If you haven't heard of pinterest.com yet...beware the following post.
You probably have. I've never been trendy...I'm usually several years behind..in fact, I'm thinking about stealing my mom's t-shirt and cutting it into pieces to make a super rad cumberbund I heard about.
Anyhoo, on the off chance that you're less aware of your surroundings than I am (which would basically make you an amoeba), and you have HOURS of time to waste in the middle of the night, I highly recommend pinterest.com for your time-wasting needs. It's like the internet on crack. It's like someone--several someones, in fact--took the time to sort through all the garbage floating around on the interwebs and post only the cool stuff.
There is funny stuff:
"The biggest setback in feminism since the sandwich."
And there is serious stuff:
Then there's the pretty stuff:
Crud. That's not the picture I meant to post. (heh heh heh). I meant, "Then there's the pretty stuff:"
And the crafty stuff:
And THERE ARE INSTRUCTIONS FOR HOW TO DO/MAKE IT. I may finally have decent/styled hair. At the very least, there is hope for Jamie.
Did I mention that there's funny stuff?
And food ideas! Lots of food ideas! With recipes!
People! I have found the Relief Society Cheat Sheet! And it helps pass the time whilst nursing!
And before I leave you, some pinterest wisdom (that was gleaned from icanhascheezburger):
Aren't we all.
Thanks, April, for bringing me out of the dark ages...
I think my children have made a pact to try to break my will. If that doesn't work, they'll settle for inflicting as much pain as possible. Yesterday, I shared in the following text exchange with Elise:
Me: Dang Abrahamson climbing gene. Gabers was on top of the freaking piano.
Elise: Ahahaha! Has he discovered your cupboards yet?
Me: Oh yes. He lurves the pantry, too. Dang it.
Elise: Well the pantry does have a built in ladder. And food. Gabers is my kinda kid.
Me: Yeah, this behavior was so much cuter when it was Erin and Macey doing it.
Elise: It's frustrating and yet convenient for lazy parents like me who like it when their 4 yo makes their own toast. :)
What this series of texts doesn't communicate is the twenty minutes AFTER finding Gabriel on top of the piano that I spent trying to find an alternate location for the piano bench that would prevent Gabriel from dragging the bench back into place and his subsequent use of the piano as a jungle gym. I was unsuccessful, I might add. There was a lot of Gabriel stomping around and yelling at me whilst dragging the bench back over to the piano. I was to the point of considering asking the Mirror-Alfreds to store it for us (along with all of our chairs and other ladder-ish furniture), but that would have been inconvenient in the event of actual piano playing. Or eating of dinner at the dining room table. It was an epic battle in the War of the Wills. And it was a draw.
I'm not a dummy, though. I've figured out their strategy for breaking me. It's a three-pronged plan designed to make me fold like origami.
Prong one: sleep deprivation. Gabriel takes the day shift, Jamie takes the night shift, and Ethan and Elijah pinch hit during the rare times that Gabriel accidentally falls asleep during nap time, which happens to coincide with their homework time (which is generally a battle in itself). When he DOES fall asleep, it looks like this:
YOU try to sleep with those paws kicking you in the kidney. You can't. What is it with children and their innate ability to always be perpendicular to their parents' backs? GAH.
Prong two: physical torture. Gabriel prefers straight forward hitting and stomping, while Jamie is more subtle. I won't get into the details of her preferred method of torture, but I will say that it involves lactation and she's a lot like the miners in Galaxy Quest...you know, they're aren't MINORS, they're MINERS. They look all cute and sweet and then they attack with brutal finality. OOWIE OOWIE OOWIE OOWIE.
Prong three: mind games. I think Gabriel's been watching Shrek when I finally collapse from exhaustion, because he's taken to doing a mean Puss In Boots impersonation. Witness:
He pulls out the cute eyes...and then he goes all Puss In Boots on me and performs some act of toddler terrorism. Cruelly, the eyes totally hamstring me and my ability to fully utilize my naturally heartless nature. I've said it before and I'll say it again...cuteness is their one survival skill.
It's like I got dragged into a land war in Asia. I'm not exactly losing, but I can't declare a solid victory, either, and most of the time I'm two steps away from unwittingly setting off a land mine. The irony is, I'm not out to get them...I'm just trying to save them from the cruel forces of Gravity and Electricity. Once again, I think I have to bow to the wisdom of my mother, who I swear is more awesome every passing day. I need to...LET THE WOOKIEE WIN. She used to mutter that to me a lot, and it used to bug the tar out of me...but I totally get it, now that I have my very own Wookiee named Gabriel.
In news unrelated to the ongoing War of the Wills, Ethan and Elijah started school this week...
Happy-go-lucky Elijah, totally not stressed out about opening a locker.
"My stepmother is a total dork. I hate her and her picture obsession. She better not follow me to school!"
And now, I need to go retaliate to Gabriel's latest offensive: Battle Silverware. He thinks it belongs on the floor, I don't.
Funny story: on Monday, Jon posted a link to a video on Facebook that featured teenage boys dressed as "superheroes" launching aerial fireworks at each other and attempting to block them with cardboard "shields." Idiots. Anyhoo, Jon thought it was funny and showed it to me...with Ethan watching over my shoulder. Ethan, Mr. Prepubescent Low Wisdom Score...who thought shooting fireworks at other people was The. Best. Idea. Ever. Ladies and gentlemen, if Ethan and/or his friends end up in the ER with injuries from aerial fireworks...I BLAME THIS DAY. And Jon. (April and Josh, please let your children continue to play with ours. We promise to watch them closely.)
Tuesday morning, I/we unpacked their luggage. Yes, there was the obligatory dirty and wet clothing (one day, I will not call Jon to rant whilst unpacking the boys' luggage), but there was also...a dead animal.
One of these things has no business going through airport security, especially since I had to throw away my menacing bottle of AquaFina and watch them do extensive chemical tests (complete with some kind of dip stick) on Gabriel's formula. There is no justice.
Hint: it's the brown one, and it still had "hairs." I had no idea that sand dollars need styling product. Regardless, I got to unpack the marine version of a corpse because, you see, sand dollars aren't pristine white until...well, until the flesh has completely decomposed and they dry out. Until then, they smell. Really bad. And are surprisingly flexible. And unsurprisingly gross. Moving on.
Wednesday was Elijah's first day of TACKLE football.
See the kid in front of the coach in the white shirt? Number 21? He's huge, so obviously he was put on the defensive line, where he repeatedly pushed his opponent down the field at his leisure. It was like watching the scene from the Blindside when Michael drove that obnoxious kid clear down the field and over the fence. I'm glad he's on Elijah's team for obvious reasons.
On Thursday, we registered Ethan for middle school. Overall, it wasn't a negative experience...until we got to his locker. Those lockers were HUGE, as they are intended to be shared by two students and have to accommodate two students' worth of Hoth Winter Gear. I felt like the worst parent ever, because my knee jerk reaction to seeing those lockers was...great. Nelson the bully won't even have to exert himself to shove Ethan in that sucker. Then, being the twisted family that we are, we decided that if ANYONE is going to shove Ethan into a locker, it's going to be US.
Heartless Gabriel, slamming the door.
And, if we're going to scar one boy, we might as well finish the job and warp the other two:
On the Jamie front, Thursday marked Jamie's one month birthday. To celebrate, I took another picture to give all y'all a sense of perspective:
She may still be in newborn clothes, but she's grown quite a bit. See?
Nutella doesn't lie. Plus, you can see how much taller she is in comparison to the background pattern. I'm telling you, she was a MUNCHKIN when she was born.
And, last but CERTAINLY not least, I've tried to work the following picture in for the last three posts, but it just hasn't worked out. So, to get it out of my system, here you go:
Really, there was a reason. I just couldn't get into the groove to finish the posts.
I recently decided that I need to expose Gabriel to more music that is toddler-appropriate. This may or may not be a result of the "sexyback" hat incident. But it was DEFINITELY reinforced when I finally "listened" to the lyrics to that one Eminem song, which is NOT appropriate for ME, let alone the innocent toddler.
So, in an attempt to be a decent mom, I went to the Cheesy Kids' Music section at the local Shop O Rama and chose a CD that I thought could meet both of our needs: my need to not slam my head in a door whilst listening to it, Gabriel's need to get his groove on, and my newly recognized need to not corrupt my toddler. It was an...
EPIC FAIL.
It did not meet ANY of those needs. It did, however, meet my need to laugh riotously and make other drivers question my sanity as they passed us.
It was an epic fail on two specific levels:
1. It was massively historically inaccurate, so we could never listen to it with Jon.
2. It wasn't really any cleaner than the music already on my iPod.
Case in point: unless the wave of Hispanic immigration is farther reaching than I am aware of (and we're talking areas of high population density, not just the occasional outliers), if you wanted to see a senorita with flowers in her hair, I doubt you'd book a flight to Kentucky*. Nevertheless, song fourteen on disc two, "Going to Kentucky," started with the lyrics:
I was going to Kentucky, I was going to the fair.
To see the senorita, with flowers in her hair.
(This is where Jon's head exploded. We didn't even make it to the cover of Yankee Doodle, which is responsible for children everywhere having bizarre mental images of Mac N Cheese-covered hats. Or was that just me?)
And then it went downhill. The next two lines were:
So, shake it, shake it, shake it. Shake it if you can.
You can shake it like a milkshake and do the best you can.
Which immediately dredged up the following brain worms, which aren't exactly child-friendly, either:
Shake it like a Polaroid picture (Hey Ya, by Outkast)
and
My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard (Milkshake, by some skeezy girl)
True story that I find hysterical: when I googled the lyrics to Hey Ya, I got...THIS:
Till' there's nothing at
AaaaaaaaAAAAAAAaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaaaallllll..
We get together
Ohh, we get together
But seperate's always better when there's feelings
InvooooooOOOOOOOoooooooOOOOOOooooooOOOOOlved
Talk about creative use of upper and lowercase letters to indicate pronunciation.
Where was I? Totally off topic. Right.
I looked at Gabriel in the rearview mirror and--mercifully--the look on his face was just like mine. Namely, "What the heck are you making me listen to? Where's the GOOD music? Bring on the Guns N Roses!"
Anyhoo, at this point, we got home, turned on the iHome, and made lunch. Being selfish, I put on MY music...which happened to be pre-sellout Green Day. Which, as it turns out, Gabriel LOVES.
And I'm OK with that.
*I've been to Kentucky. There are very few Hispanics there. It was the strangest Taco Bell experience this West coast girl has ever had.
I tried to tell him only Dbags wear their hats backwards. He said, and I quote, "I'm bringing sexyback." I've GOT to change my playlist to be more toddler appropriate.
Jamie's first bath
I'd write more...but typing with one hand takes FOREVER.
Jon doesn't have children. He has spawn. I say that with all the love in my heart, because they are my spawn, too...but still. Spawn. Spawn that takes over your body, mind, and will, like one of those eels that Khan put in Chekhov's ear in Star Track (Elise!) II.
Body, because...well, I'll spare you the gory lactation details, just in case my in-laws read this. But pregnancy... really, if the average male saw something writhing in HIS abdomen, they'd leap straight to "spawn," too. And then promptly go Sigourney Weaver on its butt.
Mind, because...there is a list of stuff that I did NOT like until I was carrying Jon's spawn, but now I can't seem to get enough of it:
1. Oreos
2. Pepsi
3. Guns N Roses
I also acknowledge that vanilla is a flavor (although chocolate is still superior).
Will, because....Gabriel thinks he's some kind of a Jedi. He's spent the last week working on his already impressive mind trick skillz. Examples include (but are not limited to):
1. "You want to make me a bottomless chocolate sippy cup."
2. "You want to let me have a chocolate chip granola bar for dinner. And a chocolate sippy cup."
3. "You don't mind if I play on the computer all day long, with Dinosaur Train playing on the TV in the background. While I hold this chocolate sippy cup."
4. "You want to feed me ALL of your bowl of 'I Can't Believe They Aren't Cap'n Crunch Berries.' You will not take ONE bite. Now hold my chocolate sippy cup."
5. "I don't need to sleep. Ever. Now give me back my chocolate sippy cup."
He's had limited success. When it doesn't work...let's just say...Mom, thanks for letting ME live to adulthood. Overall, mommy/toddler relations in the Alfred household for the week can be summarized thusly:
I'm the guy with a squirrel gnawing on his jugular. It's probably my fault, though...as you can see in Exhibit A:
The pic isn't blurry...he's vibrating because of the excess Nutella intake. He's like a junkie waiting for his fix to hit.
But there's more than just a toddler in the house. What with an infant...strike that...NEWBORN in the house as well, I've had a huge amount of time to entertain myself late at night. And late at night, let me tell you, two things happen:
1. My usual high standards for humor drop dramatically. Napoleon Dynamite is a big hit with me at 2 AM (also at 2 PM, but that's besides the point. And don't get me started on The Man Who Knew Too Little).
2. I have a higher tolerance for naughtiness.
3. I giggle like an idiot, waking Jon up even though we aren't even in the same room. Jon LOVES 2 AM Meegan. Loves her, I say!
The newborn is also affecting my ability to count...anyhoo, back on the ranch. Late night boredom while nursing/keeping the wide-awake newborn company is how I found the squirrel video.
Which somehow led to this:
I'm seriously disturbed that I laughed so hard at lamb...fries.
CHOO CHOO! The train didn't stop there!
Jen, the beyond awesome Cake Wrecks lady, posted THIS LINK TO MY NEW FAVORITE BLOG on her other blog, Epbot. Warning: the Bloggess MOST DEFINITELY doesn't mind using "colorful metaphors," one of which would usually bug the tar out of me, but somehow...at 2 AM, I couldn't stop laughing. And then I found the most recent post (HERE) and thought...where WAS this lady when I was younger and looking for ways to entertain myself the LAST time I lived in Hoth?????
And then I got thinking about oldie but goodie videos that I never seem to get tired of watching, which led me to this...
Guns N Roses...I tell ya, it's another Ceti Eel...which led to this...
And so, in summary:
All of this leads me to the inescapable conclusion that the earwig I accidentally sucked out of the "straw" of my hospital sippy cup (which, sadly, NEVER had chocolate milk in it) may have actually been a Ceti Eel.
