Monthly Archives: July 2012



Eliza: I wanna go outside, Mama. I wanna go outside and play on the playground.

Me: No Eliza, it’s too hot outside today.

Eliza: Too hot?

Me: Yes, it’s too hot to play outside.

Eliza: It’s too hot to play outside. It’s too spicy!

Watching someone learn a language from scratch is amazing.


if this van’s a rockin’…


…it’s probably just one of the kids jumping around in the back.

Today I did something I said I’d never do.  I have officially turned in my coolness card* and moved toward my inevitable soccer mom status.  I bought a car.  Well, actually it’s a smallish van.  I has room for lots of passengers and cargo and groceries.  Finally, after two and a half years of squeezing the twins and all their gear into my tiny Corolla, I’ve given in to the idea of space and convenience and bought a minivan.  It has tinted windows and a dvd player and all the doors open at the push of a button.  And it’s actually back at the dealership right now because I’m pretty sure it’s possessed by a demon.  Or a mischievous fairy/sprite.

I drove it off the lot and went directly to work.  After I’d been inside for a half hour or so, someone came up to me and said my car alarm was going off.  What?  I have a car alarm?  Okay.  And I went out back to check it out.

Sure enough, there was a horrible and repetitive horn honking and I had no idea what caused it.  Did I hit the panic button accidentally?  I tried to turn it off and nothing happened.  So I started hitting random buttons on the remote and eventually it stopped.  And started up again about 15 seconds later.

I finally figured out that if I leave all the doors unlocked, the alarm would be deactivated.  Awesome.  Glad there’s nothing of value in the car yet, because, you know, I’d just bought it that same morning.

A few hours pass and someone else comes up to me to tell me they my headlights are on.  So I go outside to check and sure enough, the daytime running lights are on.  And they won’t turn off no matter what I do.  Eventually, someone figured out how to turn them off and a few seconds later, the car alarm started going off again.  And nothing could get it to stop.  So I took it back to the dealership for repair and got a really nice loaner sedan with a sunroof** and a touch-screen stereo system.

I can’t help but think car troubles on the day I buy a car is a bad omen.  Maybe I’m really not supposed to drive a minivan.  I even have trouble saying ‘minivan’ out loud – I sort of choke on the word as it comes out.  It feels unnatural.  When I first got to work yesterday, I mentioned it to one person and asked he keep it a secret so I no one would make fun of me.   It was like the van (or the sprite, as I’m leaning more toward sprite than demon) was just trying to out me to my co-workers.  Yes, this girl woman mom has now given up her youth completely and is now driving the stereotypical mom-mobile.  And now everyone knows it because the stupid van was so damn loud about it!

*Yeah, yeah, I realize I was never really that cool.  Whatever.

**Possessed Minivan also has a sunroof, so if I avoid looking in the rearview mirror at the cavernous space behind me, I can pretend I’m driving something smaller and less awful.

Toddler weirdness


You know how they say toddler can be a bit…um…quirky?  Yeah.

Eliza must – must! – wear socks to bed.  Both for naps and actual bedtime.  It doesn’t matter if it’s 99 degrees outside.  Socks.  Always.

Jack finds some things inexplicably terrifying.  We cannot put on the Cuckoo Bears episode of Team Oomizoomi or the King episode of Little Einsteins.  And if there is a housefly buzzing around, the boy goes into hysterics.

Jack will only drink from a sippy with a blue or green lid.  If I hand him the wrong cup, he freaks.  If there are two cups, one with a yellow lid and one with an orange lid, he gets very confused and looks back and forth between the two of them for about three minutes, considering the choice.  I am afraid to let Eliza pick because if she picks the ‘wrong’ one, Jack will freak.  Today, he didn’t want the cup with the blue lid, but took the orange lid instead.  I really think he’s trying to drive me insane.

At 2.5, Eliza still puts everything in her mouth.  Everything.  Still.

When Jack goes down for bed or naps, he pulls the hair out of a teddy bear and makes fuzz balls.  He then sticks the fuzz between his lip and pacifier* so when he wakes up, it looks like he has a brown mustache.  Then when he pulls the fuzz off, he gags.

Eliza needs to take her shirt off to use the potty.**

If I change anything in Jack’s room – add a new lamp, move his bed a little to the left, put a new animal decal on the wall, add an window a/c unit – we don’t expect to get any sleep for a couple nights because he fears change.

They are drawn like magnets to my printer.  Anything can be shoved inside a printer.  The other day I cleared a paper jam that consisted of three matchbox cars, a crumpled up piece of junk mail, half a bowl of Chex cereal and some wet substance.  They cannot help themselves.

I am not allowed to sing along with anything on TV because Jack hates it.  Honestly, I can’t really blame him for that one.

*Yeah, they both still sleep with a pacifier.  Shoot me.

**But at least she’s trying to use the potty.  Jack won’t even sit on it – it’s another one of his fears.

Fruit flies and other f-words (be warned)


Anyone remember that experiment in high school bio where you had to grow several generations of fruit flies and study their genetic, like, traits or whatever?  I don’t remember the specifics of the experiment but I remember the reason we used them.  According to my biology teacher, the lifespan of a fruit fly is only around a day or so and they breed every day.  So each day there is a new generation to study, until eventually, the whole science lab is full of fruit flies.

I’m sure we learned a lot about genes from that experiment.  Here’s what we did not learn:  How the fuck do you get rid of them?

I’ve been fighting a war in my kitchen.  A war against fruit flies.  They are disgusting.  They smell.  They come out of nowhere and breed and breed and breed.  They are driving my fucking nuts.  There is one buzzing around my hand as I type this.

I’ve tried all the methods I’ve heard about and nothing works.  Nothing.  I’ve been maniacally cleaning my kitchen surfaces and have reluctantly started refrigerating my tomatoes and bananas.  I have bowls of wine laying out, in hope they’ll drown themselves.  I’ve even started doing the dishes a little more frequently in order to keep them from having any kind of food source.  It’s not working.

I can smell them in certain spots in my kitchen but it’s usually in a weird spot where there is no concentration of them.  Maybe I’m just going a little insane…

I remember my very first apartment on my own.  First I should tell you I was a total slob.  I had no dishwasher and I’d just let the dishes pile up in the sink until I had nothing to eat on or drink out of.  Once the pile of dishes got so huge and intimidating that the idea of washing them was too overwhelming, I bought some paper plates and left them for another few days.  They smelled awful though, like rot, and something had to be done.  I finally decided I’d put the dishes in a laundry basket and take them to my mom’s house and run them through the dishwasher.  When I pulled a dish off the pile, hundreds of fruit flies swarmed around my face.  Generations and generations of them.  It was like a disgusting fucking fruit fly family reunion!  And when I looked at the underside of the plate I’d just pealed off the pile, it was covered in some gross and very smelly black substance.  Eggs, maybe?  I wasn’t sure, but I knew it had to be fruit fly-related.

That story does not portray me in a positive light, which is why I lead off with the bio thing.  I know, it’s not the fruit flies’ fault that I’m still kind of a slob and I like to leave food out.  I’m not as bad as I used to be, but I’ve never been accused of being a neat freak.  Or even of being somewhat tidy.  But still, I don’t want bugs in the house, landing on my food and doing God-knows-what.  We’ve all heard what flies do every time they land, right?  They PUKE.  That may or may not be true (and it may or may not apply to fruit flies), but I’m not taking chances, so out comes the fly swatter as soon as I see one, since my cats are now too fat and lazy to go after them anymore.

Anyway, the damn fruit flies.  I just killed one with my bare hands a second ago because I’m that fucking powerful.  Actually I’d been swatting at it for the better part of an hour and it kept slipping through my fingers.  I finally got it and it and it’s blood got on my hand (Hey, didya know fruit flies bleed?  I had no idea…).  Guess what happened next.  Just fucking guess.  I was feeling really self-congratulatory about my kill when in my periphery, I saw another fucking fruit fly buzz over and take the place of the one I killed just like nothing happened!  These little fuckers are evil!

I need some ideas.  Anyone?!