybe it's a front....
Every time a new movie comes out, my female friends get all excited and giddy about going to see it. I hear about how it's this amazing love story that tugs at their heart strings. Say what? Edward is what? 150 years old?? Bella is 16-18 depending on the movie. Um....that's not legal. I don't care if he's a vampire. He's still an old dude. Just because his body stopped aging doesn't mean his brain did. Is Edward really that childish? How can they have anything in common? The Politician and I are only 2 years apart, and we have multiple conversations where I bring up something from my childhood that he is too young to remember. If 2 years can be a big difference, I can't imagine what well over 100 would be like. Think of the awkward conversations... "Hey Bella, remember when t.v. came out? Remember the great depression? Remember a time before telephones? Hey Bella.....lets jitterbug! Oh yeah...you don't know what that is." Is Edward really into teenage girl drama? Bella doesn't seem super mature, intelligent or superior in any way to her peers. I know she supposedly smells really great and all, but now that she's a vampire and she's not so smelly I wonder what's left to their relationship. Sex only gets you so far. I'm betting Edward and Bella get divorced. She seems to have the conversational skills of a gnat. Does nobody notice this? In the movies she barely speaks! She just makes moody faces and looks off in supposedly deep contemplation. Why is everyone okay with this creepy old dude hooking up with a teenage girl? I'm sorry , if some 150 year old guy came to my house and wanted to hook up with the Dictator you can bet there would be bloodshed. His blood. Vampire or no. I'd kill that guy. I can't even begin to imagine what the Politician might do if he found out.
I actually feel slightly bad for that guy when I think about it.
To make the whole situation horribly worse, in the last movie a new character is introduced. Bella and Edward's love child. Sheesh....this is literature these days? The movie portrays the 'baby' as a CGI created 'advanced child' who can communicate through touch with those around her. The creepy CGI baby knowingly looks at her family members right away from birth on. Even one of my most die-hard fan friends couldn't help but laugh when she saw the ridiculously fake looking face they had stuck on the kid.
Ok...fine...at this point in the story this doesn't even seem implausible anymore and kind of makes good sense in a weird way. But then! Jacob (the werewolf. I don't have time to cover all of this in my post!) imprints (oi yoi yoi) on the baby! Whaaaaaaaaat?! Ok....crossing the line a bit Stephanie Meyer. I guess it's supposedly okay because the baby is not really a baby. She's advanced. Hmmm....my daughter is advanced. Not as advanced as Reneesme (wtf kind of name is that?). Bella named her. This proves my point on the maturity level. Bella goes from rock to snail in the course of the 4 movies. Anyways...my daughter is advanced. She would probably be able to date a 12-14 year old at this point. Does that mean I'm going to take out a personals ad? Um...no. So now we are supposed to be okay with creep geriatric Edward doing the deed with Bella AND Jacob (who is 17 I believe? maybe 18?) falling in love with A BABY! I don't care if it's a vampire baby! It's a baby and it's a little gross! I guess he doesn't look at her 'in that way' but like a brother. I bet when she turns 7 and is an adult (accelerated growth) he's gonna want to be more than siblings. But that's okay...because she's 'full grown'. Have I boggled your minds yet?
There's also the part where the vampire baby nearly killed Bella while she was pregnant. God forbid she gets an abortion and saves her life! That would be killing a baby! Ugh. Pro-life propaganda is EVERYWHERE these days! Spare me, please. There is nothing romantic about nearly dying because you stubbornly want to have your 150 year old husbands demon baby. It again just shows this girl is batshit nuts and everyone just smiles and goes along with her stupidity.
The end of the movie shows a lovely, dewy faced Bella looking into Edwards eyes and Jacob walking holding Renesme's hand (she's maybe 6-8ish physically now?) and smiling at his future bride.
My mind is blown. I'm disgusted. It's creepy. Why does society think this is an okay message for teenage girls? Somebody help me understand!
In the end though.....I am loathe to admit I will miss these movies. Mostly because I enjoy looking at Taylor Lautner without a shirt on. Hey....we only have a 10 year age difference. Much better than Bella and Edward!
On to the movies....
Yes....I have seen them all. Some of them on opening day, as was the case with the last one.
After we left the theater, I started to feel a little sad. No more Bella and Edward movies! I laughed at myself for having such a stupid thought on the drive home.
The next morning I was driving along and a song came on the radio. It made me think of "Twilight" and Bella and Edward. What??! I don't even know who I am anymore.....
At the heart of this movie, it's a propaganda piece for pedophilia, subordination of women and seems to set out to prove how stupid the human race really is. I mean...NOBODY noticed that the Cullens are vampires? Really??! Oh, they are just very pale and kind of weird acting and never seem to get any older or change at all. Yeah....that seems normal. Nobody has snuck into their house to check them out? Nobody has died in the process? I can't believe that none of the Cullens has taken a little 'snack break' while at school. If I had to repeat high school chemistry over and over again for hundreds of years, you bet I'd take a little bite out of somebody.
Whatever. Maybe we really are that dumb. Maybe I have vampires living next door to me. Although I'm doubtful of that, since all of my neighbors are bordering on their centennial anniversaries. Maybe it's a front....
Every time a new movie comes out, my female friends get all excited and giddy about going to see it. I hear about how it's this amazing love story that tugs at their heart strings. Say what? Edward is what? 150 years old?? Bella is 16-18 depending on the movie. Um....that's not legal. I don't care if he's a vampire. He's still an old dude. Just because his body stopped aging doesn't mean his brain did. Is Edward really that childish? How can they have anything in common? The Politician and I are only 2 years apart, and we have multiple conversations where I bring up something from my childhood that he is too young to remember. If 2 years can be a big difference, I can't imagine what well over 100 would be like. Think of the awkward conversations... "Hey Bella, remember when t.v. came out? Remember the great depression? Remember a time before telephones? Hey Bella.....lets jitterbug! Oh yeah...you don't know what that is." Is Edward really into teenage girl drama? Bella doesn't seem super mature, intelligent or superior in any way to her peers. I know she supposedly smells really great and all, but now that she's a vampire and she's not so smelly I wonder what's left to their relationship. Sex only gets you so far. I'm betting Edward and Bella get divorced. She seems to have the conversational skills of a gnat. Does nobody notice this? In the movies she barely speaks! She just makes moody faces and looks off in supposedly deep contemplation. Why is everyone okay with this creepy old dude hooking up with a teenage girl? I'm sorry , if some 150 year old guy came to my house and wanted to hook up with the Dictator you can bet there would be bloodshed. His blood. Vampire or no. I'd kill that guy. I can't even begin to imagine what the Politician might do if he found out.
I actually feel slightly bad for that guy when I think about it.
To make the whole situation horribly worse, in the last movie a new character is introduced. Bella and Edward's love child. Sheesh....this is literature these days? The movie portrays the 'baby' as a CGI created 'advanced child' who can communicate through touch with those around her. The creepy CGI baby knowingly looks at her family members right away from birth on. Even one of my most die-hard fan friends couldn't help but laugh when she saw the ridiculously fake looking face they had stuck on the kid.
Ok...fine...at this point in the story this doesn't even seem implausible anymore and kind of makes good sense in a weird way. But then! Jacob (the werewolf. I don't have time to cover all of this in my post!) imprints (oi yoi yoi) on the baby! Whaaaaaaaaat?! Ok....crossing the line a bit Stephanie Meyer. I guess it's supposedly okay because the baby is not really a baby. She's advanced. Hmmm....my daughter is advanced. Not as advanced as Reneesme (wtf kind of name is that?). Bella named her. This proves my point on the maturity level. Bella goes from rock to snail in the course of the 4 movies. Anyways...my daughter is advanced. She would probably be able to date a 12-14 year old at this point. Does that mean I'm going to take out a personals ad? Um...no. So now we are supposed to be okay with creep geriatric Edward doing the deed with Bella AND Jacob (who is 17 I believe? maybe 18?) falling in love with A BABY! I don't care if it's a vampire baby! It's a baby and it's a little gross! I guess he doesn't look at her 'in that way' but like a brother. I bet when she turns 7 and is an adult (accelerated growth) he's gonna want to be more than siblings. But that's okay...because she's 'full grown'. Have I boggled your minds yet?
There's also the part where the vampire baby nearly killed Bella while she was pregnant. God forbid she gets an abortion and saves her life! That would be killing a baby! Ugh. Pro-life propaganda is EVERYWHERE these days! Spare me, please. There is nothing romantic about nearly dying because you stubbornly want to have your 150 year old husbands demon baby. It again just shows this girl is batshit nuts and everyone just smiles and goes along with her stupidity.
The end of the movie shows a lovely, dewy faced Bella looking into Edwards eyes and Jacob walking holding Renesme's hand (she's maybe 6-8ish physically now?) and smiling at his future bride.
My mind is blown. I'm disgusted. It's creepy. Why does society think this is an okay message for teenage girls? Somebody help me understand!
In the end though.....I am loathe to admit I will miss these movies. Mostly because I enjoy looking at Taylor Lautner without a shirt on. Hey....we only have a 10 year age difference. Much better than Bella and Edward!
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Nutcrackers
Every once in awhile the Dictator just has a hard time saying a new word. This usually happens after she's learned too many new words at once and her little mouth just doesn't connect properly to her little brain. The first time I noticed this happening was when she came running to me yelling "Help! There is lots of bread!! Oh no! Bread! Bread on me! Bread on the ground!" Say whaaaat? Turns out bread=blood! There was indeed blood! She fell on the sidewalk and scraped up her little elbow pretty good. She was more concerned about the bread, er blood on the sidewalk than she ever was her elbow!
We've had lizards (scissors), alligators (escalators), sex (six. That phase sucked, since it was also a big counting phase), and lumpy hairs (gummy bears), along with many others.
I discovered the latest word challenge while we were at Target today. The Christmas stuff is up and proudly displayed throughout the entire store. Even the dog supply section was colorfully peppered with Christmas cheer. Antler hat and peppermint candy cane snacks for Fido? Check!
They also had a lovely selection of nutcrackers.
I'm not sure we've ever talked to the Dictator about nutcrackers before. We have a few, so she's seen them, but she's never really been curious and they are only up for a month or so at Christmas before they are packed away again. Yes...I have severe issues with people that break the boundary lines of decorating. There is to be no Christmas decorating before Thanksgiving! And you better take it all down New Years Eve weekend!
It actually felt a little wrong to be looking at the Christmas stuff. Especially since it's nearly 100 degrees here today. I was already breaking my own restrictions by having an iced peppermint mocha. A Christmas drink! The Dictator was having an iced gingerbread decaf latte. We were really feeling daring today! I wonder how those drinks taste warm? Living here in the desert, I doubt I'll ever know! We decided to be naughty and venture into the Christmas section.
There we were. Reveling in our defiance to traditions and actually contemplating buying Christmas-y type things! And then....the Dictator noticed the nutcrackers.....
"Oh Momma!" "Look!" "Aren't they pretty!" "I want one! I want a Butt Crack!" "Look at all the pretty Butt Cracks! Can I have one? Can I have a big, giant Butt Crack?" After a moment or two of confusion, I realized that Butt Crack does indeed equal nutcracker!
How could I say no? We bought the biggest Butt Crack, err...nutcracker we could find. The Dictator was overjoyed to show her new friend off to everyone we passed in the store and the cashier. "Look at my Butt Crack!" "It's a big one!"
Now that we are home, the Dictator and her Butt Crack are playing out in the yard together. Loudly playing in the yard together. I'm sure the neighbors love us. Although I have tried correcting her, and we are making progress. We've made it to Butt Cracker! Hey....that's a step in the right direction my friends!
We've had lizards (scissors), alligators (escalators), sex (six. That phase sucked, since it was also a big counting phase), and lumpy hairs (gummy bears), along with many others.
I discovered the latest word challenge while we were at Target today. The Christmas stuff is up and proudly displayed throughout the entire store. Even the dog supply section was colorfully peppered with Christmas cheer. Antler hat and peppermint candy cane snacks for Fido? Check!
They also had a lovely selection of nutcrackers.
I'm not sure we've ever talked to the Dictator about nutcrackers before. We have a few, so she's seen them, but she's never really been curious and they are only up for a month or so at Christmas before they are packed away again. Yes...I have severe issues with people that break the boundary lines of decorating. There is to be no Christmas decorating before Thanksgiving! And you better take it all down New Years Eve weekend!
It actually felt a little wrong to be looking at the Christmas stuff. Especially since it's nearly 100 degrees here today. I was already breaking my own restrictions by having an iced peppermint mocha. A Christmas drink! The Dictator was having an iced gingerbread decaf latte. We were really feeling daring today! I wonder how those drinks taste warm? Living here in the desert, I doubt I'll ever know! We decided to be naughty and venture into the Christmas section.
There we were. Reveling in our defiance to traditions and actually contemplating buying Christmas-y type things! And then....the Dictator noticed the nutcrackers.....
"Oh Momma!" "Look!" "Aren't they pretty!" "I want one! I want a Butt Crack!" "Look at all the pretty Butt Cracks! Can I have one? Can I have a big, giant Butt Crack?" After a moment or two of confusion, I realized that Butt Crack does indeed equal nutcracker!
How could I say no? We bought the biggest Butt Crack, err...nutcracker we could find. The Dictator was overjoyed to show her new friend off to everyone we passed in the store and the cashier. "Look at my Butt Crack!" "It's a big one!"
Now that we are home, the Dictator and her Butt Crack are playing out in the yard together. Loudly playing in the yard together. I'm sure the neighbors love us. Although I have tried correcting her, and we are making progress. We've made it to Butt Cracker! Hey....that's a step in the right direction my friends!
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Chatty Cathy
Everywhere we go people stop us to remark on the Dictators speech skills. She's been talking since she was 11 months old. I don't mean she would babble a few words that only I would understand. I mean she's been using real words in the correct context since 11 months old. At 15 months old she spoke around 200 words. By 18 months she spoke in sentences. I honestly can hardly remember a time before she was talking. To me, it seems that we have always been able to communicate through language of some form, even since birth.
So many of our friends lament about their children's own speech, wishing they spoke as well as the Dictator does. My friends.....listen closely to me......enjoy the silence. Enjoy it for as long as you have it. Once it ends, you will miss it more than you miss your 20 year old rear end.
The Dictator wakes up talking. Usually she's also poking my eyelids at the same time. Every day in our house starts the same way-
The Dictator: "Momma, the sun is up!"
Me: "Gosh darn the sun (remember, I am on a swearing strike! Must.Not.Swear. Must keep daughter in school to keep my own sanity.) I'm not quite ready to get up yet."
The Dictator: "Momma! The sun is uuuuuuuuuuuup! You need to be up too!"
I'm not sure why I fight it anymore. I always lose. It's like playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun and expecting things to work out in your favor.
At this point in the conversation I usually roll over, and attempt to ignore the Dictator. That never works. Who can ignore a 25 pound octopus on your head? Fine. I'm up.
The Dictator: "Good job, Momma!"
At this point I hate my life. I hate the sun. I hate myself for not investing in black out curtains for every square inch of wall space and windows we have. I want to die. I want coffee. I want coffee first and then I want to die.
I now need to use the restroom. I know there's not a chance in heck (again, no swearing! I'm fitting in better and better with my Hobby Lobby visiting, bake sale-ing, church-going neighbors by the second!) I'm going to get to go alone. Here comes the Dictator!
The Dictator: "Momma, do you need to pee or poop? Do you want me to hold your hand? Do you need toilet paper? Do you need water? Do you want to flush or should I? Can I see it? Can I touch it? I need to go too! NOOOOO! I don't really need to go! The toilet will flush me! Can a toilet flush you? Can you actually flush down the toilet and into the ocean like in Nemo? What ocean does Nemo live in? My teacher says there are different oceans. Does Nemo know that? We should tell him. I need to go to Disney World and tell him. I'm hungry. I want cereal. Ummm...I do need to go potty. I need to take a dump. Ooops...I mean I need to poop, please."
Me: "Coffee......I need coffee......."
The Dictator: "I'll make it! Do you want black coffee or sugar coffee? Can I have coffee? I want it in the purple cup! I want the butterfly purple cup! I want sugar coffee today. I want whip cream on top! I don't want to eat breakfast, I just want coffee! Lets make coffee!"
I say nothing. I stumble to the coffee pot. I get cups. I get the butterfly purple cup. That's a losing battle. Let the kid have coffee. We have decaf. At least she can't talk while she's drinking. We make coffee.
The Dictator: "I LOVE coffee! I want to have coffee again tomorrow. Don't you just love coffee? Does Nemo drink coffee? I bet he does. I bet the Fresh Beat Band drinks coffee too. So they have energy to go on stage and sing songs. Wow! I love Fresh Beat Band songs! Don't you? Ahhh....... Get the beat...Fresh Beat Band!"
Keep in mind that this has all happened in approximately 10 minutes. Maybe 15. I try to move quickly from the bed to the coffee pot.
Now imagine that this continues All.Day.Long.
It seems cute, and fun, and awesome. Until you have a 3 foot tall barnacle attached to your leg that questions your every move. Why are you wearing those shoes today? You never wear those shoes? What IS that stuff on my sandwich? I don't like broccoli. I want lettuce. Now. Where are my shoooooooooooes? Heeeeelp! I can't find my shooooooes! Ahhhhhhh!
It's like having a talking tumor. There's no getting away from it. It follows you. It's part of you. It stares at you and questions your logic in everything you do. Every single little thing you do.
Yes, there are many merits to having an amazingly linguistic 2.5 year old. I can reason with her. I can give her complicated instructions and she follows them. I can give her consequences. She can tell me her likes, dislikes and notify me if someone has treated her poorly when she is not in my presence. We can plan our days together and she has a voice, a true voice, in the decisions we make as a family. I am amazed daily by my daughters poignancy.
I am also, however, exhausted by the end of the day.
I fantasize that I will lose my hearing just for a day. A day of silence. Sorry! I can't hear you!! Wish I could! Try again tomorrow! Ahhh.......
For all my friends with newborns and young toddlers. Enjoy the silence. Enjoy going about your business without getting the third degree. Soon your children will be talking. And talking. And talking. Remember, I warned you. I told you so!!
So many of our friends lament about their children's own speech, wishing they spoke as well as the Dictator does. My friends.....listen closely to me......enjoy the silence. Enjoy it for as long as you have it. Once it ends, you will miss it more than you miss your 20 year old rear end.
The Dictator wakes up talking. Usually she's also poking my eyelids at the same time. Every day in our house starts the same way-
The Dictator: "Momma, the sun is up!"
Me: "Gosh darn the sun (remember, I am on a swearing strike! Must.Not.Swear. Must keep daughter in school to keep my own sanity.) I'm not quite ready to get up yet."
The Dictator: "Momma! The sun is uuuuuuuuuuuup! You need to be up too!"
I'm not sure why I fight it anymore. I always lose. It's like playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded gun and expecting things to work out in your favor.
At this point in the conversation I usually roll over, and attempt to ignore the Dictator. That never works. Who can ignore a 25 pound octopus on your head? Fine. I'm up.
The Dictator: "Good job, Momma!"
At this point I hate my life. I hate the sun. I hate myself for not investing in black out curtains for every square inch of wall space and windows we have. I want to die. I want coffee. I want coffee first and then I want to die.
I now need to use the restroom. I know there's not a chance in heck (again, no swearing! I'm fitting in better and better with my Hobby Lobby visiting, bake sale-ing, church-going neighbors by the second!) I'm going to get to go alone. Here comes the Dictator!
The Dictator: "Momma, do you need to pee or poop? Do you want me to hold your hand? Do you need toilet paper? Do you need water? Do you want to flush or should I? Can I see it? Can I touch it? I need to go too! NOOOOO! I don't really need to go! The toilet will flush me! Can a toilet flush you? Can you actually flush down the toilet and into the ocean like in Nemo? What ocean does Nemo live in? My teacher says there are different oceans. Does Nemo know that? We should tell him. I need to go to Disney World and tell him. I'm hungry. I want cereal. Ummm...I do need to go potty. I need to take a dump. Ooops...I mean I need to poop, please."
Me: "Coffee......I need coffee......."
The Dictator: "I'll make it! Do you want black coffee or sugar coffee? Can I have coffee? I want it in the purple cup! I want the butterfly purple cup! I want sugar coffee today. I want whip cream on top! I don't want to eat breakfast, I just want coffee! Lets make coffee!"
I say nothing. I stumble to the coffee pot. I get cups. I get the butterfly purple cup. That's a losing battle. Let the kid have coffee. We have decaf. At least she can't talk while she's drinking. We make coffee.
The Dictator: "I LOVE coffee! I want to have coffee again tomorrow. Don't you just love coffee? Does Nemo drink coffee? I bet he does. I bet the Fresh Beat Band drinks coffee too. So they have energy to go on stage and sing songs. Wow! I love Fresh Beat Band songs! Don't you? Ahhh....... Get the beat...Fresh Beat Band!"
Keep in mind that this has all happened in approximately 10 minutes. Maybe 15. I try to move quickly from the bed to the coffee pot.
Now imagine that this continues All.Day.Long.
It seems cute, and fun, and awesome. Until you have a 3 foot tall barnacle attached to your leg that questions your every move. Why are you wearing those shoes today? You never wear those shoes? What IS that stuff on my sandwich? I don't like broccoli. I want lettuce. Now. Where are my shoooooooooooes? Heeeeelp! I can't find my shooooooes! Ahhhhhhh!
It's like having a talking tumor. There's no getting away from it. It follows you. It's part of you. It stares at you and questions your logic in everything you do. Every single little thing you do.
Yes, there are many merits to having an amazingly linguistic 2.5 year old. I can reason with her. I can give her complicated instructions and she follows them. I can give her consequences. She can tell me her likes, dislikes and notify me if someone has treated her poorly when she is not in my presence. We can plan our days together and she has a voice, a true voice, in the decisions we make as a family. I am amazed daily by my daughters poignancy.
I am also, however, exhausted by the end of the day.
I fantasize that I will lose my hearing just for a day. A day of silence. Sorry! I can't hear you!! Wish I could! Try again tomorrow! Ahhh.......
For all my friends with newborns and young toddlers. Enjoy the silence. Enjoy going about your business without getting the third degree. Soon your children will be talking. And talking. And talking. Remember, I warned you. I told you so!!
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