Day Five of Potty Training. Last hard core day. We’re in good shape and ready to step out and breathe the fresh air without (too much) fear of imminent wet pants (or worse) disaster.
I’ve mentioned before that Little Brother is all about Jason Mraz. “I’m Yours” has been an anthem around here for a while now so this little video that I discovered yesterday afternoon is a fitting accompaniment to our weekend release from potty prison.
Way to go, Little Brother. Now, let’s go outdoors.
Anyway, the time I referenced the contestant (Robert Knecht Schmidt) was apparently close enough to his recent appearance on television that he was still very busy Googling himself with some regularity. So, he stumbled upon my nubile blog and felt compelled to defend his fashion sense (a Nehru jacket) informing me that his jacket was actually very popular in the 70s (well, Robert, so was thalidomide, but I digress).
At the time, his discovery of and comments on my blog completely freaked me out. Wait. What?! You actually ARE the Jeopardy guy?! He wasn’t threatening or intrusive and, to be honest, he was clearly taking it all with a grain of salt. But, then he (innocently, I’m sure) also linked my blog to his Facebook page which led to hundreds of hits within minutes and, considering I was still at that time using real names and full faces of my family, ultimately led me to remove the post and completely change the manner in which I blog when it comes to my family (particularly my children). In the end, I think Robert Knecht Schmidt taught me an important lesson.
The internet is a motherfurkin CRAZY place. Think twice. Then, think again. Then, hit publish.
Now that I feel ok about it all, I realize I liked the post. And, it should still be in here. Because it’s a big part of how the blog developed.
And, truthfully, I hope Robert appears again. I can deal now. I’m ready. Back then, it was weird and scary for me. Today, quite alright. Welcome, RKS. And, welcome anyone else, for that matter.
So, take two. Enjoy.
It appears that Jeopardy! contestant Robert Knecht Schmidt may have stolen my favorite suit jacket.
I mean, really Robert? Do you really think that might stand a chance at being a man’s jacket? And, that’s your pick for your first night on national television?
Anyway, that jacket reminded Husband and me of a time, way back when, that I used to be the one getting up at oh-dark-hundred to get ready for work while he slept peacefully before his own work day had to begin. He’d snooze while I showered, got dressed by the light of the bathroom and woke him gently to say our goodbyes with a sleepy-eyed kiss.
Once, back when that suit jacket belonged to me and not to Robert Knecht Schmidt, I went through a bit of an accessories phase. My favorite accessory? Silk scarfs. Tied neatly around my neck. I thought they made me look sophisticated. They added a splash of color and professionalism to the old black (or in Robert Knecht Schmidt’s case, tan) suit. Or, so I thought. Husband thought it made me look like a stewardess. Whatever.
So, one early morning, before I headed into work, I lean over the bed to kiss my sleeping husband.
“Goodbye.” I whispered gently. “I love you.”
“Bye, cutie.” He replies, slowly wrestling himself up on his elbows for a quick kiss before nestling back into his pillows. Then, as I smile contentedly and turn to head out the door, he mumbles…
Nothing of much importance to say today. Just a little of this and a little of that.
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I married a man who believes a week-long family vacation in an RV is a great idea. I’ve been fighting it tooth and nail since the day we married. Remember in my last post I referred to Husband as Clark, as in Clark Kent? Well, apparently there’s a little Clark, as in Griswald, too. It all sounds god-awful to me, frankly, what with the bugs, the cold nights, cramped spaces and all. If I’m in a car for a long time, it’s so that I can get somewhere I really want to be. Like, a suite with a Heavenly Bed and room service. Lord knows, I don’t really want to be at a campsite surrounded by a bunch of other RV’ers.
Unfortunately, wise Husband has Big Brother all fired up about the idea and whatever Big Brother wants, Little Brother wants so…sigh…I’m out numbered by three boys I love. It appears to be happening sometime in July. I’m trying to look at the bright sides.
It’s bound to produce decent blog content.
He’ll owe me. Big.
There are a good two months between the trip and the start of school. Which means the entire trip will be long forgotten and is, therefore, unlikely to make it into the kids’ “What I Did On My Summer Vacation” stories.
Stay tuned, folks.
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Cutie pie Lee DeWyze won American Idol. Which I love. Because I was all about Lee DeWyze. I was all about him despite the fact that he got completely screwed in the season finale with stupid, lame-o songs. Telling someone they need to raise the energy level and then asking them to sing “Everybody Hurts” is like telling a birthing mother to relax during a contraction. Shut up. Not cool.
You go, Lee. Atta boy.
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Howard Stern should be the next American Idol judge.
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No one loves Paula Abdul more than Paul Abdul loves Paula Abdul.
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Big Brother starts kindergarten next year. I’m sure I’ll get all sentimental about this for you in upcoming blogs…probably sometime after I get over the fact that I just sent in my check for public school kindergarten tuition. Did you catch that? Public school. Tuition. Makes me a little crazy.
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I’m getting old. Today I discovered that Samantha from “Sex & the City” and I finally have something in common. If you’re a fan, you’ll know what I mean. If you aren’t, I’m not spelling it out for you.
What the hell is going on? How can this still be getting worse? It’s unfathomable.
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I wish I was friends with Brody Jenner. Husband laughs at me about this but he totally wants to be friends with Pat Sajak which I think makes him even geekier that I am.
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I think NBC is afraid to tell Jerry Seinfeld that The Marriage Ref sucks.
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Why is it that my 5-year old, while peeing, will look all around in every other direction but is apparently incapable of actually looking down at where the hell he’s pointing that thing? Good Lord, child. Pay attention.
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Happy Memorial Day weekend, everyone. Try to take just a little break from all the awesomeness that is the official start of summer and remember our fallen soldiers.
Bob Dylan had it right about the times, man. Those of you not directly involved in parenting young children in the 2010 era might be surprised to learn a few things. For instance, did you know:
1) No more prizes in cereal boxes. Oh, the injustice! Prizes in cereal boxes were such a fabulous manufacturer idea. My mother could talk me right into Oat Granola Barley Bits if it meant I was going to get a pink plastic sparkle ring when I reached the bottom. Turns out the prizes choked a few small children and, poof, they were gone! Unfair, I say. How is one to talk a five-year old into grabbing some Raisin Bran™ when things like Eggo Waffle Crisp™ beckon them from the shelves with smiling yellow bears and images of warm syrup on the box front? No self-respecting child will be lured in by a metal scoop with overflowing raisins. Where’s the Silly Putty™ egg in the box?!
2) Speaking of Silly Putty. I generally hate Silly Putty. It’s along the same lines as Play-doh™ as far as its messiness to pleasure ratio. The scales tip too far in the wrong direction. Know what it’s made of? Silicone and (originally) particles of boric acid. They’re like little toxic balls of breasts — “Silly Slutty” (couldn’t resist). Anyway, what do you recall as the coolest thing about Silly Putty? The image lifting, right? The fact that you could press it against a comic strip and then bend and pull the putty, morphing Snoopy into a wiener dog before your very eyes. Well, since the invention of that pesky printing press you can’t do that anymore. For some reason, according to the Silly Putty website, the Wall Street Journal still works, though. Which is weird.
3) Tivo / DVR. So, elder generation parents, do you know that we parents in the technology driven world of 2010 can record television shows without a Betamax (remember the Betamax)? Without a VCR? Without those clunky tapes? Yup, we can. Right there in our tv. What this means, however, is that, once recorded, our children’s shows can be on at any time of day. And they are wise to this. If Big Brother can pad out of his room at 7 am and turn on Wow, Wow, Wubbzy so that Mom can catch another 15 minutes of sleep before Little Brother rises, you can bet he knows Wubbzy’s in there later in the day. Remember the days of “Sorry, your shows aren’t on right now. Mom and Dad are watching the news”? Gone. They’re onto us. Live by the TiVo, die by the TiVo.
4) Car seats are a total pain in the a** now. I really think it’s possible that if my parents used a car seat at all they stopped using it once I was old enough to sit up unassisted. (I’d like some clarification on this, Mom) Today, you can regularly see kids walking over to their car, swinging opening the door of a gigantic Suburban and extending long, strong legs and arms to deftly climb aboard. Then they climb into a booster seat and strap themselves in. The law in Massachusetts states they need to be in a special seat until they reach 8 years of age. In New Jersey they have to be eight and eighty-pounds which just seems crazy. As the mother of a bean pole, I can tell you that if we lived in New Jersey (which we will not. ever.) Big Brother might well be enjoying a roadie in his booster seat before he tops 80 lbs. I wonder if my mother’s right arm shooting out from the driver’s seat over my chest in the passenger seat at any sign of trouble would have qualified as a make-shift seatbelt? She still does this, by the way.
Revised pregnancy rules would be a chapter in itself. We were expected to abstain from smoking, drinking alcohol or eating pretty much anything that actually tastes good while we were pregnant. What a total buzz kill (kidding, of course). But, still I’m pretty sure my Mom’s water broke over a vodka tonic and a couple of oysters. And look how awesome I turned out.