Moms with young 'uns at home, this is for you.

Call centers that use the voice-operated menu instead of a menu where you push the number of your selection should have an option for moms with young kids at home that says something like, "If you are calling about your account, please say your account number now.  If you have small children at home, please hold the phone up to the loud noise in the background now, and you will be transferred the the next available representative."

Seriously, why do companies have menus where you have to speak to a computer in order to get through to a live person, and when you try pressing 0, "We did not recognize your selection," and BAM, they hang up on you?? Have these companies never heard the noises small children make??

"Please say your account number now."  "Two..."  "MOOOOOM!! The baby is eating a crayon!!"  -Pots banging in background-  -crashing noise-  "We're sorry, we did not recognize your response.  Please try again."  And forget shutting yourself in a room.  The "voice sensor"  WILL PICK UP the sound of the children banging on the door of the room you shut yourself in.  "Mama! What'cha doing, mama? You going potty? I want a snack! Mama?" Meanwhile, the other child is letting out blood-curling screams, because any time your face isn't visible, you've clearly disappeared off the face of the Earth.  Eventually, the automated system gives up and says, "Please try your call again later."  Sure, sure.  Maybe when they're in college and the house is quiet?

Serious matters to ponder

My oldest son, Hunter, and I, we like to ponder things together-but usually, we ponder the most random things that "normal" people don't think about.

One day, we started talking about the movie, Gremlins.  It probably came up because my kids' Furbies look a lot like the extremely adorable Gizmo, the Mogwai in the movie.  He's so cute, with his adorable little voice, and when he sings in his cute little language.

If you've ever seen Gremlins, then you know the #1 rule: NEVER, EVER FEED A MOGWAI AFTER MIDNIGHT! If you do...GREMLINS!!

Somehow, Hunter and I started to wonder...let's say you live on the East Coast (like I do), and you take your Mogwai with you on a vacation to, say, California, on the West Coast, which obviously is in a different time zone.  To follow the, "no feeding after midnight," rule, do you go by when it's midnight in the time zone you're in right now, or the time zone you live in? Does the Mogwai have some sort of internal clock mechanism so it can determine when it's midnight where it is? Does one need to stick to the, "no food after midnight" rule according to location, or according to home base??

And another thing...what time does that rule expire? If you really think about it...9:00 a.m. is still after midnight.  3:00 p.m. is still "technically" after midnight.  I mean, Mogwai has to eat sometime, right? So, how does one know when it's safe to feed it without fear of spawning a plethora of Gremlins??

My husband thinks Hunter and I are weird for even thinking about this in the first place, and he said we probably have too much time on our hands if we are capable of even thinking about it.  But really, these are important questions, and it's probably a good thing we thought about it, for the sake of Mogwai owners everywhere.  I mean, if SOMEONE doesn't think of these things, there really could be some serious consequences.  Do YOU want a Gremlin in YOUR house? Didn't think so.  You're welcome.

What NOT to tell a woman who wants chocolate

Eating healthy is something that is important to me. Obviously, in order to live a long and healthy life, fruits and vegetables are the choice foods to achieve that goal. Whatever the My Plate by USDA recommends. I love fruits and veggies-I was the only kid in my family who ate them. My grandma use to fuss at me for going into her garden and getting into her carrots and cucumbers. 


 But, lemme tell ya something, folks. When a woman is craving chocolate, and apple or a handful of baby carrots JUST DON'T CUT IT. Carrots don't taste like chocolate. Neither does an apple. If I were blindfolded and given a taste test, with a chocolate bar as item A, and a carrot as item B, I guarantee I can tell you which one is the chocolate. They do NOT taste the same, people!! And, I don't care what health nut gurus say: eating fruit is NOT THE SAME AS EATING CHOCOLATE. And, and, a carrot won't make my craving for chocolate magically disappear. I want a Hershey bar, not a flippin' carrot. Carrots do not have any milk chocolate-y goodness to them. Carrots are great-don't get me wrong. But, when hormones turn us ladies into moody, homicidal maniacs, the smartest/safest thing to say is, "What type of chocolate would you like? You look great, by the way." The DUMBEST thing you could say goes along the lines of, "Don't you think a nice apple would be better than that fattening chocolate bar? It'll make you gain weight." Because, I will throw the apple at your head and retreat into my corner with my chocolate bar, while mumbling, "My preeeeecioussssss."

This blog is a sad one...

I am currently mourning the loss of someone very near and dear to me, who passed away the day before Memorial Day.  I talked about her in one of my previous blog posts, so I'm not going to re-cap much of anything, except that her name was Pat, but I always called her Pat-o, and we lost her to cancer, and I'm taking things day by day and I'm trying to look at her loss from a Biblical perspective, but to say that I miss her is the understatement of the century, and to say my heart hurts is putting it mildly.  Here's a poem for you, Pat-o.  My special angel. 



Pat with (l-r) my sister, my brother and myself.  I was, oh, maybe 6 or 7 here.

                                           My Pat-o.

All we're left with are memories of you,

But what  I'm left with just won't suffice.

I miss you with every breath I take

Losing you has left a hole in my heart.

Sometimes I smile when I think of you,

Sometimes it's more than I can bear.

I know you would tell us to dry our tears,

Because you're OK,

But living every day without you

Makes me wonder when:

When will my heart no longer ache?

When will we say it's ok,

And finally rejoice

Instead of shedding more tears?

How do I finally accept

You're no longer here?

I miss your smile

I miss your voice

I miss you.

When will my heart no longer ache?

You were a rock people would lean on,

Your heart was open wide.

I'm not saying anyone is perfect,

But to everyone who lost you, it sometimes feels that way.

When will my heart no longer ache?

When will my tears subside?

When will your memory bring me joy

Instead of sorrow?

Time will lessen the sting

Until it no longer aches

When I think of you,

But right now

My broken heart doesn't know when.

 

Why my daughter will not have earrings until she is 18

The other week, I took Arissa out for a girl's day. I had to buy her a new bathing suit, so we headed to the mall. While we were there, she started a conversation we've had 100,000 times. "Mom, I REALLY want to get my ears pierced." I was 8 when I got my ears pierced, and Arissa knew this, so since she turned 8, she's begged me to let her get her ears pierced. I know my daughter. She has a VERY low tolerance for pain. She skins her knee and you would think an amputation is in the near future. I was very open with the fact that getting your ears pierced is no walk in the park-I mean, I have 7 ear piercings, so I kind of know what I'm talking about. I've told her that it WILL hurt when they pierce them, and they WILL hurt for a few days to a week after, and that she WILL have to clean them multiple times a day, which WILL NOT feel like a massage. I reiterated this, and she continued to beg me, promising me that she's a big girl and can handle the discomfort. I let her watch another girl get her ears pierced, and she still wanted to go through with it. I reminded her about caring for them, and how they'll hurt for a few days after, and that sleeping might be uncomfortable for a few days. She still wanted them, so I OK'd it. She bravely climbed up in the chair and sat there while they prepped their piercing equipment.


                           Arissa with Gilly, before piercing

 She asked me to hold her hand, so I complied. 1,2,3, and it was done. Her face afterwards should have been my first hint.

                       I daresay, this isn't the face of a happy child              

While I paid for her earrings, she complained that she felt sick to her stomach because she was in SO MUCH PAIN (which I reminded her about before the piercing commenced).  We had to go sit on the bench outside the store until she finally calmed down.  I went into one more store, and she told me that she'd feel a lot better if she had a cookie.  (That is one way I know she is my child).  We got the cookie, went home, and she immediately called her friends to tell them about her new earrings.  She even forgot that her ears hurt for a while, when we did some "Bad Furby" pictures. 

Then the time came to clean and turn her earrings.  I went ahead and popped a Xanax, because I knew this would be one of the most overdramatic moments of my day.  We put the cleaning solution on her ears, and she howled.  We tried to turn the earrings.  And by tried, I mean I chased her around the house while she screamed and begged me not to touch them.  I finally sat on her got her to sit beside me so I could turn the earring.  She told me they were too tight, so I tried to loosen the back of her earring, but all I did was look at it and she screamed that it hurt.  I told her that if we didn't do this, the earrings were coming out.  She finally sat sill for .03 seconds while I grasped the earring.  As soon as I touched her earring, she went into orbit and I pulled too hard, so the earring came allllll the way out.  I told her to stop moving so I could put it back in.  As soon as I put the earring up to her ear, she screamed at such high octaves, Mariah Carey would be green with envy.  I'm pretty sure her screams could second as a dog whistle.  She wouldn't let me put it back in.  She swore that the hole was already closed up.  I chased her around the house for another 10 minutes, telling her I would sit on her and cram it back in her ear that we had to get it back in, or it WOULD close.  Unfortunately, a 9 year old is much, MUCH faster than a 33 year old.  She won.  The earring didn't go back in, and she took the other one out.

I told her that we would re-consider getting her ears pierced again when she is 18 when she starts middle school.  Hopefully, I can convince her that she doesn't need them until she's in college.  I imagine holding down a 6th grader while turning newly-pierced earrings is a LOT harder than holding down a 60 lb. 9 year old girl.

Minecraft: I don't get it

Minecraft has overtaken my house.  For anyone who a) doesn't have a kid or b) lives under a rock, Minecraft is a computer game that apparently is very addicting.  It's really quite simplistic, graphically, and there really is no purpose in the game.  You build things.  The game uses 3-D cubes.  Everything is pretty much cube-shaped.  Like I said, graphics are simplistic.  Anyway, you build stuff.  And you stay away from creepers.  And apparently, you use the game to torment your siblings.  My kids can play on the same server, so they're in the same game, and when Scott (my husband) joins in, all hell breaks loose.  (It doesn't help that Scott is quite the instigator when he plays with the kids).  Tonight, I had to go outside, because my ears could no longer withstand the level of decibels in which the screaming reached while they played. I don't know what exactly they do in the game, but here are some ACTUAL quotes I wrote down while listening to the commotion:

-Kill it with fire!

- I need more chickens!

-Why is the wolf going after Dad?
 Because I hit it with an egg.

-Stop killing my wolves, or I'll kill your chickens!

-Tyler, stop killing your brother! (That one actually came from me)

-Leave my potatoes alone!

-He has an arrow sticking out of the back of his head.

-HE TOOK MY BED!! GIVE IT BACK!!
 Well then, give me back my dirt.

-I have angered the hot dog gods.

-Dad, stop putting cobwebs on my house!

I really, truly don't get it.  But I could write a book of quotes, because people, you can't make this stuff up.
 

So much for keeping up with my blog

I said I was going to try and update my blog frequently, but as usual, life has happened. In January (technically February-January 31st) I lost my grandma. I didn't "lose" her, but she passed away. She was 95 years old, and of course, I miss her, but she lived a long, happy life. Then, cancer reared its ugly head in my life. I call her my Aunt Pat, but she's not TECHNICALLY my aunt, as in she's not my mom's sister. They've been best friends since they were in 5th grade, and Pat-o has been in my life, well, my entire life. She was my mom's babysitter when mom went away with my stepdad for the weekend. Pat was who I called when I went through my dramatic "I want to run away from home" phase, and she came and picked me up for a girl's night out. Pat fixed my hair on my wedding day. Pat sat at the hospital with Scott and my mom the entire time I was in labor with Hunter (16 1/2 hours, but I wasn't at the hospital for maybe 3 hours of that time). She fed me ice chips and kept me occupied when Hunter was born and wasn't doing well. We had a Black Friday tradition where we went shopping: Pat, my mom, my sister and myself. Pat has always been in my life, and she's one of the most special and important people to me. There are no words to describe how much I love her-they wouldn't do justice. Cancer is yanking Pat from our lives. From her husband and son's life, from her mom's life, from her brother's life, from her niece and nephew's life, and from my mom's life. Pat is my mom's absolute best friend. She's being torn from our lives, too soon. None of us could imagine that something like this would happen-and in such a short time. We're trying to imagine life without her: without her smile, her laugh, her hugs, and for me, hearing, "Love you, baby," even though I'm 33 years old. I know she'll be in Heaven, rejoicing that she will no longer have pain (biggest cliche). I know that Earth is not our "true" home, and these are not our "true" bodies. I know God probably has some sort of plan from all this, although in my state of shock and hurting, I'm failing to see the good in this. But my thing is, we wanted more time with her. We don't want to have to say goodbye to this special person who should still have half her life in front of her. Maybe that makes me a selfish person, but I don't want to rejoice that she will soon be with Jesus in Heaven, because even though Heaven is an awesome place, we all want her here for many more years. But, we don't have many more years. We might have a few days, or a week, if we're lucky. And those last moments with her are spent seeing her wasting away, and writhing in pain. It's awful to watch, and even worse knowing she's spending her last days on Earth in this misery. It's a hard pill to swallow. I'm slowly working through the pain, but the cliche remarks people say trying to be helpful, well, aren't. I know people feel awkward and don't know what to say, so I'm not bashing anyone. I'm just saying, we'd love to rejoice that she'll be with Jesus, no longer in pain, but we're too busy working through the pain of knowing that soon, we'll never be able to talk to her, to hug her, to text her that we love her, or to see her. And I hope that, in posting this random, rambling blog post, people understand that everyone processes death differently, and not everyone is "ok" with losing someone because they are in Heaven with Jesus. It still hurts. A lot. So here is my tribute to my "Aunt" Pat. Patty. Pat-o, as I call her. I love you so very extremely much, more than I could put into words. You've been such an important part of my life, for my entire life, and for that, I'm so ever thankful, because even if it wasn't enough time, I wouldn't give up any of the time I had with you.