Wedding March

I'm going to do my best to remember as much as possible about one of the biggest, most important, and special days in my life. Tomorrow is my 8 year anniversary to my husband, Mike. There was a lot that I experienced up until the BIG DAY and I thought it might be fun to try and reminisce about what all lead up to that moment when I said, "I do." Many of the things I post here are for the people I care about to reflect on and try to remember right along with me. Also, someday I will lose my memory of some of the best years of my life due to old age and simple forgetfulness (and I might just end up remembering them so incorrectly that I end up telling someone else's story instead of my own). So, here is how it all began...

Mike and I had been together for 5 years. We'd had a strong, fun, loving, and intense relationship with its normal ups and downs, just like everyone else. However, there was something just a little different about us. We couldn't (and probably won't ever be able to) put our finger on it, but you would've noticed it when you knew us. We were just a different kind of couple.
In our 4th year together, it was time to sell our beloved Lynnwood home. The one we met in. The one the motorcycle was parked in the dining room leaking oil. The one the dogs decided to turn into their kennel. The one where we had a ghost that would give us the creeps from time to time. The one where Mike took a sledge hammer to the wall one fine morning to begin THE project. The one that we worked endless hours tearing things apart, rebuilding them, and eating Safeway's China Express or Wendy's...EVERYDAY. The one that was our first home together and where many memories were made and kept.
Once we sold the Lynnwood house to a friend, we found the house that was meant for us in little Arlington. At the time we were purchasing our house, the conversation came up that we should probably consider getting married. I couldn't buy a house with my "boyfriend" and think that my family would think that was cool. There's a bit of a traditional side to my family, and it is one that I've always valued and respected. I'd been living "in sin" for quite a while and thought, "this is a big step for me and I really want to marry this man." We talked about it and how I thought it was only fair that if we were to buy the house, I should have the same last name as him. I wanted to get married.
For as long as I can remember, Mike didn't want to get married. It wasn't something he ever wanted to go through again (the failing marriage part, that is). But I just didn't see myself ever being with anyone but Mike or ever WANTING to be with anyone else. I had done my shopping and found my perfect match. No refunds and no returns. I could live with that choice...forever. So, when we had finally moved into our home and were settled, it was just Mike and I lounging on our couch watching TV alone, when I brought up, "So, now that we have the house...are we going to make the next step? Are we going to get married, or what?" His response? "Sure. When do you think we should?" "Summer. I'd like an outdoor wedding" "Ooo, I like summer, but it can't be in June." "Agreed. How about August? We're pretty much guaranteed awesome weather anytime in August." "Cool. Let's look at the calendar. How about the 17th or the 24th?" "Those sound good to me." "Well it's settled! Looks like you get your wish, Kathy. We're getting married in August!"

This was such a funny conversation and so nonchalant. No big deal. But then I realized, I'd been patient, understanding, loving, and tenatious enough to get all that I wanted. The Moody name. The name of the man I love. How cool is that? We'd been together for so long, the conversation was like we were planning a little dinner party with some friends. Not the case. It ended up to be a bit bigger than that, but that's to follow. The conversation took place in October. We were already calling our parents to let them know. I remember Rita was at our house over by the pool table we had just put together when Mike told her. She was very happy. When I called to tell my parents, it was a different story. It wasn't that my parents weren't happy for us, it's just that they didn't believe me. My dad is VERY traditional. He's of the era of giving a girl his pin to show the world they were going "steady". What does that even mean??? Whatever. In any case, my dad's comment every time the topic came up, "You're not engaged until I see a ring on that finger. It's all talk as far as I'm concerned." Well, for Pete's sake! I finally got this man to agree that we were going to live "Happily Ever After" and NOW I had to get him to buy me a ring right after we bought a whole house?!! This could be a while before my family believed we were planning a wedding.

Christmas was coming right around the corner. Even thought I didn't have a ring, I was still planning my wedding. At the time, I was working at The Escrow Group in Everett. It was fun because I worked with ALL girls and they were so helpful and playful with ideas for me and my day. Also, one of the gals I worked with had the same kind of timeline with her boyfriend. They, too, had been talking about marriage and were looking at the same time as us, so it was fun bouncing ideas off of Lori. Every Christmas Eve, my extended family had a party where we ALL got together for gift exchanges, great food, and lots of company. Well, we had a roommate at the time, Eric George, who was going to be spending his Christmas with his family so he decided to give us our gifts on the 23rd before he headed out to be with his family. My gift was in a very large box. I began to unwrap it (all the while feeling a bit guilty because I hadn't got him anything). The box had various pieces of random paper, lint from the pool table, and a bag of old oranges. And at the bottom...a very pretty wrapped box. This was NOT from Eric. There was a small box at the bottom of the very large, very poorly wrapped heap of garbage. The small box was wrapped in thick red paper with flowers on it. Butterflies in my stomach. Tears in my eyes. I opened it and found the ring that I had imagined and always told Mike I had wanted. I love clusters of diamonds and white gold. It looked like a bunch of grapes (only they were diamonds). Mike gave me my engagement ring the day before our extended family Christmas party so I could brag away. :)

Now, my dad was thrilled. So thrilled, he made an amazing announcement and beautiful toast. He was all smiles and so happy for us. And now the planning was to begin...

Oops

Today, Farrah said a bad word. A very bad word. THE bad word. We were playing with the "Talking Tom Cat" application for the iPad. It's a cartoon cat that mimics what you say but in a silly high-pitched voice. So, Farrah loves to play with this thing and yell into it and make it repeat the things she says. And today she said something... terrible. She was hanging on her Dad's right shoulder and squealing into the Tom Cat and then it got kinda quiet after she said, "F**king idot, f**king idot." Oh my gawd. "What did you just say?" And she said it one more time and it took everything I had not to laugh and strangle her at the same time.

So, Mike and I pondered where on Earth she learned how to say that. This, unfortunately, was not the first time Farrah has dropped the eff-bomb. But this was her first time using it in this context. "Who do we know who says that? We know someone who says that all the time, don't we? I know it's a girl who says it. Who is she?" And then it hit us. Mike was the one who remembered who the foul mouth girl was.

"Kathy! It's YOU who says 'f**king idiot' ALL THE TIME!!!" Oh my God, it was me. I am the one she learned to say that awful statement from. It was from the countless times some "f**king idiot" cut me off on the road or someone who was out and about being a "f**king idiot". I always make some sort of announcement using those exact words to let myself know that they're out there. However, I clearly have forgotten that I have a passenger in my car 95% of the time. And she's LISTENING...

Dear Farrah July 2010

To my little girl:

I wanted to document some big things that have happened lately and some things I want to be sure I put in here before I forget.

First, we'll start with our trip to Kentucky. You were a very good girl on the trip. You, me, Daddy, and Alex went to visit relatives in Lexington, KY for the Thomas family reunion (on Grandma Rita's side). You had a lot of fun on the airplane. You got scared a couple of times, but it was probably from reading my nerves, so sorry about that. There were a couple of times that your dad and I got overwhelmed with work issues while on our "vacation" that made it so you and your brother were stuck in the hotel rooms, but you both made the best of it. You and Alex shared a hotel room that joined with ours. You two did so well and had a lot of fun together. :) That was awesome. Your brother, however, suffered through your constant need to watch "Ponies". You got to meet Uncle Russel, Aunt Betty, and Cousin Janey. You loved spending time with them and playing with Uncle Russel's toys. Those toys were so noisy and irritating, but you and Russel got a big kick out of 'em. You got to meet Aunt Thelma, Cousin Steven, Betina, Cody, Tara, and of Cousin Rita (how could you forget!) I'm pretty sure your favorite part of the trip was the visit to the Kentucky Horse Park. Unfortunately, for you and the rest of us, it was one of the hottest days we were there in the 90s and you were cranky and just a little difficult. But it was your favorite because you got to go on a horsey ride (pony) and you got to ride on Copper. You were about ready to call it a day when we were done at the Park, but then we decided to make you tough out a trek to Louisville in the car with Grandma, Alex, Daddy, and me. You survived and you behaved the best you could at the Louisville Slugger Manufacturer.
You swam! You swam all on your own with no fear!!! Our hotel had a nice pool outside and we covered you with plenty of sunscreen, put your floaties on, and let you loose. You learned how to kick your feet in the water and how to move your arms around to get you to move forward. You swam from me to your dad, back to me again, and even to Alex. You were so proud of your accomplishment and so were we. Swim lessons are right around the corner.

Your Daddy had his 43rd Birthday on June 26th and he was given the first steps to getting his pilot's license from your mommy as his birthday present. He was given 3 flight lessons along with some ground schooling and a couple of "how to" books. Daddy's first day of school was Friday, July 16th. He spent a good hour going through ground school and then thoroughly inspecting the airplane. Then he was off and running (or flying). I video taped as much as I could see; once he was in the clouds I had to pull out my book and start reading. So, Daddy is going to fly airplanes among the SEVERAL other things he already does...but this is something that put the biggest smile on his face than I've seen in a real long time. It's something he's always wanted to do and we get to watch him experience it. Aren't we lucky, Farrah?

I wanted to document some things that you say because before I know it, the "toddler way" you say things could be gone. You're starting school this Fall, which means people (including me and Daddy) will begin to start correcting how you formulate sentences or pronounce words.

Here's what you say:

"My love you...my don't want to...my want to wear a dress"

"Mama, can you get me a poon (spoon)? I like to pin (spin). "

"Butter-lye" (butterfly)

"Can I have dese? (these)"

"Oli-ler (Oliver), Leeshla (Elisha), Juleelan (Julianne)"

By the way, Happy Birthday to our nephew (Farrah's cousin), Oliver. He's 4 today! Yay!!!

You and I have planted a garden of vegetables. You are the "mommy" because you have to water them and care for them. Little do you know, when you're not paying attention, I'm doing my best to keep them alive. I'm certainly not known for having a green thumb. That being said, I hope they live all the way to the point of us getting to pull them and ultimately eat them. That's the whole goal.

Farrah, you've experienced some much needed discipline lately, but you've accepted your punishments with tact and grace. Sometimes, not as graceful as others, but you're starting to finally learn your boundaries. You've got so much personality, but that's not ever been anything that we haven't already known since day one. I love you so much. Sometimes one hug just isn't near enough for me.

Oops! Almost forgot!! For Father's Day, you had your pictures taken by Kelly and we put together a wonderful photo album book for your Daddy (you also made one for Poppy Boppy, too). You were difficult to photograph, but we ended up with some beautiful pictures of the true Farrah Raquelle Moody. The real YOU was captured. ;)

I'll have to upload photos later...

Been a While

Well, it's been quite some time since I picked this thing up. I thought I might do a little journaling. Nothing too special, but enough to catch things up. Jeff just turned 29, Steve is turning 36, and Mike is turning 43. Mom and Dad just celebrated their 40th Wedding Anniversary with one another this past weekend and that was incredibly special. In a time when it seems like everyone we know is splitting up, there are people out there that still know how to make it work. It's inspiring. Thank you mom and dad, for staying together and showing "through good times and bad" you are still each other's soul mate. It's a wonderful reminder why I wanted to get married from the time I was a little girl. And I'm glad I chose my soul mate to be the one to be my husband. :)

Farrah is performing in her first EVER recital on Sunday. She and 4 other little 3 and 4 year olds are going to be bees up on stage. I had the priveledge to watch her in her dress rehearsal last week. I can hardly wait for everyone to see. She's been going to her classes religiously. She only missed one when she was sick. I will be recording this. And I've got a good feeling it will be post-worthy.

On a gloomy note: There was a massive oil spill out in the Gulf Coast last month (we're inching up on 60 days now). Watching this on the news saddens me so much to the point of tears. I watch BP do nothing to save the Gulf, but everything to save their bank account. I hope to God that I can look back on this entry several years from now and say, "Do you remember that oil company named BP?" I hope that the government puts some SERIOUS pressure on them and soon. I also hope the families that have been affected file civil law suits. I also hope EVERY company that's been affected, fishery, charter company, wildlife preserve, every franchised gas station, and every vet sues them. And you know what else I hope? I hope there's an attorney to represent each and every single species of life that has been effected and sues BP for everything they've got. AND when BP goes to file for bankruptcy, the government says, "TOO EFFIN' BAD!!!" The people who lied, hid the evidence, gave false projections, and who were overseeing the project should spend the rest of their lives in jail.

Whew!

Okay, I look forward to some better updates soon. And there will be! :)

Just Gotta Critique It

Every time I watch these movies, I tell myself I need to blog about them and what bugs me about them. As I've posted in the past, Farrah demands that we watch the Harry Potter movies...constantly. But the acting! Ugh! It's severe OVER acting. I suppose you can only expect so much from children, but at some point aren't these kids getting acting coaches? Didn't anyone tell them they're terrible? In some cases, I think they lay the British accent on pretty thick. Don't get me wrong, I love the accent. I often talk to Farrah in British Peasant or Witch accent. She seems to enjoy it. Mike has even indicated that I'm quite good at it. I agree. Anyway, the boys aren't as bad in the movies as the girl, Emma Watson. Mind you, I'm not going to be an asshole and say that she's awful in every single movie, but c'mon. It gets to be painful after a while. I suppose I'd feel that way if I watched any movie EVERY...SINGLE...DAY.
So, anyway, Emma always seems to pronounce her lines with more passion than necessary and the words are spoken very harshly. She has a squeaky-pitchy sound in her voice when she's acting mad, or happy, or sad, or any emotion whatsoever. Yes, in the books Hermoine is supposed to be obnoxiously nerdy and a know-it-all, but all I'm catching is she likes to sound upset, no matter what the scene calls for.

Well, this may not have been my best work, but I knew at some point I'd have to complain about this.

End.

What's gonna work?

Team work!
I've noticed a disturbing trend in one of Farrah's favorite cartoons.  Child neglect.  Which cartoon?  Wonder Pets.  Pretty much every episode is based on a baby animal of one species or another that is in "twobbow" and it's a dangerous situation.  The Wonder Pets answer their can telephone and find a baby cow stuck up in a tree, a baby platypus clutching to a rock in a river for dear life, a baby duckling that can't fly South and it's starting to snow, and a baby chameleon that can't change its colors to camouflage itself from the soaring hawk that is wanting to grab it for lunch.

Of course, these stories always have a happy ending with the baby animals being saved, but then the REAL ending bothers me.  The story ends with a parent showing up at the end saying, "Oh Wonder Pets, thank you so much.  I was very worried about my baby chameleon".  Really?  Were you?  Because it looked to me like you were busy effing around behind that big rock while some little-kid animals were saving you baby's life!  What were you thinking?!! Your baby camelion was almost eaten by a hawk and you so conveniently decided to show up after someone else did your job for you?!!  Whatever animal parents.  You're all very irresponsible.  If you didn't want your ducklings, baby patypuses, calfs, or chameleon, you should've thought twice before deciding to start a family.

But thanks, Wonder Pets.  YOU'RE doing a great job.

Sooooo Annoying

As I've mentioned in past posts, I read a lot.  And if you read my blog, you know I write a lot.  Well, when I was growing up, my best subject was English/Writing (why do they call it English class?).  I pay attention to everything when it comes to grammar, spelling, etc.  I pay attention to it with my own work, but mostly I pay attention to it with other people's work.  As you read this, you might find some weird punctuation and unnecessary commas because I'm going to start bitching about other's deficiencies in this area.  So, look for some irony.

Anyway, when I send out job listings on Craigslist and people respond to it with an email to me and an attached resume, it is difficult for me to not want to toss some of them if people haven't taken the time to pay attention to such small details as making sure there is a noun AND a verb in a sentence.  I don't always write correctly on this thing because sometimes I write like I'm talking to someone.  However, when you're looking for a job when 10% of Americans are out of work, I would think you would want to be as professional as possible.  I'm just sayin'.  If an applicant can't even hit "spell check", it's a NO for me.  Also, if someone can't remember how to use there, their, they're, or then and than correctly, it makes me crazy.  It may not be a deal breaker, but it puts up read flags.  The jobs we have are usually detail oriented.  Okay, so that's my rant on people who write silly in general.  Here's what really irritates me...

Books.  There are authors that have actually been published and someone has been paid to EDIT their work, and I am able to find mistake after mistake.  This gets me SOOOOOOO pissed!  I get mad for several different reasons, but mostly because when I pick up a book to read, it's supposed to be relaxing for me.  It's a moment I get in my life where I get to escape, if only for 20 minutes.  I cherish those 20 minutes of not feeling like I'm having to over think until I find a mistake.  I will come up on a sentence in the book that I am engulfed in, and I find a type-o.  The book I'm reading now is notorious for it.  It is missing quotation marks when someone is speaking.  It is missing whole words!  Some of the words in the book are used wrong (like there, their, they're).  Also, what I am reading now is the third and final installment of the series.  The author got lazy and the writing style reflects her boredom and eagerness to wrap it up and move on to something new.  I hate this.  I hate it because it is in my nature to find these mistakes and fret about them.  I will be reading my book, page after page until I come up on one of these mistakes.  I will stop reading, go back and read the sentence over again, and I will edit it in my mind as it should have been written.  That is work.  I don't want to work when I'm reading for pleasure.  If I'm editing something that is for my job, that's okay because it is work.

So, there.  I had to get that off my chest because it has been bugging me for a while.  Now, I know that some probably and more likely than not, do the same thing when they're reading my blogs.  But I'm not a professional and I haven't hired anyone to go through and check my work (see, you're not supposed to start a sentence with the word "but"... I think).  Shit.  Now that I've written this, I'm going to be all insecure.  Oh well.

Dear: Chicken Of The Sea

I am currently tossing back a few Tums in order to ease the stomach ache that I know was caused by you.  I bought a can of you this evening with the hopes of making a delicious sandwich for dinner.  I even splurged and purchased the "All White Chunk Albacore in Water".  What happened to you and your quality?  I opened a can of your finest and went to drain the liquid out and the top of the can completely caved in causing the tuna-mush to ooze out the sides.  It was virtually impossible to "drain" anything out of the can.  I could go on forever about my disappointment, but describing it now is just making the stomach ache that much worse.  Needless to say, only a third of the sandwich was consumed and the rest was quickly rushed to the trash can outside.  I intend to take the second can I purchased and just throw it away. Leaving it for even a cat to eat would be cruel.

Nerd

I read a lot of books.  Sometimes I have read an entire series more than once (and in some cases, more than twice).  It started with my parents making me read Harry Potter instead of the 4 self-help books I had on my nightstand.  Best therapy I've ever had was in that entire series, followed by the Twilight series, the House of Night series, and now starting the Feather series.  I'm completely into anything that seems opposite from reality.  If my reality is one that is painful, stressful, boring, or even great, I love to read these books.  My life consists of many stress factors.  The books I read keep my imagination going, which I feel keeps me young.  (Don't argue this with me...it has to be why I'm so immature sometimes).  They also clear my mind of the daily regiment of pretty much every little thing that I might be responsible for.  Who can't love that?

So, with all of my reading I've done, I've also done a lot of writing.  Clearly.  Ultimately, I hope to write a novel of my own to include my own silly imagination and help others fall asleep with fun things on their minds at night.  To start, I'm looking at having this fun little hobby published.  I actually contacted a publishing company.  Geez, if anything, I could have a bunch printed off that would be for just family and friends.  Or, I can think bigger (which I always do) and think it can go beyond my loved ones.  My brother is published in the science fields for some of the research he did at the Fred Hutchison Cancer Research Center.  I'd like to be published, too, but without having to poke sharp objects at cute little pets.
Well, that's something I'm working on.

On another nerdy note, Farrah and I watch the Harry Potter movies... every... day.  She is a huge fan.  As am I.  It, at least, has to be playing in the background. She wants it to be playing in my car, on our main TV when we get home, and now while Mike is out of town, upstairs in my room EVERY NIGHT.  I don't mind too much because I love the movies, but it is getting to the point where she and I can both recite the lines.  Now, that's silly.  So, as I type this I'm watching the first Harry Potter with Farrah and when it's time for us to go to bed, we'll watch #2, #3, #4, and #5.  That's what we do.  Also, New Moon is coming out next week on DVD and I can hardly stand it!!!

Nerd.

That's Our Little Girl

Farrah has a little talent that she has had from the moment she arrived in our arms.  She belches like a man. Not just any man, but a Schmidt, Coors, or Miller man.  She doesn't burp.  No.  She doesn't pause, excuse herself, put her fist up to her mouth to block the air from escaping and blowing into your face, or keep her mouth closed so her cheeks fill up with her burp.  Uh uh.  She will be talking to us and in mid-sentence, a bellowing explosion passes her lips while telling us a story, and she simply continues and acts like nothing happened.  But it did, Farrah.  It did just happen.  I hope she doesn't think she can get away with that when she's in high school!  If she doesn't get a handle on her "gasses", life is gonna get a little awkward.  This is what could potentially be my daughter's future:

"So, tomorrow I have a geometry test that I BWWWWRRRRAAAAPPPPP haven't even studied for. 
I'm going to have to crunch if I want to pass it."

I'm not exaggerating.  She doesn't even laugh afterwards.  Usually, if something like that happens to someone, they're completely thrown off guard and dramatically apologize for being so "rude".  Luckily, I grew up around boys and my husband is still a boy, so I find this funny.  So, she doesn't laugh until she hears me laugh.  She doesn't realize how funny it is!  It's funny, because it's weird.  Who does that?  Who doesn't see that coming?  Or at least feel it coming?

Farrah, sweetheart, at least pretend to have some sort of shock on your face when this happens to you.  It's not a normal thing that people can just ignore.  Especially, your burps.  They are LOUD and LONG.  Impressive...yes.  Normal...not so much.

You're excused.

Geez-Lou-Eez

I cannot stand bad parenting.  There is no excuse for it.  I'm not saying I'm perfect at it, because I know that I'm not.  I am saying that, at times, I'm better than some.  Tonight was a great example of somebody's shitty parenting skills.  We have a new member at the gym who joined today with her 3 children, all daycare aged.  She had a baby boy (about 9 months old), a little girl (about 2 years), and an older son (age 5).  Here's where our story begins...

Shelbee was working in the Kid's Club tonight and asked me at what point she should get a parent when a child has been acting out the entire time, since dropped off.  Mind you, these children had been in the Kid's Club a whole 5 minutes when I was asked this question.  From the time they were dropped off, the 5 year old was tearing the place apart.  He was even doing it while the mother was there, signing her kids in.  He had already spent 90% of the time there in time-out.  When he was finally "released", he immediately went on a rampage while I was in the room.  He took toys from other kids, he threw things, he messed up other kids' drawings, and he wouldn't mind.  So, basically, he was awful.  (Keep in mind, I'm considered the Daycare Nazi.  I don't take shit from any kids.  They will respect my gym and my stuff or else!)

Then there's his baby brother.  I had noticed a car seat that looked like there was a bunch of "stuff" spilled on the straps and in the seat.  I looked at the baby and he had yellow crap all down the front of his clothes.  Shelbee had pointed out that he looked like that from the time he came in and she wasn't sure what was all over him.  Next thing we knew, we turned around and the yellow stuff on his shirt was now on the floor.  Gross.  I didn't know what we were dealing with; spit up, or puke.  While we gathered kids away from the little mess, we were planning on going to get the mother just to be on the safe side and so she could deal with her oldest.  (The middle child remained invisible the whole time - no drama there).  Suddenly, another pile of "stuff" that we deduced to being barf.  Nice.

So, Shelbee got the mom who slowly and casually came back to the Kid's Club.  We explained that we weren't sure what was wrong with her baby and she just slowly walked up to the baby and said, "Hmm, what's wrong?"  No biggie, but I started to think about all the CLEAR signs that were there BEFORE she brought her baby in...HE'S SICK, DUMMY!!!  While she strapped her baby into the barf coated car seat, I was dealing with her bratty son.  He was getting into the separated baby area and I told him to get out.  He was grabbing chalk and I had to follow him and take it from him to remind him that he lost his chalk privileges due to being disrespectful to the other kid's and their artwork.  He was pushing and shoving a little girl and I had to quickly run up to him and tell him hands off!  He then spilled another kid's goldfish on the floor and that's when I was done, because the whole time she just stood there doing nothing at all.  NOTHING!  So, I told him to get over by his mother and stay there and was not to leave her side.  He said no and started running around the room.  Finally, I walked up to her and said, "You need to do something about your kid!"

I was not even nice about it at all.  In fact, I shocked myself with how curt I was with her, because that just isn't my style.  But you want to know what shocked me even more?  She casually told her son, "Okay buddy, it's time to go. Get your shoes on."  He started throwing a fit and she had to wrestle with him.  At that point, I had to walk out.  I couldn't stand it for several reasons.
A.  Her son obviously receives no punishment...ever.
B.  He has no concept of authority or discipline.
C.  This mother brought her sick kid to a DAYCARE so she could selfishly get a workout in, no matter how sick her child was or if he was contagious to the other children (including my own).
D.  Her reaction to me disciplining her son and telling her to do something about it, was not what I would expect a parent to do.

If someone was disciplining Farrah and I was there, I would let them finish the punishment and I would take over from there.  Not rescuing her, but following through to correct her bad behavior.  If someone told me to do something about my kid's shitty behavior, I'd probably actually REACT.  First, it would never get to that point with Farrah because I have no problem dragging her into the bathroom and giving her a spanking or a firm scolding.  But if someone said that to me, I would be up in their face telling them "how it is".  I would react that way, because I KNOW I try very hard to make sure I'm not raising an asshole.  That is my sole mission in life:  Don't raise an asshole

That being said, she must have known I was right.  She needed to do something about her effing kid!  The neglect with those kids made me crazy mad, and mad enough to tell a complete stranger (in not so many words) they're doing a poor job.  While the 5 year old was making me crazy, it wasn't him so much as it was the idea that this woman brought a clearly sick, 9 month old baby into the gym around other children instead of keeping him home and "mothering" him.  This woman has a son who is old enough to know better and to have manners and show people respect, but he's never been shown how.  It was so sad and awful.

If you're overwhelmed because you have 3 kids and don't exactly know what you're doing, for God's sake, ask for some help!  Don't contribute to the millions of other parents who decided to give birth to a "friend" and let them walk all over you and every person they come in contact with.  You need to rock the boat that is so uncomfortable to rock.  That's the hardest part of being a parent.  Parenting.  But TRY, dammit!!!  It doesn't take a "village", moms and dads, it takes YOU.

Rescue 911

Tonight was a fascinating night.  After a delightful dinner, Mike thought it would be good to play with Farrah for a little bit before he had to return to work in his office.  It was a hilarious hide-and-seek adventure for the two of them and I was the spectator.  Mike always has special places to hide so that children NEVER find him.  If it were a sport allowed in the summer Olympics, he would be a Gold Medal contender.  He has managed to hide so well, that even I couldn't find him!

So, tonight, Farrah got to experience the professional hide-and-seeker at his absolute best!  I had Farrah wait in the bathroom while Mike hid.  When he was all settled in, she was on the move.  She looked and looked and Mike would yell, "FARRAH!!!" real loud and scare the crap out of her, making her scream at the top of her lungs, which of course, made me laugh my ass off.  This went on for a good 5 minutes (which is about an hour in toddler years) so Mike decided to come out.  But he didn't.

The hiding place in which Mike chose, has been his staple hiding spot since we bought the house 8 years ago.  It has never failed.  I've hidden in there once, and vowed never to do it again.  Mike's best hiding spot is our kitchen pantry.  It's about the size of a coat closet, but has shelves upon shelves of food, various grocery bags, and a big box of Farrah's play dough.  It's such a tight squeeze in there, I have seen the door bend from him breathing.  His body is always pushed right up against the racks and the door.

This is where the excitement came in.  The door didn't open.  Wouldn't open.  Couldn't open.  I thought for sure he was screwing around to make me panic, but no.  I kept thinking he was just being stupid and twisting the knob the same time as me so the door couldn't unlatch.  No.  The mother effin' door knob was broken.  BROKEN!!!  I have horrible claustrophobia, so I felt like I was going to have a panic attack for the both of us.  I watched as Mike pushed the door while bracing his body against the racks making room for some air.  I thought for sure, one more push and the door would've broken right off.

I asked if I could bust off the hinges and he told me to try and do it.  I ran to the garage and grabbed a hammer and a screw driver and ran back in.  The whole time this is going on, Farrah thought the game was continuing.  So she kept playing while I started banging away at the hinges.  Got the top one off, the middle one off, and then was stuck with the bottom one.  It took another 5+ minutes of banging the shit out of that hinge without breaking my thumb when it finally released.  We pushed and pulled and pushed and pulled.  I got up on a chair to see if there was something I could do with the top of the door.  When I was there, the door popped off and I grabbed it.  There, in the awful and muggy pantry squeezed in with the Raisin Bran and the Cheezits, was my dear husband looking at me with "are you effin' kidding me?" eyes.  We were both out of breath, him more than me.  The pantry was a mess, the door was a mess, the floor was a mess with greasy tools, and we thought, "what are the odds of this happening?"

The whole time this was going on, I asked a few times if he needed me to call 911.  I couldn't even imagine... only, I could.  Most of the people from the fire department are members at our gyms.  How embarrassing that would've been to have people that work out in our gym come to the rescue of my husband that was locked up in our kitchen pantry from an innocent game of hide-and-go-seek.  That game may be banned from our house now.  We had no idea how dangerous counting to 10 could be!

In General...

...people are funny.  I have been hooked, lately, on 5 websites that I like to check almost nightly.  They put a smile on my face and I often LOL (that's "laugh out loud", mom, since I know you're reading this).  They are all sites of people making fun of each other or themselves.  I love it!  Things are so serious in the world right now, let alone what we all deal with on a personal level at home or at work.  It's nice to see that people, in general, have a good sense of humor.  Here are the sites that I heart so much:

www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com

This one is rad, simply because they are photos of real people in real photos looking really awful.  We've all been there and had that family photo taken that you cringe when you walk by it, but our parents thought it would be a nice idea to go to "Penny's" and wear the same shirts and get our hair all done.  I will be contacting my parents to get copies of some of the professional portraits we had done to post on this site.  I could be FAMOUS with how amazingly awful some of the pictures are. Yeah, remember Glamour Shots? I did it, I wore the borrowed leather jacket, I held the collar up, I had big poofy hair, and yes, I looked like I was forty even though I was only 15.  Don't worry, I WILL be posting a picture of this soon.  In the meantime, here is a picture of someone else's family to give you an idea of how wonderful the website is.

Seriously, read his shirt.  She thinks his cocaine shirt is Hil-lar-i-ous.  What the what?!!!  

But who wouldn't choose that shirt to wear in a family photo?

Next site:

www.lamebook.com

These are little slices of heaven taken from the popular Facebook pages of complete strangers.  Why is it so funny?  Usually the irony in everything.  People are funny because they are dumb.  But the humor is usually coming from the friends of someone who has posted something ridiculous and everyone pokes fun.  It's very hard to explain if you are unfamiliar with how Facebook works, but I'll just say, my favorite parts are the ones where someone posts something profound, inspiring, or simply uplifting, then one of their jack ass friends points out their shitty grammar or spelling difficulties, completely taking away from what the "poster" was trying to convey to the masses.  Love that.

www.thisisphotobomb.com

Simple and to the point.  People ruin other people's photos by somehow sneaking in to the, otherwise, normal picture being taken.  Nuff said.

www.lovelylisting.com

This site isn't the best of the best, but it is a good one to go to.  They are actual real estate listings that people have felt the photos taken of these people's homes have been deemed "awesome" to be on this site.  And by "awesome" I mean AWESOME.  When visiting this site, you have to read the captions and comments.  But here are a few pictures from the site to give you an idea of the type of listings real estate agents are taking on and trying to sell the shit out of!

This one was titled "Haunted Barbie Mansion"

"Crime Scene House"

"Shag Bed"

And finally, I saved the best for last.  Thank you, Mike, for sharing this, as well as most of the above sites with me.  They make me laugh.  Hard.  

www.failblog.org

This is a site you have to go to, to fully experience its hilarity.  It's full of awesome.  In the meantime, I have attached a link to a clip that is WONDERFUL.  Be sure to look for the word "FAIL" on the pictures on the site and why that photo "failed".  Always funny.

http://failblog.org/2010/01/22/interruption-win/

Taco

We had dinner from Taco Time.  That's not the story, though.  The story is what I ordered and how I went about ordering it.

First, I ordered Mike's dinner.  Then I ordered mine:

"I'd like a Fish Taco."

"Okay, a Fish Taco."

"Yeah, but I want it with lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese."

"Okay, so a Fish Taco with lettuce and tomatoes."

"Did you hear that I wanted my Fish Taco with cheese?"

This is where I started to laugh.  I know the girl taking my order left out the part with "cheese" on purpose just to hear me say "Fish Taco with Cheese".  For God's sake, why wouldn't she???  I would totally have made the person repeat such a nasty thing.

Sounds to me like Taco Time isn't necessarily always "Good, Good, Fresh, Fresh."

I forgot to mention that I also ordered Sour Cream with it.  Does dinner get much dirtier than that?


P.S.  Totally unrelated side note.  Today, after dropping Farrah off at Jen's I was driving to work and noticed a GIANT bald eagle flying above my car with something fairly large (larger than a mouse and not quite a dog) in its claws.  It was kicking and fighting to free itself and clearly was unable.  Don't know if it was a cat or a rabbit (pretty sure it was a rabbit, though), but it was fascinating.  Then another bald eagle followed that one.  While it was sad for the creature on its way to meet its most definite death, I was in awe with nature.  I was raised to always pause in the presence of hawks, but mostly bald eagles.  There times my parents would pull over on the side of the road so that all of us kids in the car could see and appreciate the beauty of the big birds.  I loved that part of my childhood.  Back then, the bald eagle was an endangered species.  Now, they're protected and we're starting to see more and more.  I loved that moment today.


Not as much as the Fish Taco with cheese and sour cream.

Suity

Mike is getting ready to head out tomorrow morning for Vegas.  He's going there on business at the CES convention.  This is one of those trips where he knows he'll be meeting with "VIPs" and therefore, needs to be prepared.  So, this week we went and got him 2 new suits, new dress shoes, socks, and several dress shirts.  If you know my husband, then you know this is not something you would ever find in our closet.  When I met Mike, it was white t-shirts, blue jeans, and a baseball cap.  That was when his profession was strictly decks.  Then, his passion moved on to the gyms and the gym business and the fashion was sweatpants and colored t-shirts.  Now, with what he is working on, he needs to put his best foot forward and it must be wearing fancy shoes.  Mike had his suits taylored.  It was very necessary.  His pants were HUGE when he tried them on.  They had to be, in order to accommodate his massive legs (they're very muscly).  They had to practically rebuild the pants for him.  His jacket also had to have some work done on it.  He has a large back and broad shoulders.  Well, they finished the job quickly for Mike so he would have it in time for this convention.  And... he modeled the black suit with the black shirt and the black shoes.

Mmmmmm....
Yummy.

Just had to share the sexiness, which is my husband.  Smokin' hot.

Shit!  He's going there without me!!!

Well, I'm already excited for him to come back, wear his suit, and take me out to a dinner where I can match him in a nice dress.  Hint hint, Mr. Moody.

Am I Actually Watching This???

There's a show (that just happened to be on) that I'm watching and will be turning off shortly.  It's called, "Conveyor Belt of Love".  The coincidence is Farrah and I went to the Sushi Belt tonight for dinner!  However, this show is not that cool.  No.  Instead of delicious sushi treats, it's MEN on a conveyor belt.  They slowly wrap around the 5 women while they explain a lil' about themselves and why the women should hold up a sign that says, "interested".  Sometimes, they say, "Not Interested."  Mostly, it's "Not Interested".  This show makes me soooooo uncomfortable.  The dudes are dancing, singing, holding dogs as props, doing magic tricks, and simply acting like psychos.  Some of the guys are cute, but I'm pretty sure they're not interested in the girls, but instead, interested in the other guys.  I think it's funny when the girls pick the guys that clearly don't want to be with the girls.  So, I'm now going to turn it off so I can relax rather than feeling incredibly awkward for both the women and the men on the show.
Maybe this show should have a guy holding sushi!  That would be a great show.

There Goes Our Sex Life

Farrah's bed has not yet arrived, but it is on its way.  However, we do have her mattress.  So, we decided to give her a taste of what it will be like to be in a big girl bed, beginning Christmas Eve.  It was very successful.  That's because she didn't know what it meant, yet, to have the freedom of not being caged up in a crib.  But, she knows now.

"Mommy, I need to go potty."
"Mommy, I need to blow my nose."
"Hi Mommy."
"Hi Daddy. Mommy is Daddy sleeping?"
"I want to watch another movie."
"I need a hug and a kiss."
"It's over! The movie is over. Mom, it's over."

She has now discovered free will.  She just walks right on in our room and lets us know what's up, what she needs, what she feels she needs to tell us, whatever comes to mind.  She doesn't even have the courtesy to knock!  Rude.  I clearly need to teach my daughter some new manners.  One thing she hasn't quite picked up on yet, is when she is upstairs napping and we are downstairs watching TV or something, that she can actually walk down the stairs.  She just shouts from the top of the stairs at us, asking if she can be awake now.  "No."

Well, here we are at a new phase of our little girl's life.  I hate the idea of clicking the lock over on our bedroom door, but it might be necessary until she learns to knock.  I don't want her to have to tell a horror story to her friends as she grows up about when she walked in on her Mom and Dad one fateful night.  No thanks.

On another note, Christmas was wonderful.  She received a Dollhouse from Santa Claus along with dolls (from Great Grandma), chapstick, nail polish, candy canes, a little hockey set from Auntie Bre and Uncle Steve, Mr. Potato Head from Grandma Jan and Boppy Bobby, Cinderella Dress from Uncle Jeff, and so many more gifts to mention.  She had painted a ceramic cereal bowl for her Daddy with her hand prints on it, a tea cup/kettle set for Grandma Jan, a Beer Stein for Boppy Bobby, and something for Grandma Rita and Poppy Dan but I can't mention it because they haven't received it yet.  So, shhhhh.  Mike and I gave each other lovely gifts (digital photo frame and pearl ring for me - 928 photo, Bose Stereo, and custom money clips for Mike).  I received a Snuggie from Alex and Mike received the awesome new iMouse from Alex.  Very thoughtful.  Jeff and Steve were quite clever with their gifts for us.  Very fun and creative.  It was my first time making Christmas Dinner in my entire life:  Turkey, green bean casserole, candied yams, stuffing, rolls, and game sauce.  Too much for one person to do.  Now I understand the chaos of having so many of us in the kitchen during Thanksgiving and Xmas.  Hard work.  I attempted gravy and failed miserably.  Sorry.  Anyhoo, there's the most recent update.

Merry Christmas 2009...it was great!

Small Town, Watch OUT!!!

Today, was a prime example as to why you shouldn't be a douche bag out on the road; particularly if you are 1/2 a mile from my gym.  It started with me getting off the freeway and trying to merge over to the left, but everyone in the left was trying to get over to the right.  Well, the butthole behind me was trying to do the same, apparently.  However, he was unable to see that the reason I had come to a complete stop was because 3 cars ahead of me were also at a complete stop.  But, still, he insisted on honking and screaming at me to, "GOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" and wail around like a psycho.  Being the smart person that I am, I turned around and told him to  "eff yourself mother effer piece of shit, eff you!!!"  Didn't think it was family friendly to use the eff bomb but still keep it PG-13 with the word, "shit".  Of course, Farrah was very displeased with my poor choice of words, as was I.  But he was an ass!  So here, lies the problem.  Was he a gym member?  Does he frequent my place of business?  That could suck in so many ways.  This area is too small not to recognize one another.  Oh, and the best part is, my car is COMPLETELY decked out in Gold's Gym Marketing material.  Well, maybe he thinks I just love to work out and not that I'm there EVERY SINGLE DAY.  On the other hand, I could just as easily find him and cancel his membership or simply make a scene about his bad driving etiquette.

I'm probably the asshole in this, because he probably got some bad news earlier, and me stopping behind other stopped vehicles was more than he could stand.  So, sorry, angry douchey driver behind me today.

Fugly Sweater Day

Today, I picked out a pink sweater to wear to work.  It's a cute pink sweater with 3/4 sleeves and ribbed cotton.  Neat, huh?  If it were 1999.  It used to be flattering.  Mike even said it looked slimming on me, this morning.  Then, my day began at work.  I felt quite unattractive in it ALL DAY LONG.  That's a sign that the sweater must find its way to a clothing recycling bin.  I can't be tempted to put this thing on my body again.  It's almost as if I forget how bad it looks and can only remember how nice it looked on me in the 90s.  That image is engrained in my brain throughout my car drive to work, making me believe this was a good choice, later to discover it was not.

Take care, pink sweater.  I am breaking up with you.  You need to see other people and I need to see other sweaters.

Dear Mike

This blog is about you, Mike.  You have been slaving for days (really, for months) on the Fuzion Mobile program to get a little monster of a business off the ground and running.  We have several people who are putting a lot of time and energy into this, but you are who I see everyday, so it is you who I am writing about.
You work from home because you know how important it is to stay focused on your project.  And you really do!  The last few days, you have locked yourself in your office and virtually glued your ass to your office chair.  The only time you've moved is to just get a change of scenery by moving your computer to a different location in the house.  I am surprised your eyesight isn't completely failing from staring at a computer screen all day. You've written so much for the people to better understand what exactly Fuzion Mobile is all about, and when doing that, you've dissected all that you've written and rewritten it again!
I pointed out last night that you worked yourself to the point of blowing a massive blood vessel in your left eyeball.  That's like "Xtreme Working"!!!  You went without a shower for two days straight.  So, this morning I rubbed your furry head and kissed your prickly face with nothing but pride in my heart and sympathy for the sheer exhaustion I know you're experiencing.  Type, type, type, print, print, print, corrections, phone calls, web conferencing, deligating, and trying to sneak in a hug or two from your girls.
I've watched the sadness in your eyes because of the sacrafices you've had to make with your family.  But I know this is important and who you are doing this for.  She loves you so much, and who knew a 3 year old (tomorrow) would understand that daddy has work to do but it's all good?  She gets it!  And in the meantime she gets her wrestling matches with you and gets to jump off your back and cuddle up with you.  She LOVES that!  I love that!

And, then there's moments like tonight...
I watched you in a moment where you shined!  After the long nights, running on 6 hours of sleep (if that), and the blood, sweat, and tears; it all came together for this moment.  The constant pressure on you to get it done and the weight of the world on your shoulders if you didn't, and you still managed to be cool, calm, and collected throughout the whole thing.

I wanted to jump out of my seat and start clawing and screaming, because one of the investors was "busting your balls".  While he questioned you and your abilities I wanted to scream, "Because he is perfect for this job!!! Because he cares so much!!!  Because he wants everyone to be successful!!!  Because he doesn't want to nor intend to let anyone down!!!"  But, thank god for that little bit of Xanax I took right before the meeting.  I was a nervous shaking mess.  But I watched you do so well and so perfectly at something I know I would fall to pieces doing.  I nodded to Kelly that the man busting your balls, was going to be a part of what we're doing, because you had the right answers.  You weren't cocky about having all the answers, but understanding and caring about giving the man the answers he needed.  Kelly even whispered how "you were doing SO WELL."

I can't say enough, Mike, of how TRULY TRULY TRULY proud I am of you.  And I'm not saying it as your wife because I have to, but saying it as your friend, too, because it's true.  I got to see my husband in the role he was meant to have.  No experience running a multi-million dollar company?  You get to have it now, babe.

Here's The Bed

You wanted to see the bed...

Ta Dah!!!!

Farrah's new bed to arrive right before her third Birthday.

Hooray!!!

Another Milestone...

I know it's a little early to talk about Farrah's third birthday, but here I am writing about it a whole 8 days before the big day.  She is so excited.  I explained to her, "Sweetheart, when you start to see Xmas lights everywhere and you see Santa around, know it's almost your birthday!" "WOTTT?!!!"  She has learned how to hold up three fingers.  However, she knows better not to lie about her age.  She tells people, "I'm gonna be freeeee" (that's three in Farrah language).

So, other than the fact that my "Kitten" or "Face" or my sweet little baby girl is turning 3, she has moved on from another stage in her life.  Her present that her Mommy and Daddy got her today was her brand new "Big girl" bed.  Yes, my daughter has been in her beautiful crib these past 3 years of her life, which has turned out to be excellent for her.  Her crib is white, lacy, and round.  Very unique and very special. Her Daddy picked it out for her but also for me.  It was a surprise for me.  He let me in on the secret when he had been working on her room.  However, he gave me a sneak peak so that I wouldn't be upset with his choice.  I couldn't have been more happy.  He wanted nothing but the absolutely best of the best for his little girl, and so she got it.  Her crib held up so long and Farrah never became a "climber".  She always stayed in her bed.  She has done a little bit of damage over the years by chewing on it, kicking it, having a temper tantrum in it while jumping up and down, to the point now it wobbles with very little effort.  Sooooo, in effort to keep our child safe....a new bed it is!

I'm excited for her, but inside a little saddened.  She's growing up SO fast.  She has been going to pre-preschool with Gamma Jan and Boppy Poppy for the last couple of months.  She's drawing, doing puzzles, counting, and her vocabulary is growing more rapidly than ever expected (but I expected it).  So, being the little smarty pants that she is, she and I look online for new beds for her.  Anytime I turn on my laptop, she asks to look at beds.  She tells me the ones she likes and is sure to point out the ones that don't interest her at all, whatsoever.

She is getting a Cinderella Canopy bed.  It's simple, yet a little elegant and not too over the top.  But I loved growing up with a Canopy bed.  It didn't feel right that she should go from something so beautiful to something that wouldn't make her jaw drop.  It's a tubular steel bed formed to make wheels at each end and the top comes together so I can purchase a large piece of chauffon to hang elegantly.  Am I reinforcing the "princess" complex?  Probably, but not as much as I could in the next year or two.  THAT bed will be freaky cool.

So, she's graduated from the crib and will be into her new bed in a matter of days.  Again, this stings in my heart, but it also radiates me with pure joy and happiness that the look on her face will be that of complete amazement.  Because we paid attention and picked out the one she wanted.  I can't wait!

But...a small part of me can. : )

Happy third Birthday, Farrah Raquelle Moody

Um, I Don't Know

There are times that Mike and I don't keep an eye on every single thing she does.  However, we are good enough parents to at least take the time to shout out, "Farrah!!! What are you doing??!!"  Sometimes she responds with an accurate answer, explaining that she's watching a movie, playing with her ponies, or reading a book (yes, she reads now).  But! If she says, "Um...I don't know!" we know we are in trouble.  I've learned the hard way "I don't know" means she does know what she's doing and that it's not good whatever it is.  One time, that was her answer and I accepted it for what it was.  Just an answer.  She stopped whatever it was she was doing and came upstairs with me to get ready for bed.  Later, I went back downstairs to get something from the kitchen and discovered what her "I don't know" was.  It was her digging through a drawer and discovering a bag of spaghetti and dumping it on the floor.  Not in whole pieces, no!  She likes to make her messes just that much more fun for me to clean up.  She was sure to break the dried spaghetti into tiny little pieces.  Thanks.  Last night's "I don't know" was interesting.  She found the spoon and bowl full of water...in the bathroom.  Yes, it was the toilet brush and the toilet.  She put little pieces of toilet paper in the bowl and was busy stirring.  She took the brush out and put it back in over and over again being sure to cover the entire floor with the water.

"Um, I don't know" is never a good thing.

She knows.

She knows.

Look What I Found

So, out of curiosity, Mike and I were wondering what age you had to be to be considered a "cougar". I guessed somewhere after 40. But, since I wasn't sure, I decided to google, "what age to be a cougar" and after looking at a couple of sites, I found the attached link. 
http://www.dateacougar.com  
Ohhh emmmm geeeee (OMG). Effin' awesome stuff. The best part is the picture that accompanies the site...

Old Lady Garments

However...

I hope my body looks that great when I'm in my 50s.  But, I refuse to wear that.

Really..."What are you waiting for?"

Tough Decisions and Hard Choices

Well, it happened. The cookies, doughnuts, and late night snacking finally found a way to sneak up on me. I shouldn't have been surprised, however, had I just turned around. It was there the whole time...on my ass. I am the heaviest I've ever been since being pregnant. In fact, I have 15 more pounds to go to get to my peek pregnancy weight! Fanfuckintastic! So, I, just like everyone else, must reevaluate what food I'm putting in my mouth and force the workouts my body needs and wants. I don't feel completely great about myself. My belly sticks out like its got a baby bump, only it's Pepperidge Farm Golden Orchard Cookie Collection "bump". I also have a ba-donk-a-donk. Awesome. I also just bought some new jeans 3 weeks ago and they're tight. TIGHT!!! So, tomorrow, I'm switching my protein drink, going to my oatmeal breakfast, wonderful cottage cheese and fruit lunch, and hitting the treadmill hard. I'm so out of shape right now, it will take me a little while to get to the point where I used to be with how much I used to run on the treadmill. Maybe I'll have to take one of my Group X classes that I keep telling myself to take. In any case, I have to do something. And how convenient that a bunch of fat took it's claim on my 6 pack abs right before my favorite holiday. Thanksgiving. I will be there with everyone else, first thing in the morning, at the gym, working off as many calories I intend to take in. I know I can do this. I have to do this. My hair looks too rad right now to have it ruined with my new "curves".

Thank you, Mike

I want to submit a blog that publicly thanks my husband. Mike, I want to thank you for all that you are doing and all that you have done to make our family feel safe and secure. I particularly want to thank you for making me feel secure...in us. You have displayed such efforts to express your love for me and how much we are great together. I love that. I know you have gone out of your way to make me feel safe. I notice these things. You don't even have to point it out. I want you to know how much I appreciate it. I have strong faith in us and always have. I look forward to the future that I've always known would be. It all includes, love, joy, fun, and lots of laughter. We're already on our way...

I love you, Mike.

Farrah

Me: Farrah, I don't feel good, honey. I need you to help take care of Mommy. (sniff, cough, cough)

Farrah: No. You can take care of yourself. I don't want to.

So...this is the life in which I must prepare myself. I should expect by the age of 60, that my daughter will be putting me in an "old-people's" home although I'll be completely healthy and totally coherent. Mike will be wondering where the hell I am and my daughter will simply shrug her shoulders and roll her eyes. At least, she'll be a bit more compassionate in her older age and decide that clearly I can't take care of myself and therefore, will have the nursing staff do it for me. I will, of course, understand this decision of hers, because after all, she did tell me when she was two. I was forewarned.

On a nicer note, she does say to me all the time, "I love you soooooo much, mommy."

My next question should be, "So much that you won't have me put away?"

Agggghhhhhhhh

This evening, Farrah was playing and went towards the door leading to the garage when she suddenly screamed for dear life at the top of her lungs and ran into my arms. I could barely get her to calm down and stop crying. Daddy walked around to see what freaked her out (of course, my first guess was that it was a ghost, though I hoped it wasn't) and found a little frog. Mike was not thrilled to catch it. In fact, he is usually the one to take care of any critter that finds it's way into our home and always without causing damage or death. That's important to him. A frog, however, is an entirely different category than spiders, flies, bees, mice/rats, or unwanted bears. Yes, there is a bear in the Arlington area, but that is unrelated to this story. The frog was bright green and about an inch in length. Mike had tried to put together a sort of trap for the frog that involved putting together a broom, a clear plastic bowl, and duct tape. That way, no one would have to actually get close to the evil frog, which is clearly a sign of the looming apocalypse. 2012 y'all! So, I was too impatient to catch the beast while my daughter clung to me for safety. I handed her off to her Daddy while I grabbed the bowl. I started to inch toward it while Farrah whined and Mike pulled out his phone to take a picture. He let me know the reason why he wanted to make the tool was because the frog was cornered and only had one way to jump... and that would be straight for me. My hair started to raise on my neck as I approached, and the monster moved!!! I shrieked and ran away. When I say "move", it did just that. It turned around. That's it. It scared the effin' shit out of me. Mike finally stepped up to his appointed plate and took the bowl from me. He stretched his arm as far away from his body as it would go while the bowl was in hand. He followed the fleeing frog until he found his moment. It was captured under a Glad Disposable bowl. He scooped the Maxim magazine under it. In the moment he examined it, he discovered it was the same frog that was in our house YESTERDAY. It had the same Pine needle on its head. How the hell did he get back in here??? No, this was not our first encounter with this frog. We thought it was a sign that we needed to start building an arc. In the end, we decided to release the frog out into our backyard which is close to a creek. Hopefully, he will remember that is where he is supposed to live. He needs to know we do not like unwelcome guests. And clearly, Farrah is not a fan of things that jump at her.


On a side note...
We were watching the news and there was a story about a raging fire on a big dock. The news anchor said that the dock was "badly damaged by the fire". And Mike and I had to stop and look at each other with confusion in our eyes. In the footage, it showed us that it was a catastrophic loss of the entire dock. There was no dock left. So, by "badly damaged" they meant completely destroyed. Mike decided that was about as close to saying, "Carol was struck by a car and partially killed and she is not expected to survive her funeral, although her family is still holding out hope." I felt this humorous comment deserved a post. Take a bow, Mike.

Packaging Meds

You know, I may have blogged about this at one point or another, but I honestly don't have time to go back and look. So, if this is a repeat, then that means it was that important to write about more than once.

Today I purchased a packet of Zyrtec for my allergies. 5 pills. Picture in your mind what 5 pills look like (they're about the size of half a kernel of corn). They are individually wrapped around a 1.5" x 1" packet. Then those 5 individually wrapped packets are stored in another package about 3.5" x 4". Why? Is it so necessary to keep us from getting to this pill to keep my nose from running and sneezing or make my eyes stop itching? How freakin' WASTEFUL!

My Imatrex is the same. There is a sheet of very stiff card stock with foil about 4" x 2". It is periforated for approximately 6 pills in each 1.25" x 1" section. But no. They keep you guessing why they only allow 3 pills on that card stock. It makes absolutely no sense to me at all. And do you want to know the fun part? When you have a debilitating migraine, you usually need to get to those meds right away because you only have a small window to settle that exploded blood vessel down. Unfortunately, you're so busy digging your nails in (ultimately breaking that lovely nail in your haste), breaking the pill in 3 different spots, and finally throwing back the crumbs of the medication that just got destroyed.

I suggest to the government to go after the pharmacutical companies with a different approach. If they choose to be so dumb and wasteful with their packaging, they should get a nice juicy tax hike. That, alone, could pull us out of this deficit.

Whatever. I'm tired because luckily my Xanax is stored in your basic pill bottle. No waste and just the right amount of ease.

WinCo

Okay, I've told the story a few times, but many of you are waiting for my interpretation of what I call my "WinCo Experience". Unfortunately, since I have told the story verbally to people, my typed version may end up sounding stupid and insignificant. But, I'm telling it anyway, because it is worth writing about.

Let's start with my massive slash I gave myself before heading to the store. I was taking a shower and quickly grabbed my razor and swung it around towards my back to rinse it off. Too fast and too damn close. AHHHHHH SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! Blood oozed down, breathing sped up, and my heart rate increased. What did that equal? Fainting and more fainting. I don't do well with stuff like that. In any case, it worked on healing and scabbing over for the rest of the day.

Towards the later part of the afternoon, it was time for me to venture off to this store, WinCo. I had been told that I could save a lot of money there, and this somewhat prepared me for what I would find. It would be a close second to WalMart. Farrah and I went together. It was one of those reeeeeally hot days, making my seat particularly sweltering. When we found our parking spot and it was time to slide out, my scab chose to keep itself stuck to the seat while my leg went the opposite direction. Bloody mess yet again. Nice. Come to find out later, my nasty bloody wound helped me fit in quite nicely with the crowd that was there that day.

Anyway, we got our shopping cart and yes, I felt I was walking into a Walmart. There's always someone without a shirt or someone who forgot their shoes. Why, I ask. We got in and started making our way down the first aisle, and I was already checking out the various escape routes. I stood in line in the potato chip aisle like I was in line for a Disneyland ride. Only it was potato chips. The way they had their meat stacked (it was for a special) was all up on top of each other, convincing me that there was no way in Hell the meat was staying at the required temperature that wouldn't make you die. I toughed it out a bit longer and simply chose to make an adventure out of it. Ultimately, it wasn't too horrible in the end. There were a couple of times that I wanted to punch people in their faces, like when I was trying to get some sandwich meats. There was a family of five leaning their sweaty ass bodies over the meats to cool themselves off. Are you kidding me??? Sick bastards. But do you want to know what was really sick? I still bought the meat. I was on a mission! There were somethings I didn't buy nor would I ever buy. I would only feel 70% comfortable buying the produce. Produce is one of the big things that steers me towards a grocery store. If it's rotten, the rest of the store probably is too. However, I ended up getting lucky with half the fruits and vegetables that I purchased. The other thing I refused to buy there was their meats (steak, hamburger, fish, etc). I know where I like my meats and where I can trust it will be perfect every time. That's Costco or Haggens. I never see flies, and that's a good thing.

Yes, in the end, while I felt the need to take a steel wool pad shower after being in there, I ended up spending SO much less than I would've anywhere else. In fact, I could have afforded to purchase that steel wool pad and it would probably not have even dented my account. So Kudos to WinCo for sucking me into their evil clutches of bargain shopping. You win...WinCo.

Days Like Today

Sometimes there are days like today that melt my heart and warm my soul. Today was Oliver's 3rd Birthday Party. Farrah and Oliver played very well with one another as well as with Raven. They all had so much fun. I watched in awe as my little girl interacted with her cousin and new friend, Aunts and Uncles, her brother, grandparents, and of course Mommy and Daddy. This was one of those days that every chance I got I would steal a hug, a kiss, and tickle torture moments. I could have eaten her up! Any time I could just sit there and watch her, I would. When we got home tonight, I walked in her room on 4 different occasions to watch her sleep. I had to hold myself back from picking her up and just holding her. It's days like today that I feel so lucky to have Farrah as my daughter. My heart feels like it is swollen with so much love. Life is pretty good.

Dance

Am I the only one who does this? When some of Farrah's cartoons are on, I'll stand in front of the TV (so she'll have to watch me, of course) and dance real hard like I'm auditioning for "So You Think You Can Dance". Sometimes I also take a song that might be playing on the cartoon and clap my hands in a way that seems to transform the sweet song into some hard core rock 'n roll. Anyway, that's what I do.

Okay, on another note...I'm watching Noddy...again. I have to make one more observant complaint: What's up with the British chick at the beginning of these shows? She has an extremely unnecessarily strong English accent. She's really over doing it. Can't understand a damn thing she says.

Make Way For Noddy

Have any of you seen this cartoon? Noddy. Farrah is a huge fan. Every night I have to set it up for her to watch in order for her to relax for bed. That's our routine. Well, lately I've decided there's something not quite right with this cartoon. There's always a lesson to be learned as there is with pretty much every cartoon, but I seem to always be waiting for a different ending. Here's why: there are 2 goblins on the show. They're total douche bags. They steal shit and irritate the hell out of everyone in Toyland, but no one does a damn thing about it. What the eff?!! If I lived there, I would have hired a hit man by now to take them out. There's also a female monkey who wears overalls. She's a complete bitch. She walks around with a frown on her face and she criticizes everyone in town. Why? Who does she think she is? They actually had an episode about her trying to make friends, but everyone said they were already her friend. Liars. All of them. They're clearly just saying that so she'll leave them alone. She's horrible. Then there's the police officer. He's incredibly arrogant and has some weird superiority complex where he feels the need to boss everyone around, however this guy can't even put those asshole goblins in the town jail for more than 5 minutes! Are you kidding me??? Who gave this guy a job?!! At the end of each episode, I'm seriously expecting someone to stick up for themselves and the people in town by confronting these jerks. I think that would be a great episode. Everyone in town (including Noddy) should come after the goblins, the monkey, and the police officer with pitch forks and torches and kick them out of Toyland once and for all. Enough is enough, I say!

But why do we watch Noddy? Because Noddy is a good boy. He's sweet and kind and really is friends with everyone in town. Farrah and I sing along with the opening theme song too. In fact, we're watching it right now.

Don't worry. I don't discuss my issues with the other characters with Farrah. That would be rude.

Precious

This Mother's Day weekend, Mike, Farrah and I went to Wenatchee. It was just the 3 of us. Ahhhhh. It was relaxing and wonderful. Usually, we wind up watching 10 movies and several television series. This time it was a whole bunch of play dough games, Yahtzee, naps, and of course, bike riding!

Then we tried something new...

It was time for Farrah to go to bed the first night we were there. We chose not to bring her play pen to sleep in and give her a chance to sleep on the trumble bed. If it didn't work out, she'd end up sleeping on the couch. When we let her know it was bed time, she wasn't very happy. She ended up whining and pouting, but ultimately grabbed her ditty and drug her feet with her head down off to her new little room. She got all curled up in her bed and settled down.

Then he said it in the kindest, sweetest, and most sincere tone.

"God, she's f*cking precious."

And she is. She really is.

Dvd

I am writing this from my phone in bed, so bear with me (or is it bare with me? You choose). This is a story I could not pass up to share with the World Wide Web, no matter how wrong it may be.

For about a month, our gym's daycare has been without cable, let alone a working DVD player. Mike and I have shopped around looking for reasonably prices DVD players all over town. Luckily, we happened to find one stored away in our house. It's a little older, but in perfect working condition. Yay for free! I took it to the daycare and the gal working knew how to hook up electronic stuff so I let her loose. I had been on the phone when she walked up to my desk when her shift was up and it was time for her to head home. I was talking to our payroll company. When she came up to my desk she placed something on it, smiled, said, "this was in the DVD player," smiled again and walked off. I was still talking to payroll when I waved good bye and then I looked down. My stomach dropped to my toes. I could no longer hear a thing the person on the other end of the phone was saying because I was laughing so hard. I quickly wrapped up my conversation, hung up, and did my notorius scream-laugh.

We had left raunchy porno in our DVD player. When she hooked it up, the menu screen came up and the remote was fumbled with until the program had been turned off. Luckily only two kids were there, one of which was mine. This was a proud and somewhat embarrassing moment. I've told everyone. It's too effin funny not to. The good news???: we weren't on the film.

Medium...

Mike and I discovered a show that has been on the air for a little while, now. Medium. We thought, what an interesting idea for a show. A psychic that dreams of criminals and helps the police solve the mysteries. Awesome.

Then we started to watch it.

We were hooked from the word go. But not because it was so good. Because it was so bad. We cannot stop watching it. Can't look away. It's like a horrific plane crash that you know is awful to see, but you keep peaking to see if someone is going to come out screaming with their hair on fire. Yeah, it's like that.

Here's how crappy the writing and directing are. A little sample of what the dialog is usually like:

Alison: I had a dream last night about the serial killer and he lives in Arizona and drives a white Cadillac. Here's his address and license plate number

Police Chief: I don't know Alison. This seems far fetched. How am I supposed to believe what you're telling me. This is silly. Come to me when you have something I can work off of.
...

Okay, so this is what it is like every show. And the "Alison" character has helped solve over 150 crimes. How? By dreaming up a person's address and license plate number every time and giving it to the Police Chief. Why doesn't he ever trust her? After all she's done for him?!!

Then the "favor" casting. Oh, love this and can't get enough. There's a little boy on the show that plays Alison's daughter. I know, weird. But seriously, that boy is a bad actor and is supposed to be portraying the middle child who is a sister to two other bad acting children (who are girls). Bizarre. I call the boy a "favor" because there's no way this he/she was casted because he/she is talented. He puckers up his lips like he's kissing while he's talking and his voice is deep. He delivers his line like a 3rd grader reads a book out loud in class. This boy/girl's mother must have done some freaky shit with the casting director to keep that kid on the show.



You can see him/her, right? He's the blond in the pretty shirt and the receding hairline.

Another thing we noticed was the couple in the show. He's not too bad of an actor and she's alright. They have decent enough chemistry between the two of them, but it's brother and sister-like. Mike said last night, "They never f*ck!" It's so true! She's always wearing baggy-ass pajamas, and not cute ones. Something someone very old would wear. And when they go to bed together, they sleep with their backs turned to one another. (I think he's upset that he had a son that she keeps putting in girl clothes and he's just a little bit bitter.) She wears different pajamas every night. Not every show; every night she goes to sleep. Since she has to sleep a lot to find the criminals, she has to wear a lot of pajamas. They're usually floral print, a funky design, and sometimes just a solid color. They're the button up type. He on the other hand always wears the same nasty ass greenish brown t-shirt. No wonder they never get it on...they're not appealing.

Also, they constantly argue about how silly it is that perhaps one or two of their daughters have psychic abilities. The parent who actually has the abilities is the one who argues how ridiculous it is to think that they could possibly be able to see things. What?!!

Watch the show if you want to be entertained by picking it apart to death as I have, otherwise, save your time and trust that it isn't worth getting sucked into as Mike and I have. We know it's awful, and yet, we have it recorded on our TV in the living room and our bedroom. We're hooked.

Bater

I'll keep it simple and to the point...

We have a "bater" at our gym. By "bater", I mean she's a Mastur of the Bating. Get it? Soooo grossss! Why do we get the weirdos?

We might have to follow her around with the disinfectent spray all the way out the door. Bye Bye, sicko.

Loves

"I love you, Farrah."

"I lah loo mama. I lah loo daddy."

And then she takes my face and her daddy's face and gently pushes us together so we kiss. Then she puckers up and kisses us while we're kissing. The three of us kiss together at the same time.

And later she sings a song titled "My mommy, my daddy". Those are also the lyrics.

Iss Fweddy!

Farrah has several new words she uses that she has made her own. She used to call diapers "Ds" and her blanket "ditty". Mind you, she has not stopped calling them that. She's just not using diapers anymore and therefore doesn't have to call them anything at all. Now she uses "Doras".

If the timer goes off on the oven or microwave, she says, "Iss fweddy!"

When she says she wants a snack, she says the "s" portion of the word "snack" through her nose as if she's blowing it, followed by the word "nack". Try saying it that way. It's funny. Or the way she says, "That's fwonny!"

Thomas the Train is "Choo Choo"

"Meow" is "eee ow". "Icky" is "gicky". "Nikki" (one of our daycare workers) is "Kiki". "Lauren" is "LorLor".

Hungry is no longer "Huh ree". It has upgraded to "Hunger"

"What are you doing" is "Are doing?"

When she sees letters, she calls them "A's"

"I don't want it" is "I oh waa ihh!"

"I don't want to go to bed" is "I no waa go bed"

"There you go" is "Gay ko".

I could go on forever and fill this blog up with the different ways she puts her words and sentences together as a means to document her progress, but it could take me all day. So, I will wrap it up with a little story to explain how far along our little girl's language has come...

A couple weeks ago, Farrah was at Grandma's and Grandpa's. When we arrived to pick her up, she was cuddled up with Grandma with a bloody lip after she took a spill. No big deal. Accidents happen, and especially with a 2 year old. We were told that she had slipped off one of the foot rests and hit her lip on the side of an old table. "Owie!" Our poor Farrah looked awful. Her lip was so swollen and I wasn't sure if she needed a stitch or not. She looked like Keiffer Sutherland in the movie "Freeway" after he got shot in the face by Reese Witherspoon. Well, after about half an hour of us pouring our love over her and she started to calm herself from the pain and she had received a little bit of Motrin for the swelling, she said something to me that was kinda funny. She said, "Goggy hit," as she pointed to her lip. Then I looked closer at her face. There were 4 long scratch marks running down her face down to her lip. She just tattled on Grandma and Grandpa's dog. "Goggy hit" meant "Doggy hit". Of course, we couldn't get too mad, because again, it was an accident. However, Grandma and Grandpa will have to start paying a little bit better attention to the granddaughter and the fact that she TALKS. She will talk. Farrah is a tattle tale and will tell on everyone. That's what she does.

Her vocabulary and sentence formation is getting better and better. It has seemed like it has happened over night, too. She will tell you anything and everything that she can. Even if she has to rat out the dog and throw Grandma and Grandpa under the bus.

Funny Story

Today was a busy day at the gym. I had to leave to run some errands that included making deposits all over town and paying bills. One of my last stops was at my local bank. I drove up to the "drive-thru teller" window and handed over Mike's check to be deposited. I was tired and very irritable. After a good 5 minutes had gone by after the teller had taken the check, I waved at her to get her attention. What the hell was taking so freakin' long??? She informed me that they needed to verify funds. What? This is a bank we've banked with for years and we've been receiving checks from the gym for over a year. I was being treated like I was new. This irritated me even more. I looked inside and saw at least 6-7 people in line that stood there and stared at me while I waited for the gal to come back and give me my deposit slip and send me on my way. They were all watching me and it was awkward.

Then it happened...

I saw it coming.

It was the biggest one I've ever seen.

It was huge and heading straight for me.

"Please god, don't come this way, please, please please."

And it did.
(All of the above, "that's what she said")

Continuing...


It was a giant bastard of a bumble bee.

It flew right into my face. So, of course, what was the reasonable thing to do? Wave my hands around like a crazy person, scream, and swear a lot. Remember, those people were watching me. Also, the microphone was turned on:

"F**K!!!!"
"F**K OFF BEE!!!"
"OH MY GOD!!!"
"GET THE F**CK OUT!!!"
" F********CK!!!!!!"
"AAAAGGHHHH!!!"

The bee taunted me like a son of a bitch. It flew into my face, then out of my window, and decided just to linger right between me and the teller. Of course, when I want my window to go up in a hurry, it didn't. It's electric. It takes its sweet ass time. Then I had to roll it back down so that I could finally get the deposit slip. There it was, floating between me and the teller. Still swearing and freaking out and waving my hands around, I managed to get my hands near the drawer and grab the slip. My eyes slowly came up and I saw people looking at me with great concern. My window went up and I took off.

I had to turn on the A/C because I was sweating so badly from my horrific experience.

F**k bees.

Remembering the 80s

I have been noticing a change in our cities, towns, communities, neighborhoods. Litter. And a lot of it. Remember, "Give a hoot, don't pollute"? Yeah, it's time for another one of those public service announcements. There is trash EVERYWHERE!!! It's so gross. I remember growing up in the 80s and seeing trash on the sides of the roads everywhere you went. Then they started the "don't pollute" message followed with "Litter and it will hurt" campaign. At that time, it seemed like overnight, the grass was grass again on the sides of the roads rather than plastic cups, McDonalds bags, diapers, beer cans and bottles, etc. Take a look out there and consider rounding up a group of people to clean it up. It's gross and embarrassing. Our area has always been nice and now it looks like we're in a 3rd world country. The area behind our business that meets with the freeway, seems to now be owned by Waste Management.

I'm hoping to get a group together myself, and clean up our town. You should consider doing the same.

Talking Toys

Some of Farrah's toys talk. Sometimes they talk when you push a button...sometimes they just talk on their own. It's the ones that talk on their own that I am not a fan of. Honestly, I'm not a fan of any toys that make unnecessary noise as there is plenty of noise being made by my daughter dragging her toys across the hardwood floor, throwing them on the hardwood floor, and her insessive demanding of whatever it is that she feels she needs in that exact moment. But the toys that want to communicate when no one is playing with them, bother me just a tad. Or the toys that sound like the evil dead are talking through them; those ones get the batteries removed from their souls.

Farrah's first, and favorite I might add, toy, is her "baby". It is a puffy little doll with a cute plastic face. We purchased the doll for Farrah over a year ago. At the time, we had no idea that the baby came with a little voice box. When we did, we were quite disturbed by what it said. It wasn't that it was a night time prayer, but the voice that was used to record the prayer. You would expect the voice to be that of a child as it is a child's toy. No. It sounded like a woman pretending to be a child. At the end, the woman-child says, "Amen" in a seductive, almost evil and taunting way. It was horrific! We immediately removed it from the doll, but saved the voice box to frighten our friends and family whenever they came over. We'd make them listen to it and everyone agreed that it was a little scary.

Next, Farrah was given a puzzle from Nanna and Poppy (Lund). It is an animal puzzle that makes the animal's noise when the correct puzzle piece is put in its place. Well, it's light activated. So, anytime a light is turned off when we're heading to bed, a cat would meow, or a horse would neh, a cow would moo, whatever animal decided to speak up. It's always unexpected and therefore always scares the shit out of us.

There is a pig that you squeeze it's "hand" and it recites the Little Piggies. It's sweet and cuddly. Tonight, Farrah went to hug the pink pig when it was sad about not getting any roast beef. When she did that, she squeezed the voice box. The voice box has a woman telling the story and a child's laughter at the end. At that moment, Farrah's hug squeezed the box making the women's voice get deep and slow and the child's laughter deep and slow and therefore, evil. It was gawd awful. It even made me shout at it. I now hate that toy.

Of course, I saved the best for last. Farrah picked out a cute little African American baby for her birthday that giggles, coos, babbles, and moves its head and arms. She loves it. It, too, is light and motion activated. If all the lights are out and Mike and I are cuddling on the couch watching a movie, the change in the lighting can set that doll off. The doll starts to move and laugh and it freaks me the eff out. The worst part??? Oh, that's when Farrah has taken that creepy doll to bed with her. One night I was unable to prevent her from bringing badness into bed with her because I was out with Mike and the babysitter sent her to bed with it. When we got home around 1 in the morning, I of course decided to check on my daughter before going to bed. She was passed out, but there was a weird noise coming from her bed. The doll's voice had been turned off, but not the ability to move. The power hadn't been completely turned off. So, there was my little girl sleeping with a doll that was moving its arms and head around. I pretty much wanted to open her window and throw it out in the woods. Fuggin' scary! Why does she love the toys that scare the bajeezus out of me???

So, from now on, all of Farrah's toys will be voice box and movement free so that I can sleep at night.