Monday, February 21, 2011

Day with Daddy

Sloan had President's Day off.  We can't really figure out why exactly seeing as he works for a company based in Australia.  But a day when Sloan has no work, Henry has no school, and it is temperate weather in February was just what the Doctor ordered for this house that has had its fair share of sickness in the past week.  We're done with the pukes, but Sloan and Henry have hacking coughs, Gracie is cutting teeth (which leaves her prone to bouts of teething induced bulimia from shoving her entire hand down her throat which basically means we've reintroduced the daytime passie, augh), and I, well,  I am dog tired from piles of laundry and being cooped up. 

First on our list:  KINDERMUSIK with Gracie.  At first, I was skeptical of the pricey class geared towards toddlers.  But it was a Christmas present from her Gigi and Papa.  Folks, I can not say this enough--WORTH EVERY PENNY.  We will be signing both kids up for camps this summer.  Why?  I can tell that it has helped with Gracie's vocabulary and listening skills.  And anything that helps a toddler follow directions is worth its weight in gold.  Second, there are take home materials that Henry has been enjoying as well--a CD, music sticks, and a sing along book.  Yesterday, the kids listened to the CD and danced, sang, and made music BY THEMSELVES for 30 minutes. 
This evening, Henry sang and read Gracie the Animal Serenade book three times.  He was pointing to the notes and pictures and trying to teach Gracie what a glissando is.  I wonder if I had put Henry in Kindermusik when he was Gracie's age if we would have had so many issues with his speech.  As it is now, neither of my children will shut up. 

After the four us went to music class, we headed off the the Richmond Metro Zoo.  We got our Annual Zoo passes.  We always get the more pricey ones so we can ride the carousel, sky ride, and safari train as many times as we like, but today they only charged us for the regular passes.  It wasn't an advertised special.  So I, being honest, told the woman she didn't charge us enough.  The lady, flustered because the line was winding through the gift shop, assured me that she had done it correctly.  So, for some weird reason, we saved close to $50.  And she gave us coupons for free giraffe food, sno cones, and bird food. 

This was not Gracie's first trip to the zoo, but it was her first trip to the zoo as a participant.  Last summer, she really was just a great mound of cuteness in the back of our piggyback stroller.  This time, she was up and about.  Or should I say, not about it.  She enjoyed the monkeys and the safari train.  She was NOT a fan of feeding the giraffe.  Henry kept trying to take her hand to pet the giraffe's nose.  She was screaming bloody murder and trying to wrestle out of my arms.  This is why there is not a picture.  Basically, she liked seeing the animals (she particularly liked barking at the prairie dogs), but was not a fan of the petting zoo parts of the zoo.  She also hates bats and camels. 

Me too.


Feed the Birds.  Toppins a budgie stick.

Riding the Sky Ride.
Which I hate.  I did it once and I just don't see the need to fly over zebras, rhinos, and lions.  Just seems unnatural.  It should also be noted that Henry was about to take off his shoes to get on as last summer I made him take off his Crocs to ride, fearful one of his shoes would plummet into a big pile of rhino poo never to be seen again.

A baby goat takes a sky ride of his own in the barnyard.
Henry thought this was hilarious.


So he decided to tell the goat he was funny and that despite hearing that Bieber has recently cut his hair, he's keeping his Beiber 'do.  (Yeah.  The kid hasn't had a real haircut since September.  But I kind of love that my kid has a Beiber 'do.)
Riding the carousel.  Gracie was not a fan.  Even when Daddy hopped on the Zebra with her. 

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Murphy's Law of Childhood Sickness...

Last week.  When it was still freakin' cold outside. 

Article One:  You are most likely to get the pukes when it is the first week of pseudo-Spring weather (sunny and 60s). 

Article Two:  You are doubly likely to get the pukes if  it is Springlike and you are at school and it is just before your Valentine's Day party and your Mommy is unavailable because she is with your sister at her Kindermusik class.  (Thank God for Daddies.)

Corollary to articles one and two:  If, the above two articles are true, it is also highly likely that Daddy will have to go out of town and Mommy will run out of laundry detergent. 


Article Three:  If, perchance, there are two stomach bugs that are going around, one that is 24 hours long and one that last for days, you will catch the latter.

Praying that Article Four doesn't come into effect:  Freakish Texas snow occurs yet again causing Daddy to be in Dallas into the weekend. 

Corollary to article four:  Mommy loses it from having watched too much "Chuggington" and "Thomas and Friends".  Most likely, this will result in some train related break from reality a la "Inception".

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Confession

For the second night in a row, Henry is sleeping in his sleeping bag on top of his mattress pad.  Because the other night his pull-up leaked and soiled his sheets. 
And the cleaning lady who changes the sheets comes tomorrow.
Boys like camping out, right?

Monday, February 7, 2011

It's A Bird. It's A Plane. No---It's Super Moms!

Coming soon to the WB.

An all new series. It’s dark. It’s sexy. It’s real. It’s called “Super Moms”. 5 women who fight germs in their everyday lives, but also, secretly, fight crime with their Super Mommy Super powers.

It’s one part Charlie’s Angels, one part Superbad, one part The Incredibles, one part Wonder Woman, one part Heroes, and 100% awesome. (Sloan thinks it is three parts crazy.)

The stars? Me. (Duh.) The Donovan sisters of Austin, TX—Mollie and Erin. Angie of On the Rocks and Straight Up. And Law Momma of Spilled Milk and Other Atrocities. It’s a stellar ensemble cast, but let’s be clear…I’m the headliner. Sure, they’ll all become household names, but I’m the Courtney Cox to this cast of Friends.

Why these women? Because these women remind me that I am already a Super Mom. That even without a cape, I’m doing alright. They do this by being real. And being funny. By teaching their children right from wrong. By not apologizing for letting their kids watch a little too much Dora, or for not negotiating with terrorists, er, I mean three year olds. By valuing their health and fitness, but not at the cost of their sanity. So while we will certainly be clad in Lycra and Spandex and have rock hard abs and beautiful hair, don’t think Cameron Diez or Jennifer Garner. Think Kate Winslet. Beyonce. Jennifer Lopez. Because let’s face it, waifs can’t pack kicks to the head like real women can.

To clarify, this idea sprung up last week. I was ticked about something and had an Allie McBeal/John Dorian fantasy in which I was a Superhero. I was in thigh high stiletto boots, a dark purple (so dark it looked black) patent leather unitard, a flowing black cape with a high collar, elbow length gloves, had purple hair and I was kicking ass.

Then, between poopy diapers, I revisited the fantasy. This time, there were 5 of us. And we were strutting towards the camera in a V, long locks flowing, a la Reservoir Dogs or the Right Stuff, with the song "Sexy Chick" by David Guetta and Akon rocking in the background. Folks-- We. Were. Bad. Ass. There really is no other way to describe it.

It was right then and there that any and all previous aspirations to be a princess became anathema. I want to be a Superhero.

It was also at this point that my facebook status became: Has found herself fantasizing about being a super hero a la "Hit girl" with sidekicks: the Donovan women of TX, Angie K of NC, and Law Momma of GA. And we all have rock hard abs, long flowy hair, and a soundtrack featuring the Black Eyed Peas and David Guetta. It goes without saying that we are a force to be reckoned with...

27 facebook comments later…I think we may be on to something.

But for brevity’s sake (like that’s ever mattered here!) here is a rundown of the Supers. Also, since we’re all Mom’s in our “normal” lives, it goes without saying we all have eyes in the backs of our heads. Duh. And we can conquer whining with the blink of an eye. And each of our powers is derived from our strengths in real life as well. Once again, duh.

Me—The Hammer. I’ve blatantly stolen this name from my brother. It’s what his kids jokingly call him. As in, “Hey, little sister, you better give me back my toy or I’m gonna go tell the Hammer.” So emblazoned across my cape and belt buckle is a silver hammer. My power? Superhuman strength. (It occurs to me as I type this; I am not unlike the Hulk. I’m pretty sure Sloan would agree with this.) My signature move (for the video game) is a swift roundhouse kick followed by my right fist slamming down like a hammer. Most likely causing sidewalks to ripple. I also carry with me my mighty pen. Which is really like Harold’s purple crayon. Should the Supermoms need a flying car, I simply draw us one.

Mollie—Freeze Frame. Mollie, whom I first met at camp a billion years ago and has ever since been one of my nearest and dearest friends, is a mom to three beautiful girls and also is a professional photographer. Her costume is orange, red, and hot pink. Orange because she loves it, and the other colors because I don’t want her looking like a Halloween character or a Virginia Tech fan. But her suit is orange, her boots and cape pink, her mask, belt, and weaponry red. Her power? With her camera, she can stop time. This also means she can teleport. Pretty. Wicked. Awesome. On facebook, Mollie commented, “In one episode I'd like to finish our work by 5 and stand stirring hot dinner at the stove when my husband arrives home, starts to complain about his 'hard day' then I can turn and give the camera a knowing wink and slight eye roll.” This is what I’m talking about, people.

Erin—simply E. (Like Ian Fleming’s M.) Erin is Mollie’s big sister. She is mother to two beautiful twin girls and can craft and sew like nobody’s business. Therefore, obviously, E’s superpower is her gadgetry. She has armbands, which to the unsuspecting eye, simply look like those pin cushions seamstresses wear on their wrists. But be warned, they shoot missiles. And she can throw her sewing needles with deadly accuracy and can even wrap up villains with her needles and thread. Her suit is Baylor Green, her boots, belt, and cape—Baylor Gold (obviously). Randomly, E also is an excellent archer.

Angie—Lady America. Angie and I went to high school together. And Carolina, where we both were in the Honors Creative Writing program. She is a recovering attorney and mom to 4 year old boy and girl twins. Angie told us on facebook that she has a penetrating stank-eye that can subdue any toddler. Or super villain. She also wrote that she “will be brandishing a magic whip, that, when cracked, snaps all clutter and errant toys back to their proper places and simultaneously de-germs whole houses.” This magic whip also de-arms super villains, allows her to swing from high places, and just looks super awesome strapped to her Wonder Woman-esque costume. She even has a golden tiara and a star and sequin studded bustier, which complement her golden hot pants nicely.

Law Momma—Justice. Law Momma and I grew up and also were Debutantes together. If you know Law Momma and me, the fact that we were Debutantes should make you laugh. But let it be known, we laughed and got in trouble. A lot. And made the wrong people pissed at all the right times. Law Momma is also an attorney and mom to a toddler boy. Law Momma would prefer to not have a cape. She writes, “No capes! Do you remember Thunderhead??! NOVEMBER 15th of 58!” No worries. Justice’s costume is modeled after the Grecian statue of justice. With a dash of Lady Liberty thrown in. She has a pointed crown made of pure platinum which she can hurl with deadly accuracy. Her spandex minidress is sage green with silver and white accents. She has thigh high white boots. What at first may appear to be the scales of justice is really a giant Ninja sword. And she’s been trained in Krav Maga by Mossad. And the scariest part? She doesn’t have a mask. She has a blindfold. As in, she kicks butt blindfolded. (But in a way that is much scarier than that lamo Ben Affleck movie). On facebook, she asked, “Can I end all our episodes by banging a gavel on the head of whoever we beat down and say "Justice served YOU, bitch!" Perhaps not every episode, but definitely several.

Angie pointed out that we may need Superhero daycare. At first, I suggested that we all have pool boys who double as mannies. But I really want us to be Super Moms, not Super sluts. (Thigh boots notwithstanding.) That is why I have added an additional character. We have a boss. Really more of a mentor and coach, who sends us on missions and watches our children for us. Who is this Charlie-esque boss? None other than the original Super Mom: Phylicia Rashad. That’s right—Claire Huxtable is our wrangler.

It should be noted that Sloan is a little frightened by how much thought I’ve given this. And I will confess that it has not slipped my mind that a vast majority of this planning was done while I was still hepped up on painkillers from the great fall of 2011. But seriously, when your facebook status warrants 27 comments, how can I not blog about it?

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Incredible Bruise

**This post was written while under the influence of painkillers.  It took over two days to complete.**

This (yesterday) morning, in an act that can be heralded as nothing short of motherly heroism, I broke my phone.  To be more specific, I slipped on our ice-covered front porch stairs and landed on my butt on our driveway.  Why didn't I catch myself, you ask?  That's where I got heroic.  Because I was carrying Gracie. 

After a quick mental check to see if I could still feel my feet (barely), I was fairly certain I'd broken my hip and that, most likely, I was bleeding from my right (butt) cheek.  Immediately, I started screaming for Sloan to come get the chubbster. Sloan, being the rocket scientist that he is, came outside, saw me crying on the pavement with Gracie screaming in my arms and said, "What happened?" 

I cannot report what I said to him.  But if you live in my zip code, you probably heard me screaming some choice words.  While holding my daughter.  Awesome.  Did I mention that this hollering happened because I was worried about being late to my Bible Study?

Gracie was scared, partly because of the fall, partly because she hated her 6 puffed ponytail hairdo, but mostly because her Mommy was screaming obscenities at her daft father who wasn't sure how to help her invalid Mom.

Then, once Sloan had gotten with the program and basically taken care of everything,  I went to check to see what time it was on my phone.  Which had been in my back pocket during the great fall of 2011.  Busted.  Completely.  Broken glass shattered.

I still managed to make it to Bible Study on time (thanks to my wonderful husband), but by the time I had crossed the river, it became apparent to me that I actually had done damage to more than just the Droid.  There was a phone sized bruise developing on my bum, my hips were throbbing, and I could feel the pain climbing up my vertebrae.  I knew it was going to be a long day as Gracie continued to scream in her car seat.  She hates her car seat.  This is usually curbed by me handing her toys throughout the ride.  But I physically could not turn my neck to help her.  Henry handed her a Kazoo.  Which, it turns out, was the perfect toy.  Kazoo beats screaming any day of the week.

While at Bible Study, a buddy gave me some Motrin.  It didn't touch it.  I was limping and fighting the tears by the time we rolled home after lunch.  Thankfully, Sloan was in town and so was available for to watch the kids while I went to the Doctor. 

The doctor, while rubbing my bum said, "Hmmm. There's definitely some deep tissue damage here in the shape of a .....hmmmm....cell phone?  That's going to be black and blue by tomorrow."  Yep, it is.  He prescribed me some hydrocodone and a muscle relaxer.  Good times. 

After the doctors, I went to have my prescriptions filled.  While at the grocery store, I realized just how addicted I am to my cell phone, texting, facebook, and just 21st century technology in general.  It felt strange to go from one place to another without calling Sloan with an update.  Is this how marriage used to be?  You just trusted your spouse to go from one place to another?  Husbands were able to work entire days without getting word-for-word play-by-plays of their wives' every conversation and movements?  Well, that just sounds horrible.  (Sloan would probably say it sounds horribly productive.)

So while I'm waiting for my drugs, I set up shop with my Ipad in the makeshift tailgating living room they have set up for the Superbowl.  Reclined in a leather chair, feet propped up on a coffee table made of a palette's worth of Budlight.  How happy was I to discover that Kroger has Wifi.  So I began to email Sloan my status update.  (And check facebook, of course.)  Let me say that emailing back and forth is much less satisfying than texting.  Too slow.  And way to difficult to discern sarcasm. 

Sloan asked me if I was home yet.  Which of course freaked me out, because if he didn't know I wasn't home, where the heck was he? 

He and Henry were "working" in his office on the third floor. 

But then Sloan emailed me to hurry home and make him dinner.  I didn't pick up on the joke, and quickly emailed him back a short two worded email.  Which then, of course, elicited a "don't come home til you change your attitude" email.  Awesome. 

But then I thought, "Heck, what are we having for dinner?"  Soooo....

Minutes later, with two pill bottles clanking in my pocket, I was belly up at the Bar next to the grocery store waiting on 3 dozen Chili Garlic wings and an order of fried pickles.  And when I say bar, I don't mean this is a restaurant with a bar.  The Sportspage Bar and Grill is known for their awesome wings but it is a BAR.  As in, it has been illegal to smoke in bars and restaurants in VA for over a year and this place still smells smoky.  But at least it had WiFi. 

So of course I had to have a frosty mug of beer while I waited.  I chugged it, having forgotten how yummy that frosted mug can make draft beer taste.  The waitress asked, "Wow.  Do you want another?" 

"No thanks, " I said.  After all, that Vicodin in my pocket wasn't going to take itself...

Once home, Sloan was wonderful.  He served up the meal, bathed the kids, and was even careful to be gentle with Gracie's hair while scrubbing.  (I'm pretty particular about her hair care if you haven't noticed.) After putting the kids to bed, he even went to fuel up my car and get a movie for us from RedBox.  Let me just say that Get Him to the Greek is even funnier on Vicodin and Muscle Relaxers.  At least the parts I was able to stay awake for.

Today has been worse.  My ribs ache.  When the painkillers wear off, it hurts to breathe. And the painkiller by itself doesn't completely knock out the pain.  Just sort of dulls it.   Sloan has had to go out of town, so my help is gone.  And despite the fact that it is sunny, beautiful, and close to 70 degrees outside, we are inside watching our third Thomas video (because us seeing the Thomas stage show this morning was not enough, apparently).  I thought about letting Henry go out in the back yard by himself, but it is muddy and he'd get all gross in the sandbox and would need a bath.  And I just can't do that.  I can't take both the muscle relaxer and the Vicodin together without being high as a kite and I don't want to be high while the kids are awake.  The Vicodin by itself just sort of slows me down.  Makes me dumb.  I searched for twenty minutes for my laptop.  My laptop that was on our kitchen island.  I kept getting distracted by the Oreos in the pantry.  

All I can say is that I'm declaring tomorrow a jammy day.  And tonight, my sweet husband rented me Twilight:Eclipse--which may just prove to be a decent movie all jacked up. If this post is all jacked up, well, just remember it all started with one woman's heroic act to save her child.