Monday, October 26, 2009

Do You Hear What I Hear?


The angels are singing!

The Amber Alert I issued on my camera has led to her safe return!

(Just stand up and happy dance with me for a moment...)

She is currently in the hands of the authorities (um... coordinators of my last dance competition...) and will be returned safely home in no time.

There are no suspects in the case, but she is completely unharmed in every way.  In fact, the authorities found her, "Jane Doe Camera", wandering the hotel ballroom alone and confused and unable to communicate.  It was almost AS IF she had been left sitting there wallowing on the ballroom table all along...

Hmmm...

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Three Is A Magic Number!



Yes it IS!
It's a magic number!


Isaac
my baby
"The Caboose"

turned three today.


He will board a bus headed for preschool for the first time this Tuesday.
Wearing a miniature "Lightning McQueen" backpack.

He actually has refused to take the backpack off since I purchased it last week, so I guess I won't have to work too hard at getting him ready for school.

One of the magical (and I dare say, charming) things about 3-year-olds
is that the concept of ownership
(aka "MINE!")
becomes understood.

So...
because it is indeed charming
and also downright entertaining

I bought one of those cute Little Tykes shopping carts for Isaac for his birthday.

Now he is circling the house with all his other gifts and worldly posessions loaded up in the shopping cart like a homeless baglady.
While wearing his miniature Lightning McQueen backpack.

He has been doing this for hours.
He is happy as can be.

If you even look his way he walks around to the front of the shopping cart - blocking it from view and he warns "No Touching!"

And we listen.

Because "No Touching" = "I am happy and  P.S. This is Mine...  Breach the perimeter of mine-ness, and I will turn from darling dimpled birthday boy into The Incredible Hulk on Catnip
and unleash on you my ultimate wrath."

I will miss this age.


"Bag Lady Baby"

Happy Birthday, Baby Boy!


Friday, October 09, 2009

My Theme For The Week:







"The greater danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss it, but that it is too low and we reach it."


-Michelangelo

Thursday, October 08, 2009

The Cat Chronicles

This is a story about Anti-Pet Family #1


(Or so we used to be called.)
(By our own selves, that's by who.)

The only reason we don't use that term anymore, is because we actually have a pet.


Introducing:
 Pumpkin
A cat.  Who lives with us.  On purpose.

It is absolutely ridiculous that we have a cat,
and,
as I peel her off from around the top of my head
(where she frequently - and mistakenly - thinks she belongs)
I will tell you WHY:


It is ridicuous that we have a cat because we are the self-declared anti-pet family #1.
That's why.


Now I'll tell you HOW we came to have a cat - a much better story.
HOW Anti-pet Family #1 became the owners of a cat - I'll break it down into 2 parts:



Chapter 1: The only reason we have a cat is because someone gave us a fish.



On Sundays, the youngest of our children attend a nursery meeting at church, while we adults attend Sunday school classes.

Cute lessons are taught in the nursery about love, gratitude, and other niceties...

One particular unsuspecting Sunday, the cute lesson of "I am grateful for water" was taught.
As a token of water gratitude learnedness:  The even cuter idea of giving each teensy child a little water-filled baggie with a living breathing goldfish swimming around inside was executed.

(This had to sound like the cutest idea in the world to someone - but wait,
let me ask you - Is a goldfish not a pet?)

(Cough! Hack!)

  Exactly.

So, little Christiana -18 months old at the time- walked out of class with a big smile, and an even bigger surprise - As in:

SURPRISE! YOU ARE NOW PET OWNERS!


Say wha??

Who amongst you could look into the eyes of an eighteen month old angel who is proudly holding up (with both chubby little hands) the most wonderful thing she has clearly ever seen - and break her little heart?
Not I.

How much trouble could one little goldfish be?

Well, I'll tell you:


One $40 goldfish home
$10 worth of goldfish home decor complete with muti-colored rocks and a sunken pirate ship.
1 Bubbling goldfish oxygenating contraption
and goldfish food.


Oh, and did I mention (not more than 24 hours later) :  1 dead goldfish.

That's right.
Muerto.

THAT is how much trouble one little goldfish can be.

And THEN, 
I, the new pet mom,
engaged in the covert operation of quickly capturing the floating fish corpse with the little green net to make an emergency 9:58 PM run to Petsmart for goldfish twin #1.

And THEN,
not a week later,
it was time for ANOTHER stealth run to Petsmart for "Slicky" twin #2 (because now the goldfish had a name, but was just as departed).

When the time came (and it came soon), we decided to leave our dearly departed Slicky twin #2 (goldfish #3) publicly floating, because 3 fish in one week was flat out pathetic, and it was time we came to terms with that. 

And also because I was afraid of getting reported to PETA.

Chapter 2: The only reason we have a cat is because she is not a fish.

Nobody can hold a fish. Nobody can snuggle with a fish.

The fish has no way of letting you know that it is actually appreciating your company - so I was absolutely dumbfounded at how quickly all of my children declared their love for this creature.

It is unfortunate, but apparently "pet" has a designated area in the young child heart, and once it is filled it can never be left empty again. Three children with empty pet hearts was too much for even Anti-Pet Family #1 to bear.


Enter: The internet.
Enter: This picture:

Yes. 
Cute.

Exit: A boatload of cash.
Enter: The cat into our home.

Because cats are hardier than goldfish.

The End.

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

Land of the Lost

Drats!  
I must officially issue a missing persons report on my camera. 
Because there are not missing cameras reports.
And my camera is missing.  (Did I mention that?)
And because my camera is one of my loved ones.

She (my camera who is now a "she") has been missing sometime between 72 hours and 2 1/2 weeks.

Sometimes I don't keep close enough touch with my loved ones.
Ask anybody.
They will tell you.
Repeatedly.
And over and over again.
Because it might be true.

Oh yeah, back to my camera...

She is missing, so I am sad.
And pictureless.


Also dwelling in Land of the Lost:
1.  My natural haircolor.
2.  The toothfairy.  (She has forgotten to come for my daughter's tooth 2 nights in a row now.  Slacker.)
3.  My only housekey.  (Thank goodness for garage entry.)
4.  The "loser" who ate Joey's leftover fish taco.  (Tee Hee.) 

*(In the "loser's" defense, I am sure that person was really famished from working out at the gym for an hour and a half and was too tired to even make cereal and had sore feet.) 

(I'm just saying...)

Friday, October 02, 2009

Goodbye, Galaxy.


Hello, Friend.

I'm back!
I have been crazy busy gluing my world back together after taking a weekend off a couple of weeks ago...  We'll start there...  Prepare for some rambling.

"No fake eyelashes and glitter in our world."
My sister in law reminded me as I began my descent back into reality.
(From my weekend at the Galaxy Dance Competition!)


A crying shame if you ask me...
(Especially the eyelashes
which I had become quite attached to over the course of a rather glammed-up 72 hours.)

I admit, returning from the world of glitz, glamour, ballgowns and rhinestones is an adjustment. 
One moment I get to play the role of bedazzled dancing queen
(In my own mind, that's where.)
(I am quite imaginative.)
the next moment -  I am back to over-tired, over-scheduled mother and wife.
(No imagination required.)
(Cheesecake optional.)

I spent the weekend at the Biltmore.
I came home to the aftermath of WWIII.

While I was away, other people combed, sprayed, and rhinestoned my hair and did my make-up all weekend.
When I got back, I spent a week working the rats nest out of one of my daughter's uncombed heads.

The Biltmore had beautiful grounds filled with shiny happy people.
Back at my house, I could not locate the laundry room because of the tragic clothing avalanche.
And...
The refrigerator had been emptied.  That was too bad because I hadn't eaten in days.
And...
Empty toilet paper rolls adorned every restroom.
(Did I mention at the Biltmore my toilet paper roll magically replenished itself daily with no effort on my part?)

Nevertheless, I am glad to be home.
(That is the politically correct thing to say.)
(The truth = I WILL be glad to be home - once home resembles home again.)
(I will even be glad when it resembles my actual real home and not the souped up, peaceful, spotless, heavenly version I dreamed it to be during my uninterrupted sleep at the hotel.)

P.S.  It would not be very nice of me to overlook what good sports my family were to tolerate my leave of absence.  When I returned home the house was still standing and the children were all alive. 
Minimum requirements satisfied.




Curious about how things went? 
Peek at the RESULTS. 
(You'll have to scroll down to Montoya.)