Oh My!

Well, I started this post hours ago, but my computer keeps crashing on me.

I received an email from a friend earlier tonight, and I was laughing hysterically for several minutes. I attempted to figure out how to share it here, but it's a pdf file, and after several failed attempts, I gave up on trying to convert it and finally just posted a bunch of pictures in separate posts. Yes, I'm a computer loser. Or is that looser?

Anyway, the email involved pictures of several truly bad album covers, and was titled, "The Worst Album Covers Ever!" Really, these were horrifying, hilarious and moving.

This led me to this website. Hours of fun await you here!

And after seeing Millie Jackson listed on several different sites under "Bad Album Covers," I must say, I'm going to be doing some more research on this little lady! She indeed does seem to be the shit!


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Below are the fab albums featured in the original email. They're heavy on the gospel and religious freaks, but there are a smattering of "hot" and/or gay guys and a dummy and some blind chicks for good measure.

Oh, Jim, I love your life, too! 

Maybe they should have gone for cover art instead of a photo. 

Sigh. Me too. 

Hmmm. Can't make fun of this one. 

And he's really fun! 

Swingers 

Yeehaw! 

HOT HOT HOT! 

No comment. 

No, please don't let them touch me! (That's what he said.) 

See, pedophiles have been around long before Myspace. 

Just Joyce. 

I love the ZAP across the devastatin' crotch. 

Uh, sure. You know, why don't you just keep it? 

The three on the right seem to be distancing themselves from the the BIG GUY 

Thank God Ken doesn't just show up unrequested 

Scare ME! 

Monday Catsup

Ketchup is good, isn't it? One of my fave condiments. I last had it on Thursday, when we went to McDonald's after Hutton's speech therapy session. We have 30 minutes to get home from speech therapy in time for Hutton to catch the bus, and that usually means I feed my children crap, like, well, McDonald's. I only feel guilty about it when he gives me away in front of his speech therapist. I walk in to pick him up, ask him what he's been doing, and he happily exclaims, "Go to McDonald's for lunch!" I sort of mumble under my breath, "Yeah, we'll see..." meaning, "Of course we're going to McDonald's, it's a speech therapy day, isn't it?"

Anyway, as I was driving home, with my #2 combo in my lap, enjoying my salty fries with ketchup, I looked down at a stop light, and was horrified to see that McDonald's now puts the nutritional information on the medium size fries. Gasp! Should I really eat these? After all they have more calories than I usually eat in an entire meal, and that's not including the quarter pounder and Mr. Pibb. Hmm, I guess it's OK if it's only once a week (or twice...). After all, Harrison is still nursing, so I get extra calories for that, right?

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I have to send a shout out to my friends L, M and A on the birth of little J. Congrats! He's gorgeous!

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Anyone else watch the Sopranos? Hubby and I were annoyed and disappointed by last night's episode. Considering it will be another 12 years before Season 8, that wasn't that impressive. I was getting more confused than I normally do. (During a normal episode, we have to pause several times to discuss: "Wait, who's that guy? Who are they talking about? Isn't he dead?") I really liked that skit from SNL last year about the Sopranos, where even the characters didn't remember what was happening on the show.

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A quote I read in last week's Time that I really enjoyed:

"We want Barbaro [this year's Kentucky Derby winner, who broke his leg in the Preakness] to have a reasonable quality of life," says [surgeon who repaired his leg] Richardson. "I think that would be enhanced if he's able to have sex with lots of pretty mares."

Hey, who doesn't love the pretty mares?

A Really Sh*tty Post

WARNING! The following post is about poop. Do not read if you have a weak stomach!

Yes, I've sunk to a new low. I'm writing about poop. It's just because of two particularly shitty events today. Literally.

The first: I heard Hutton go into the bathroom and close the door, and he didn't emerge within a minute, so I knew he was pooping. I went down to help him clean up. This is probably one of the worst parts of being a mother - having to wipe another human's butt, often several times a day, for many years.

Anyway, after wiping Hutton down, I noticed he hadn't flushed the toilet yet, which he usually does immediately after pooping. So, I went to flush, but noticed that his turds were a really gross (well, most poop is!) gray color. So, I decided to read up on my autism sites about poop color issues. (Autism often has lots of bowel issues involved, which is why many children with autism benefit from being on special diets, such as the gluten-free and casein-free diet, which Hutton was on for about 9 months.) I really didn't find what I was looking for, but came across this site, which is really very funny. So, thought I'd share the scatological humor with anyone who shares my juvenile tastes.

On to the second shitty event. Harrison came over to me this evening asking to be picked up. I bent down to pick him up and noticed immediately that he'd been busy filling his diaper while I was researching poop. I then noticed that the poop had leaked out of his onesie (his pants had been thrown into the hamper hours earlier, after he got them muddy and wet outside) and was all over his legs and on the toddler rocking chair he'd been sitting in. Yay! I love poops that involve not only hosing down my child, but also doing an extra load (no pun intended) of laundry.

Well, that's all there is to that. See, not too terribly graphic. Well, at least not for other moms. Or teenage boys. I remember lots of poop talk from my guy friends in high school. Lee, are you out there? I'm thinking of you!

Nature's a Bitch

Yesterday, after going to lunch, we were all enjoying a break from the weekend of rain we had by playing in the yard. Hubby was pulling weeds, the boys were running around, and I was seeing which of my plants were being killed by slugs.

Suddenly, Fergus, one of our dogs, leaped out from under a rhododendron plant with a squeaking small animal in his mouth. I thought it was a rodent of some sort, and screamed in my, "eek, a mouse!" way. This is a rather new female behavior I never had as a child. I always had various rodents for pets and to get the creepy crawlies from a rodent...well, I'm a bit embarrassed by that! But I guess it's different to see one in your garage (happened this winter, and I shrieked and ran into the house) or outside, versus behind glass in a pet store.

Anyway, Hubby grabbed Fergus, who fortunately, being a bird dog, has a soft mouth, and let go of the squeaking animal, leaving it unharmed. It was a baby rabbit. As soon as I figured that out, I immediately went from "ew" to "awww!" We found the nest the bunny had come from, with its 6 siblings intact, looking equally cute, then went inside to figure out what to do about the bunnies, bringing the dogs with us. I looked online, and the website I read said the best chance for survival was to leave the bunnies, fix the nest as best as possible, and check to make sure the mother has returned. The mother is supposed to only come to the bunnies at dusk and dawn, and it wasn't supposed to be an issue that they smelled like dogs or humans, as long as no one was around the nest when she returned. OK, super!

I fixed up the nest, took a picture of one of the adorable babies, and put it back in the nest and covered it with grass, then put garden fencing around to keep the dogs out.

This morning, I didn't have time to check the nest before leaving to take Hutton to speech therapy - just saw that the fence was still in place. In the afternoon, when we got home, I checked the nest, and was saddened to see that the mother had not returned, and half of the bunnies were dead, and three were on their last legs. Apparently, bunnies really need that 5 minutes of nursing they missed, plus the mother has to help them rid their little bodies of toxins through the urine, which they can't eliminate on their own. I brought the three bunnies that were still alive inside in a box, and attempted to give them a dropper of milk, but one was already fading and stiffening, and the other two didn't seem to know what to do with the milk. I put them outside in a new nest in an area that dogs can't get to, and buried the dead bunnies near them.

It was just so sad to see those tiny little bodies, but that's how nature is. If a rabbit decides to make her nest in a yard that smells like dogs and humans, I'm not really sure what she expects to happen to her babies. Then I think that maybe she couldn't get through the fence to get back to her nest, but it was big enough that a cat could fit through, and there was lots of space at the bottom to crawl under. I thought maybe she would have moved the bunnies to a new nest rather than just abandoning them. Sigh. Rest in peace, sweet bunnies.

Bunny

Revisiting the Cheese in Bed Incident

This morning, Harrison woke up at 6 a.m., and after nursing briefly, ran off to start his day. I went back to sleep. A little while later, toddler language invaded my dreams. I kept hearing "nana" until I finally woke up. I felt something at my back. It was a bunch of very ripe bananas, and an orange thrown in for good measure. Harrison asked again for a nana and an orange, but I told him I could only peel the banana for him in bed.

It could be worse. The horse head scene from The Godfather comes to mind.

Lazy Mother Morning

I'm sure I'll have more to write later today, but I'll just start out the long weekend with a little observation:

When you're lying in bed, trying to sleep through the high-pitched squeals of your toddler coming from the next room, and said toddler brings you a bag of string cheese from the fridge, because he is hungry and you have not gotten out of bed yet to give him a real breakfast, it is really freakin' hard to open those little string cheese packages with sleepy hands. Hmm, did I remember to put the bag of string cheese back in the fridge, or did I leave it in the bed?

At least I got out of bed before hubby got out of the shower, though. So, when he went downstairs to get his breakfast, I already had the boys dressed and eating breakfast, and thus no chance of getting yelled at for sleeping in till 9:15. I slept in til 8:55. Woohoo.

More Catch Up and a Real Nightmare

Not much going on again in the exciting life of the hausfrau.

Sunday I had a soccer game. It was one of those rare no-score games. It rained mid-game, but thankfully it was warm enough and I was running enough that my soaking wet hair and shirt didn't give me the chills. Plus, after the rain (eek! Nelson flashback there! - You definitely want to click on that link though, and check out the "Customers Who Bought This Also Bought" section) there was a beautiful rainbow.

In the final moments of the game, one of my teammates made a shot on goal, and one of the opposing team's defenders, though not the goalie, caught the ball in her hands, then quickly remembered you're not supposed to do that when you're not the goalie, and sheepishly dropped the ball, while hiding her hands behind her back, doing the old handball reflex: "Nope, couldn't have been me, I don't have any hands that anyone can see." The thing is, the ref didn't call this flagrant handball, which had it been called, would have resulted to a direct penalty kick mere inches in front of the goal. Not the kind of kick anyone could possibly miss. But the ref was very lazy, and because there was less than a minute in the game, DIDN'T CALL IT. The young daughter of a member of the opposing team looked at me as the game ended and said, "Your team should have won that!" Yes, even the kids understand these things. Oh well.

I got pissed at my hubby on Monday for getting mad at me for sleeping in. My husband works from home, and was quite annoyed that while he got the boys their yogurt and cereal breakfasts, I was snoozing away. The fact that I'd already been up at 6 am to nurse Harrison and let the dogs out was irrelevant because I had the nerve to SLEEP IN and it was 9:15 in the frickin' morning! Yep, I have some nerve. I finally got up because it wasn't like I could sleep anyway with all the angry stomping around hubby was doing. So, we yelled at each other about this, then I was pissed at hubby and avoided him all day, but we were fine by dinner time when he brought me a "let's make up" piece of frozen pizza. Yes, we're all about the romantic gestures around here.

Tuesday we went to a mortgage refinance signing. Then I bought more plants for my garden in the hopes that the rain we've been having a lot of lately will keep them alive and that the slugs won't devour them. Slugs are one of those creatures that I really wouldn't be sad to see become extinct. Come on, they're gastropods, which means stomach foot. That's just gross. At least their snail cousins have pretty shells going for them.

The main reason for this post is the nightmare I had last night. I had a blog dream. How strange is that? Anyway, that's not the nightmare. In my dream, I received an email from Kristen, wonderful co-creator of Home on the Fringe, telling me to check my blog immediately because something bad had happened. What was this bad news? Kevin Federline had discovered my Britney-bashing on the blog and was pissed! He'd left a mean note on the blog, featuring a little picture icon of his greasy mug. I woke up in a cold sweat after that.

Some Soccer, Some God Talk

In the past few days, I've been very tired. This is because it is sunny and warm out, and when it is sunny and warm, the boys want to play outside all day long. This is truly exhausting for adults.

Tuesday night, I had a soccer game. We won, though not by much, and I'm rather proud to say I saved our team from the last serious attempt on goal the opposing team made. I wasn't playing keeper, though. Our goalie ran out to attempt to block a shot, and I had to run very fast to get back to the goal, just as the ball came firing down. I got to the goal just in time, and kicked the ball out as it was just coming over the goal line. I must say, I'm much better protecting the goal when I'm playing defense than I've ever been as goalie.

So, in addition to this highlight of the game for me, there was the low point: our keeper got annoyed by a comment from another of our players. The comment, as the keeper was getting ready to do a goal kick: "Try to go for distance, rather than height." Sure, not exactly helpful, as most players do try to go for distance over height with their kicks, but nothing horrible, right? Well, our keeper was bitching about how she didn't have to listen to crap from other players, but I wasn't really paying attention to her, as I was trying to play soccer. The next thing I know, she had stormed off the field and left! Fortunately we had a player on the sidelines who was willing to play keeper, but had never done it before. Luckily the other team didn't score again, though we all played our butts off to keep them away from our goal. I just can't believe how juvenile this woman is. This is the same woman who really hurt my feelings at the first game of the season (and her first time playing with our team) when she told me I shouldn't play defense. The next game, I played defense again and she told me how good I was in the position. Hmm. OK. Whatever you say, crazy freak.

On to the God Talk. I was at stop light and checking out the car in front of me. It had one of those stickers of the boy and girl praying at a giant cross. Hmm, not my style, but I don't have a problem with it. What I did have a problem with was the Jesus fish on the back. This wasn't the regular old Jesus fish, or my fave, the Darwin evolving fish, but the Jesus fish sporting the word "TRUTH" eating the Darwin fish. Huh. Really? Cause I think the truth is that the evolved fish wouldn't be in the water with that Jesus fish. You know, it evolved and all, and got out of the water. And you're basing the "TRUTH" on what? Scientific theory? Proven evidence? No, the Bible. Hmm. This plays into Allie's post from yesterday about the Da Vinci Code, and how pissed off the Catholic Church is about people believing the ideas of this work of fiction rather than their chosen work of fiction. At least the Da Vinci Code was researched.

Just In Case Anyone Thinks Britney Learns From Her Mistakes

I present proof that she does not. Well, she learns very little, at least.



Pros: --She isn't driving with the baby in her lap. He's strapped into a car seat (sort of).

--It's a cool car.

Cons: -- He's riding forward-facing and isn't a year old yet. Babies are supposed to ride rear-facing for AT LEAST a year and until they're 20 pounds, longer if possible. Their necks are way too weak to take the impact of a crash forward-facing.

-- His straps are obviously super-loose if he's slumped that far down in his seat.

-- He is in a convertible. I can see this every once in a while, but I personally got rid of my convertible when I was pregnant, as the thoughts of what could happen in a wreck to a child, even one properly strapped in, in a convertible were too scary. Plus this poor kid isn't even wearing a hat. Who wants to bet Britney doesn't put sunscreen on this kid, either? She and Kev probably like their little boy to be tan and cool.

-- She is wearing curlers while driving. Hmm, maybe you should cover that up with a nice grandma kerchief, Britney Hon.

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So, even on my worst parenting days, I can still look to Britney to make me feel better about myself. The fact that she and Kev are continuing to inflict their spawn on the world, when they can't take care of the one they already have, is scary, though. Poor Sean. Poor World.

And Then He Hugged Him REALLY Hard

I am a part of the local Freecycle group, and get email messages whenever someone posts to the group. It's a great resource, and I have sent off unused "junk" to the homes of other packrats, er, people who may need my stuff, and have received some cool stuff in return.

Today, this post made me think:
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Wanted

Anyone have a Bible available for studying purposes?

Also looking for a Child's Bible:
- without words like "kill" in it
- hopefully with some pictures
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Not laugh, but just wonder. Has this person read the Bible? If so, they must know that the children's version is going to be sorely missing lots of good stuff. Like 90% of the book. Unless the children's version says things like, "And the Lord said to Abraham: "Uh, I really want you to sacrifice your beloved son, Isaac, to me." So, Abraham took Isaac to a mountain top, and was about to make him very sleepy so he'd go off to a different place and sleep forever, when God told Abraham he had changed his mind and didn't need a sacrifice after all." In fact, that whole Abraham story is pretty adult-themed -- His sleeping with Hagar, his wife's handmaiden to have his first child, etc.

In my one semester of Catholic school [I'm not Catholic, but in eighth grade, my mom met Heather Henley, an excessively "make-up friendly" girl in my sad little outcast group of loser friends, and decided I was not hanging out with the right "caliber" of people, so sent me to Catholic girls school for a semester. I suppose after a semester, she realized I still had no friends, and it was costing a lot of money, so she let me go back to my public school.] we studied the Old Testament, and one of the projects we had was to make a children's version of a book of the Bible, with illustrations, to give to some poor kids (and by poor, I mean, really, those poor kids, having to read something written and illustrated by freshman Catholic schoolgirls!). I chose Nehemiah, which was pretty non-violent as I recall, and involved a big wall-building party in Jerusalem. I referenced my children's Bible a lot trying to do a kiddie version of that story, though, flipping between that and the school-issued Catholic version. In fact, in those formidable years, I spent a lot of time reading my children's Bible, and if Mom hadn't pulled me out of Catholic school second semester freshman year, I might have converted! Hey, I could have been a nun today!

On that note, I should try to see if I still have my children' Bible, so I can pass it on. Hmm, then again, maybe I should just send this link instead.

Happy Mother's Day, Moms!

Hope all of the moms out there have a wonderful day!

I got to sleep in today, and Hubby and the boys made waffles for breakfast. I added some bacon, strawberries, and a mocha, and it was the perfect breakfast. I also got a lovely card from the boys, with Hutton's name hand-signed in beautfiful Hutton style.

Just a couple of things to share today:

First, from my hubby:

He sent this as an email titled: "Big Love" special


He took the picture at the local Safeway, and as you can see, it's offering a special on the "Wife" Mother's Day cards - 2 for $5! A great deal if you have more than one wife, but obviously better if you have wives in increments of two.

And, no, I only got the one card from Hubby and the boys. He may have saved the sale cards for his other wives.

I'll add a second post to cover my second observation of the day.

Friday Already?

Yes, it's Friday.

Last night Hutton's preschool had their first ever auction, and it turned out very well. Lots of folks were there, and lots of money was raised for the Sensory Garden in the school playground, which will be a memorial to a student who died last spring. The child's father gave a touching speech and there was a nice tear-jerker slideshow presentation mid-auction of kids at the school playing. My friend babysat our kids for us, so it was nice to get out for a few hours as a couple, even though it wasn't really a date, since we were sitting at a table with other people. But, then again, I had dinner, dessert, two glasses of wine, and won an auction for a soccer ball and soccer store gift certificate, so I can buy a new pair of cleats. That's a pretty good evening for me!

So far today I have researched lead, and am waffling over whether to get rid of my fine china and crystal. We hardly ever use them, but I know they have lead in them. I want to buy a lead testing kit so I can check my everyday plates as well. Just more to be worried about! Life is much easier when one lives in ignorance.

I have also been reading up on Net Neutrality. See below for more information.


Hubby and I were listening to NPR last night, also, and there was a good interview about the NSA Hubby wants to cancel our telephone service because of this. He thinks it's ridiculous that our government is tracking our phone calls for the very, very small chance they will get any information about terrorists. The number of terrorists making phone calls would be so small it wouldn't even make a blip on the graph of phone calls across the country. The fact that America stands a chance of losing Net Neutrality and our country is not outraged at having our phones tapped just disgusts me and makes me wonder about the future of this country.

On that note, time for a latte and to play with some trains with the boys.

Another Busy Week

It's been a busy week here. Well, busy for a lazy hausfrau, so probably mellow and laid-back for most of you.

Monday night I went to Hutton's school to help mat the artworks for the auction tonight. It was actually pretty fun, and I got to see Hutton's beautiful watercolor, which looks like an abstract landscape. Now I won't have any problems bidding on it!

Another plus to attending a PTA function at the school (which I am usually complaining about, because I always feel like a big push-over whenever I go to these things) was that I was talking with another mom whose son sees a lot of the same doctors as my son, and we were comparing notes on treatments. Unlike me, though, she actually seems to like the pediatrician and neurologist, whereas I see them as wasted money most of the time when I leave feeling I still know more about good ways to treat Hutton than they do. Examples: At the last neurologist visit in January, I went in armed with all of my information. "I've read about people having success using Valtrex [an anti-viral drug used to treat Herpes, but found to be helpful for kids with Autism, as they often have viral issues as well] You know, Hutton has been having lots of cold sores lately, so I know he has some viruses." Silence from neurologist. "And maybe we could do M-B12 shots..." [A pretty straightforward treatment, most kids have a good upsurge in language and eye contact on B12] Neurologist: "Well, since Hutton is doing well now, let's just continue what we're doing. " Meaning, just keep doing the speech therapy and ABA. He continues, "Now, there's talk that if these kids are doing well without biomedical treatments, just imagine how great they could be doing with them! But I think we should just wait." Hmm. OK, doc. Of course, I left and continue to treat Hutton with everything I can get over the counter that drs. won't help with. He gets the plain old B12 vitamins, but I'm sure not in high enough doses to really make a difference. We've also done several rounds of chelation [mercury removal] using an over the counter vitamin, and I think that's been a huge success. But, what do I know? I'm just his mother who spends all of her time caring for him and trying to find ways to make him more socially adept and happy.

Now to the pediatrician. We see him about once a year. He comes in, glances through Hutton's file, which has reports from the neuro, the speech and ABA therapist, test results, etc. "How's everything going?" I look at him, decide that it's pretty worthless to try to get him caught up on all we've done in the past year, so just let him do the basic pediatrician check-up. After talking to this other mom, though, I may make an appointment with the regular pediatrician to see about having Hutton's yeast levels checked and maybe trying some Valtrex and B12. If I can get some studies printed out for him to read, he may actually go along with me! What has he got to lose?

Another plus from Monday: I was talking about kindergarten for next year, and that Hutton is ready to go to a "transition class," but I had heard from another mom that there was a new extended day program at our neighborhood school that will have kids with Autism. I was complaining that I hate that I only hear about these things from other parents, when the preschool administrator overheard me as she was walking through the room. She actually stopped to talk to me, knew who Hutton was, and said we would have a meeting in the next few weeks and see about getting Hutton in the extended day program! Wow! I guess the squeaky wheel does get the grease. If I can overcome my innate shyness (yes, I am shy! Can you believe it?) I may actually get what I need by, gasp, asking for it!

Long-winded post continues....

Tuesday I had a soccer game. It was a bad game for my team. We had a full team, which is always good, but were missing our regular goalie and one of our best defensive players. By half-time, we were down 5-1. I agreed to play goalie for the second half, as it wasn't like we really stood a chance of winning at that point. I did OK, for a really sucky keeper, that is. I stopped a couple of very easy shots, let in 3 more, but was bored most of the time. Plus, I didn't get any exercise in the second half, so that was annoying, as that's one of the reasons I play soccer. I spent the half pacing and bouncing and singing songs to myself and willing our team to score. So, the game ended being 8-2. Don't think we need to worry about playing in the championship game this season.

Wednesday I went to lunch with my friend Liz and bought some plants at Molbak's, a fabulous nursery in downtown Woodinville. I planted them that afternoon, then went to dinner with my bookclub.

Tonight is Hutton's school auction. I'm quite sure I will buy a Hutton original watercolor, and may buy a beach umbrella embellished with the handprints of Hutton and his classmates. It all depends on if there are more than two of us from Hutton's class there, as there are two umbrellas.

Well, that's the really long-winded, boring post I made of my busy week.

Catch-up

Let's see. What have I missed discussing this week while I've been playing outside with the boys?

Last Saturday's White House Correspondent's Dinner featuring the Truthiest Stephen Colbert ever

After watching this last Sunday (no, I don't watch C-Span, so I caught it after my DH emailed me a link), I was shocked. It was almost painful to watch at times, as I got caught up in the feelings of the audience. You could hear a pin drop at times. After having a few days to process, though, I am blown away by how ballsy Colbert is, delivering biting comments right and left, and often looking directly at Dubya to deliver these blows. I really think the people who decided Stephen Colbert would be perfect for the job were either very stupid, and didn't realize he plays a part on his show, or were very smart, and realized he'd totally cut through the crap (darn, I typed carp again! I think that must be my fave typo!) that a "regular" comic would perform. But, since this is the Bush White House we're talking about, I'd have to go with they were very stupid.

Here's a transcript of the performance. Reading it again, I laughed a lot. I wasn't able to laugh while viewing it because it was so shocking the first time. That, and I missed some of the jokes because they were coming so fast!

My favorite lines:

I believe the government that governs best is the government that governs least. And by these standards, we have set up a fabulous government in Iraq.

And though I am a committed Christian, I believe that everyone has the right to their own religion, be you Hindu, Jewish or Muslim. I believe there are infinite paths to accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior.

"Oh, they're just rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic." First of all, that is a terrible metaphor. This administration is not sinking. This administration is soaring. If anything, they are rearranging the deck chairs on the Hindenburg!

You can ask him anything, but he's going to say what he wants, at the pace that he wants. It's like boxing a glacier. Enjoy that metaphor, by the way, because your grandchildren will have no idea what a glacier is.

Stephen, I love you!

Elizabethan England as featured in HBO's Elizabeth I

Jeez, you people are violent! I realize you learned it from your big fat dad, Lizzy, but can't we all just get along? You'd think that after your mother, and another stepmother for good measure, were put to death by your father, you'd be less likely to execute family and loved ones. But, this doesn't seem to be the case. Just watching the dramatic re-enactments of hangings, beheadings, and traitors being drawn-and-quartered was enough to make me want to puke. I never really knew what was involved in the "drawing" part of drawing and quartering. A clue: it doesn't involve pencils and artist's sketchpads, or as I thought, being pulled by a horse.

Then again, the French version of drawing and quartering does involve horses. Aren't our great Western Civilizations civilized?

A Lovely Day in May

Today Hutton did not have school, so after his morning speech therapy, we ran some errands and then took a lovely drive home going "the long way" on some backs roads through the country. It's a beautiful, sunny day, so driving around with the sunroof open and the windows down was so nice!

When we got home, we whipped out the Spongebob Snocone maker, a Christmas gift from my friend, Liz, who remembered how I always lamented never getting a Snoopy Snocone Machine as a child, even though I asked for it every year for Christmas. What a great friend, huh? After assembling the machine, and finding a missing piece in a toy box in the living room (glad I didn't throw out that weird brown piece of plastic when I found it somewhere several months ago!), I started cranking away. We added some Hi-C syrup from the gigantic bag leftover from Hutton's school Walk-A-Thon last month (I had picked up the giant jugs from McDonald's, and had to buy a big box of Hi-C concentrate, and as only about 100 kids walked in the Walk-A-Thon, there was lots of syrup leftover), and they were pretty darn tasty!

Then, we went outside to enjoy the sun. As the boys pushed the toy car around, I set up a flower sprinkler I'd bought earlier in the day. I was unreeling some hose, and saw a tiny little frog hiding on the hose holder. Anyone who has ever been to my house would know that I'm a frog fanatic, so I was very excited, and after showing the froggy to Hutton, ran inside to get my camera. I took some pictures of the boys, while I was at it.

Driving N Smiling

The car must be out of gas.

After capturing the frog on CompactFlash (and scaring him off with the flash in the process), I turned on the flower sprinkler, which was crazy and a little too unpredictable. I soon moved it to a sunnier spot in the yard, far away from the hammock!



Tiny little frog by the hose

Frog compared to hose for size

Crazy flower sprinkler getting a little too close to my hammock.

Hutton enjoyed turning it on and off over the next couple of hours, while Harrison and I lounged in the hammock for a while. Then while the boys played in the sandbox and rode their trikes, I did some weeding and pruning. Now I must take a nap, as Harrison's decision to not sleep through the night had a direct effect on my not sleeping through the night, either.

I'm Not Ready for This!

Hutton has started peeing standing up. I'm not ready for this. No, it has nothing to do with my little boy growing up. It has to do with the fact that he has bad control and always manages to hit both the back of the toilet and then dribble on the floor (and his pants and underwear) at the end. I really love having to wipe down the toilet and bathroom floor several times a day, and do more laundry.

Yesterday when I saw this happen for the first time, I walked in and stepped in the little puddle he'd left on the floor. Thanks, Hutton! Now, please sit down and pee like a respectable man. I don't care how Daddy does it!

Saturday Night Excitement

I was just reading a magazine, and as I flipped through the final pages at the back, checking for articles hidden among the ads, I was stopped by a full-page ad featuring a picture of a cute couple nuzzling each other with an adorable baby between them, and the giant print, "VAGINAL REJUVENATION" below, in the middle of the page. Of course, I was intrigued, and read on.

This was a medical clinic offering all sorts of neat procedures for the ladies, to "get you back in shape from the inside out." OK. I was mildly amused by the "individual kegel exercise regimen" and vaginal weight training. Uh, no thanks, I do my vag weight training on the machines at the gym. Heh. Just kidding.

Anyway, the kicker was further down, after the section on "minimally invasive procedures" featuring bladder lifts and trans-gender scarless hysterectomies, there was the "restoration, reconstruction, plumbing and renovations" section. Hmm, I have always thought of my lady bits in terms of home improvement terminology. How did the genius copywriter responsible for this ad know that?! Still reading the smaller print in this section (uh-huh, I liken it to rubber-necking a car accident) was the laugh-out-loud phrase: "If...your labia are assymetric [sic] or large and bothersome, you may benefit from minimally invasive...surgery." Jeez, even when my life is not-so-fun, I can always look on the bright side: I don't need surgery for large and bothersome labia. Phew! The fact that this full page ad had a typo of asymmetric, and it featured the word ass...well, that's just too easy.

And just so you know, this was in New York magazine, not Hustler for Women or Cosmo or something like that. Don't ask me why I, a hausfrau living in the boonies 40 minutes from the closest real city, and across the country from New York, am reading New York magazine. Well, go ahead and ask. DH had some credit card points to burn, so I got lots of free subscriptions, and there wasn't the best selection. I'd rather read New York and pretend to be hip than Men's Vogue, Golf Digest or W for instance. I don't even know what W magazine is, but it brings Dubya to mind, therefore I want nothing to do with it!

Hola! Say Can You See?

Yes, that's a lame title. I read about the new Spanish anthem yesterday. I think it sounds pretty good in theory. But that's where it ends. Why?

Because it "... is shaping up to be a We Are The World for Latinos..." Shudder. One We Are the World is more than enough people!

I now have the image of Cyndi Lauper wearing headphones singing along with Huey Lewis burned into my mind. Ugh. It took years to get rid of that image, and just reading the song title brought it back!

For those of you who remember the song, this is a fun website. Scroll to the bottom, and it lists the WATW lyrics with the performer beside them. I could aurally imagine each performer singing the lines as if I had the tape blaring on my boom box in the 80s.

Conglomeration of Random Carp

Well, it should read, "Crap," but I liked the typo so much, I kept it!

It's a beautiful day in the boonies where I live, and I should be outside gardening, since Harrison is asleep and Hutton is working with his ABA therapist, but I'm here composing this work just for you! Aren't you feeling special that I chose you?

After reading this post on Allie D.'s blog, I thought about my own commute. I don't work a "real" job, so what I do can't really be called commuting, but then when I consider that I am a stay-at-home mom (really a stay-at-home-part-of-the-time, drive-the-kids-to-various-appointments-and-run-errands-the-rest-of-the-time), driving my kids around is part of my job. If it were just me, I'd have easy "commutes" of going to the gym (12 minute drive), the grocery store (5 minutes for Safeway, 14 for Fred Myer), and Target (about 15 to 20 minutes depending on which store I choose.)

So, my commutes are:

• 25 minutes to take Hutton to school on the days he doesn't ride the bus. The past month, I've made this drive A LOT because of all the crap (carp?) I've been doing at his school: co-chairing the big fund-raising walk-a-thon, helping with the class art projects for the upcoming big fund-raising art auction, and going to various meetings and presentations.
• 30+ minutes to take Hutton to his speech and occupational therapy on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, at prime commute time of 8:30 a.m. I really loathe this one, because it can be anywhere from 25 minutes to 40+ depending on traffic, and there's never any indication traffic will be bad until it's too late to choose another route. It is usually my fault we're late when we are, because I always take 5 minutes longer than necessary to fix my makeup. Because, you know I have to make a good impression on Hutton's 20-something therapists, the barista at the Jitters where I get my mochas after I've dropped Hutton off, and the various workers at the ghost-town of a mall* across the street from the therapists' office.
• 40+ minutes to take Hutton to his homeopath once every 6 weeks. Yep, I'm a freak who believes that homeopathy is actually helping my son's behaviors and health. The homeopath is just so nice and attentive, though, and I SWEAR Hutton starting pooping on the potty almost immediately after we went to him the first time.

Harrison only goes to Gymboree once a week, and that's 15 minutes, so I don't really mind that as far as commutes go. So far he's the easy child, but that was the case with Hutton, too, before he was 2 1/2.

Oh yeah -

* The ghost-town of a mall across the street from Hutton's therapist. This is a weird mall. It was once a wonderous place full of delightful shops, I'm sure, but now, it's in a strange state of upheaval, rebuilding, and rebirth. When Hutton started therapy in Factoria (I like to pronounce it incorrectly as Fact-o-rhee-a, like diarrhea) last year, the mall had more stores than it currently does. Gottschalk's, which always had great sales, which is probably why it closed, is no longer there, and the toy store where Harrison and I would go to play with the Thomas trainset is also gone. There used to be a little tea shop there, too, where I went to a baby shower for a friend. The Factoria Mall has an Old Navy (my fave place for cheap clothes, though I have to actually try them on, as their quality control is all over the place, and a small could really be a large), only accessible from the outside of the mall, like in a strip mall. It has a Target, my all-time favorite chain store, which is accessible from inside and outside the mall, a Safeway, only accessible from the outside of the mall, a Rite Aid, accessible from inside and outside the mall, a Nordstrom Rack, accessible from inside and outside (I found a great pair of jeans there recently that would have cost a lot more than all of my other jeans combined if I hadn't found them on sale at the Rack). Then there are lots of other little stores inside - a book store, a card store, small clothing stores, a post office outpost, a Seattle's Best, Jamba Juice. Then it has a PetCo, Red Robin and a day spa place. Recently they opened a children's museum inside also, which is nice, because it gives me and Harrison something fun to do during the two hours of Hutton's therapy, but it doesn't open until 10, so I still have an hour to kill ahead of time.

You're getting the idea, right? This is not a "regular" mall in any sense of the word. It's just weird. There's no telling which of the small businesses inside will last through the year or what will open in their stead, or in the giant spot once occupied by Gottschalk's Department Store.

Well, I had much more to write, but that blurb on the Factoria Mall took longer to write than the original mall designers probably took to plan the place out.

Slow Times at S House

Yawn. Ho hum. Nothing going on for a while, hence the lack of posts. I am nursing a grudge against my dear husband, brought on last week, and going on off-and-on since then. The cause: TAX DAY!!! Ohh, it sends shivers down my spine. Like another blogger I know, who shall remain nameless to protect the innocent (and guilty), my husband has a tax problem. He started them aeons ahead of time. Or at least it seemed that way. A month or so ago, I asked him if he needed me to compile any of Hutton's medical information for tax stuff, since DH had asked about the mileage to the chiropractor, speech therapist, etc. DH said, "No. I've already done it." Super! Laura is free and clear of any tax involvement. Or so I thought.

So, last Saturday morning, I awoke bright and early, showered, fed the boys and myself breakfast, and got ready to go to one of those things that most men (and even few women) can understand -- Scraptacular Scrapfest, or something along those lines. It was a scrapbooking workshop, when you go the the scrapbooking saleswoman's house for several hours and accomplish all that scrapbooking you haven't been able to do in the past year. I didn't really tell DH exactly what I was doing. Just that I was going to a "thing" and that I had a soccer game afterwards. I scurried off on my merry way, feeling just a tad guilty that DH was working on taxes and had the boys to tend to, but hey, I took care of the boys every day, and DH only had a few things to do for taxes, right?

Wrong. I was happily cutting my chosen pictures into perfect ovals, picking out the right color backgrounds, and getting ready to paste when I received the first of three calls on my cell phone. DH: "Who is Elizabeth X?" Me: "That's Hutton's ABA consultant." Next call: "What's this stuff for Comprehensive Medical Center? And who is Dr. L?" Blah blah blah. Laura's anger slowly rising. Didn't I offer to do all of this for DH weeks ago? Why is he bothering me with this now? The third and final call boiled down to DH yelling that he couldn't do the taxes over the phone, why was I at a SCRAPBOOKING PARTY when he was watching the kids and trying to do taxes, YELL YELL YELL. I yelled back, "FINE. I'm coming home." The angry tears of frustration were pooling in my eyes and I was attempting to hold them back so the rest of the women happily scrapping wouldn't notice, but they did. Luckily my friend Liz was there to ensure there was not any talking about me when I left. (THANKS, Liz!)

I drove home seriously pissed at my Dickwad, er, Dear Husband. When I got home, I went upstairs where the boys were happily playing and watching Madagascar. DH had apparently figured out most of the medical stuff he couldn't possibly do without me here. He was sure to point out that our insurance hadn't covered the last three months of 2005 for Hutton's ABA therapy because we were over our allotment. And what could I do about that now? I told him this year we had dropped hours by 30% so that wasn't going to happen again. He then got all pissy about some check I'd written in January for $700. I had not written down what it was for, and DH was sure I'd written it for some solid good scrapbooks, I'm sure. When DH said there was a $300 check the year before to the same woman, I remembered that the check was for boarding the dogs at Christmas. See, no spendthrift wife involved. (Which reminds me - I never understood how the word "thrift" added to "spend" means someone who is NOT thrifty with her spending.)

And that was the end of my involvement in tax season. I made the boys lunch, went off to play soccer (we won! Woohoo!) and continued in the normal way of a boring weekend with no help from DH because he was doing taxes. Taxes were done Sunday night, I signed my places, and we're supposed to get $8,000 back. So, why the hell does DH get in such a pissy mood about these things? And why does he insist on doing taxes himself? Because we can't afford to have someone else do them. Oh, I see. I'm just the little housewife who has to deal with the super pissy husband every year at tax time.

Spring Break, and not a drunken half-naked coed in sight

Yes, it's Spring Break week here in the NW, and we're having a...pretty boring old time. Nothing special going on at all. Monday we went to my friend, Liz's house for lunch and play. Tuesday, speech therapy in the morning and an afternoon cleaning the upstairs windows. Yes, we know how to party! The only funneling involved putting water in the steam cleaner.

Today was morning ABA therapy, and this afternoon is wide open. I sense a trip to Target. Hutton is requesting to play with Jack's Big Music Show game on the Noggin website. He saw that when I was getting the link for my post the other day.

My thought for the day that I came up with while getting dressed yesterday: On shows like "What Not to Wear" they tell you that to figure out your correct bra size, you should measure in two areas while wearing a well-fitting bra, then use a special formula to determine the correct size. Well, if you have a well-fitting bra, wouldn't that be the right size?

Moments I Love as a Mother

I had one of these moments the other day. I had been cleaning windows all afternoon, with H & H "helping out," following me around with cloths and then getting distracted and climbing on the furniture, chasing each other around, trying to steal my steam cleaner, etc.

I finally finished the downstairs windows, and turned on the TV for the boys to watch while I went to throw my dirty cleaning rags in the wash. I put on a TiVoed episode of "Jack's Big Music Show, " and walked out of the living room. A few minutes later, I found Hutton in the kitchen, looking suspiciously "up to something." He moved aside to show me what the look was about. There, on the floor in front of the refrigerator, was an empty egg carton and the last three eggs (brown, free-range organic eggs, of course) broken on the floor. I was pissed. As I let the steam explode from my ears, I cleaned up the eggs and explained to Hutton in the calmest voice possible (though still an overly loud and angry voice) that eggs were not a toy and I didn't want him to EVER, EVER, EVER touch an egg again unless I had given him permission to do so.

Afterwards, I went in to the living room to check on Harrison who was still watching "Jack's Big Music Show." The boys love this show, and I like it, too. We've seen all the episodes Noggin has played, so I noticed very quickly that the episode was about the Baby Bongo Bird. You know, the bird who plays the bongo drums. The bird who hatches. From an egg. D'oh! So apparently Hutton was just trying to get his own baby bongo bird out of the refrigerator.

It's been slow around here

Sorry. I've been preoccupied with this stupid Duke LAX thing and trying to keep up with the latest in that. (I get sucked in to this crap very easily!) One thing that bugs me is that this freakshow, Ryan McFadyen, is giving Duke a bad name. And I'm not even talking about the rape investigation, that started sucking Duke down last month. I'm talking about his horrific grammar in his horrific email about skinning strippers. That's almost as bad to me, as a Duke grad with an English major. That guys like this get into good schools on LAX scholarships, then proceed to somehow get through while not learning how to write or spell, and most likely go on to high-paying jobs. Well, maybe not in Ryan's case, since he was suspended, but I'm sure this will be the case for lots of his buddies. It's just annoying to me because I actually had to study and gasp, work hard, at my classes to graduate. (Well, I didn't exactly work hard. I had turned into quite a slacker/procrastinator in college after being an over-achiever in high school, but I still had to use that organ in my skull and pull some all-nighters to keep my GPA up).

More on Ryan, then I swear I'll move on. This DB (you can come up with whatever you want with that abbreviation -- Downy Ball, Duck Bill, Delirious Bibliophobe) was actually quoted in the school paper, talking about the Take Back the Night rally against sexual violence: "I completely support this event and this entire week," he told the newspaper. "It's just sad that the allegations we are accused of happened to fall when they did."

Hmm. This guy attends a Take Back the Night rally against sexual violence just a few weeks after sending an email talking about skinning strippers and getting off on doing so. Now, I'm going to say it. You knew it was coming. That's IRONIC!!! See, I got something out of my Duke education after all.

Now for something more serious...

I'm really not happy with my Alma Mater right now. Not a proud Blue Devil. This is the reason:
http://www.newsobserver.com/1185/story/423471.html

For those who don't want to read the link, it is the story of an exotic dancer who was sexually assulted at an off-campus party at the home of Duke Lacrosse players.

This took place a couple of blocks from the house where I lived Junior and Senior years at Duke. I participated in Take Back the Night rallies at Duke, but I can't imagine how tense this year's rally was after this with this going on!

When I attended Duke, over ten years ago (gosh, has it already been that long?), things were pretty much the same as they are now -- strained relationships with the town of Durham and its residents. Though my friends and I lived off campus and were much more involved in town life than most of our on-campus classmates, we were still part of the "Gothic Wonderland," a world closed off to the poorer residents of Durham.

The fact that the athletes accused of this heinous crime are white, rich, priveledged Dukies will do nothing to improve Duke/Durham relations, unfortunately. And while many at Duke are claiming they're not racist, sexist pigs, unfortunately this situation does not back up their claims.


My friend pointed out an article in the New York Times the other day about the Duke Women's Basketball team. The article said it was a shame these women were not commenting on the lacrosse team rape. Though, as my friend pointed out, the women on the basketball team had probably never met the men's lacrosse team players and were trying to focus on their tournament -- they played the National Championship game Tuesday night. Why should these women, who have worked so hard for this, have to concern themselves with the horrible actions of the lacrosse team?

As I've taken over a day to write this post, some new issues have come up.

One: Another friend from Duke emailed about Duke's President Brodhead claiming a few days ago that this was the result of off-campus partying/drinking. As my friend said, "If you're a good person, you are not going to rape a woman when you're drunk. " I can see that to some extent. But obviously in this case, drinking didn't help the situation.

Two: This is just disgusting! The latest:
http://www.nytimes.com/aponline/sports/AP-Duke-Lacrosse-Investigation.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/0405061duke9.html

Sick, sick, sick!

What's worse is the lawyer talk from two of the lawyers representing lacrosse team players:

''While the language of the e-mail is vile, the e-mail itself is perfectly consistent with the boys' unequivocal assertion that no sexual assault took place that evening,'' said attorney Robert Ekstrand. The e-mail ''demonstrates that its writer is completely unaware that any act or event remotely similar to what has been alleged ever occurred.''

and

"This e-mail, while the wording of it is, at best, unfortunate, if you read this e-mail and you also are aware of other e-mails that exist contemporaneous with these events, it's quite clear that no rape happened in that house," Cheshire said. "These boys were frustrated because they, as is already been reported, they thought these women had come and taken a bunch of money and started dancing and just decided to leave."

Oh, so since he's writing about skinning strippers alive and finding this sexually gratifying, that means that an assult couldn't have already happened. Yeah, sure. He and his teammates seem like standup members of the community. Those poor boys. They didn't get a full show because they were threatening to assault the women they paid to dance. Blech. I'm off to vomit now.