Henry is the little boy above the P in Preschool. And he is wearing a purple polo shirt and puts a box of pasta in a bag. Then he picks his nose. Classic. I'm also proud of his school. He now prays for his "friends" that are hungry in addition to saving his happy meal toys (his choice!) for Operation Shoe Box.
Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts
Showing posts with label TV. Show all posts
Friday, April 8, 2011
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?
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?
Friday, June 19, 2009
Reality Television
Sloan has discovered the secret recipe for a successful reality judging show. And it is in the judges...
1 Black guy with a crazy vocabulary
+ 1 crazy Latina Woman
+ 1 British man
= Fox Hit Show.
And if you can't find these three people, just search NJ for a housewife. Preferably an Italian housewife with a penchant for flipping tables. (Oh. My. Gosh.)
1 Black guy with a crazy vocabulary
+ 1 crazy Latina Woman
+ 1 British man
= Fox Hit Show.
And if you can't find these three people, just search NJ for a housewife. Preferably an Italian housewife with a penchant for flipping tables. (Oh. My. Gosh.)
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Coming soon to Lifetime Television
The made for TV movie of my life. What will it be called? Elizabethtown, of course. (And yes, I did make Sloan pull off the interstate so I could get out of the car and take this picture.)
Literally, for at least 30 minutes a day and longer on the trips to and from, Sloan and I cast the bioepic of my life. I even decided some of the music for the Soundtrack. Because I have so many friends, we have only cast thus far my family.
The cast:
Me--Anne Hathaway. Yes, she'll have to Bridget Jones a bit to play the role. But if you don't think she has the comedic chops to play me, simply rent Bride Wars and pay specific attention to the Dance Off scene during the Bachelorette party.
Sloan--Ben Affleck. For a minute or two he was played by Neil Patrick Harris. And when he gets old he will sooooo be Alec Baldwin.
Sonya (my sister)--Mary Louise Parker.
Biff (Sonya's husband)--Tom Cruise. (This is a big budget made for TV movie.)
Bill (my brother)--Sean Patrick Leanard.
Pam (my sister-in-law)--Emily Proctor (of West Wing and CSI:Miami) Because Reese Witherspoon is too young and Julia Roberts is too tall.
My mom--Stockard Channing.
My dad--Henry Winkler. (Thank you Sloan for this perfect match as I couldn't get past thinking of Martin Sheen whose teeth are too huge to be a dentist's.)
Sloan's Mom--Sally Field.
Sloan's Dad--Brian Dennehy.
And from the soundtrack--
All My Life, David Wilcox
Wide Open Spaces, Dixie Chicks
Superstition, Stevie Wonder
Chocolate, Erin Ivey (for the sexy parts--I dare you not to want to make out with your honey to this song!)
One Angry Dwarf, Ben Folds Five (For the rolling credits, as a way to say "Hey, suck it!" to the people in high school who bothered me. That's right, I've got a bioepic on Lifetime. Only Kara's Tony award could top that in my graduating class.)
Superman, Lazlo Bane (Theme from the TV show Scrubs.)
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
High Speed My Fanny
I just spent 4 hours waiting on the cable guy for him to come to my house and say, "Oh. You already have an HD DVR. There's nothing you need from me. Ha!"
Well, can I get my four hours back?
I was planning on going to the gym today, but took my shower already while waiting for you and everybody knows that I'm incapable of bathing twice in one day!
Well, can I get my four hours back?
I was planning on going to the gym today, but took my shower already while waiting for you and everybody knows that I'm incapable of bathing twice in one day!
Monday, February 2, 2009
Henry explora obediencia
Dora was a hit!
He wasn't afraid of anything. He clapped, shimmied his shoulders, shook his star. The best part was that he sat in my lap the whole time. Of course, this is because this was the day I discovered he has decided to make up for all of the meals he missed last week with the stomach bug. So he had to sit on my lap to eat his baggie of cheerios, baggie of yogurt melts, baggie of chocolate bunnies, baggie of raisins, and 2 dum dums. Praise God I thought to pack snacks. (Since then he has had to be fed pretty much every 2 hours or there are serious melt downs.) Unfortunately, the Dora show has caused me to be in a perpetual state of singing, "Dora Dora Dora the Explorer!" I'm driving myself crazy. He also enjoyed his Diego doll that we got at the Dora meet and great as well. He sits it on the floor next to him and then shows it all of his trains. Sometimes the trains even use Diego as a hill.
More importantly, though, it should be noted that Saturday afternoon, Henry obeyed me twice! This is HUGE! He now consistently, upon being told to put up his trains, puts his trains in their basket. The rest of the toys, he doesn't touch. I think this may be because the trains just go in a giant open basket on the floor, while the rest of the toys have tubs they go in on shelves. Also on Saturday, he put away his crayons without having to be asked. I find this remarkable. When I told Sloan about it, he commented, "Wow. I don't even pick up after myself without having to be asked." No, Sloan, you do not. I've been meaning to talk to you about this...
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
My name is Elizabeth and I am a winner
That's right. I'm a winner. My gym was having a free drawing and guess what, WE WON!!! What did we win? Free massage? Alas, no. WE WON 4 FREE TICKETS TO SEE DORA THE EXPLORER and even 4 PASSES TO A SPECIAL PARTY BEFOREHAND TO MEET DORA!!!
I know you're jealous.
But the problem is, when the man called me on Monday to tell me we'd won, I suddenly realized that 1) Sloan will be out of town for the event, and, possibly more important, 2) Henry has no idea who Dora is.
So it has sort of been a blessing that Henry and I have been riding the poop soup express as of late.* We've been able to catch up on Dora. And he likes it. He shimmies his shoulders a lot when they sing. I'm taking this as a good sign.
But I have a few questions about Dora.
1. Why are you always alone with that monkey? Where are your parents? Shouldn't they be accompanying you to your cousin's quinceanara? Especially since you have to go over a bridge with known troll activity, through a rain forest, and since that vagrant "Swiper" has yet to be apprehended. That just seems like bad parenting. Should I call social services?
2. Just follow the friggin' path. I'm not Magellan, but why do you need a map when your destination is always at the end of a path. Sure, you got to go through the knock-knock door and then the catcher's pond, but seriously, they are all on the same road. Or hey, wait a minute, you say you are going to the tall mountain. Why don't you just look up and walk towards the tall mountain?
3. Seriously, what's up with "Swiper?" He has to be the worst thief ever--or maybe--he is just misunderstood. If all it takes is you shaking your finger and saying "Swiper, no swiping!" three times, perhaps he really isn't interested in taking your umbrella. Also, when Diego joins you, why don't you just stick his baby jaguar on Swiper. I'm pretty sure a jaguar could take out a fox any day.
4. Where did you get that backpack? Does it come in other colors or styles? I'd pay good money to have a purse that neatly arranged all of its contents at the simple command "purse." (I can see it now. Henry is waiting patiently in the grocery cart while I look for my keys. I say purse, and then poof! flying in a circle around my purse are all of its contents. Awesome!)
All this aside, we are stoked. And by we, I mean me. We've invited H's BFF Nathan and his mommy Rebecca to come along. And if the boys hate it, who cares? It was free. (I have, however, looked online to see how much these tix are worth. Who are these people who are paying $77 a ticket to go see Dora? )
*I have to admit, no matter how many times it means I have to change his diaper, I still find it hilarious that my son farts so loud. Seriously, it is like someone sitting on a woopie cushion. And every time he toots he poops. But he doesn't seem to mind. It doesn't stop him from playing with his trucks, talking on the phone, or breakin' it down to Dora. Oh, by the way, I'm totally feeling 100% better. And I'm 4 pounds lighter without having worked out since Saturday. SCORE!
I know you're jealous.
But the problem is, when the man called me on Monday to tell me we'd won, I suddenly realized that 1) Sloan will be out of town for the event, and, possibly more important, 2) Henry has no idea who Dora is.
So it has sort of been a blessing that Henry and I have been riding the poop soup express as of late.* We've been able to catch up on Dora. And he likes it. He shimmies his shoulders a lot when they sing. I'm taking this as a good sign.
But I have a few questions about Dora.
1. Why are you always alone with that monkey? Where are your parents? Shouldn't they be accompanying you to your cousin's quinceanara? Especially since you have to go over a bridge with known troll activity, through a rain forest, and since that vagrant "Swiper" has yet to be apprehended. That just seems like bad parenting. Should I call social services?
2. Just follow the friggin' path. I'm not Magellan, but why do you need a map when your destination is always at the end of a path. Sure, you got to go through the knock-knock door and then the catcher's pond, but seriously, they are all on the same road. Or hey, wait a minute, you say you are going to the tall mountain. Why don't you just look up and walk towards the tall mountain?
3. Seriously, what's up with "Swiper?" He has to be the worst thief ever--or maybe--he is just misunderstood. If all it takes is you shaking your finger and saying "Swiper, no swiping!" three times, perhaps he really isn't interested in taking your umbrella. Also, when Diego joins you, why don't you just stick his baby jaguar on Swiper. I'm pretty sure a jaguar could take out a fox any day.
4. Where did you get that backpack? Does it come in other colors or styles? I'd pay good money to have a purse that neatly arranged all of its contents at the simple command "purse." (I can see it now. Henry is waiting patiently in the grocery cart while I look for my keys. I say purse, and then poof! flying in a circle around my purse are all of its contents. Awesome!)
All this aside, we are stoked. And by we, I mean me. We've invited H's BFF Nathan and his mommy Rebecca to come along. And if the boys hate it, who cares? It was free. (I have, however, looked online to see how much these tix are worth. Who are these people who are paying $77 a ticket to go see Dora? )
*I have to admit, no matter how many times it means I have to change his diaper, I still find it hilarious that my son farts so loud. Seriously, it is like someone sitting on a woopie cushion. And every time he toots he poops. But he doesn't seem to mind. It doesn't stop him from playing with his trucks, talking on the phone, or breakin' it down to Dora. Oh, by the way, I'm totally feeling 100% better. And I'm 4 pounds lighter without having worked out since Saturday. SCORE!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Inaugural Fashion Behind the Scenes
In case you didn't know, I'm a fashion expert. And by expert I mean I've watched my fair share of Project Runway, What Not to Wear, and Tim Gunn's Guide to Style. So I'm qualified to share my opinion on the Inaugural Fashion.
For starters, holy cow, Aretha. Your hat kicked so much ass I can't even begin to say how much I loved it. Where did you get it? I've never seen a store that carried bedazzled bow berets. And do you think I could pull it off? Could we please make wearing hats to church come back in style? Please. Please. I mean that thing was just begging for Prince to write a song about it. You wanted respect, and lady, you have won mine.
I've also imagined some behind the scenes conversations between Michelle and Barack. The first one goes like this...
President Obama: Dang, it's gonna be cold.
First Lady: Don't you even dare to complain about the cold. You get to wear long pants. Laura and I are stuck with bare legs in uncomfortable shoes.
P.O.: You get to wear pantyhose.
F.L.: You get to wear Long Johns.
P.O. Maybe if you thought about a coat that actually closed rather than just tying with a ribbon.
F.L.: Barack, don't test a woman in hose. At least the kids get to wear gloves.
P.O.: Seriously.
And then the conversation they had over and over while twirling to Etta James...
FL: You've got to twirl me.
PO: Are you serious? I've twirled you at 3 of these things already. Can't we come up with a new move?
FL: They don't want to see you. They want to see the dress.
PO: You mean that big ass dress I keep stepping on?
FL: It flows.
PO: It's too long.
FL: I am able to hide my Secret Service Agent under it.
PO: How practical.
I mean seriously. She looked beautiful, but I've got to say I half expected her to lift her dress and all of Mother Ginger's children to come out and start dancing the Nutcracker. That would have been some ball!
For starters, holy cow, Aretha. Your hat kicked so much ass I can't even begin to say how much I loved it. Where did you get it? I've never seen a store that carried bedazzled bow berets. And do you think I could pull it off? Could we please make wearing hats to church come back in style? Please. Please. I mean that thing was just begging for Prince to write a song about it. You wanted respect, and lady, you have won mine.
I've also imagined some behind the scenes conversations between Michelle and Barack. The first one goes like this...
President Obama: Dang, it's gonna be cold.
First Lady: Don't you even dare to complain about the cold. You get to wear long pants. Laura and I are stuck with bare legs in uncomfortable shoes.
P.O.: You get to wear pantyhose.
F.L.: You get to wear Long Johns.
P.O. Maybe if you thought about a coat that actually closed rather than just tying with a ribbon.
F.L.: Barack, don't test a woman in hose. At least the kids get to wear gloves.
P.O.: Seriously.
And then the conversation they had over and over while twirling to Etta James...
FL: You've got to twirl me.
PO: Are you serious? I've twirled you at 3 of these things already. Can't we come up with a new move?
FL: They don't want to see you. They want to see the dress.
PO: You mean that big ass dress I keep stepping on?
FL: It flows.
PO: It's too long.
FL: I am able to hide my Secret Service Agent under it.
PO: How practical.
I mean seriously. She looked beautiful, but I've got to say I half expected her to lift her dress and all of Mother Ginger's children to come out and start dancing the Nutcracker. That would have been some ball!
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
42 cents of validation
I just love getting Christmas cards. Like the number of my facebook friends, I see each card as a sign of my worth. The more cards I get, obviously, the more cool I am. I have each card received taped to the windows in our kitchen. Hopefully, I'll be so popular I won't see all of the leaves I've failed to rake in my backyard.
I particularly love the photo cards. So far, I have a tie between my two favorites. One is from a friend who, in addition to the pics of her kids being cute and smiling, has a photo of her son and daughter singing into a microphone. Her 2 year old son is in his pjs and holding the mic, while the 4 year daughter poses quite saucily behind him. I love this photo so much because it gives me a sense of their personalities. My other favorite card is from a friend who is pregnant. The card has three pics on it--one of the ultrasound, one of her and her husband, and one of the cat. This makes me laugh for several reasons. 1. Sloan's reaction. "Awesome. I was waiting for a picture of her uterus." and 2. I wonder if the cat will get equal billing next Christmas or will he, as I suspect, be excluded from the card. Maybe my friend can take a picture that captures what I imagine her reality to be like next year. A picture of her little one tormenting the cat. Or maybe a photo of her trying to coax her son or daughter out of the litter box.
I'm still a bit complacent about our Christmas card. I used the photo from the banner at the top of this blog. In my photo file, I have the photo titled, "hlovelylashes.jpg." It in no way captures Henry's personality. It makes him seem dreamy, contemplative, and lovely. He is lovely. But the only thing he really contemplates is which member of the creche party to dance with next. Were I to capture his personality it would look something more like this...
Or this...
But he is loving dancing to Christmas music. He has 2 new dance moves. He likes to take the baby Jesus out of the manger and then do "fast feet" and then put the baby back in the manger. I tried explaining to Henry that in order to avoid SIDS, we needed to place Jesus on his back. But most of the time, Jesus ends up face down in the manger. Or face down next to a donkey. He also does a move I like to call "Dizzy Sippy." Remember the game "dizzy bat"? Henry likes to dangle his sippy cup from his mouth and twirl around real fast. He does this until inevitably the sippy cup flies across the room and he falls down on his bum. He rolls around laughing, trying to get up to get the sippy, but is too dizzy to stand. I'm usually no help during this because I'm too busy trying not to wet my pants.
But sometimes Henry is tired of the Christmas music. We pretty much have the TV on all the time to Comcast's "Sounds of the Season." In addition to loads of traditional Christmas music, you also get to hear such classics as Faith Hill's "Where is Christmas?" and Melissa Etheridge's "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)". With alternating holiday scenes of close up photos of sugar cookies, snowy trees, and an abandoned sled, Comcast also gives us great holiday trivia such as, "In Ireland, children blacken their faces to go caroling", and "traditionally, the trunk of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree is given to the US Equestrian team to use as an obstacle." But angry that the TV was on and yet their were no moving pictures, Henry took things into his own hands. I (foolishly, I know) left Henry alone in the family room to use the bathroom. Upon my return, I heard blaring explosions coming from the family room. I found Henry sitting on the couch, remote control in hand, watching "Back to the Future III." He'd obviously turned the volume all the way up. But I had to hand it to him, it definitely was more interesting to watch than the music channel. And, because I was in desperate need of some cuddles and also because Back to the Future is such a darn good movie, we watched the rest of it. There were only 20 minutes left, but we still got to see a flying train, a car on fire, and some of the worst acting in Elisabeth Shoe's career.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Thank you, Ferris
Life moves pretty fast.
If you don't stop and look around once in awhile,
you could miss it.
--Ferris Bueller*
Sloan is out of town until Thursday and he only asked one thing of me while he was gone--"Just enjoy Henry." You see, I've been threatening a full on cleaning smackdown this week in preparation for Christmas decorations. And I am cleaning. Slowly. But I'm also obeying my husband and enjoying Henry. And control of the remote control. Last night I stayed up past midnight painting Henry's Christmas present (a double sided train/car landscape thingy the exact dimensions of our coffee table--I know. It's awesome and I'm smart.) and watching House. Thank you USA for running a House marathon and thank you to whomever invented DVR.
But in addition to loving my craft time, I'm loving my little man. Today, I didn't rush him across the gym parking lot like I usually do. I don't know why I rush him. We're just going home. And at home there are chores to do. But I just let Henry take the lead (ok, as much of the lead as you can take while still holding your Mommy's hand). We strolled down the ramp then came back up the steps twice. We shook people's hands and waved at people. We pulled up grass, stuck our heads through each of the empty "U's" at both bike racks, hugged trees, picked up rocks and sticks, watched people start their cars, watched people pull out, touched headlights, and even sat down and played with the velcro on our shoes a couple of times. (And by we, I'm mainly meaning Henry. My shoes have laces.) It was probably the best 15 minutes I've spent in days.
So maybe I oughtta listen to Sloan more. Seems like I've said this before...
*In college, I wrote a paper comparing Ferris Bueller to Benjamin Franklin as sorts of colloquial spokesmen for their respective generations. I got a "B" with the following comment--"Elizabeth, it is a shame you are an A student who is content to receive a B. Perhaps your next paper, in addition to being well written and humorous, will actually pertain to American literature." My next paper was on Emerson and Walt Whitman. My thesis was that these two men did not think the university system could accurately measure my worth so what does my grade really matter?
Sunday, November 2, 2008
No more George, either
Tonight I tried reading some prayers to Henry from this book called "Prayers for Little Boys and their Mommies." Henry wasn't having it. He was too wiggly and was really more interested in playing with my wedding ring and watch.
Am I a horrible Mom if I kind of miss him being sick? No, not that I want him to be sick, just that I miss him wanting to just hold me and cuddle up with me on the couch. Why does he have to dump out all of the Duplos, Megablocks, and Wood Blocks that I just sorted and sanitized? I even tried turning on George for some cuddle time this afternoon. He went up to the TV and turned it off.
Am I a horrible Mom if I kind of miss him being sick? No, not that I want him to be sick, just that I miss him wanting to just hold me and cuddle up with me on the couch. Why does he have to dump out all of the Duplos, Megablocks, and Wood Blocks that I just sorted and sanitized? I even tried turning on George for some cuddle time this afternoon. He went up to the TV and turned it off.
Friday, October 31, 2008
All George All the time
The second time your kid pukes on you, it is not funny.
By the third time, you're not even grossed out. You just look away, lean him over a surface that's easy to clean, and wait until he's done.
By the fourth time, you stop showering between pukes.
By the fifth time, and he's shaking, you call the doctor. At 4 am. And then you put on Curious George.
By the sixth time, the smell has left. It's nothing but Popsicle colored mucus coming up. And you want to cry, not because you are sorry for yourself, but because your child is green. And miserable. But, he is very cuddly. And you've mastered a position that keeps his head above his chest while you are laying on your side on the couch so you can sleep. Also by this time you wish there was an All George All the time TV station because you've already watched every Curious George you've TiVo'd and it also means that you have to fool with the remote every 30 minutes to load up another one. You also, by this time, tempt fate by trying to play a Veggietale and then Sid the Science Kid, only to find out that no, all we want is George.
By the seventh time, you are in the doctor's office. And you are being treated by a doctor dressed up as Snow White. And you haven't brought a change of clothes for yourself or your son. So you just stand there, with puke on your pajamas. And you take your son's PJ shirt off and just tell people he's being Bruce Lee for Halloween.
We haven't puked in 2 hours. He can only puke one more time in the next 8 hours or we have to go get IV fluids at the hospital. As it is right now, he is asleep in Papa's chair with Mr. Bunny, watching Curious George. I tried to turn the TV off, but he woke up. I have to give him 5 ccs of pedialyte every 15 minutes for 3 hours. Then 7 ccs. Then 10 ccs. If he can make it 8 hours, he can then have either 5 cheerios, 1 slice of banana, or 1 tsp of cooked rice or applesauce. Snow White also said he can have a lollipop or 2 because the sugar is good for nausea.
So pray for my boy. He is puny.
At least his Halloween costume is a pair of Superman pjs! And if he pukes on them, we have a spare--Batman pjs.
By the third time, you're not even grossed out. You just look away, lean him over a surface that's easy to clean, and wait until he's done.
By the fourth time, you stop showering between pukes.
By the fifth time, and he's shaking, you call the doctor. At 4 am. And then you put on Curious George.
By the sixth time, the smell has left. It's nothing but Popsicle colored mucus coming up. And you want to cry, not because you are sorry for yourself, but because your child is green. And miserable. But, he is very cuddly. And you've mastered a position that keeps his head above his chest while you are laying on your side on the couch so you can sleep. Also by this time you wish there was an All George All the time TV station because you've already watched every Curious George you've TiVo'd and it also means that you have to fool with the remote every 30 minutes to load up another one. You also, by this time, tempt fate by trying to play a Veggietale and then Sid the Science Kid, only to find out that no, all we want is George.
By the seventh time, you are in the doctor's office. And you are being treated by a doctor dressed up as Snow White. And you haven't brought a change of clothes for yourself or your son. So you just stand there, with puke on your pajamas. And you take your son's PJ shirt off and just tell people he's being Bruce Lee for Halloween.
We haven't puked in 2 hours. He can only puke one more time in the next 8 hours or we have to go get IV fluids at the hospital. As it is right now, he is asleep in Papa's chair with Mr. Bunny, watching Curious George. I tried to turn the TV off, but he woke up. I have to give him 5 ccs of pedialyte every 15 minutes for 3 hours. Then 7 ccs. Then 10 ccs. If he can make it 8 hours, he can then have either 5 cheerios, 1 slice of banana, or 1 tsp of cooked rice or applesauce. Snow White also said he can have a lollipop or 2 because the sugar is good for nausea.
So pray for my boy. He is puny.
At least his Halloween costume is a pair of Superman pjs! And if he pukes on them, we have a spare--Batman pjs.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Daddy come home
We're on day three of Sloan's trip to Orlando for his new job with CHEP. And while I like to remind myself that I may never be the perfect Mommy but that out of all the mommies in the world God chose me for Henry so that's got to say something, but seriously, I'm a horrible single parent. Sunday night, by about 6pm, with Sloan having only been gone around 5 hours--I was done. So we did the great time killing bath. And then I put Henry to bed. At 6:45.
Yesterday, I let him just eat Cheddar Soy Crisps for lunch because I was too tired to care that he didn't touch his turkey or apple slices. (But hey, soy crisps have both protein and fiber and isn't that what the turkey and apples were for anyway?)
I've also started using drinkable yogurts mixed with milk as viable snack options.
Upon discovering that it wasn't that poopy of a diaper, I performed a poopy extraction rather than changing his diaper.
He's watched 2 Veggietales, 3 Curious George episodes, and Sesame Street. I rationalize this as being okay because during Veggietales and Sesame Street he only stops playing to watch them sing. And Veggietales is about God and Sesame Street is about letters and I want him to love both of those things. It's only during Curious George that he stops, climbs up in Sloan's chair with his cell phone, and watches the TV. And he thinks George, Hundley, Bill and the gang are a hoot. The TV is an effective parenting tool, right?
He went over to Nathan's house last night to hang out so I could go out to dinner with a friend.
I almost stopped at McDonald's tonight on the way home from the gym for a Nugget Happy meal, but decided to come home instead so he could have a "healthy" dinner. He ate an entire can of Chef Boyardee Beef Ravioli, a cup of green beans, 6 Ritz crackers, and a frozen Gogurt. Chef Boyardee is healthy right?
However....I have done 6 loads of laundry, painted Sloan's new home office (and the ceiling too), hung blinds and curtains in said office, and begun setting up my new sewing room (since Sloan took over my cute pink room) in Henry's future big boy playroom (aka the finished attic where things get dumped when I'm too lazy to figure out where things should go). And I'm about eight pages away from finishing Lee Smith's The Last Girls.
All's I'm saying is that Sloan better never die cause I make a lousy single Mom.
Yesterday, I let him just eat Cheddar Soy Crisps for lunch because I was too tired to care that he didn't touch his turkey or apple slices. (But hey, soy crisps have both protein and fiber and isn't that what the turkey and apples were for anyway?)
I've also started using drinkable yogurts mixed with milk as viable snack options.
Upon discovering that it wasn't that poopy of a diaper, I performed a poopy extraction rather than changing his diaper.
He's watched 2 Veggietales, 3 Curious George episodes, and Sesame Street. I rationalize this as being okay because during Veggietales and Sesame Street he only stops playing to watch them sing. And Veggietales is about God and Sesame Street is about letters and I want him to love both of those things. It's only during Curious George that he stops, climbs up in Sloan's chair with his cell phone, and watches the TV. And he thinks George, Hundley, Bill and the gang are a hoot. The TV is an effective parenting tool, right?
He went over to Nathan's house last night to hang out so I could go out to dinner with a friend.
I almost stopped at McDonald's tonight on the way home from the gym for a Nugget Happy meal, but decided to come home instead so he could have a "healthy" dinner. He ate an entire can of Chef Boyardee Beef Ravioli, a cup of green beans, 6 Ritz crackers, and a frozen Gogurt. Chef Boyardee is healthy right?
However....I have done 6 loads of laundry, painted Sloan's new home office (and the ceiling too), hung blinds and curtains in said office, and begun setting up my new sewing room (since Sloan took over my cute pink room) in Henry's future big boy playroom (aka the finished attic where things get dumped when I'm too lazy to figure out where things should go). And I'm about eight pages away from finishing Lee Smith's The Last Girls.
All's I'm saying is that Sloan better never die cause I make a lousy single Mom.
Monday, September 15, 2008
I blame Marishka Hargitay
You know you've watched too much Law & Order: SVU when you happen upon a chain in the ground in your backyard while raking leaves and you are too afraid to pull it up for fear of finding some underground sex dungeon in your backyard left by your home's previous owner.
I wanted to pull it up, but then the thought of some mysterious trap door from beneath the ground flipped me out. I seriously began imagining little girl bones and the Chesterfield County coroner in a backhoe in my backyard. Ugh.
I wanted to pull it up, but then the thought of some mysterious trap door from beneath the ground flipped me out. I seriously began imagining little girl bones and the Chesterfield County coroner in a backhoe in my backyard. Ugh.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
DOWN WITH ARCHULETA
I am calling anyone with two ears and a soul to VOTE like crazy for David Cook. I might just move to Canada if David Archuleta wins American Idol, and unlike Alec Baldwin, I'm true to my word! Ugh. Archuleta makes me want to poke out my eyes with a dull pencil so I don't have to see his clothes that he stole from the set of Superbad. He makes me want to rip off my ears and send them to Michael Johns as a "It should've been you" present. I'm beginning to think that someone, or specifically, some church is paying off Randy. That he gets paid every time he tells Archuleta that "he is in the zone" or that "he can sing the phone book." I used to joke about this conspiracy theory, but after his opinions of David Cook singing "Don't Want A Miss a Thing," I'm pretty sure about it. Seriously.
Hey, Archuleta! Michael W. Smith called and he wants his "cool" back.
Hey, Archuleta! Michael W. Smith called and he wants his "cool" back.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Mother's Day 2008
What an awesome day! Beautiful flowers from my 2 favorite men. Got to sit through the entire church service without Henry wiggling too much. Awesome lunch of surf and turf at Bookbinder's grill. Got to watch whatever I wanted on TV and "Mannaquin" was on! Lolly didn't have a single indoor accident.
Henry enjoyed lots of food firsts at Bookbinders and loved them all: Black olives. Buttered bread. Seared tuna. Filet Mignon. Creamed Spinach. And of course, he split an ice cream sundae with Daddy. (Mommy does not share her dessert on Mother's Day.)
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
It's American Idol, People...NOT the next Mousekateer!
I cannot let American Idol go on another week without screaming, "What the heck are the judges and America thinking?" Am I going crazy here? How can anyone seriously like David Archuleta? I'm not going to deny that the boy has this clean-cut image, definitely has the Mormon vote, and has a beautiful voice. But come on? What kind of album would he make? He is like a teenage, male Kathie Lee Gifford. He'd be fantastic on a cruise ship or at Kings Dominion. But he makes me want to puke. Just thinking about how cheesy he is makes me shake. Ugh. He makes Michael W. Smith look like a punk rocker. It is Rock N Roll night and he pulls out "Stand By Me" and "Love Me Tender." Both great songs. But I just envisioned some tacky couple slow dancing next to their 6 cheese fountain in a VFW basement for their first dance as Archuleta sang "Love Me Tender." Elvis' version was both lovely and sexy! Archuleta was sweet like grocery store birthday cake icing. Too much of it and you puke or fall into a diabetic coma.
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