I was getting ready on Mother's Day when this little incident occurred...
Me: Ow!
Squib: What happened?
Me: I burned my finger on my curling iron.
(Please don't ask why I was wrestling with that ancient thing and just go with it).
Squib: Which finger did you burn?
He was so interested at this point that he broke full contact with "Go, Diego, Go" to come and check this out. Level of importance = 10.
Me: This one. (I pointed to my ring finger).
Squib: Oh (relieved, his little chest deflated), that's not the important finger.
Wait, what?
The important finger?
I think I know which finger that is, but quite honestly I wasn't in the mood to have him share the "important finger" discovery at 7:15 on the morning of Mother's Day when I was quite obviously running late and not in a really good position to discuss whether or not five-year-old's should or should not be having "important fingers" at their ripe old age.
So...bad parenting moment #3,462. Shoot me.
And note to self: at some point get back to "the important finger."
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Monday, May 9, 2011
The Family Jewels
I was sitting here yesterday in all my mother's dailiness glorihoodification or whatever that was yesterday when Squib came running in from the bathroom in his t-shirt and underwear and lifted up the shirt to show me the underwear, did an uncanny pelvic...something...and said, "LOOK!"
"It glows!!!"
And, by golly, he was right. And that has to be wrong in more ways than I can express.
He dragged me into the darkest room we have, the bathroom, to show me the latest development in children's Spiderman underpants which is that--right where the jewels are so-to-speak--is a giant glow-in-the-dark spider.
It was a credit to exactly how hideously my noggin felt that I just stood there with bugged out eyes listening to him say, "Isn't-that-cool-mom-the-spider-glows-green-in-the-dark-I-love-these-underwear-they-are-my-favoritist-underwear-ever-I-am-never-taking-them-off-I-need-to-go-show-everybody-they-GLOW!!!"
The "go show everybody" part woke me up and I was about to slow him down because I know the humor of "everybody" and they needed fair warning about the ensuing spider jewel-marker pants lest they lose it completely or be horrified out of their socks. (That covers both factions of the "Big Red House" as Squib calls it, I think).
Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on your viewpoint right now), fate intervened and Squib tripped over some...air, I guess...and need some consolation and time on his beanbag chair and some "memmalade" which I was out of...so I went to the Big Red House to borrow some. And while there I told Buddy about the glowing spider pants.
And was almost single-handedly responsible for his death due to hysterics.
Baba got the wicked wolf spider warning as well and was...amazed? Or horrified. I don't know. It was hard to tell. Having come from the era of whitey tighties I can only imagine her response to airbrushed undies with well-placed glow-in-the-dark...things...on them.
And about that time was when the Squiblet arrived to show off the spider. I can't even write this without it sounding bad. I tried "his spider," "the spider" and several permutations thereof and...all that's happening here is I'm losing ground faster than I start.
It doesn't help that someone told him that maybe if the pants were exposed to more light, they might glow better in the dark (there was some field testing). So he sat here in my office with a flashlight aimed at them and ran back and forth from the bathroom obsessively to "check on the spider."
Since he wore them home to his dad's I'm hoping that's the last of that particular pair and with any luck at all I can rotate all the Spiderman glow underwear home to daddy's where perhaps a saner head can prevail, but usually my luck isn't that good. I don't know what possessed the Fruit of the Loom people to put their glow-in-the-dark stuff exactly where they did, but they have certainly created some hilarity around here.
There's a lot more real estate on the rear end, why not there? Had there been a glowing spider on his bottom I'd not have had an issue....
...nor half the fun.
Scat.
(and NO there will NOT be any pictures of the glow underwear so don't even ask)
"It glows!!!"
And, by golly, he was right. And that has to be wrong in more ways than I can express.
He dragged me into the darkest room we have, the bathroom, to show me the latest development in children's Spiderman underpants which is that--right where the jewels are so-to-speak--is a giant glow-in-the-dark spider.
It was a credit to exactly how hideously my noggin felt that I just stood there with bugged out eyes listening to him say, "Isn't-that-cool-mom-the-spider-glows-green-in-the-dark-I-love-these-underwear-they-are-my-favoritist-underwear-ever-I-am-never-taking-them-off-I-need-to-go-show-everybody-they-GLOW!!!"
The "go show everybody" part woke me up and I was about to slow him down because I know the humor of "everybody" and they needed fair warning about the ensuing spider jewel-marker pants lest they lose it completely or be horrified out of their socks. (That covers both factions of the "Big Red House" as Squib calls it, I think).
Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on your viewpoint right now), fate intervened and Squib tripped over some...air, I guess...and need some consolation and time on his beanbag chair and some "memmalade" which I was out of...so I went to the Big Red House to borrow some. And while there I told Buddy about the glowing spider pants.
And was almost single-handedly responsible for his death due to hysterics.
Baba got the wicked wolf spider warning as well and was...amazed? Or horrified. I don't know. It was hard to tell. Having come from the era of whitey tighties I can only imagine her response to airbrushed undies with well-placed glow-in-the-dark...things...on them.
And about that time was when the Squiblet arrived to show off the spider. I can't even write this without it sounding bad. I tried "his spider," "the spider" and several permutations thereof and...all that's happening here is I'm losing ground faster than I start.
It doesn't help that someone told him that maybe if the pants were exposed to more light, they might glow better in the dark (there was some field testing). So he sat here in my office with a flashlight aimed at them and ran back and forth from the bathroom obsessively to "check on the spider."
Since he wore them home to his dad's I'm hoping that's the last of that particular pair and with any luck at all I can rotate all the Spiderman glow underwear home to daddy's where perhaps a saner head can prevail, but usually my luck isn't that good. I don't know what possessed the Fruit of the Loom people to put their glow-in-the-dark stuff exactly where they did, but they have certainly created some hilarity around here.
There's a lot more real estate on the rear end, why not there? Had there been a glowing spider on his bottom I'd not have had an issue....
...nor half the fun.
Scat.
(and NO there will NOT be any pictures of the glow underwear so don't even ask)
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother's Day
All I really wanted for Mother's Day was a nap. That was it. Squib got all tucked in to take a nap as well, sacked out when I did and I SWEAR he woke up about thirty minutes later with more energy than a kiloton of PowerBars.
So, thinking I could still grab a nap, I got him a snack, a drink, set him up with a movie, asked if he needed anything else (I was prepared to deal but he didn't know it--here kid, keys to the car!!!!), and then told him I'd like to sleep a little longer. He said he was "good" and I told him to come get me if he needed anything.
He needed something just about every five minutes. Actually, that's a generous estimate. It had to be less.
"Mom," he'd whisper with his face less than an inch from mine, "I need to know how to spell 'going'."
"G-O-I-N-G as in I'm going to kill you if you wake me up again."
"K. Thanks." And he'd trip off to the front room.
"Mom," he tapped me on the forehead between the eyes (!!!!!), "I need to spell 'when'."
"Like 'when' can I take a nap or I'd like to 'win' a million dollars and get a nanny?"
"The first one."
"W-H-E-N."
"K. Thanks." Pad, pad, pad...little feet leaving the room.
This happened several hundred times and with several hundred words. I have no idea what he wrote, but I think he was shooting for the second Gettysburg Address or something. After a while, he came into the bedroom and crawled up on the bed.
"Mom, are you ever getting up?"
"Squib, when do I ever take naps lately?"
"Never."
"What day is it?"
"Mother's Day."
I waved my arms around in some sort of "draw a conclusion here!!!" kind of gesture.
"So, are you getting up or what?" He is a persistent little devil.
"What time is it?"
"One-four-five." Thanks to the digital clock on his iPod this is how we tell time.
"WHAT??!? You mean you went to sleep, got up, have been trouping in and out of here and all the time that has passed is an hour?"
"I know," he sighed, "It's taking FOR-EV-ER." We obviously function on different perceptions of time.
I will admit that at this point I looked at my offspring with a glance slightly less than an outpouring of motherly love and adoration.
"Tell you what," I said, "You let me sleep until two-three-zero and I'll get up even though you usually sleep on Sundays a little longer."
"How long do I usually sleep?"
"Until you wake up."
"How long is that?"
"Usually some time around four-zero-zero." That got a horrified look and he scuttled off for the front room.
I think that made two-three-zero sound good enough to try. But apparently not good enough to actually come good on. And something happens to me when I get into a deep sleep--nap or otherwise--and don't quite get it out. I get a terrible headache. So two-three-zero arrived and I trudged out of the bedroom with a migraine the size of Dallas.
"I wrote forty-three emails." He said excitedly. Did I mention my five-year-old is an email mini mogul?
"I know, I was there." I said sourly.
But I really want to share with you what's happening with the Squiblet here! I was grumpy (still am...rawr) and tired and sleep-deprived from hours of studying for school. Finals week is here. But what I didn't miss this weekend was the cool thing that is starting to happen with my youngest child. For example (those of you with iDevices will appreciate the punctuation brought to you via autocorrect):
Dear. Mommy. I. Had.
Miss. You! now. Mommy. I
Can't. Wait. To. See. Axle.
Love. Squib.
Except for the alteration of his name, that is an email that he sent to me Friday night as we were sitting here doing various-and-sundry things and getting ready for Beanstalk's visit. Yes, you can now probably figure out Beanstalk's real name, but the misspelling of it was so cute I had to leave it.
Prior to this school year, the child (as I often refer to Squib) wasn't reading--much less writing. Now here he is writing expressively and writing about things that are, for a mom, just...special. He missed me. And he was excited about getting to see Beanstalk.
Buying him that nutty iPod was the best investment I ever made. He spends, on average, ten minutes every three days playing games and goofing off, but he spends HOURS writing to me, Buddy, and his dad about whatever comes to mind. And I do mean hours. I have to peel it out of his hands to bathe him. And I have to physically move the child closer to an outlet when it dies.
Yes, this does mean that I'm constantly spelling new things for him, but the note I posted above he did completely from memory. In fact, most emails are that long and perhaps one word per email is a new request. However, there are usually a lot of new words in them that I did NOT have to spell. And, frankly, I'm just wondering where they came from? That's kinda impressive to me. The kid's mind is turned on in a way I never imagined for his first year in school.
Quite a nice Mother's Day Gift after all...
So I'll still sit here with my splitting headache and several finals to work on (ah the misnomer of "open book" finals) and enjoy the fact that my kiddos are turning into interesting, loving, funny, and perceptive young men. And that's something any mother can be proud of.
But especially me.
Scat
So, thinking I could still grab a nap, I got him a snack, a drink, set him up with a movie, asked if he needed anything else (I was prepared to deal but he didn't know it--here kid, keys to the car!!!!), and then told him I'd like to sleep a little longer. He said he was "good" and I told him to come get me if he needed anything.
He needed something just about every five minutes. Actually, that's a generous estimate. It had to be less.
"Mom," he'd whisper with his face less than an inch from mine, "I need to know how to spell 'going'."
"G-O-I-N-G as in I'm going to kill you if you wake me up again."
"K. Thanks." And he'd trip off to the front room.
"Mom," he tapped me on the forehead between the eyes (!!!!!), "I need to spell 'when'."
"Like 'when' can I take a nap or I'd like to 'win' a million dollars and get a nanny?"
"The first one."
"W-H-E-N."
"K. Thanks." Pad, pad, pad...little feet leaving the room.
This happened several hundred times and with several hundred words. I have no idea what he wrote, but I think he was shooting for the second Gettysburg Address or something. After a while, he came into the bedroom and crawled up on the bed.
"Mom, are you ever getting up?"
"Squib, when do I ever take naps lately?"
"Never."
"What day is it?"
"Mother's Day."
I waved my arms around in some sort of "draw a conclusion here!!!" kind of gesture.
"So, are you getting up or what?" He is a persistent little devil.
"What time is it?"
"One-four-five." Thanks to the digital clock on his iPod this is how we tell time.
"WHAT??!? You mean you went to sleep, got up, have been trouping in and out of here and all the time that has passed is an hour?"
"I know," he sighed, "It's taking FOR-EV-ER." We obviously function on different perceptions of time.
I will admit that at this point I looked at my offspring with a glance slightly less than an outpouring of motherly love and adoration.
"Tell you what," I said, "You let me sleep until two-three-zero and I'll get up even though you usually sleep on Sundays a little longer."
"How long do I usually sleep?"
"Until you wake up."
"How long is that?"
"Usually some time around four-zero-zero." That got a horrified look and he scuttled off for the front room.
I think that made two-three-zero sound good enough to try. But apparently not good enough to actually come good on. And something happens to me when I get into a deep sleep--nap or otherwise--and don't quite get it out. I get a terrible headache. So two-three-zero arrived and I trudged out of the bedroom with a migraine the size of Dallas.
"I wrote forty-three emails." He said excitedly. Did I mention my five-year-old is an email mini mogul?
"I know, I was there." I said sourly.
But I really want to share with you what's happening with the Squiblet here! I was grumpy (still am...rawr) and tired and sleep-deprived from hours of studying for school. Finals week is here. But what I didn't miss this weekend was the cool thing that is starting to happen with my youngest child. For example (those of you with iDevices will appreciate the punctuation brought to you via autocorrect):
Dear. Mommy. I. Had.
Miss. You! now. Mommy. I
Can't. Wait. To. See. Axle.
Love. Squib.
Except for the alteration of his name, that is an email that he sent to me Friday night as we were sitting here doing various-and-sundry things and getting ready for Beanstalk's visit. Yes, you can now probably figure out Beanstalk's real name, but the misspelling of it was so cute I had to leave it.
Prior to this school year, the child (as I often refer to Squib) wasn't reading--much less writing. Now here he is writing expressively and writing about things that are, for a mom, just...special. He missed me. And he was excited about getting to see Beanstalk.
Buying him that nutty iPod was the best investment I ever made. He spends, on average, ten minutes every three days playing games and goofing off, but he spends HOURS writing to me, Buddy, and his dad about whatever comes to mind. And I do mean hours. I have to peel it out of his hands to bathe him. And I have to physically move the child closer to an outlet when it dies.
Yes, this does mean that I'm constantly spelling new things for him, but the note I posted above he did completely from memory. In fact, most emails are that long and perhaps one word per email is a new request. However, there are usually a lot of new words in them that I did NOT have to spell. And, frankly, I'm just wondering where they came from? That's kinda impressive to me. The kid's mind is turned on in a way I never imagined for his first year in school.
Quite a nice Mother's Day Gift after all...
So I'll still sit here with my splitting headache and several finals to work on (ah the misnomer of "open book" finals) and enjoy the fact that my kiddos are turning into interesting, loving, funny, and perceptive young men. And that's something any mother can be proud of.
But especially me.
Scat
Friday, May 6, 2011
The Scat Is Back: Tales of an electrode stealing broad.
Only one person is really going to understand that title. If you are one of those people fortunate enough to Face-stalk me, you can get to the root of the story, but the REAL meaning of that title is that she (I have mentioned her before and when I look back and/or remember what I called her I shall then use her appropriately aforementioned pseudonym) and I are just people that do "stuff like that." Like making nachos and leaving the oven on 400 and just walking off. Because...
No reason. No reason at all. Not premeditated. Post-meditated. Duri-meditated (yep, making up words now, but you get the point). So when Buddy asked me if I "meant" to leave the oven on I stared at him like a cow munching grass and said, "oven?" Yes. Oh, THAT oven. (I'm not screaming I just lack italics. I LOVE italics).
This is also how one of my thumb drives got washed into oblivion. Whole. Other. Story. When computers really are the size of objects you can forget and leave in your pockets I am well and truly hosed. One day I could simply wash the server and then where would we be?
I should also mention I'm staging my return to the blogosphere to the tune of "Dora Best Friends"...can you say "circulo?'" I don't hear you!!!!! Yeah, me either, but Squib likes it so once a year or so we watch it. Usually during finals week so I can buy myself a little sanity time. Not exactly the sort of sanity time that restores your mind or anything, but it allows you to organize your notes, get all your binders together, fold the laundry, curl your hair, cut your nails, make dinner, and blog. The result is sanity later when said Squiblet is in a happy little nacho-and-Dora-induced coma on the world's most expensive toddler bed.
This deserves mention.
(I would set that off with arrows, but my whammy-dyne Kensington bluetooth iPad keyboard just...doesn't have them. I feel....like I'm in bondage. Use the keyboard, lose your expressivity. Nonetheless shilling for Kensington!)
Le Apartemente is well appointed. When the clan lived in another hacienda it was totally remodeled and this particular sofa cum toddler bed was specially ordered to match a rug that together (rug+sofa) cost more than my college education. No scat. Well, my first college education. Turns out that the sofa and it's larger match are the most comfortable things to sleep on ever invented. The totally serendipitous part is that once the back and side cushions are removed, the bottom cushion fits the Dora sheet set that Squib is so enamored with (see previous post that I will tag later on the purchase of "girl things" for boys and just get over it). This then leaves a perfect low rail around three sides which is wonderful because the Mixmaster still falls out of bed. Not an issue with the car bed at his dad's (just like on Silver Spoons, yes) as it has a low rail all around. Perfect! So Squib sleeps on an oriental silk-covered bed. How many toddlers can say that? Um....probably one in this country. And to further answer your next question, YES, it has already been desecrated. **sigh**
I know...mattress covers, right? Any mother can tell you about how well the mattress cover theory works and what inevitably happens when all the mattress covers have been consumed within the timespace of a single washer cycle. Especially during the horrifying combination of "I don't feel so good," "by the way I'm wearing underwear and not a pull-up" and "*********** gave me a big Dr. Pepper." (I love Fridays) So, what, get two washers? That I HAVE considered. I will just conclude with the suggestion that if you are toilet training...silk is a bad choice. Just. Putting. That. Out there.
So, finally, silence falls in the hovel and I reach over and take a big sip of what I thought to be my tea and what ended up being someone's sippy cup with the lid off. Such is life and thank God it was fresh milk, right?
Speaking of tea. I've been drinking tea lately and liking it. Not really sweet southern tea, but this chia spice tea that my dad makes and then wanders in the office with. He is notorious for making cups of things and leaving them places (now you see why I left the oven on?) and since the tea is so good and I've already scientifically proven that he will simply make more, I just drink it. This is in lieu of Dr. Pepper....I KNOW!
I am saying in public that I am thinking maybe that...
(***please hold while I disturb the slumber of the entire town...that's only 693 people...to kill the largest spider I've ever seen!!!!!***)
...I prefer the tea?
It just tastes fresher and gooder (I used that word on purpose and realize it to be poor English for those of you reading me for the first time, I do that in addition to long parenthetical explanations of my habits ;).
For additional insight into my growing weirdness, I have also been wearing these shoes called Vibram Five Fingers. They are rather unique and have TOES for those of you who don't know of what I speak and they are most wonderful. Props to my friend Bugsy from Cajunville for introducing them to me. You can find them at http://www.vibramfivefingers.com/ and the sizing is a tad odd. I usually wear a six-and-a-half women's shoe. Sometimes a seven and barely got onto the women's sizing chart at a 36. I might wear a 37 in another style. I'd advise going to a store that sells them so you can walk around in a pair before you buy them.
Here are my weird feet in my weird shoes:
Buddy has issued a dare and that dare is that I sing in them so those of you crawling about before noon on Sunday can witness the weirdness as I come good on the dare in the full glory of Mother's Day. <> (<--LOOK!!! I found the arrows :D) I am wearing my five-toed shoes to sing this Sunday. I figure it's Mother's Day and I'm a mom, right? I can wear what I please...and I shall!!! The real purpose of the shoes is for running. Yes, running. Aside from dancing, running was never a real hobby. I just danced a lot through high school. In my first years of college (despite small hiatus for a fouled ankle from --running--) I didn't do much until I transferred to UH my junior year and immediately funged up my knees so bad they needed reassembly. Well, one needed it twice. (I didn't fung them so much as they were born that way and then I put the screws to them via ballet). That was a REALLY bad year. LOTS of physical therapy. After that I got into swimming. Lots and lots of swimming and water aerobics. Somewhere in there I worked with a trainer for six months and did step aerobics which I still love. You can blame my grandmother for the step aerobics thing. She'd still be stepping if her balance would allow but I think at eighty-something years old you can hang up your aerobic togs for a pair of walking shoes, the local gym's treadmill, and a swimsuit. But blame it all on the local gym that everyone is back to-->running.
Buddy has been running two miles every day. Sort of boggles the mind. But for a sixty-something a heck of a great idea. As long as you have your feet and a road...you can go. Well, he uses a treadmill.
Now we're back to the shoes. They're for something I can only call not-so-barefoot runnning. Which is what I'm up to trying next. :) In lieu of hiking the Texas Lone Star trail...which is what I really want to do but lack a hiking buddy...I shall tackle this. Yay. I expect it to take a while as it has taken a bit just to get used to the silly shoes. I hear I need little toe-y socks, so I've acquired said socks.
They will be here as soon as UPS discovers my house for the 457th time. The link to that post will be -->here. I <3 UPS. There really is something seredipitous about the fact that heart-making on the internet--at least in this case--involves the "less than" symbol. Really.
Welcome to those joining me for the first time and HIYA to all those begging me to come back. I can only say...this semester almost killed me. My love-hate relationship with computers grew a tad more on the love AND the hate side. What can I say? They all belong in the lake. Period.
Except maybe my iPad which I will one day have affixed to my left hand.
Awkward.
Scat.
No reason. No reason at all. Not premeditated. Post-meditated. Duri-meditated (yep, making up words now, but you get the point). So when Buddy asked me if I "meant" to leave the oven on I stared at him like a cow munching grass and said, "oven?" Yes. Oh, THAT oven. (I'm not screaming I just lack italics. I LOVE italics).
This is also how one of my thumb drives got washed into oblivion. Whole. Other. Story. When computers really are the size of objects you can forget and leave in your pockets I am well and truly hosed. One day I could simply wash the server and then where would we be?
I should also mention I'm staging my return to the blogosphere to the tune of "Dora Best Friends"...can you say "circulo?'" I don't hear you!!!!! Yeah, me either, but Squib likes it so once a year or so we watch it. Usually during finals week so I can buy myself a little sanity time. Not exactly the sort of sanity time that restores your mind or anything, but it allows you to organize your notes, get all your binders together, fold the laundry, curl your hair, cut your nails, make dinner, and blog. The result is sanity later when said Squiblet is in a happy little nacho-and-Dora-induced coma on the world's most expensive toddler bed.
This deserves mention.
(I would set that off with arrows, but my whammy-dyne Kensington bluetooth iPad keyboard just...doesn't have them. I feel....like I'm in bondage. Use the keyboard, lose your expressivity. Nonetheless shilling for Kensington!)
Le Apartemente is well appointed. When the clan lived in another hacienda it was totally remodeled and this particular sofa cum toddler bed was specially ordered to match a rug that together (rug+sofa) cost more than my college education. No scat. Well, my first college education. Turns out that the sofa and it's larger match are the most comfortable things to sleep on ever invented. The totally serendipitous part is that once the back and side cushions are removed, the bottom cushion fits the Dora sheet set that Squib is so enamored with (see previous post that I will tag later on the purchase of "girl things" for boys and just get over it). This then leaves a perfect low rail around three sides which is wonderful because the Mixmaster still falls out of bed. Not an issue with the car bed at his dad's (just like on Silver Spoons, yes) as it has a low rail all around. Perfect! So Squib sleeps on an oriental silk-covered bed. How many toddlers can say that? Um....probably one in this country. And to further answer your next question, YES, it has already been desecrated. **sigh**
I know...mattress covers, right? Any mother can tell you about how well the mattress cover theory works and what inevitably happens when all the mattress covers have been consumed within the timespace of a single washer cycle. Especially during the horrifying combination of "I don't feel so good," "by the way I'm wearing underwear and not a pull-up" and "*********** gave me a big Dr. Pepper." (I love Fridays) So, what, get two washers? That I HAVE considered. I will just conclude with the suggestion that if you are toilet training...silk is a bad choice. Just. Putting. That. Out there.
So, finally, silence falls in the hovel and I reach over and take a big sip of what I thought to be my tea and what ended up being someone's sippy cup with the lid off. Such is life and thank God it was fresh milk, right?
Speaking of tea. I've been drinking tea lately and liking it. Not really sweet southern tea, but this chia spice tea that my dad makes and then wanders in the office with. He is notorious for making cups of things and leaving them places (now you see why I left the oven on?) and since the tea is so good and I've already scientifically proven that he will simply make more, I just drink it. This is in lieu of Dr. Pepper....I KNOW!
I am saying in public that I am thinking maybe that...
(***please hold while I disturb the slumber of the entire town...that's only 693 people...to kill the largest spider I've ever seen!!!!!***)
...I prefer the tea?
It just tastes fresher and gooder (I used that word on purpose and realize it to be poor English for those of you reading me for the first time, I do that in addition to long parenthetical explanations of my habits ;).
For additional insight into my growing weirdness, I have also been wearing these shoes called Vibram Five Fingers. They are rather unique and have TOES for those of you who don't know of what I speak and they are most wonderful. Props to my friend Bugsy from Cajunville for introducing them to me. You can find them at http://www.vibramfivefingers.com/ and the sizing is a tad odd. I usually wear a six-and-a-half women's shoe. Sometimes a seven and barely got onto the women's sizing chart at a 36. I might wear a 37 in another style. I'd advise going to a store that sells them so you can walk around in a pair before you buy them.
Here are my weird feet in my weird shoes:
Funky As Promised
Buddy has been running two miles every day. Sort of boggles the mind. But for a sixty-something a heck of a great idea. As long as you have your feet and a road...you can go. Well, he uses a treadmill.
Now we're back to the shoes. They're for something I can only call not-so-barefoot runnning. Which is what I'm up to trying next. :) In lieu of hiking the Texas Lone Star trail...which is what I really want to do but lack a hiking buddy...I shall tackle this. Yay. I expect it to take a while as it has taken a bit just to get used to the silly shoes. I hear I need little toe-y socks, so I've acquired said socks.
They will be here as soon as UPS discovers my house for the 457th time. The link to that post will be -->here. I <3 UPS. There really is something seredipitous about the fact that heart-making on the internet--at least in this case--involves the "less than" symbol. Really.
Welcome to those joining me for the first time and HIYA to all those begging me to come back. I can only say...this semester almost killed me. My love-hate relationship with computers grew a tad more on the love AND the hate side. What can I say? They all belong in the lake. Period.
Except maybe my iPad which I will one day have affixed to my left hand.
Awkward.
Scat.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
I Am In Computer Hell
I have been there since January. Or is it I have been here since January? It's definitely here. Yes "here." I have learned more about networking, programming, and various and sundry software packages in the last two months than I have accumulated in a lifetime of knowledge, so yeah, that's good. What isn't so good is that this is like learning to speak for the first time or walk without ever having spoken or used my legs...ever. I've always done things computer-wise a certain way. So I'm unlearning everything and relearning it while using what I've learned (and some of what I already knew)...and right about now this is starting to sound as confusing as it really is.
Blogging was/is a hobby that quickly fell by the wayside not because I didn't want to do it, but in large part because it involves--and I'm chuckling while I write this--more time on a computer. EVERYTHING involves more time on a computer. And if I can neglect a computerized task, well then, I will.
Then there are other things like the fact that the new whammy-dyne printer acquired for Taplin, Corp. doesn't want to cooperate with Windows 7 and the server keeps appearing and disappearing from the network on a whim that also keep me busy now and again (mostly again).
So...update on the chitlins:
Beanstalk managed to go from June to March without a broken bone! Yay! Then he stopped walking altogether and a slight stress fracture was discovered. He most likely grew too fast for his slight bone structure and his tendons...just...broke...his tibia. Yeah. I'm considering changing his blog name to "Stretch" but it really isn't that funny. More like baffling. He is talking a LOT. And this is very, very good. It comes in fits and starts, but he'll go from "Yeeeeeeees." and "Nooooooo." to "I want to watch Cars, please and thank you!" So...it's all in there so-to-speak, which is, well, more yay!
On the short end of the stick (that was a kid comparison joke b/c Squib is the anti-Beanstalk heightwise), Squib is turning into a spelling and counting monster. He made it to 144 on his own the other day (by choice, I might add) and then literally got so stressed out about the next number that I had to force him to quit counting things and watch Thomas the Tank Engine. There are plenty of other things to do on his iPod OTHER than type out numbers and words and things, but no, that's what he'd rather do. I'm happy about that, yes. But the stress....aieeesh! He is five. It is not time to worry that you can't exactly get to 145 yet I don't think. Or that on occasion you get the two months that start with "a" reversed...considering you learned them last week and can spell them both without error. I mean, really...go throw something from here to there or tear something apart to see the insides already! He is also very interested in taking photographs and in being photographed which is what finally pushed me toward purchasing the iPod. Here is some of our work from this week (Spring Break):
Since you don't get to see me much, here are two that Squib took of me:
Here's one of Squib that I took. He has inhabited a box in my office that was vacated by a new file cabinet. If you have never given your child a large box or have never had a large box to play in yourself, then GET ONE! I do not care how old you are...you must need a bus, or a spaceship, or a time warp machine, or some other such large thing that is imagination-powered!! So:
Here we are goofing around today watching a movie and playing with his iPod and my iPhone:
We are not advertising for Dr.Pepper, but if they want to cut us a check we'll gladly take it (as if they don't owe the family a bit after all these years). A note on the photos, we use the Hipstamatic and Instagram apps for iPhone/iPod (I think they are for iPad as well...but, alas, I am still iPadless--there a parting shot for Apple as well).
Scat
Blogging was/is a hobby that quickly fell by the wayside not because I didn't want to do it, but in large part because it involves--and I'm chuckling while I write this--more time on a computer. EVERYTHING involves more time on a computer. And if I can neglect a computerized task, well then, I will.
Then there are other things like the fact that the new whammy-dyne printer acquired for Taplin, Corp. doesn't want to cooperate with Windows 7 and the server keeps appearing and disappearing from the network on a whim that also keep me busy now and again (mostly again).
So...update on the chitlins:
Beanstalk managed to go from June to March without a broken bone! Yay! Then he stopped walking altogether and a slight stress fracture was discovered. He most likely grew too fast for his slight bone structure and his tendons...just...broke...his tibia. Yeah. I'm considering changing his blog name to "Stretch" but it really isn't that funny. More like baffling. He is talking a LOT. And this is very, very good. It comes in fits and starts, but he'll go from "Yeeeeeeees." and "Nooooooo." to "I want to watch Cars, please and thank you!" So...it's all in there so-to-speak, which is, well, more yay!
On the short end of the stick (that was a kid comparison joke b/c Squib is the anti-Beanstalk heightwise), Squib is turning into a spelling and counting monster. He made it to 144 on his own the other day (by choice, I might add) and then literally got so stressed out about the next number that I had to force him to quit counting things and watch Thomas the Tank Engine. There are plenty of other things to do on his iPod OTHER than type out numbers and words and things, but no, that's what he'd rather do. I'm happy about that, yes. But the stress....aieeesh! He is five. It is not time to worry that you can't exactly get to 145 yet I don't think. Or that on occasion you get the two months that start with "a" reversed...considering you learned them last week and can spell them both without error. I mean, really...go throw something from here to there or tear something apart to see the insides already! He is also very interested in taking photographs and in being photographed which is what finally pushed me toward purchasing the iPod. Here is some of our work from this week (Spring Break):
Since you don't get to see me much, here are two that Squib took of me:
Scat
Monday, January 17, 2011
Definitely Amongst The Living
I have not posted since December 20th. Weird, I know.
I can't even really say that I have something to show for the passage of that month of time other than a few accomplishments here at home and work. Most of what I thought I'd taken care of got itself undone with a single phone call placed to me on Saturday when I was unavailable and of course cannot return and fix until tomorrow which is too late because of the MLK day holiday...blah blah blah. It just sort of got sucked away. Two months of driving around filling out paperwork and someone lobs a non-returnable phone call into your voice mail when they know it's too late, but says if you call them BEFORE the day they say you can call them...well, then, yes...they could do something about it then.
Wait, what?
Exactly.
As for the rest of my "free time" what happened was this...the work was finally done to complete the new office. That work included extra space in the back for a small apartment, so....
...for the first time since...
...geez I really don't know...
I've been sleeping in a real, honest-to-God bed!
No futon. No sofa. I can almost feel my ass again. I really thought I'd lost it. Problem is that any time I get near the thing I'm sucked in. An overwhelming sleep vortex claims me within five feet of approaching it regardless of whether I'm vertical and, say, folding laundry, or on the other side of the door. Perhaps it's just the knowledge that it's there. Psychosomatic. Yeah. Probably that. That and things are catching up with me...I do have a birthday coming up, but don't we all?
Ramble. Ramble. Ramble.
Scat
I can't even really say that I have something to show for the passage of that month of time other than a few accomplishments here at home and work. Most of what I thought I'd taken care of got itself undone with a single phone call placed to me on Saturday when I was unavailable and of course cannot return and fix until tomorrow which is too late because of the MLK day holiday...blah blah blah. It just sort of got sucked away. Two months of driving around filling out paperwork and someone lobs a non-returnable phone call into your voice mail when they know it's too late, but says if you call them BEFORE the day they say you can call them...well, then, yes...they could do something about it then.
Wait, what?
Exactly.
As for the rest of my "free time" what happened was this...the work was finally done to complete the new office. That work included extra space in the back for a small apartment, so....
...for the first time since...
...geez I really don't know...
I've been sleeping in a real, honest-to-God bed!
No futon. No sofa. I can almost feel my ass again. I really thought I'd lost it. Problem is that any time I get near the thing I'm sucked in. An overwhelming sleep vortex claims me within five feet of approaching it regardless of whether I'm vertical and, say, folding laundry, or on the other side of the door. Perhaps it's just the knowledge that it's there. Psychosomatic. Yeah. Probably that. That and things are catching up with me...I do have a birthday coming up, but don't we all?
Ramble. Ramble. Ramble.
Scat
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