Thursday, May 26, 2011


Auto-correct.... my iPhone has me busting a gut laughing sometimes (I secretly wish my gut would bust open, and bleed off some of the fat it is storing). I should totally keep a log of funny things it tries to say I am saying. Today, I was responding to an email about her cousin's very talented art adventures, when auto-correct thought I should tell her he was very "helmeted" instead of talented. That might not have gone over so well... me implying he must be one of those dudes that wears a helmet at all times. One day, and this was a long time ago (one in which I try to forget), I stated something about pennies and it told my mother-in-law "penis". Like I wouldn't know how to spell penis. Puh-lease, I went to college. It auto-corrects shut to "s**t" all the time. Like I said, I am going to start a log.

Chicklets.... for some reason this word makes me laugh. I think of big front teeth, such as my own, and I chuckle inside. Also, it's a word I have read and heard several times this week. Weird.

Psycho Mom.... I really think my children think I am a psycho some days. Like, sometimes, we just play and the house is a disaster and food is still on the table from lunch, but we're having a good time playing chase or hide and seek or whatever ... then all of a sudden, I "realize" there is this complete disaster surrounding me and I immediately switch to Psycho Mom Mode. "Clean up this mess... pick that up, put that away, I gotta do the dishes, the laundry needs folding". Out goes "Fun Mom"... in comes "Psycho Mom". After Lake has his mini-meltdown, one that happens at least 12 times a day, he cleans his mess and we have a pleasant snack (his is pleasant, mine is carb free - which is similar to taste free) and we play outside. Life is all good again.... for a moment anyways.

My mom and texting.... some things just don't mix. It doesn't help the woman that she is near blind with her glasses on. Her texting is down right funny at times... mostly because if it were a life or death situation, she would be dead because I have no flippin' clue what she is trying to tell me half the time. She tries to use texting lingo but confuses it with shorthand and that just makes for mass confusion. She thinks LOL stands for LOTS OF LOVE. For example, a few weeks ago, I texted her "Lennon in ICU, please pray" and she responds with "LOL". I texted back, "That was not a joke, why are you laughing?!" You can see my dilemma, right? Mom + Texting = Argument Waiting to Happen.

Napping.... getting my kids down for simultaneous napping is equivalent to winning the lottery. It almost never happens... to me. The difference I think, lies within my difference in parenting techniques with each child. Lake, my good sleeper, is a baby wise baby. He knows it's nap time after lunch, so he goes to his room and goes to sleep. Lennon has almost no schedule whatsoever, due to therapy sessions, and everything else I allow to get in the way, so she naps when it's convenient. She also HATES to go down for a nap... she cries and fights sleep so badly. Lake will sleep 3 hours, easy. Lennon.... we're lucky to get 1.5 out of her. I don't understand this... I love sleep. I would KILL to have a nap every day, no matter the time. Maybe Psycho Mom wouldn't appear so often if I did get proper rest.

Anniversary Weekend Getaway.... The hubster and I are going to Dallas for the weekend. We will be celebrating his birthday and our 7th wedding anniversary. We made it 7 years! Amazing. It wasn't without hard work, but we did it. Here's to many more! We have been together since April 1999. That's a really long time in dog years.

Every day I want to go do fun stuff, aka: buy stuff for my house, but I never do. How can I earn money, without selling products (Note: I am a terrible salesperson)?

Poop.... Lennon is the most constipated of anyone I know. We use Miralax and I swear it's a miracle drug. However, if I have given her too much "fibrous" foods and also given her the usual dosage of Miralax, it causes me severe anxiety. Poop is everywhere. Literally. It makes me want to curl into the fetal position and cry "Dear God, No! Why me?!" because changing her diaper is much like changing the diaper of a Copperhead Snake. She squirms and wiggles and kicks her feet in the poop. She rolls over with the quickness of an alligator wrestling it's prey. It's just not fun. Not that changing any poop is "fun", but you know what I mean.

Every time I think of eating a piece of cheesecake, I think of getting a tummy tuck and implants and the craving passes. Though, it resurfaces often, and with vengeance.

Pedicure.... I broke down and gave myself a mini-pedi. My feet no longer look like I have been in a concentration camp for 4 years. It's more like I was trapped on "the island" (R.I.P. LOST) for 2 years. I guess that's a step up, right?

Cheese makes your breath smell like dead animals. No really, it does. It's almost as bad as that smell your urine produces after you eat asparagus. Don't act like you haven't noticed.

Enough with all this randomness... Tornado Baby has awoken from her short slumber. Lake is still snoozing.... like a good little baby-wiser should. God love him. He might be an emotional whiny disaster most days, but he will always be my good little boy.

Recent Lake-isms (age 5):
"I want to quit my job and stay home with my kids. I'm tired of working all the time."
"I have a good idea, let's sit down with daddy tonight and go over my list of chores so you can start paying me to do them."