Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Surrender your uterus

It's scary to think of how much feces, urine, boogers, slobber and any other imaginable bodily fluid I've accidentally ingested in Violet's lifetime.  I'm a diligent hand washer, but Violet not so much.  She's the type to pee and wipe then come out and dunk her whole hand in my cereal before I get the chance to remind her to wash her hands.  Or scratch her buttcrack then tickle my face (true story).

Young children are offensive to all five senses.  They constantly have that gross overly-sweet fruity sugar smell.  On a volume scale of 1-10 they operate exclusively on levels 6-11.  It's painful to watch them try to sit still anywhere because you just want to yell "STOP FUCKING WAVING YOUR ARMS ARBITRARILY OR I'LL BREAK THEM" but you can't because you'll get investigated (probably rightfully so anyway).  Their hands are always either sticky, drooly, gooey or gritty.  And if god forbid a finger makes it into your mouth, you're going to taste something traumatizing.

And I know it's not my children only dammit.  Your kids are just as disgusting and you don't have to admit it out loud, but we all know they are.

That said, why do I keep spitting these things out?  I never liked babies when I was younger.  I never saw the appeal of just looking at something laying there or changing diapers or listening to that thing wailing for something to suck on.  Little kids were okay on the playground where I expected to get dirty anyway, but any other place and you could count me out from interacting with those things.

Somehow Violet managed to reset that attitude for me though.  She made me really appreciated taking care of a tiny, helpless human no matter how many times she pooped on the floor or if she asked "Do we have bread?" thirty times in a row.

Because you know I love lists so much, here's the top 5 reasons to go against any logical thought in your brain and make (or adopt!) babies tonight!

1. Vanity.  You know what's better than Me?  Lots of Me's!  Having children is the ultimate practice in narcissism.  You create these little people and everyone starts gooing and gahing over how damn good looking they are and how they look just like you, and all you can say "Thanks!" but what you're thinking is "You're right, I am pretty sexy."  And not only do you have your little clones walking around looking like your sexy self, but they're making everyone laugh with that sense of humor you gave them and they're amazing everyone with their badass drum beats they inherited from you.

2. Reliving your childhood.  At work the other day I was saying something like, "I need to buy that Creepy Crawlers oven... for Violet."  Violet doesn't really give a damn about creepy crawlers, but I did!  And I want to again!  I'm forever doing or buying things just because I loved them as a kid, like "rescuing" Violet from certain doom when she gets "stuck" at the top of the tube play place, or riding a model train because "Violet" is into trains, or demonstrating how to properly Sit'n'Spin.

3. Skipping and other previously socially unacceptable things.  One could argue you could still do all those fun things to relive your childhood even without kids, but one could also expect double takes from sane adults and occasionally a citation.  But if you've got a kid with you, you can slide that slide and swing that swing, and talk to yourself in public, and act way more goofy than any respectable adult should.  It's sad really, but that's how it is.

If only he was straddling a child, this wouldn't be so weird.  Ok, maybe kids don't make everything socially acceptable.

4. The chance to shove it in your parents' faces.  My brother always tells the story about how my dad pushed him down an escalator when he was a kid, and to my knowledge my brother never pushed any of his kids down an escalator.  Yet.  When you have kids of your own, you think about all those traumatizing things your parents did to you as a kid, and you swear you'll never do them to your kids, and then when you don't you get to brag about how you're so much better at parenting than your parents and you don't know how you survived your childhood.  Meanwhile, you're so busy over-compensating for the things your parents screwed up that you end up screwing your own kids over in a completely different way, but that's beside the point.

5. Grow a non-dickhead.  Or hell, grow a dickhead if you want!  But hopefully not.  The absolute best part about child rearing is that you get a tiny part in shaping the world of tomorrow.  So not only can you fix what your parents screwed up, but you can attempt to fix the things the rest of society has screwed up.  Bullying is a big issue right now - hate it?  Teach your kids that.  Racism - hate it?  Teach your kids.  Sexism - hate it?  Teach your kids.  Standing up for what's right - love it?  Treating everyone with love and respect - having an open mind - teenage mutant ninja turtles - love them?  Teach your kids!  The best you can.  It's an important job, and a fun one!

Sunday, December 25, 2011

I suck at Christmas.

This morning Joe woke up before everyone else and asked me if he needed to go get eggs so we could bake cookies for everyone's Christmas "gift".  Yeah, we make our presents on Christmas morning, problem?

So then I was up and sitting in the living room and for like 5 minutes I was fighting the urge to wake the kids up to open their presents.  I ultimately decided against it since A) Joe wasn't home and B) seriously, why would I wake them up?!

I'm not even sure what I was so excited about anyway.  I really dropped the ball on Christmas this year.  I mean, really.

My tree is just barely decorated with some $2 mini-ornaments I just bought Friday.  I never did bring up the box of decorations from the basement.  I did manage to make 5 whole paper snowflakes though. 

I thought I had spent too much money on presents for the girls, but when I went to gather everything yesterday to wrap it, I found that they barely had anything.  It's not really a big deal that they get a lot of presents from us or anything, but I had to pull things out of their stockings to wrap up so that they'd have something to unwrap. 

I have presents hidden in places still that I couldn't find... because I was too overwhelmed with Violet's birthday and all my failings to do a good rescue search.  If I looked for 5 minutes I could probably find them.

I made the girls' head bows today.  Three hours before we leave for dinner.

I printed out pictures for the grandparents and picked out the most god awfully off center picture I could find.

I can't turn my Bitch button off this morning even though I feel bad.

Oh well, at least the kids are young and won't remember how much I sucked this Christmas!  Must redeem myself next year.  Maybe we'll even put lights up on the house!

Merry Crustmas everyone!

Friday, December 23, 2011

Happy Violet's Eve!

Tomorrow Violet turns THREE. 

I faintly remember being 3.  Twenty three years ago.

I am SO OLD.

But anyway.  My gut reaction when I saw the PREGNANT on the piss stick was laughter and disbelief.  Three+ years later, she still has that effect on me! 

The kid has a helluva sense of humor and laughs at everything!  And she may or may not have inherited her parents' delight for all things inappropriate.  If you visit my house for more than a few minutes, you will frequently hear her running around saying things "*sniff sniff* smells like penis" and singing "like a butter poopyyyy (life is but a poopy, from Row Row Your Boat)".  I swear I don't teach her these things.

Violet is also a total artsy fartsy kid.  She's got rhythm like a step squad and can keep a beat on the drums at least as well as Meg White.  Her real talent is drawing though!  She drew her first smiley face before most kids her age were even drawing circles, and now she likes to draw family portraits and beach scenes.  Brag time!
She went through a phase of leaving Leela out.  And ripping her drawings.

Daddy is big and hairy.  How accurate!

People on a beach, and that looks like mountains in the background to me! 

A bear!  Which she drew upside down!  Yay, dyslexia!

I'm not positive what this is but I know for sure I like it.

One of many tattooes she's given herself.  This caterpillar was actually kinda cool though, I thought.

This is a tree but I turned it sideways because it looks like a penis, heh.

And of course she's the most adorable little girl to ever live!

Typical Violet face, ink and all.

Violet's current hobbies also include singing somewhat on key, hugging my leg and saying "I love you too" first, mixing up "Mommy" and "Daddy" and calling us "Dammy" and "Moddy", pushing her baby sister then hugging and kissing her immediately after to get out of time out, and saying things over and over and over and over and over and over and over, and being neurotic as shit about everything.

I saw an old friend today that I had only seen once since high school at some club or something.  I told him "I don't get to do fun stuff like that anymore" but immediately after I said that I thought "Shit, I get to go down the slide at the zoo though!  And go to bounce houses!  And 'help Violet get unstuck in the McDonald's playplace'! And visit the swings on a regular basis!"  Yep.  Making Violet certainly changed me and the way I have fun, but she's actually pretty damn awesome and I wouldn't trade her for all the nights out in time.

Happy birthday baby girl!

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

My children will look at all this Christmas shit whether they like it or not

The cool thing about having kids is I get to drag them to do all the things I loved doing as a kid and force them to like it too.

Every time we pass a Christmas light display, I yell out to Violet, LOOKVIOLETCHRISTMASLIGHTS!  It didn't take long before she was the one yelling WOOKCHRISTMASWIGHTSMOM!

Last night we went to my favoritest display on 34th Street and I died of excitement a few times.  It was Baltimoriffic with Boh and crabs everywhere, as expected.  Also crowded as balls, as expected.

Baltimore is a buncha drunks.

And shit-eaters.

Jeebus Bot v2.0

This is a mini-train garden under someone's porch!  OMG!

Another fun sight in Baltimore this holiday season was the Procession of the Santas.  I still have no idea what this was about, but we apparently were in the right place at the right time to see it and it just happened to simultaneously coincide with my longest orgasm ever.  Mmmm, men in suits.  No, the type of suit does not matter.


A new possible tradition for us this year was taking really shitty quality pictures apparently.  Here's the worst one yet!

Washingtion Monument FIREWORKS.  In DECEMBER.  AH!

On our schedule for the rest of this week are TRAIN GARDENS!  The two absolute best around are in Dundalk and Towson.  Towson's display is free if you can resist the food court pizza that you walk by to get to the trains, and Santa is right upstairs for a little lap-sitting if you so please.   Children are welcome to sit on his lap too.  Dundalk has a required $1 "donation" for entry (so very worth it though!), and you can stop in to check out the fire trucks while you're there too.  Last year Violet was really into "firewoowoos" and couldn't wait to sit in it.  Once we got there though, she changed her mind.  I like to think she was afraid the truck would transform and walk off to kick some Decepticon ass while she was in it.  But more likely she's just a chickenshit.

OH!  Must make cookies in the next 4 days also.  And wrap presents.  And buy presents to wrap.  Yeah, that's probably important to do.

Leela is not amused by Christmas shenanigans.

Monday, December 19, 2011

Shark Week

PMS Day 1:  Make chocolate "chip" cookies.  Eat half batch of raw dough.  Complain about them not being good.

PMS Day 2:  Send evil bitch message to husband concluded with the sentence "Fuck you all," referring to himself and his two innocent daughters.

PMS Day 3:  Bitch out co-workers before half of them even clock in, telling them all to "mind your own damn business for fuck's sake" and "stop being such a nosey fuck" and "yeah I do do what I want" (ha,  doodoo).  Eat cheese popcorn and donut for breakfast.

To say the least, having lady parts is an adventure.

Me at Costco at 2am.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Chocolate "chip" cookies

I have just not been in the mood to write or think or type lately, but I wanted to update anyway so my blog wouldn't think I had abandoned it and wouldn't go looking for someone else special to stroke its keys.

So, quick PSA. 

Chocolate "chip" cookies, like with actual potato chips.  Sounds amazing, right?  Sweet, sexy, gooey chocolate morsels swimming inside all that crunch, salty, chippy goodness?  Like dipping your french fries in your milk shake only without all the grease and the jaw freeze?  (I can't be the only one who does that.)

I could barely taste the difference.  I tried Pringle and Ruffles, and neither one really did anything special for me except it was pretty satisfying crushing all those chips in sandwich bags.  I pretended I was a giant smooshing a tiny chip village. 

Oh yeah, so PSA:  Don't waste your time.  But if you like wasting your time and also like doing things to spite me, here's the recipe.

Hey baby, next time let ME know when you want a little morsel in your mouth.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

What's the deal with government assistance?

I know about as much about government assistance programs as I know about the logistics of squid sex, but something was brought to my attention the other day and I feel the need to make an uneducated rant about it.
My friend at work was telling me about the house her sister rents.  It has 3 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a basement and a fireplace.  It's located within walking distance to freakin Target and Kohl's and Food Lion, and 5 miles to the highway.  Monthly rent is $1400.

For comparison, in Baltimore County, the $1400 townhome is in an okay/up-and-coming area, or you can rent a fully renovated 2 bedroom apartment in a really nice area, or you can rent a whole single home with a yard and a few abandoned cars and kittens in a shitty area.

Section 8 gives you something like $1200 a month toward rent.  $1200.  That's a nice mid-sized apartment in a nice area, a really decent townhouse in a decent area, or a house with room to ride your Big Wheels in a shitty area.  Or you can pay more on top of that $1200 to live in an amazing house or in an amazing area.

The part that bothers me is the part where someone who, for whatever reason, can't support himself is living in a sweet house with The Works for free or damn near next to it while someone like myself, who is not far above the income eligibility for government assistance, is living in an unfinished, leaky house and no money to even put up some walls in our useless upstairs bedroom.

Now, I'm aware that I made the choice to buy this house instead of renting an apartment in an even cheaper area and saving a few hundred dollars a month (if I was lucky).  And I also don't want anyone who needs assistance to have to live in unsafe conditions.  But it seems to me that assistance programs shouldn't give one a lifestyle superior to that of someone barely supporting herself.  Otherwise, where's the incentive to move up in the world and get off assistance?

It's like someone is trying to make their own ice cream, but they don't have any cream.  So then someone comes up and is like "Hey, I see you could use some cream!  How about I give you this whole freezer full of Ben & Jerry's Everything But The instead?  I'll keep giving it to you every day, but only until you can get some cream.  Then you'll have to go back to making your own plain vanilla ice cream."

Fuck vanilla that I have to work for, I want free, delicious Everything But The in me.  (I almost went with Chubby Hubby instead because it would have sounded sooo much funnier, but Everything But The is actually relevant *sob*).

So then the other problem is people figure out how awesome Ben & Jerry's is, and they figure, "I give my fair share of money to the grocery store every 2 weeks, I'm entitled to some of that Ben & Jerry's!"  And they start lying about their income to the government agency people.  I know this because more times than I can remember, if I've been complaining about being poor, I've had people ask me, "Why don't you just lie and say you're single and then only use your income?"

First, I don't even fucking understand how this is possible.  I forgot to pay my AMEX for a few months and it eventually went to collections.  I'm phone-anxious so I ignored all the calls, so they tracked down and called my different-last-named sister in Bumfuck, Montana.  When they finally got a hold of me, without telling them one single bit of information (not even my goddam name, I swear), they knew exactly who I was and where I lived, where I work and how much I make bi-weekly, what bank I use, and all sorts of other creepy mofo information.  You mean to tell me this collection agency knew all that about me, and whenever I'm on a new website it has ads for Baltimore-specific things waiting for me, and the US Army could find Saddam Hussein in a fucking hole in the middle of the dessert, but the welfare line can't take 5 minutes to confirm residency and marital status and income?  Seriously??

Second, have people no pride?  We have at times gotten pretty desperate for money, and I have indeed considered faking a separation with Joe so that I'd be eligible for food stamps.  But then I'd think about how Joe was a smoker, and how we have cable and internet, and I had an iPhone, and all sorts of other insignificant things that add up, and how there are people who are living in legitimate poverty and aren't eating dinner just so their kids won't go hungry, and how I'd feel really guilty taking money that should be going to them.  I just don't get the sense of entitlement people have.  Instead of keeping up with a lifestyle we couldn't afford, Joe ditched the cigarettes (side note: FINALLY!  GO JOE!), I ditched the smart phone, and soon we may ditch cable (but never my beloved internet) and one of our cars.  I can't be dishonest and take government hand outs when that money could be feeding another child or buying a school a textbook.

Anyway, like I said, I don't know how it all works.  Maybe $1200 for housing is a fair amount and I was just living in seriously underpriced rental units my whole renter life.  Probably the part I'm more annoyed by is that people so openly work the system with no qualms about it.  Even more likely, I'm just jealous of that dirt cheap, sweet ass three bathroom house (all the potty trained people in my family could be pooping simultaneously!).

Still, something is wrong when it is not at all difficult to cheat the government out of a significant monthly check.  Or worse, when the government apparently doesn't really give a fuck who they're giving money to or for what (because I noticed the crab shack down the road takes food stamps... if they start giving out gas too, Joe and I are getting "divorced").

Monday, December 12, 2011

How to remove a live mouse from a sticky trip

Tonight we caught a mouse squeaking around our kitchen trash can.

Joe asked if we could keep him as a pet. I said shit no.

Then he suggested we kill him and I started crying and saying "That's somebody's mother!"... or father.  I did not comfirm mouse genitalia type.

Then I released him into a nearby cemetary and giggled at the irony of him almost drowning in vegetable oil 5 minutes prior (note: vegetable oil will lube up mouse fur and destickitize a trap enough for the little guy to wiggle free)(also note: use a spoon or the cap to pour it in, lest you risk drowning him and having that permanent mark on your conscience forever)(also note again: put him in a storage bag or disposable container first because that oily little fucker will never stick to anything ever again after this).

We're dysfuntional people.

This reminds me of another little critter I met once (albeit too late).

RIP Bird Turner and Tina Tamper

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Things to teach my daughters

I was an oopsy baby.

Or a one-third-life crisis.

I could be wrong, my parents haven't ever really hinted at the fact, but my brother is 11 years older than me and my sister is 8 years older than me, so yeah.  I'm pretty sure I wasn't planned, or I was just a last minute thing.

Hey, you feel like making a baby today?  Sure!

As a result, while my brother and sister got cool vacations and fun times at home with mom, I got two full-time working parents and crying at the door when my mom went to night school and playing in my babysitter's creepy ass basement and lots of carry out dinners. 

I'm not bitter or anything!

Ok, really I'm not.  Mine wasn't an extraordinary childhood, but nothing particularly traumatic happened to me (except I swear I accidentally saw my grandmother's boobs once and she was missing a nipple.  Part of me hopes I'm making that up, but another part of me hopes I'm not because what kind of sicko makes up seeing her grandmother's deformed boobs??)


What I am bitter about is that it seems my mom sort of phoned in the guiding-your-daughter-into-womanhood thing.  I don't totally blame her.   As long as I can remember, she was always working a lot, and going to school as well when I was young.  And I'm not exactly an easy person to talk to.  I'm very aware I come off as majorly douchey to most people but really I'm just tragically shy and awkward and my brain just processes human encounters in a strange way.  Sometimes I can't believe people even talk to me a second time.

Anyway.  Mom was busy, I was weird, and I feel like our incompatible existence caused me to miss out on a few basic but essential lessons, and the further I get into "adulthood", the more I'm finding out how clueless I am.

Here's some things I want my girls to learn before I kick them out of my house:

How to feed yourself.   I remember once, before Violet was born, I tried to grill frozen fish fillets.  Like, while they were still frozen.  I still don't have a clue what Joe and I ate before I got pregnant because I know I wasn't successful with a single homemade meal and had no real desire to figure it out either.  Three years later, I still screw up at least one meal a week over something dumb. 

I feel like if I give my girls a basic understanding of thawing and baking or grilling meat, chopping vegetables, and maybe one good casserole and one good sauce, they should be good to go and can figure out the rest on their own.
Baseboards need to be cleaned.  I am half ashamed to admit this, but I didn't even realize baseboards could get dirty until I lived in my third apartment at the age of 23, during my second year of living there.  I was cleaning up around the high chair and caught a glimpse of a furry baseboard.  I was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be like that, so I wiped it down and history was made - my first time cleaning a baseboard.  I wasn't given chores during my 19 years at home so I never had any reason to think about how things got clean.

I'm still working on learning all there is to housekeeping, but hopefully the girls will know better than I did that cleaning isn't finished after you clear your floor of all the piles of clothes and junk.
How to keep pots and pans clean.  And how to respect all of your eating, cooking, cleaning and living utensils and appliances to extend their time with you.

I'm still clueless on this one too.  And to make matters worse, I have Joe around, who is even worse about taking care of things.   Good thing I've got at least 15 years to figure this out though, right?

Something besides down or a ponytail.  In my mom's defense, I've never been a girly girl.  I was never interested in gettin my hair did or cute clothes or wearing any make up, so there really wasn't any opportunity to teach me these things.  These days though, I really wish I did have a little knowledge of these things, because sometimes I wouldn't mind looking pretty but I just don't know how to do it.  I'm afraid people would judge me for being presentable... how weird is that?

I want my girls to be confident with how they look, with or without make up and a fancy up-do, and I don't want them to be afraid to do whatever it is that would make them feel beautiful and feminine.  If the only time they see a braid in their life is during a MommyVioletLeela slumber party, then so be it, but at
least they'll have that information for later if they ever want to use it.

Imagine Daria teaching two girls to be girly and you'll understand my problem.

Ok, pause.  This list is sounding a little archaic.  Cook this, clean that, suck in your tummy, make me a sammich.  I mean, I would like the girls to grow up to make me grandbabies and be stay-at-home moms to them, but I'd be perfectly ok with them being cat ladies or business wimminz too.  And in any case, they need to keep a clean presentable body in a clean environment right?  You can't keep an office organized if you can't keep yourself organized.  And no one's going to hire you with Hermione hair.  Anyway, back to the list.

Men are not demons.  My parents did not have the most fantastic relationship when I was young, and my mom may have unintentionally slipped in a few less than flattering remarks about my dad and men in general.  And I may have watched a lot of Lifetime movies that elaborated on that subtle message and then beat it to a pulp and then injected itself directly into my cerebral membrane.  And if you watch the news for two minutes today you'll probably hear "Men are dangerous rapist murderers!  And they eat babies!  All from their couch" quite a few times.

So that's yet another thing I can work on!  Nothing but positive words about Dad when the girls are around.  I'll just wait to call him a dumbass after they go to bed! 

How to drive a stick.   Even if only to impress their father.  Or some hottie.  Because it will impress them.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

A Christmas Miracle

Today, after being pee trained for months, Violet finally went on the shitter!  It was the most glorious poop I've ever seen in my life!  

Today is also Joe's birthday.  Maybe she's just been waiting for this opportunity to give him the best and most appropriate gift ever.

Whatever the reason, I don't care.   I want to shout it from the rooftops.


Friday, December 2, 2011

I'm back from my monthly hiatus with a random memory. Also, Happy Thankstaking.

When my grandfather died, I was given the task of taking his bikes to donate to Good Will.

I was a senior in high school at the time, working a shithole mall job making something like $5.12 an hour (I also will never enjoy Christmas music again thanks to that job).  So I didn't have much money of my own, but I also hated asking my parents for money because I'm too proud sometimes.  Needless to say, I became a bit of a second-hand aficionado, and was not in the least impressed by my local Good Will.

I didn't need the bikes myself and didn't know of anyone who did, and Craigslist wasn't around yet to my knowledge, so I gave up and headed to my grandfather's house to pick the bikes up for donation.

But wait!  On my way there, a wild homeless man appeared!  (Let's name him Pojo.)

He looked tired and limpy, and his boots looked well-traveled.  I was giddy just thinking about how excited he'd be to have one of these bikes.  And maybe he had some hobo homies he could give the other two bikes to!

I pulled over to him and asked him, "Hey, would you by chance need a bike or three?  I was gonna take them to Good Will but I'd rather give them directly to someone who needs them."

     Pojo:  (He was old and had that permanent grump face that old people tend to have)  Umm. (He was sort of panting.) Yeah, sure, I'll take em.  You got em with you, ma'am?

     k8:  No I was just on my way to pick them up.  Will you be around here?  I'll go get them now and bring them to you.  Or I can drop them off anywhere you want.

     Pojo:  No ma'am, I don't have anywhere to be in particular.  I'll sit here on this curb till you come back.

Cool!  He calls young girls ma'am, what a charmer!  So I went to pick up the bikes, super proud of myself for helping out an old needy fella.  I grabbed him a bottle of water too because it was a hot day and he was looking a little shrivelled.

He was waiting right where I left him, looking like a grump face still.  I pulled over again and hopped out to open the truck gate.  I pulled a bike out for him and he hopped on right away.  He must have been seriously tired of walking, I thought!  I started to take the other bikes off when I realized, how the hell was he going to carry around 3 bikes with him?  He can barely carry himself.

     k8:  Are you sure you don't want me to drive these somewhere for you?

     Pojo:  Actually ma'am, that'd be nice of you.  Thanks so much, ma'am.  I work right down the road about half a mile, how bout I follow you on this bike and you drop the other two at the gates right there?

     k8:  *poker face*

You sonofabitch, you're not homeless?!

I gave him the bikes anyway.  I still didn't need them, and the chances of me finding three actual homeless people randomly walking the streets that day were slim, so what the hell.  I'm pretty sure he probably scrapped them at the scrap yard like 50 feet away from where I dropped them off, which is a genius idea now that I think about it.  But maybe he used that money to buy his granddaughter a new barbie or something.  Or hell, even if he bought himself a bottle of whiskey, I'm happy I made him happy a few hours.  I guess.

On a related note, and possibly the thing that triggered this memory... November is over and now that we're all done giving thanks, it's time to focus on just giving!  I used to loathe December and Christmas time because it felt like a chore and an obligation.  I don't even believe in Jesus, so what the hell was I doing celebrating Christmas, or its bullshit commercial replacement?  (more on that some other time)

I think it was the year Violet was born that I pulled my head out of my ass and grasped the real reason for the season.  People don't give presents because they have to, they give them because they love you and they want you to know it, and because they enjoy doing something for you, and because they want you to know your presence in their life is appreciated.  It feels really good to hear a genuine "thank you" from someone. 

I've gotten really good at taking thankses (it's a real word) from strangers.  For some reason it's a lot easier to do a good deed for a homeless man or an old lady in a parking lot.  I'm still working on letting non-strangers know I'm actually a nice person.  I think I'm afraid they'll make fun of me if they find out I'm not really a huge douche. 

So that's something I'll be attempting to work on this Thankstaking month!  Be prepared for unusual acts of kindness, glowing compliments, just-because visits, and heartfelt homemade Xmas gifts.  Assholes.  (off to a good start)

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

k8's 2011 Special Thanks

Thanksgiving is tomorrow!  I have saved you all from my daily updates about what I'm thankful for so that I'd have an excuse to make another list.  I am thankful for lists!  And so much more.

In no particular order, thank you for...

Blessing me with a mind to rhyme and two hype feet.  Oh wait, MC Hammer already covered that one.

Joe  The other day, Joe asked me, "Why is everyone on Facebook saying they're thankful for shit all the time?"  Hahaha!  Also, sometimes he's intentionally funny.  He works his butt off (literally, he has no butt!) so I can stay home with the girls as much as possible.  It's a perfect mix of adorable and hilarious to watch him with the girls too.

Stop moving so I can crack your neck brush your hair.

My quirky kid  I'll just come right out and say it, Violet is a weirdo.  She is her mother.  She makes me laugh so much though.  I love everything about her.

Permanent cheese face.

My serious smartypants  What Leela lacks in silliness she more than makes up for in curiosity and crazy smartypantsness.  Some days I expect her to build a chalkboard out of thought and air and start doing some damn calculus in the living room. 

How many of these woodchips would I have to hoard to construct a tricycle and gtfo of her?

Watercolors   I haven't seen Violet in 3 days since I found the pack of water colors in the junk drawer.

Yo Gabba Gabba   Since I have to be a responsible adult now that I have two children, I watch YGG and pretend I'm trippin balls instead.

A job  I hate it, but at least I have it to hate.

My couch  Many hours has this couch served me well.

Art  Art is subjective as fuck, and I like that.

Violet: WTF is it Dad?    Joe: *fart*

Sliding Boards  It's such a simple idea, yet there's so many possibilities!

Gravity  Good for pulling us down slides.  Also good from keeping Violet from flying up into space!  And I'd miss her.  Although I totally wouldn't mind flying up after her.  Gravity, I no longer appreciate you - off my list!

At the top of the jump, push A again.

Running water  We went 6 months without water this year.  Ok, it was actually like 3 days while our pipes were being replaced, but it felt like months.  There are people in the world who don't have the convenience of plumbing, and I just can't imagine.

Robots, zombies, ninjas, medieval knights, dinosaurs, unicorns  And other cool things.

The rest of the family  More times than not, my family drives me bonkers, but it's cool having them around anyway.

Swings  Or playgrounds in general!  I have a sort of love/hate relationship with the swings now.  I want to play on them myself, but I have a damn baby to push.  God.  And I can't climb all over everything because she still can't walk.  Then when she can walk, I'll have to spend a year supervising her until she grasps the concept of gravity (damn you again, gravity!).  Two summers from now though, it's on.

Al Gore  For inventing the internet for me to enjoy on my couch.

Weight Watchers  I'm down 60 pounds from my fattest and 80 from my pregnantest, and I would have had no chance of doing that on my own.

Stripes and polka dots  I like simple things.

Forks  I hate getting my hands dirty and I'd probably starve if I had to touch my food.  (Note to future self: possible weight loss plan.)

Astronauts  I'm not really sure how I've benefited from people landing on the moon, but I know they're cool as shit and that's good enough for me.

An alien!!

Duct tape  I saw a Mythbusters the other day where they repaired a plane with duct tape.   I don't have a plane but I do have a roof that needs repairing and I am seriously considering putting DT to the test.

Bridges  Have you ever thought about how cool it is that humans have figured out how to build hundreds-of-feet long roads in the middle of the air?  Bridges, engineers, construction workers, creative human minds - I'm thankful for you all.

Cupcakes  Who was the first person to think "Hey, I'm gonna take this flour and these eggs and this sugar and heat them up and then put more sugar on top"?  Well, I don't know.  But I am a fan of that person.

Clouds  It's weird to look at clouds and think of exactly how big and how far they are.  Then realize how tiny and close they are to us compared to the rest of the universe.  Sometimes I take comfort in knowing how insignificant I am.

Things in List Format  Satisfying to my ADD.

Dunkin Donuts  Love me some hot caramel lattes!

The differences in people  One time I was telling a girl at work about some farm I went to and they had cornboxes, like sandboxes, and I described it as "white people shit".  Sometimes I'm a little racist.  I'm just completely fascinated by different cultures and even the differences in individuals, and as long as I'm not the only person alive I'll never get tired of learning about other people's crazy shit.

My vision  I just really like being able to see.  Right now I can see my computer, my hands, my "cloudburst"-colored walls, a pink blow up soccer ball, a pinecone, a sit'n'spin, a picture of Violet in a pink bunny costume...  I'd be pretty sad if I could never see any of that.

Carnivals  Carnivals actually embody everything I dislike - thick, smelly air, big crowds, bright lights, loud sounds, tons of clutter and movement and chaos.  Somehow they combine perfectly into the anti-anxiety attack for me though.  In my next life, I'll be a ferris wheel.  Please don't vomit on me.

Me and Violet are on there somewhere.

Insane amounts of luck  I'm nowhere near rich or powerful, but I'm alive and well and so is everyone in my house.  I haven't done anything to deserve that but I hope it stays that way forever!

A sense of humor  Everything is easier when it's a joke.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

If I was a

If I was an astronaut, I'd be the Original Tangsta.

If I was a cook at a steakhouse, I'd be Optimus Prime Rib.

If I was a bricklayer, I'd be the Stack Daddy.

If I was alive in the 60s, I'd be Hippiepotamus.

If I was a porn star, I'd be Dildope.

If I was lesbian twin bodybuilders, I'd be the Scissor Lifts.

If I was a breastfeeding party, I'd be a Letdown Getdown.

If I was a flactuating Spartiate, I'd be Fartin Spartan.

If I was Violet or Leela, I'd be Children of the Corny.

If I was a blogger, what in the Sam Hill would my name be?!?!

They say a way to test the success of your kid's name is to imagine them as president.  Well, that doesn't work with blog names.  For some reason though, I imagine if William Shatner can pronounce your blog name and still sound cool as fuck, then you've hit the jackpot.

Dear God people, I need help naming this blog.  The Shat could not pronounce "abozubgo" and he sure as crap would not sound cool saying it.  Help me.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Turkey Potpourrki

Today I'm going to teach you how to turn your leftover Thanksgiving carcass into a savory scented candle to smell up your house for weeks after the holidays are over.

Just kidding!  But wouldn't that be kinda awesome?  I wonder if someone makes turkey candles or plug-ins already...

Now, onto craft time!  Hand and footprints are currently sweeping the nation on moms' "cute sentimental craft crap" Pinterest boards.  I'll admit, I bit.  There's handprint flowers and bugs and animals all over my refrigerator, but today I decided to go 3D.

Steps to make a Turkey Potpourrki
1.  Go to the Dollar Store.  The actual dollar store where everything is a dollar, not that deceiving Family Dollar store where you walk in and THEN they tell you shiz is as low as $1.

2.  Locate a pack of construction paper, a bag of brown potpourri (or hell, any color will do if you want your turkey to be flamboyant), a small glass bowl, pipe cleaners, and markers, scissors and glue if you don't already have them. 

3.  Purchase the items on the supply list.

4.  Trace your kid's hand onto a piece of construction paper and use it as a stencil to cut out 10 or so more hands.  Or let them put painted handprints on the pages and cut those out.  I was not in the mood for a mess this particular day.

4.5.  Give the scrap pieces to the little one to practice cutting into little confetti-type pieces - you'll use these, so save them!

5.  Glue the hands together into a fashionable tail feather.  Optional step: Shake it.

6.  Trace your kid's foot.  Observe how freakishly large your child's foot looks in 2D.  Cut the freak foot out and draw a crazy turkey face on the heel.  Voila, turkey neck!

7.  Pour some of your cheapy potpourri into the glass bowl.  Remember those colorful paper scraps?  Put those in with the potpourri to jazz up your turkey's body a little.

8.  Glue or tape the tailfeather and the turkey neck to the body.  Bend and attach two pipe cleaner legs.  Bam!  Turkey Potpourrki!

Quirky turkey.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

How is everyone else doing with No Shave November?

Movember?  Frovember?  Novembeard?

I'm still going strong.  Although it hasn't been that much of a challenge considering I also participated in Opt Out Of Shaving October and Save the Razor September (two months I clearly did not just invent).

This is currently what I look like naked:

Yes, my hair has indeed matted into a utility belt.

This is Joe's face every time he sees me:

He's all "WHY YOU NO SHAVE, RADY?!" (that was probably slightly racist, sorry).

On a semi-related note, I know I'm currently hairy like a man, but I'm tired of being treated like one.  The guys at work are constantly talking guy in front of me like there's no chance I would be offended or at least grossed out by them.  This one old perv likes to tell stories complete with demonstrations of his sexcapades.  One time he demonstrated how a girl peed on him like he was a train track.  It was... interesting.

I'm forever getting the shoulder pat at work too.  Not a gentle "Hi sweetie" hand resting on my shoulder, but the burly "HEY FELLA" knock-you-over almost-punch.  I'm like a baseball glove away from it being acceptable to pat my ass "good job" every time I correctly lift something heavy.

Come to think of it, it's probably not so much that I'm awesome enough to be "one of the guys", it's probably just that people will tell me literally anything.  Once my neighbor told me she yelled at the L&D nurse that her dad was staying in the room while she gave birth because "This ain't the first time he's seen this pussy and it ain't gonna be the last time" (um, what?).  When I worked at the gas station, an elderly man told me he puts a pillow under his lady friend's tush to help with, erm, angles.  Then there was the time a woman told me she sweat so bad her pad lost its stickiness.  And the time my boss told me about his adventures in morningwood.

Ok, wow.  I have no idea where I was going with any of that, but I think I'm going to just give up now rather than try to recover some sort of normal blog post (that's my normal protocol).

Plus, Joe has his hand in his mouth right now and just asked me, "Can you move your teeth?"  I may have to go locate a long string and a doorknob.  Then maybe I'll paint my nails or some girly shit.  (I doubt it).

Monday, November 14, 2011

Options for nursing in public

When Leela was a teeny tiny baby and I was still new to breastfeeding, my sister came to visit.  I was appalled at the idea of my sister seeing any amount of skin where my shirt should be so I made her look away while I latched the baby under a blanket. 

She told me that at some point I would stop giving a crap and I'd be whipping my boobs out left and right to feed the baby wherever I was.  At home with guests, at a restaurant, in line at the grocery store, vendor shopping at the fair?  Nope, never.  Not me.  I firmly believed I would have it so that outings would coincide perfectly with the end of a feeding and not once would I be put to the uncomfortable, difficult task of nursing in public.

Yeah.  I'm retarded.

I think I held out for a few months.  At first I'd refuse to leave the house until after Leela finished eating.  Then I had a phase of parking the car at the far end of the parking lot and feeding her, even if it was in the middle of a dinner out or food shopping.  Then my awesome internet friend sent me a really sexy cover and I just turned my back to the crowds of people for extra caution.

Now I'm happy to say, my sister was, eh hem, right.  A crap is no longer given by me.  In one fell swoop, I'll pull Leela out of her high chair and have my boob in her mouth in the middle of Denny's and never miss a beat in shoveling pancakes in my mouth.  And on-lookers will never have a clue!

Because I consider myself a pro now, here's a how-to for nursing in public.

1.  Bring along a bottle of formula or expressed milk
Assuming you have bottles, fill them up and leave the house.

Pros:  Absolutely no chance of flashing anyone unless your shirt spontaneously combusts.
Cons:  Preparing bottles, heating bottles, cleaning bottles.  Wasting unused milk.  Replacing nursing sessions with bottle-feeding without pumping will affect your supply if done too often.

2.  Receiving blanket
In my weird transition from private car-nursing to public cover-nursing, I had a brief stint with receiving blankets and "quick" latching.  Honestly it sucked and I do not recommend it. 

Pros:  You probably got more receiving blankets than you know what to do with at your baby shower, so it's free.
Cons:  It's awkward.  You can't see what you're doing.  There's no breathing holes for the baby.  It will fall off.  Your baby will not cooperate.

3. Smother your boob-lover under a cover
If you're going to cover up, spend a little extra on a nice cover with an adjustable strap and a rigid neckline.  The strap will keep it in place and you won't have to fear flashing your fellow public-goers when the flailing baby rips the blanket from your bra strap.  The boning in the neckline will create a little peephole for you to see the baby to latch and make googly eyes at, and for strangers to catch a peep too.  Just kidding!  Well mostly kidding, unless a stranger is brazen enough to stand directly over you and hope the baby unlatches at the exact moment they look in.

Pros:  Very discreet.  Pretty comfortable.  Some hooter hiders are quite fashionable.
Cons:  Nothing says HEY DON'T LOOK OVER HERE BECAUSE I AM CERTAINLY NOT BREASTFEEDING A BABY AND THERE IS CERTAINLY NOTHING TO SEE like a big paisley printed convulsing blanket on the front of a woman's body.

4.  Undershirt down, overshirt up, boob in
At some point the cover became more of a nuisance than trying to keep Leela from crying too loud until I could get to my car.  I decided to practice my discreet nursing techniques at home and soon realized I am the bomb at discreet nursing!  Aw 'screet 'screet 'screet!  What you need to do is buy some nursing tanks, or better yet, some regular tanks a size big to accomodate neckline stretching, and start wearing them under everything.  Reach up your shirt, pull down the neckline of the undershirt under your boob, unhook the bra and expose your boob to your top shirt.  Hold your baby in the nursing position with their little shakey mouth directly in front of you so that when you lift your top shirt you can slip the baby right on without anyone getting a glimpse.  Adjust your shirts if you have to so that literally no skin is showing and it looks like you're just holding the baby.

Pros:  No skin showing.  No cover or blanket to carry around.  An excuse to layer fun colored tanks under your shirts.  Non-nursing tanks can be used after weaning.
Cons:  You tell me... ?

5.  Announce loudly to people in the general area "I'M ABOUT TO FULLY EXPOSE MY BARE BREAST IF EVERYONE COULD BE SO KIND AS TO NOT LOOK"
I use a combination of this and #4.  I've become so familiar with my boob in the past 10 months, it's seriously old news, and the only thing I find offensive about it is that it is droopier than I'd like.

Pros:  Easy.
Cons:  You only get to invoke your inner Lil Jon and sing "aw 'screet 'screet 'screet!' if you're actually being discreet

Saturday, November 12, 2011

I am Socially Awkward Penguin

My apologies to anyone who has already heard today's story of social retardation. I've been telling it to everyone to hear a few laughs to help lessen the pain of embarassment.

(Background: I drive a forklift at Costco on the weekends.)

So this morning, I'm at work, and I noticed I was getting some merchandise in.  I wanted to ask my manager if it was going to be a whole shit-ton of pallets like last weekend, so I wanted to use a big number, like 85 million.  When I was asking him though, my brain just ceased all function, and I just said the digits. 

"Are we getting 8... 5..."

I couldn't figure out how to recover from this obvious clutterfuck of a "sentence", so I didn't even try.  I just stopped and drove away.  I glanced back at him as I was driving away and he had a very obvious look of wtf-just-happened smeared across his face.

The only other time I can remember feeling like such a complete and utter moron is when I was at my post-partum check up after Leela.  My midwife asked how everything was, and I replied, "It's all good,..."  Then as I said it I guess I kind of realized I was surrounded by pictures and 3D models of vaginas, and felt it appropriate to finish my sentence up with "... it's all good in the clitoral hood."


P.S.  For those of you who don't know SAP, here and you're welcome.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

When you accidentally wish death upon a loved one

This happened a month ago and it is still haunting me.

A little over two months ago my extremely independent yet tragically fragile grandmother fell and broke her arm, then randomly lost the ability to walk, probably because she was terrified of falling again, and who can blame her!  She was in the hospital for a few weeks and was miserable because she's the type who feels like she's being a burden if she asks for a ginger ale from the nurse whose job it is to get her a ginger ale.  She also had a roomie, who on top of being hard of hearing was also a little bit crazy.  So she always had her television on really loud, and she was always talking to it.  Really loud.  I don't know how Mommom survived it but thank jeebus she did!

Anyway, so my grandmother has gotten kinda grumpy in the last few years since my grandfather died, but for the most part she's one of those really sweet old ladies that you like talking to because she shows a genuine interest in your life.  She seemed to really charm all the nurses because every time I went to visit, Mommom told me all about the nurses' great service and their aspirations in life and funny stories about whatever.  One visit, she was talking about her favorite nurse and how they had been discussing her career plans, and this little exchange took place.  *Names are changed to protect the innocent, and because I can't remember the nurse's name.

Mommom:  LaShonda is just such a sweetheart.  I don't know how she's taking such good care of me, I'd be exhausted if I was her.  She's working here full time, going to school at night AND she has a 4 year old son.

My mother:  Oh yeah?  What's she going to school for?

Mommom:  Well I thought this was a little weird, but she said she wants to be a beautician.

Me: (thinking: What's so crazy about that?)  Oh that's cool!  You should have her fix your hair up for you since you're stuck in bed!

Mommom:  *poker face*

My mother:  Wha... what did you say she wants to be?


Well then.  Maybe LaShonda could do my hair for me because I think I just died.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

I invented food!

Ok, I didn't invent food at all.  But I did invent two meals last week that actually turned out good!  No one ever taught me how to cook and usually it's very obvious, so I am so proud of myself for throwing some pantry items into a cohesive plateful of food that I'm going to pass them on.  Ok, who am I kidding.  These meals are some de-luxe peasant food, and hardly original, but they was yummy.

Chicken Biscuit Slop
I made this on accident because I wanted chicken pot pie but decided last minute I was too lazy to make pie crust or pot pie filling.  Also, this recipe is a science and you must use the precise measurements I give you.

What you need:
Chicken broth (optional maybe, water would probably work)
Celery or celery seed
Green beans
Cream of Potato soup
Biscuit mix
Salt and pepper in the usual places
A man who likes man food

First, don't preheat your oven because that's a waste of energy.  Next, melt a big chunk of butter in a large sauce pan.  Toss in half a chopped onion and saute.  Dice about a pound of chicken breast and throw it in with the onions when they look translucent.  Pour in enough broth to cover the chicken cubes and boil.  While that's boiling, chop some carrots (2 or 3 whole carrots or a handful and a half baby carrots.  Precise measurements, remember?) and celery (I almost never have celery and I think celery seed works just as well if you just throw some in there until it smells good).  Put chopped carrots and celery and a handful each of frozen green beans and peas into pot and add more broth to cover everything.  Season.  Boil everything long enough to get caught up on facebook, then come back and see if everything is getting soft.  Remove from heat and stir in one can of Cream of Potato soup.  The slop should be the consistency of a thick soup.  Once mixed thoroughly, pour the slop into the nearest oven safe cooking vessel.  Prepare biscuit mix according to my box, which was 2 cups mix stirred with 2/3 cups milk.  Drop biscuits in a single layer on top of slop.  Bake according to biscuit mix instructions, or until you can smell the food from your living room while you're folding towels.  Makes 4 man servings/6-8 woman servings.

Joe really really liked this.  I think because it was full of starchy goodness and the vegetables were meat-and-starch-flavored by time it was done.  I thought it was just ok, but for the small amount of effort it took to make I decided it was worth adding to the recipe book.


Cheeseburger and French Fries Pass-the-roll
This is a good one of those make-shit-out-of-nothing meals. 

You need:
5 or 6 potatoes
1 pound of ground beef
Salt and pepper
Ground mustard
Block of Velveeta cheese
Handful of shredded cheddar
Yellow mustard (optional if you're a wimp)

First, boil that water.  Nothing pisses me off more than having my shit ready to go and the water is still sitting there still.  Peel and thick slice however many potatoes you think you'll need for two layers in your baking dish.  For me it was 5 or 6 decent sized red potatoes.  Boil them.  Chop an onion and throw it into a non-stick pan.  When it is translucent, add ground beef, season with salt and pepper and lots of ground mustard.  If you don't have ground mustard, skip it, I'm not sure it made any difference in the taste anyway.  When your potatoes are soft but not falling apart, drain them, and use half to shingle a layer on the bottom of the pan.  Squirt a ketchup message on top of the potatoes (message ideas: "This is poison!" or "Your butt is big!").  Drain the ground beef mixture and spread it on top of the ketchuped potatoes.  Layer thin slices of Velveeta cheese on top of the ground beef so that every bite has some cheese but not too much (I used 1/3-1/2 of the block).  Layer the last half of the potatoes on top, sprinkle shredded cheddar on top to your preferred level of cheesiness, and throw it in the oven.  Bake at 450 until the top is brown.  I've eaten leftovers 3 times now so it makes at least 6 servings.

It tasted just like a cheeseburger and french fries in one bite!  But without the roll (get it, casserole/pass-the-roll?)!  I usually don't like mustard, but I was so excited with my creation that I threw just a little bit of mustard over top just to see what would happen.  If you make this recipe it is mandatory that you try just one bite with mustard because I can't explain to you how good it is, you just need to try it yourself.

FYI I used a really small rectangular pan for both of these recipes, and would recommend doubling the starch for both if you use a 9xsomething cake pan sized dish.

Monday, November 7, 2011

Nerd Confession

Last week I confessed that I say nope to soap, so here's my next "shameful" confession.

Some of my favorite friends live on the internet.

I'm not really sure how shameful it is or what.  I remember being in high school and talking to strange people on message boards and AIM regularly, but never ever ever considered them my real friends.  I assumed all people meeting other people from the internet were either toothless, desperate or pedobears.

It seems to be more acceptable and slightly less nerdy these days though.  I joined a mom forum in 2008 because I had an embarassing question about my big pregnant crotch or something, and I never once expected to make a second post, but somehow I ended up becoming part of a community and now I've met some of them!  In real life!  One trusted me with her life in the back of my swagger wagon on the way to dinner once, and one had the opportunity to touch my boob "on accident".  Another was slightly disappointed by the contrast in my online persona and my real life softspoken social awkwardness, ha.

I'm still not toothless or a pedobear, and I don't think I'm desperate, so I guess maybe it was never really that nerdy to make friends online and perhaps my perspective has just changed.  I think this is just yet another one of those things that motherhood has changed for me.  I still have my BFFs from high school and my few work friends, but between all of us I was alone in pushing out my Little Me's by almost 3 years.  And until the kids are in school, there's not a place that you have to go and have to mingle with other parents and force yourself into friendships with them.  And me being entirely too socially retarded, I find it difficult to force myself into library and playground trips at regular intervals to meet up with people.  I realize I'm not helping my "I'm not desperate" statement here.

Regardless, I have taken a genuine liking to these ladies.  They laugh at my dumb jokes.  They listen and sympathize with my dumb rants.  They have helped raise my kids in some ways.  They are way easier to talk to about embarassing things since I will never have to look most of them in the eye.  They have started businesses and gotten married and had struggles and lost loved ones and shared it all with me and taught me a little about what adult friendships should be like.  They're taking me through this weird not-many-mom-friends phase and hopefully will stick around for many many years!

So, I give my highly valuable endorsement to supplementing your life with genuine friends that happen to live on the internet.  Mom forums aren't that dorky.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Take your kids to the deodorant museum!

I've been wanting to take Violet to a museum for like a year now, but I wasn't sure if it's an appropriate place for a 2 year old.  I kept thinking there's an abundance of breakables and silence and bronze penii and a severe lack of stimulation.  But since fall is here and some days it's too cold for extended outdoor play, I decided to throw on some sweaters (yay fat cover uppers!) and take a shot at this museum thing!

We went to the BMA specifically because I remember being completely amazed by the contemporary art section as a kid, and I figured Violet would get a kick out of the bright colors and abstract squiggle bullshit too.  So it would be just my luck that that wing of the museum was closed that day, yep.  I'd already paid my parking though and it is not in my nature to give money to machines for no reason, so I accepted the challenge and took the opportunity to practice my discipline techniques (read: I'm a jew and we will stay here for 2 hours, damnit).

We probably could have skipped the inside of the museum, to be honest.

I figured the next best thing to contemporary art would be the expressionist stuff, so we made a left at Matisse and Violet started screaming about a circus or something.  I was actually really impressed by some of the things she picked out of the paintings.  We had brought along her Abby Cadabby notepad and a marker so I had her sit down in front of paintings she liked and draw something related.  It was really adorable and also mesmorizing to think about what her little brain thought she was drawing.  I saw *plaarbbbttt*, but she probably saw a flying elephant playing a saxophone over top a sea full of boats (those were all her favorite paintings).

We checked out some sculptures too.  I had Violet attempt to recreate the position of the sculpture if it was human, or tell me what sound it made if it was animal or unidentifiable.  Some weird 3 legged tower thing barked at us, so that was cool.  We passed by The Thinker and I asked her what he was thinking about.  She told me "His mommy and daddy."  Oh!  Now you know.

The owl rock says Hooo.

Other hits were the furniture dioramas ("doll houses") and the African and Ancient America sections ("ooo, spooky masks!"), but nothing did it like the scuplture garden.  Violet has a real appreciation for the juxtaposition of nature and slabs of bent steel.  Or she was just so excited to use her outside voice that she would have done a cartwheel at a turd on the ground, whatever.  (Actually she would ooh and aah at a turd on the ground at any time.  Maybe not the best example.)  Either way, the BMA's sculpture garden is the perfect balance of art and playtime for a toddler, and a beautiful place to have a quick lunch before your nipples freeze off in the autumn air.

This giant balancing thing is hilarious!

The best part of this trip was that somehow I really beat it into Violet's head that she COULD NOT TOUCH ANYTHING in the museum or we would get in big trouble.  She repeated it all day long too, hours after we were home - "We can't touch da 'zeum.  We get in biiiiiig trouble."  It somehow flashed me back to before I was pregnant, how I used to say I couldn't wait to have kids so that I could lie to them, and how now would be a great time to lie to my kid!  So for a few days, when we were out I would tell her we were at the museum.  Furniture store?  Sofa museum.  Grocery store?  Food museum.  Target?  Deodorant museum.  It kept her little hands from grabbing at everything or climbing on anything.  Eventually I forgot about it and she did too, but it would be worth another trip to the museum soon to have that little trick up my sleeve again.

So yeah, art museums have my official endorsement for toddler consumption. 

P.S.  Leela was there too.

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...