Category Archives: Big Piece of Cake

Studies Show that Excessive Viewing of My Little Pony Videos Can Cause Brain Bleeds in Overindulgent Parents

Remember when people used to joke about getting stoned and watching the Teletubbies? Well, I’ve never actually seen the Teletubbies since they were a bit before my time – but I think that people who are drunk should check out some My Little Pony episodes.

Because anyone who attempts this while sober may lose their mind and require immediate hospitalization. And heavy doses of anti-hallucinogenic drugs.

My Little Pony screenings should really be included in accepted U.S. torture techniques. I would take five days of sensory deprivation over five hours of the ponies. (Okay – so that’s not really true, but you get my point.)

You may not be familiar with My Little Pony due to a lack of daughters or the great fortune of giving birth to them prior to this particularly odious phenomenon. If that is the case, I would ask you to imagine everything that has ever been annoying about girls. Then add a purple and pink color scheme, cloying lesson-based story arcs, squealing, giggling, slumber parties, dance contests, fashion shows, make overs and a dash of glitter. All with tinkling chimes for every scene change. Oh yeah – and ponies.

I was first introduced to My Little Pony movies when my daughter, Eleanor received one of the ponies for Christmas last year (not from me) and it came with a little “Meet the Ponies” DVD. It’s been almost a year, and we only JUST started watching this thing.

You see, unfortunately for Eleanor, our house is outfitted for boys. She’s simply outnumbered – Thomas Trains and Matchbox Cars prevail.

Sure we have plenty of the gender neutral Disney and Nick Jr. DVDs – but if we ever err on the side of “boy” or “girl” toys, Barbie eats G.I. Joe’s dust.

Until the ponies… Eleanore LOVES those damn ponies.

The first time she watched a My Little Pony episode, it was late at night and she was up with some kind of ailment (I think it was the night she burned one of her hands). In attempt to distract her from her discomfort, Chris looked for something girly for her to watch – something that she typically misses out on in this house of boys.

So he turned on My Little Pony. And she didn’t blink for the entire 45 minutes. She was rapt. It was like the mother ship was calling her home.

And now we live in fear of those dreaded words: “I want ponies.” Because she’s brainwashed her twin brother into thinking that he likes it too. George asks for ponies almost as much as Eleanor does. As you can imagine this thrills Chris to no end.

But back to getting drunk and watching My Little Pony… I have to admit – it is kind of hilarious.

The very first one I ever saw had me in total hysterics (and I wasn’t even drunk). That particular episode opened with a pony rock concert. Complete with screaming groupies and a hunky front man. It was quite possibly the most bizarre thing I’ve ever encountered. I couldn’t stop laughing. Eleanor was very serious about her pony enjoyment and gave me sidelong looks of disdain.

Lucky you! I found the clip:

Really my biggest question here is “who set up the mics?” The absence of opposable thumbs presents far too much suspension of disbelief for my liking…

Then the other day, we caught this little gem. A pony love story with bad advice from both the girl ponies and the boy ponies (very Summer Lovin’ in spirit):

But if you can’t stomach the undiluted syrupy sweetness, here is a version that anyone can enjoy:

Hey – even Pink likes ponies…

Kathlin Argiro Sample Sale in DC this weekend!

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I’ve written before about my friend Kathlin Argiro and her beautiful dress collections.

Well – she’s going to be in town (that is if you live in my neck of the woods) this upcoming weekend for my high school’s Esprit de Noel Christmas Bazaar.

I have purchased a few amazing pieces at this annual event – all at a fraction of the price she typically charges.

Here are the details:

Annual Esprit de Noel Christmas Bazaar

Friday, November 6th, 8:30 a.m. – 9:00 p.m.
Saturday, November 7th, 9:30 a.m. – 4:00 p.m.

Georgetown Visitation
1524 35th Street (at Volta Place)
Washington, DC 20007

No admission fees and free parking on campus!

And here are some images of my favorites:

And that doesn’t even include her gorgeous wrap dresses (which for some reason aren’t on her website at the moment…) But here is an old image from my archives:

I’m feeling inspired to pull out the art box and sketch some of these lovelies… We’ll see if that ends up happening – but I’ll definitely be at the sale to admire the real thing. Hope to see you there!

The Role of a Lifetime

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Due to some other posts that took precedence last week, I didn’t write fiction. As usual – I’m sitting down with little idea of what I’m going to write, but I’m staying with Vivi. Who knows if I’ll ever get to her connection to Ivy… But that’s still my intention.

You should probably read Vivian’s Roots and then the continuation for the sake of context.

Losing Sam at such a young age was one of Vivi’s greatest regrets. And it was the only one that ever made her feel bitter. To her way of thinking, if you didn’t have any regrets in life, then you didn’t expect very much for yourself. And Vivi’s child bride expectations could have eclipsed the grandeur of Notre Dame at sunset…of the New York skyline at twilight…of any helicopter ride through Hawaiian rainbows. She had see all of those things. With Sam. And not one of them compared to her hopes for their future.

At the very least, she had expected that they’d grow old together.

When your husband drops dead of a brain aneurysm at age 49, you can’t help but have a few bitter moments of regret.

But Vivi chose not to linger over long in those melancholy moments. As much as she would have given anything to rewrite that one piece of history, she was far too committed to her own life to live for Sam’s death. Limbo wasn’t a place for the likes of her.

She never did anything halfway and she gave grief her full attention when it was new. She stayed in bed for weeks on end and planned to follow Sam within the year. Mama of course rolled her eyes and said “Vivi honey – do you have any idea when first act will be over? As soon as it’s intermission, I’m going to need a drink.“

While this would have sounded shocking to anyone outside of the family, it always made Vivi throw back her head and laugh. A deep belly laugh. Another off kilter response that bonded them as mother and daughter…I’ll see your insensitive quip and raise you an inappropriate peal of laughter.

Ethel was never known for her brains, but it was just this kind of comment that hinted at her considerably sharp wit. And not for the first time, Vivi wondered what Mama would have been like in life if she actually cared enough to participate.

Fourteen years ago, Vivi’s surprised laugh was dry and brief, and it flew into a thousand papery wisps as soon as it left her throat. There is no music in bitter laughter.

But it did wake her up a little. And she realized that no amount of overly dramatic posturing would make the terrible truth any less real. She couldn’t play the tragic heroine or victim because this wasn’t the stage. There was no audience save herself, and she preferred something a bit lighter.

She who was always said to be so full of life then made the predictable choice to go on living. It wasn’t what she had wanted or expected for herself. But Mama was right – the show must go on. So she got out of bed, made the old bitch a drink and started considering her next twist of plot.

How Do WE Get Ready for Halloween?*

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As a family primarily populated by small children, we’re really just beginning to create holiday traditions. For a long time, it felt like we were the house of babies, then toddlers. And now that everyone is between the ages of two and three, we can actually say “we have three kids.” They are finally all able to understand Halloween – or at least the various decorations and activities that go along with it.

Now we have three very enthusiastic little people in our house who just LOVE PUMPKINS! So number one on the list of what we do to prepare for Halloween? We talk about pumpkins incessantly. The word “pumpkin” must be included in every other sentence – at least. And if we are driving in the car, there must be constant speculation about where the pumpkins are, how many there are and which direction should be taken to find them. Oh – and if there aren’t any to be seen? Get ready for some screaming.

We also make it our first order of business to purchase a hideous plastic light up pumpkin:

My three year old, Oliver felt that this was a “must have” on one of our trips to Harris Teeter – LAST MONTH. At the time, I thought, “what the hell? If an ugly light up pumpkin decoration adds to their Halloween experience, why not?” Why not? Because it’s now the most important feature of the house and must be plugged in at all times. Plugging that stupid pumpkin in is my first priority when we get up and when we come home in the evening. I’m starting to worry about what will happen when Halloween is over and the pumpkin is put away (hidden). How will they function without their tacky idol to worship? Will I have to buy them a plastic light up turkey?

The next Hood Halloween tradition is to buy our costumes early. And demand to wear them ALL THE TIME:

Unfortunately – George tired of his Yoda ears a couple of weeks ago and decided to hijack his brother’s costume:

If I don’t hide the Superman top, George will demand to wear it everywhere: to daycare, to bed, to the mall, in the tub (seriously – we’ve had some BIG fights about that). I’ve written before about George’s tendency to get attached to things. And I think that he would shatter all of the glass in the house with his screams if I dared to take that Superman costume away from him and let Oliver wear it. Luckily Target had more. So we’ll have two Supermen this year. I don’t care – at least Eleanor is happy as a ballerina. And I suppose I should be pleased that George isn’t demanding her costume.

But I think our most festive new Halloween tradition is “decorating the ceiling.” What – you’ve never tried this? Well let me tell you how it’s done!

It all started with one of my great ideas for kid friendly activities. I have these all the time – but they never turn out quite the way I have in mind. This particular gem was inspired by stickers. My kids love to put stickers on paper, but do tend to get frustrated when they can’t peel the stickers off the paper to re-stick them. So what could be more fun than reusable stickers? The answer? Halloween window clings! Have you ever heard of these? They’re like little gel stickers that you can put in your windows. I thought this could keep them busy for a long time while I made dinner, got lunches ready for the next day, changed out of my work clothes… And that it did.

While I put away dishes and Chris was on the computer, Oliver had the genius idea to rip the orange and black gel shapes into tiny pieces. Because shredding things is fun! Then he decided that if the pieces would stick to the window, they would stick just as well to ceiling!

I told Chris that I was running upstairs to change and caught Oliver in the act. He was mid-fling and obviously thrilled with the results of his work. We don’t have particularly high ceilings, but I had to be at least initially impressed by his skill. He had only gotten a few good throws in at that point, so I told him he had to stop, took away the pieces in his hands and called to Chris to make sure that nothing else happened until I came back downstairs. Assuming that my husband was in charge downstairs, I wasn’t in a rush. But apparently I should have been since my directions were not followed.

I came downstairs to find this:

Here is a close-up:

Now, I don’t usually take pictures of my children using their powers for evil. But this was just too outrageous. I needed proof. So before starting in on the husband evisceration, I grabbed my camera. That small detail out of the way, the whoop ass can was opened.

Unfortunately, no one was overly concerned with my rage. Chris thought the whole thing was hilarious and even tossed a few scraps himself. Just another example of men taking inappropriate pleasure in their sons’ misbehavior. It’s all about example setting at our house.

Anyway – the fun ended when we had to pull the pieces down later that evening and realized that they had stained our ceiling.

But orange and black is festive for Halloween…and it makes the ceiling look old…like in a haunted house… Oh who am I kidding – it looks like crap. And I’m fairly certain that it won’t be re-painted until next Halloween. Chris is a bit of a project procrastinator. I mean, it takes him a year to make a dentist appointment (sorry honey – but it’s true).

So here it is October 30th, and we’re all ready for the big night! When darkness falls and the festivities begin, we’ll have our plastic pumpkin blazing, our children dressed as Supermen and ballerinas (costume wearers to be determined), and our ceiling stamped with the signs of much mischief. If you think about it, with the exception of costumes, it doesn’t deviate much from everyday life a “the house of kids” – where every day is Trick or Treat.

Happy Halloween!

EPILOGUE: It is now a year after I originally wrote that. And yes – the ceiling has of yet to be repainted. It’s like I don’t even see this stuff anymore…

*ANOTHER re post – but I do kind of love this one since it really gets to the heart of what it’s like to live in my house… And I’ve updated the pictures since back then I didn’t realize that you could select larger images OR add more than five per post (my ingenue period). Happy Halloween week!

Why I Hate Halloween*

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Hate is a very strong word – especially since it’s only one half of my bipolar feelings for Halloween. So to pre-empt any self righteous indignation on behalf of this annual dress up party, I’ll first state some of the things that I LOVE about Halloween.

I love candy. I love little boys and girls in pirate costumes. I love little boys and girls in princess costumes. [Okay – so the little boys dressed as princesses are just hypothetical since their fathers won’t allow it. But those that settle for being princesses in their hearts will eventually have their day in Key West.] I love chilly nights with glowing, grinning pumpkins. I love the sound of a neighborhood party and the sight of men unafraid to wear tights in public (even some of the aforementioned censorious fathers). I love the idea that for one night you can put on a costume and pretend to be someone else. Because don’t we all entertain the idea of being someone else every once in a while? Even just for a minute?

So with that out of the way… I must confess that I also hate Halloween (at least 50% of the time). Why? Um – because it’s scary.

I have mentioned previously that I do not enjoy horror movies. The Ring did not give me thrills and goosebumps. It made me want to throw my TV out the window screaming, “never, never, NEVER do that do me again! How am I supposed to sleep at night now that I’ve seen that?!” I’ll stick with Charlie Brown and the Great Pumpkin thank you very much.

But how can you avoid the truly scary stuff in these October weeks? I live in fear of channel surfing in the evening. You may be clicking through, looking for something entertaining – perhaps a Will & Grace rerun, or maybe one of those Danielle Steele movies on Lifetime – and out of nowhere you are confronted with Linda Blair screaming obscenities and spewing green slime. That is just not something I’d like to see. Especially as a surprise. I don’t particularly like nice surprises, let alone those of the demonic variety.

Another thing I don’t like about Halloween: the undead. The whole premise of this day is that the dead come back to visit, and my very least favorite droppers by are the ones that don’t know how to stay dead. At its very core, the idea of the dead coming back to life is decidedly NOT fun. Yet every year, people strap on their fake gore and find each others’ missing heads and terminal wounds delightfully amusing. Exactly when and how did the undead become festive?

But then there is this whole other world of candy corn and superhero costumes. It makes me feel so conflicted… Especially when I find myself talking to people who are entirely against Halloween. One coworker told me that her kids passed out candy, but did not dress up like their friends. The reason being that their grandmother felt very strongly about Halloween and called it the “devil’s day.” My response was that “it’s not if you go as a fairy princess.” But given my own aversions to Satan and the undead, I can see her point.

In the end – I do not ban Halloween, and OF COURSE I encourage my children to dress up and have fun. But there will always be that part of me that says, “wait – why are we doing this again?”

No need to give me a history lesson – I know the background. But I kind of think that the Hallmark corporations of the world have made us forget about those very serious superstitions and instead, turned the day into a Disney themed party where both lovely and horrifying creatures coexist with only theoretical bloodshed.

My own unreasonable fears and phobias will never allow me to fully buy in though; and I’ll be more likely to avoid the dark basement at night than to gleefully festoon my front lawn with fake corpses. I think I’ll just stay home and pass out candy to three year old ladybugs. And I’ll stick to Netflix movies until November first.

*Sorry for the repost – but it’s a busy week – and this is so old you’re probably reading it for the first time anyway. Happy Halloween week!

When being a mother means choosing between a pee-soaked shirt or a possible call from child protective services.

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Scary Mommy has thrown down the gauntlet and asked for other scary mommy stories. As in “mirror mirror on the wall, who is the scariest mommy of them all?”

Okay – so I don’t think she’s an evil queen or anything (or is she…), but she claims to be the kind of mom who is “scary.” This refers to “the anti-perfect mommy. The mommy who despite adoring her children to death, will admit to wanting to wring their little necks. The mommy who forgets to shower until bedtime. The mommy who drives through Chic-Fil-A to get fruit for lunch rather than deal with schlepping the kids to the grocery store.”

My first thought is, “you can get them to eat fruit? I’m intimidated.“

It would be hard to come up with a comprehensive list of what makes me scary. You can just click on any one of several labels on my sidebar (Oliver, George, Eleanor, Little Ones, World’s Best Mom…) I’ve covered everything from refusing to buy my kids toys that would drive me crazy (for their own good), to bribing them with candy (for my own good), to refusing to let them help decorate the Christmas tree (because a perfect tree makes Christmas even more special for children), to comparing my daughter to Mr. T (because I can), to letting them run around town looking like the cast of Oliver (they’re own fault for outgrowing perfectly good clothes)… I even wrote a list of reasons why I’m a scary mommy (although I called myself “that mom”). Twice. So as far as scary mommy status goes, I think I’ve really covered my bases here at The Big Piece of Cake.

But Scary Mommy isn’t asking for links. She’s asking for something new. And I do happen to have a rather cringe-worthy story that hasn’t been told as of yet…

A year ago, we visited my Aunt and Uncle in New Jersey. They live on a block of lovely little houses that happens to be positioned behind a large public high school. And directly across the street from their front door is a driveway that leads to all of the playing fields and tennis courts. A perfect venue for entertaining your three year old while your two year old twins take an afternoon nap.

So on that Indian Summer Saturday afternoon I walked hand in hand with Oliver down the driveway and into a wonderland of bleachers and dusty pitcher’s mounds. While it was already quite a distance for Oliver’s little legs, he heard the siren call of tennis balls hitting clay. So we went even further into the school grounds to watch the tennis lessons and recreational matches going on.

At this point, any games that may have taken place had ended so aside from the tennis courts, the fields were fairly deserted. We (he) could run up and down pathways between the chain link and exclaim over the very exciting ball smacking going on everywhere we looked.

After an hour of tennis, we took an abandoned ball over to the bleachers and played a complicated game of catch that involved jumping down, climbing up and throwing the ball far out of the catcher’s range just to watch them (me) run.

Needless to say, after an hour and change, we were exhausted. It was time to go.

About halfway across the playing fields, Oliver’s stubby little legs gave out and I was given the option of sitting down on the ground with him or picking him up and carrying him. Since I was used to hauling that big boy around on a regular basis (mainly to make him submit to my will – but same-same), I scooped him up with ease and made my way back down the driveway that led to my Aunt and Uncle’s house.

What I didn’t expect was to find an almost 6′ tall chain link fence blocking our path. Apparently, the gate is locked for the day once school activities conclude, and that time must have passed while we were climbing bleachers. I was feeling rather nonplussed since I didn’t even realize that there was a gate. But there it was…

And there we were… Tired, hungry and wet. Although Oliver had been potty trained for a while, I realized that I must not have taken him to the bathroom before leaving the house (a rookie mistake that I still make on a regular basis). So of course, he had an accident. Which was at that moment soaking through my shirt.

The only other way to exit the school grounds was on the other side of the tennis courts. Which would require about a mile walk around the huge block back to our destination. Holding an exhausted 50 lb. three year old. With pee pee soaking through my shirt…

I looked at Oliver. Then I looked at the chain link. Then I looked behind us at the tennis courts. Then I looked again at the chain link. Then I finally looked at Oliver, let out a long resigned breath and said, “yeah – we’re going to have to go over.“

And how does one go about hoisting a small child over a chain link fence? In my case, not very well…

First I explained the process to him, “okay Oliver – here’s how it’s going to go down. I’ll hold you up as high as I can over my head, and then you are going to throw your legs over the top of the fence. Then I’m going to dangle you over the other side, and count to three. When I get to three, I’ll let go, and you will jump to the ground. Sound good?“

After receiving a blank stare for confirmation, the plan was set. It was go time.

As it turns out, lifting 50 lbs of dead weight over your head is not as easy as it sounds. And Oliver was no help at all. Seriously, no initiative whatsoever – you’d think he was a child or something… But somehow, I managed it. And in less than a minute with only minimal scratches from the jagged fence top, he was dangling just a few feet over freedom.

I’ll admit that he didn’t quite stay on his feet when I dropped him, but he scrambled back up quickly enough (mommy’s little trooper) and received me with open arms – the better to climb me with – as soon as I joined him on the other side.

The rest of our walk home involved a very short trek through some underbrush due to ANOTHER chain link fence. Honestly – what are they keeping in that high school? The Hope Diamond? But this one seemed to just block cars from the driveway and much to our relief, we could make our way around it.

As soon as we arrived back, we changed into clean clothes and told our story to a spellbound crowd of admirers (or to a few horror struck relatives…potato-potahto…) But alls well that ends well, I say.

I did consider fudging the truth, but we scary mommies wear our poor parenting moments like badges of honor. Even if they just serve as a reminder of where improvement can be made, “right – never doing that again.”

And no – I have never lost my mind and tried to toss a child over a chain link fence since. But not to worry – I fall short daily, serving peanut butter sandwiches for dinner because that’s all they’ll eat…pretending that I’m not aware of them disobeying orders in the other room since it’s just easier that way…letting them skip teeth brushing because it will just provide another 15 minutes of evasion opportunity to an already late bedtime… A scary mommy’s work is never done. And I never leave my post.

Motherhood opened today, a movie about a mom/writer/blogger. Also, the director is a woman and a mom, too. We should really try to support this movie and show the studio heads that there is money to be had by making movies for US. I’m going to make an effort to get out there and see it – which is pretty huge considering that I have seen the inside of a movie theater about three times in the past four years.

And yes – I do owe you an update on the conference call with Uma Thurman…but I’ll try to do that next week (as usually, I’ve stayed a bit long at the party and this post is a beast). But here’s a spoiler: I could barely hear her, she got cut off several times, and I spent most of it running away from my whining children (thank god for the mute button). So yeah – it will be REALLY exciting.

My Children and Gross and Annoying – The Final Chapter

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I felt I needed to do one more of these since Part II focused almost entirely on “gross.” And my children are far too annoying not to give them equal time in that arena.

So let’s just jump right in shall we?

Oliver? Shreds paper. I mean, like all the time. And not only is this strange, but it’s also messy. As if my house isn’t a disaster as it is…

It all started with him realizing that he could use tissue paper to make snow for one of his little Thomas Train scenes. Then he found he could also use it to simulate soap suds for “the wash down.” And THEN he cut out the middle man altogether and started shredding it just for the sake of creating little piles.

The saving grace is that he only does this with tissue-like paper. Paper towels are about as thick as he’s willing to go. So at least 50% of the paper we own is safe from his machinations.

Now, I know that this is all tied in with his sensory issues and it’s somehow soothing for him, but having to keep anything tissue-related out of reach is ANNOYING. Seriously – it’s like living with a gerbil.

Also? He will trail me around the house asking me for the same thing over-and-over-and-over-and-over… Like:

Oliver: Mommy – I want some milk please.

Me: Okay – just a minute honey.

Oliver: Mommy – I want some milk.

Me: Okay – just a minute.

Oliver: I want some milk.

Me: Just a minute.

Oliver: I want some milk.

Oliver: I want some milk.

Oliver: I want some milk. I want some milk. I want somemilk. I wantsomemilk. Iwantsomemilk. IwantsomemilkIwantsomemilkIwantsomemilkIwantsomemilk.

Oh my god (insert Chandler Bing’s signature tone here) someone make it stop.

This one probably doesn’t have anything to do with his Spectrum issues. Instead, I think it’s a direct result of my inability to maintain focus for more than 30 seconds. You see, it’s a very common occurrence for one of my children to ask me for something, and then for me to say “you bet!” and walk purposefully out of the room…only to get sidetracked by something else and never be heard from again. So this is probably his way of making sure I follow through. Proving that I have only myself to blame.

Still very annoying though.

Then there are the twins.

For a long time I found it seizure inducing when they would scream the same thing in stereo. But now I get the pleasure of listening to them argue. And make simultaneous yet opposing demands.

If one of them wants the lights on, the other wants them off. If one of them wants butter on their rice, the other wants it plain (and god help the woman who doesn’t make it crystal clear that their servings were prepared separately as ordered). If one of them wants to watch The Wonder Pets on TV, the other one wants to watch Diego.

Don’t get me wrong, they play wonderfully together and they are the best of friends. But they’re learning how to assert themselves just like any other three year olds. So it’s inevitable that they’d seek out opportunities to clash.

The best is when they do this in the car. Because you know, I can’t escape. It usually has to do with keeping the windows up or down. And compromising with one up/one down doesn’t work since from what I understand, wind can reach you from either side.

So I hear “I want-a window DOWN!” and I put the windows down. Then I hear “NO! I want-a window UP!” and I put them back up. Then “NO! Down!” – and they go down. Then “[howl] NOOOOO! UP!” – and they go up. And this continues until I decide that it’s kind of funny to mess with them and start rolling the windows up and down as fast as I can.

This would be when they join forces and either hate me or think I’m the funniest mom ever. On a good day it’s the latter.

Another precious little habit of theirs is to turn a short bedtime story into an hour-long activity by demanding to take turns reciting their version of the text on EVERY PAGE. And if I try to turn the page without each of them having their full moment in the spotlight, they make “the noise.”

I put “the noise” in quotes, because that’s what I’ve starting to call it, saying “don’t you MAKE that noise or I will put this book away.” A tactic that is only partly effective since they generally switch to writhing around on the floor howling “NO!” in an attempt to squeeze my brain until it literally explodes.

It’s very hard to capture “the noise” in writing, but I guess you could call it whining. Phonetically, it would be something like “Eh! Eh! Eh!” Which doesn’t sound that bad as I reread it…but believe me after five storybook pages of that, you will start scanning the room for sharp objects to drive into your eardrums.

And if they’re really on their game, they will battle each other for the last word. Each making “the noise” after the other takes their turn – making it impossible for me to turn the page until I finally lose it and say “that’s it! Lights out!” That’s usually when they drop to the ground and pull out another signature move that I like to call “sizzling bacon.” That one looks a lot like demonic possession (I mean – from what I’ve seen on TV), but the exorcism is far more simple. It just requires assurances that we WILL in fact continue the story if they just stopstopstopfortheloveofgodpleasestop.

So yeah – that’s kind of annoying.

This has gotten rather long, and any other parents reading this know that I could go on forever. So I’ll end with a new favorite.

Eleanor has decided that she is only a part time three year old. The rest of the time, she is thirteen. This manifests in her angsty practice of being frequently wounded by something innocuous that we do or say. She will immediately leave the room and then settle in a spot nearby where we are sure to hear her whimpering tears.

At first I thought this was hilarious. It brought back so many memories of sitting alone in my self inflicted misery, just waiting for someone to happen upon me and realize how wronged I have been by such a cruel world…

But then I remember that she’s only three, and isn’t slated to become an angsty teenager for another 10 years. So does that mean that we will get more of the same until 2019 when she officially takes office as the resident teenage girl? Or is she just starting to hone her skills ensuring her black belt in emotional blackmail by age nine?

I’m afraid to speculate. Hopefully, I’ll be too busy cleaning up shredded tissue paper to notice.

Belated Monday Muse: Making Lemonade

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No – not like Country Time. I mean like making the best of what you’ve got.

I’ve had a hard time catching up since we got back from the wedding this weekend (I’ll post a picture or two soon), so no time to write.

But in the meantime – I’m pretty inspired by THIS – something I just read on Chris’ blog. What an amazing woman…

Don’t forget to grab a button and add your Monday’s Muse link over at Cinnamon & Honey every Monday!

Just a Little More Vivi

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This is a continuation of last week’s fiction. I have no idea what I’m going to write – but it will be short because I still have a lot of packing to do!

You should probably read Vivian’s Roots first for the sake of context.

Sam often claimed that this was what he loved best about her. He said that she always made everything fun, and that he liked a girl with moxie.

Vivi liked a man with a good vocabulary. And she loved it when her husband would gift her with one of these gems.

She delighted in hearing what others thought of her. She lived so very much in her own skin that it was hard to see herself from the outside. Some might consider her unquenchable thirst for definition to be a sign of extreme narcissism, and they wouldn’t be half wrong about that… But truly, Vivi just liked to feel special. And Sam made her feel like the most fascinating woman in the room.

So she admired her sparkling “moxie” in the light and then tucked it carefully away with the rainbow strands of words that made her Sam’s Vivi. While she had many sides to show the world – and she often boasted that she didn’t have a bad side – this was her favorite. It was the one that she most wished to see. To see herself through Sam’s eyes was precious and private, and one of the things that she missed most now that he was gone.

Again – I still haven’t gotten to what I had initially intended to write about Vivi… Maybe next week.

A Few Updates and a Major World Event*

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We’re leaving early tomorrow morning for a wedding in Cleveland, so I’m going to be offline until next week. In the meantime, I thought I’d sneak in a quick update.

First – I’ll definitely try to do a short fiction piece for tomorrow (for all three of you who are enjoying them). It’s been fun, so I don’t want to drop that.

Second – I DID actually write something of substance for this week – so if you have time, you can find that HERE (and leave me a comment so I know you came by).

Third – I owe you one more My Children are Gross and Annoying post. I haven’t forgotten. That should be up next week.

Fourth (maybe I should have used bullets…) – I had the opportunity to participate in a conference call with Uma Thurman yesterday. She talked about her new movie Motherhood that’s coming out next week. I was also privy to a little online marketing controversy, so I have some thoughts on that as well. More on this next week.

Finally – don’t forget to visit Vodka Mom HERE to learn about an amazing program as well as your opportunity to win some great prizes.

Now – with “housekeeping” notes out of the way, I do have one major update.

We finally got Eleanor off the junk.

We were going to wait until after our trip since there is nothing worse than being trapped in a car for six hours with a toddler jonesing for her pacifier. But as it turned out, the last two that we had went missing on the same day last weekend. We really did look for them too (believe me – we looked). But they never did turn up.

Bedtime was rough. There was a lot of screaming which made bedtime stories a bit challenging. Have you ever tried to read a Thomas the Tank Engine storybook while a 30 lb. banshee shrieks in your ear? As if the tedious story line and creepy humanoid faces on the trains weren’t bad enough…

Then when I turned off the light, she pulled out her best Linda Blair and shook the room with seizure-like thrashing and mattress kicking. Before she started foaming at the mouth though, she had one of those crying-related coughing fits that of course ended with me cleaning vomit off of her in the bathroom.

Fortunately – this all seemed to exhaust her (and I suspect it kind of grossed her out as well) so she went back to bed quietly with a refreshing sippy cup of water.

Three days later, we’re letting out a collective sigh of relief. Next up – potty training!

See you next week.

R.I.P. Paci. Gone but not forgotten….(she does still ask for it now and again)

*Okay – not exactly a “world event” but it was fairly earth shattering for us.