FlutterBy: i have next friday off. it's good frime: ah
no maunday thursday off?FlutterBy: nope
speaking of slackers
you haven't posted in FOREVERme: what do you want me to post???
did you just call me a slacker!?!?!?FlutterBy: nope
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sam: Our financial situation would be so much better if I didn't have to pay for sex so often.
Me: And I'd have so much more free time if I didn't have to go out and kill hookers every weekend.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
...who asked me which weighed more- a half-pound that came in a bag or a half-pound that came in a box. I'm so proud of myself. I didn't call her a moron- to her face.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Welcome to another edition of "here is a piece of my life that I already shared with Cassie, and would like to now share with you through copy/paste":
me: Emily: "there's no such things as ghosts"
Connor: "oh yeah? prove it!"
hardly fairFlutterBy: that's wrong
shouldn't it be
there ARE no such things as ghosts?
grammar failme: yes
AND they're arguingFlutterBy: i'm not sure how one would prove that, exactly
i think there's some sort of "burden of proof on the side of the accuser"me: but she said "I WILL prove it! I'll stomp on every part of the kitchen!"FlutterBy: it's as good as any defense!
i'm not sure what it accomplishes exactly but at least she's a woman of actionme: C: "so! maybe the ghost is invisible!"
E: "but i don't FEEL anything!"
C: "maybe you DON'T feel anything from a ghost!"FlutterBy: poor emmy
she's not gonna be able to win this one so muchme: it's like living with drunk monkeysFlutterBy: ahh, but at least they're YOUR drunk monkeysme: well, so THEY claimFlutterBy: no child birth memories to go by?me: come ON!
if i had memories of those things, would i have had a second or third child??? i mean, who's crazy enough to DO that???FlutterBy: "they" say you magically forget
that it's one of those nature's miracle thingsme: it's a defense mechanism... like ptsd
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Somehow it came about that Emily decided she could jump up and down, while holding onto the arm of a chair, for a full hour.
My father-in-law started timing it for her.
Emily: What'll you give me if I do it?
Phil: I'll give you all the money I have in this pocket.
Emily: I'll bet you don't even have any money in that pocket.
Phil: Maybe I have a hundred dollar bill!
At the six minute mark, Emily groaned and collapsed.
Phil: I suppose I get to keep my hundred dollars.
Emily: I suppose you can't even show me those hundred dollars!
She's currently trying again.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
I'm going to make a confession, like Cate. However, this is probably more of a plea. My confession: My patience, while miles more than it was pre-children, is not what I'd like it to be. This is most evident when I am trying to teach something to someone who simply does not want to grasp the concept. With effort, I've become decent at not snapping and yelling during homework or housework training or- and here is the current issue- teaching a child to ride a bike. I want to tear out my hair, but I don't! So, win!
My beloved Ethan is trying that tautly held patience. He wants to learn to ride a bike. Sorta. Kinda. No, nevermind. It's too hard. This is the problem with Ethan. He doesn't want to try something until he's sure of the proper way of doing it (which he got from me, yes, I know, shut up). Fine. Problem is, bike riding cannot work like that. I know he wants to know how to ride. He is just afraid to learn. He is both afraid of getting hurt and of failure- so this is a double hit to his self-esteem. If he didn't want to learn, I would not care.
So comes my plea. How do I get this kid on a bike? This is not a "how do I buck up my kid" problem. I can do that. So long as it's not followed with repeated dismal failure. I need a tried-and-true (and not black-and-blue) method for getting him riding. Help me help my child!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
As a game in the car (read: way to keep the little buggers busy), we count yellow cars, except any form of work/business vehicle. Whoever gets the most points wins. All good, keeps them busy, yet the children (read: all of us) fight over who got whatever car first and I didn't see that one so it doesn't count and was there a sign on that truck because then you don't get any points. It somewhat negates the point of keeping them busy with it, all the fighting.
I don't know if everyone played the punch buggy game when they were kids (or still?). You know, where you count VW Beetles (way easier with all those new ones on the road)? And punch the other person for each one? We play that. Except my kids don't know about the punching part. Because I'm not an idiot, I am not informing them of that bit. And no one else is, either- under threat of me suddenly discovering a Beetle dealership and whaling on your ass.
Last weekend, Connor and I were traveling to one of his away games. Suddenly, we passed one of those little garages where some guy rebuilt/refurbished old Beetles. Oh, hell yeah! I started yelling out "red beetle, blue beetle, yellow beetle!" And, because I'm so mature, I started dancing in my seat, talking about how many points I had. Then Connor went ahead and ruined my day.
"Those aren't Beetles! They don't look anything like VW Beetles!"
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Last night, we were watching the most recent movie incarnation of Charlotte's Web. By the way, if you haven't seen it, it holds fairly true to the original cartoon version (with, of course, a subplot to make it longer)- I can't remember the book well enough to judge that way, though.
We get to the point in the movie where they discover- er, yeah, spoiler here but if you don't know the story you might want to go, i dunno, literate yourself- that the judging for the blue ribbon pig has already happened. Wilbur has not won. The whole family is devastated, but most especially poor little Fern who realizes that Wilbur's fate is now in jeopardy. She is crying into her mother's blouse. Even Mommy, who has been cold and disappointed by her daughter's behavior throughout the whole movie, but now understands that her daughter is simply being an individual, growing into a wonderful, caring person- even Mommy has misty eyes. Tiny little Charlotte has worked through the night to weave "humble" into her web in the hopes of saving Wilbur, but to no avail. And Ethan, my sweet, compassionate boy says...
"Bacon for dinner!"
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Sometime, years ago, I exploded Connor's head. Connor was just shy of ten, Ethan five and a half. Because
I'm lazy it flows better, I'll fill you in with an excerpt from a chat between my friend Cassie and myself.
me: on the walk back to the house, he's telling me about this thing
they had to read a paragraph, or several
about jim henson
and then answer questions based on the reading
and he said there were "additional questions. like who is kermit?"
Mom: "a frog"
Connor:"who is miss piggy?"
C:"who are bert and ernie?"
me: "a couple who live on sesame street"
FlutterBy: i would not have had an age-appropriate response
FlutterBy: what was his answer?
me: to that question? i don't know
but he didn't like MY answer
FlutterBy: i think i would've maybe said "roommates"
dunno if that's any better
me: and i said "why nu uh?"
C:"because you make it sound like they're..."
C:"they are not!"
FlutterBy: you just shattered his childhood beliefs
i never got brothers
me: M:"how do you know? i never heard that"
FlutterBy: even as a kid, i never got brothers
me: C:"well, how do you know THAT?"
M:"i don't. i just assume. they live together. they're adults"
Ethan: "what's a couple?"
FlutterBy: and those sweaters!!!
me: M: "two people who are a family"
Ethan: "well, grover has a mom"
M:"uh, no. like boyfriend and girlfriend kind of family"
Ethan:"oh. not like grover and his mom"
My only regret is that I potentially unintentionally outed two... men?... because that is so not what I'm about. I hadn't realized I was passing along other people's secrets.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Hopefully this blog does not suddenly become popular in my hometown. I'm about to talk about someone else's kid. No names, but probably I'd still be pissed if someone did about mine. Screw it, though. This is blog-worthy.
I mentioned how Connor's team lost their first game. This kid on his team, let's call him Abe (because no one is named "Abe" anymore). So Abe, to show his chagrin whenever a goal was scored against his team, would kick the bench side of the boards with fervor (after all, what is the point in having an emotion if you're not going to get attention for it?). Now, I'm not sure at which goal his coach finally lost his patience. It would have been goal one if it were me. But from across the ice, I could hear him yell, "If you do that ONE MORE TIME-" at which point the crowd was noisy enough that I couldn't hear what the consequence would be.
Luckily, Connor was coming off the ice right at that exact moment, and had to wait while Abe responded to the coach. (I say luckily because Connor was well positioned to be my little gossip-fairy... er... gossip-ogre?... whatever, something masculine.) From my point of view, Abe tossed his arms up in the air in what looked like a shrug and tilted his head to one side. Apology accepted?
I stopped paying attention at that point until about five minutes later when Abe- during a pause in play, to his credit- skated across the ice into the opposite corner. What the crap? Six men on the ice? And then the door slammed... he had left the ice.
This DOES NOT HAPPEN. Even if you are thrown out of the game, you stay on the bench. Or, at the very least, the ref signals why you've been expelled.
accosted grilled questioned talked to Connor after the game. The bits I didn't hear from the bench:
Coach: If you do that ONE MORE TIME, you are sitting on the bench for the rest of the game!
Abe: Ha! I'm first line! SHUT UP!
Coach: I am your coach! You cannot talk to me like that! That's it! You're done!
At this point, Abe threw himself into the corner of the benches away from the coach and proceeded, according to Connor, to call his whole team a bunch of "effing a-holes", which, by the way, is Connor's censoring and not Abe's. He then expelled himself from the game. Like I said, emotion without getting attention is totally pointless.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
So! Connor had a hockey tournament this weekend. The short of it: they played well, they were way outclassed, they did not make it to the playoffs. The long of it: Last weekend, we discovered that the goalie on Connor's team seemed to play better when he was ill. My brilliant idea was that his parents should keep him mildly food poisoned for every game- sorry, kid. So long as you play like a rockstar and don't lose your food, you're a-okay in my book. This weekend, he had been saying he wasn't feeling well. The first game, they lost. They lost something awful. Six to one, in fact.
Hang on, hang on, let me explain how this whole thing worked. [Editor's note: I just deleted this whole paragraph. I bored myself, even.]
Gah. So they lose the first game... next time I'll tell you about one of the hissy fits. The second game, however, was as good as any NHL game. It ended two to one, our team scoring their second goal with five seconds left in the third period. Holy hell. (For those of you who don't know, there are only three periods. See why that was so exciting now?)
Remember back when I said the goalie wasn't feeling well? And that, so long as the food stayed down, no worries? Well, he puked all over the hallway in front of the locker room twenty minutes before the game. His mother way overdid it on the food poisoning thing. One of the other boys jumped in and played goal, keeping it scoreless for a period and a half. This was against a team that had won their last two games 7-0 and 6-1. So the kid, having never played goalie... it was frickin' amazing. Yeah, then they scored five goals. *sigh* No playoff round here.
Connor was great, though. He's far from top on the team, this being his first year playing competitive on ice. His coaches, though, call him an "animal" and say he "has heart". He falls on his ass a lot, but he never gives up, and to hell with the fact that the kid he is opposing outweighs him by half again. He'll take him into the boards anyway. This, his father taught him. He also leaves the game on the ice. There are no hissy fits, no pouting when he loses and no pomposity when he wins. This, his mother taught him. And this paragraph? This is why I'm so proud.