What a difference three years makes.
Happy 3rd Birthday, Pickle.
Not Quite Sick But Not Quite Well
21 hours ago
Monday, October 19, 2009
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Are there no original ideas anymore?
Looking at a list of current TV shows and current and upcoming movies, it becomes apparent that no one in that industry is capable of an original idea.
90210, Melrose Place, V, The A-Team.... what's next? Shall we remake Little House on the Prairie? Set in modern Kansas, Laura Ingalls struggles to deal with her father's overprotectiveness and unwillingness to let her borrow the family (station)wagon, her sister whining about being blind (from an unfortunate flat iron incident), and the town slut Nellie trying to steal her man?
They better leave well enough alone with some of my childhood favorites. I will cut a bitch if I hear about a SpaceCamp remake!
And god forbid they try to screw with my Golden Girls!
90210, Melrose Place, V, The A-Team.... what's next? Shall we remake Little House on the Prairie? Set in modern Kansas, Laura Ingalls struggles to deal with her father's overprotectiveness and unwillingness to let her borrow the family (station)wagon, her sister whining about being blind (from an unfortunate flat iron incident), and the town slut Nellie trying to steal her man?
They better leave well enough alone with some of my childhood favorites. I will cut a bitch if I hear about a SpaceCamp remake!
And god forbid they try to screw with my Golden Girls!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
I INSIST YOU STOP THIS TREND IMMEDIATELY!
Please realize, dear future parents, that spelling names "uniquely" does not do anything put make the child have a name that no one spells correctly. Spelling it Payten doesn't make it any less Peyton. Madisyn is still Madison.
But this reminds me of a story...
One day I was at work and stopped to help a mother and son who were looking for a book. Apparently, the son had lost the hardcover copy of Watership Down that he had borrowed from the library, and the mom had brought him in to purchase a copy to give to the library in its place.
We didn't have one, but it was available so I asked for the mother's name to put in an order. She was insistent that the son (who was approx. 10 years old) give all of his information for the order as a "lesson". (She told him to add this "life lesson" to his homeschooling journal when they got home).
Now, I knew from the beginning that this was a weird ass woman. She was wearing a gigantic poncho type garment and did have a bit of an eau du patchouli about her. She kept using german numbers when talking to him - but only the numbers, which I found to be quite strange.
Anyhoo... I asked for the boy's name and he told me that he preferred to go by initials. I told him that I needed a complete last name to go in the computer. After an exasperated sigh, he said:
"Well, you see. My name is Topaz Lighter* but I prefer to go by Blue Fire. Because Topaz can be blue and lighters make fire. Blue Fire."
It took every ounce of willpower for me not to burst out laughing on the spot. Any lick of smile disappered soon after anyway, when I went to ring him up and discovered he was paying with a ziploc bag full of coins.
Of course, I had to go find my hippie name after that.... and it didn't disappoint.
Peaceful Thicket.
It has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Shall I add it to the names lists for any future Baby Bees?
But this reminds me of a story...
One day I was at work and stopped to help a mother and son who were looking for a book. Apparently, the son had lost the hardcover copy of Watership Down that he had borrowed from the library, and the mom had brought him in to purchase a copy to give to the library in its place.
We didn't have one, but it was available so I asked for the mother's name to put in an order. She was insistent that the son (who was approx. 10 years old) give all of his information for the order as a "lesson". (She told him to add this "life lesson" to his homeschooling journal when they got home).
Now, I knew from the beginning that this was a weird ass woman. She was wearing a gigantic poncho type garment and did have a bit of an eau du patchouli about her. She kept using german numbers when talking to him - but only the numbers, which I found to be quite strange.
Anyhoo... I asked for the boy's name and he told me that he preferred to go by initials. I told him that I needed a complete last name to go in the computer. After an exasperated sigh, he said:
"Well, you see. My name is Topaz Lighter* but I prefer to go by Blue Fire. Because Topaz can be blue and lighters make fire. Blue Fire."
It took every ounce of willpower for me not to burst out laughing on the spot. Any lick of smile disappered soon after anyway, when I went to ring him up and discovered he was paying with a ziploc bag full of coins.
Of course, I had to go find my hippie name after that.... and it didn't disappoint.
Peaceful Thicket.
It has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Shall I add it to the names lists for any future Baby Bees?
Friday, August 14, 2009
My Medal Better Be in the Mail - or - My Sister and I Saved a Life
My sister and I were on her way back up to her 3rd floor apartment when we started hearing something that is best described as squawking coming from somewhere above our heads. When we hit the 3rd floor landing, we saw a blue jay sitting on the ledge of a window far above the landing.
The poor little bird kept trying to flap it's wings and fly out - not quite grasping that the GLASS in front of it was going to hinder the process. Being the little animal lovers (HA!) that we are, we decided that we couldn't just let the thing sit there - so we decided to put on our capes and play Erin! and Chelsea! Bird Heroes!. The logistics of the situation were a little more complicated. The window was WAY above the stairs - and it's not like we could just shoo the thing away. We decided to try our hands and wooing the bird towards us with some suggestive bird calls. Perhaps the bird would think we were actually two eligible girl blue jays (what's the girl bluejay? a bluejenny?) and would fly away from the window and towards us. A few minutes of various whistles, bird-like noises and a few "here, birdie birdie birdies" and we felt we needed a new game plan.
We went inside to regroup. We decided to see if we could startle the bird away with a broom - but then the fact that if we were successful, the bird would be flying DIRECTLY AT OUR HEADS came up. I hate birds. I certainly do not want a crazed bird flying towards my head. What if it got caught in my hair? What if it SHIT ON ME?!?! A brief consideration was given to covering our hair with plastic bags was entertained - but realizing that we have terrible luck, we opted to risk the bird in hair to the headline "Two Girls Smothered in Plastic Bags, Police Puzzled By Presence of Broom and Dead Bird".
It became obvious that the broom wasn't going to cut it - it was at least 2 feet too short to touch the bird. So I resorted to the Dennis the Menace like tactic of throwing shit at the bird. First pretzels, and then dog food - the bird didn't even flinch.
Resigned to the fact that our attempts were no match for the lure of the view - we gave up. After all, we were going to the movies. And well, what the hell else could we do. (I did contemplate going to get a BB gun. I figured a quick death would be better than a slow death at a window whilst you glimpse the world outside that you can't obtain no matter how hard you flap your little wings... I'm off topic here...)
At least FOUR HOURS LATER, we get back to the apartment. What is still there - the bird. At first, we thought it was dead, but we realized it was just exhausted. Ever the optimist (HAHAHAHA!) I decide to give it one more try. In hindsight, I should have told Chelsea about my plan. What followed was a series of incidents that could have combined into a catastrophe of epic proportions.
I holler at the bird. Chelsea screams. Dog tries to escape from apartment. Bird is startled off the ledge and flaps its wings at such a feverish pace that I am reminded of a helicopter. I scream because the bird is flying towards me, Chelsea and THE OPEN APARTMENT DOOR. Chelsea screams. Dog barks. We both scream some more.
BUT!
BUT!
The bird flies OUT the window that DOESN'T have glass a floor below us.
We declared ourselves heroes and called it a day.
The poor little bird kept trying to flap it's wings and fly out - not quite grasping that the GLASS in front of it was going to hinder the process. Being the little animal lovers (HA!) that we are, we decided that we couldn't just let the thing sit there - so we decided to put on our capes and play Erin! and Chelsea! Bird Heroes!. The logistics of the situation were a little more complicated. The window was WAY above the stairs - and it's not like we could just shoo the thing away. We decided to try our hands and wooing the bird towards us with some suggestive bird calls. Perhaps the bird would think we were actually two eligible girl blue jays (what's the girl bluejay? a bluejenny?) and would fly away from the window and towards us. A few minutes of various whistles, bird-like noises and a few "here, birdie birdie birdies" and we felt we needed a new game plan.
We went inside to regroup. We decided to see if we could startle the bird away with a broom - but then the fact that if we were successful, the bird would be flying DIRECTLY AT OUR HEADS came up. I hate birds. I certainly do not want a crazed bird flying towards my head. What if it got caught in my hair? What if it SHIT ON ME?!?! A brief consideration was given to covering our hair with plastic bags was entertained - but realizing that we have terrible luck, we opted to risk the bird in hair to the headline "Two Girls Smothered in Plastic Bags, Police Puzzled By Presence of Broom and Dead Bird".
It became obvious that the broom wasn't going to cut it - it was at least 2 feet too short to touch the bird. So I resorted to the Dennis the Menace like tactic of throwing shit at the bird. First pretzels, and then dog food - the bird didn't even flinch.
Resigned to the fact that our attempts were no match for the lure of the view - we gave up. After all, we were going to the movies. And well, what the hell else could we do. (I did contemplate going to get a BB gun. I figured a quick death would be better than a slow death at a window whilst you glimpse the world outside that you can't obtain no matter how hard you flap your little wings... I'm off topic here...)
At least FOUR HOURS LATER, we get back to the apartment. What is still there - the bird. At first, we thought it was dead, but we realized it was just exhausted. Ever the optimist (HAHAHAHA!) I decide to give it one more try. In hindsight, I should have told Chelsea about my plan. What followed was a series of incidents that could have combined into a catastrophe of epic proportions.
I holler at the bird. Chelsea screams. Dog tries to escape from apartment. Bird is startled off the ledge and flaps its wings at such a feverish pace that I am reminded of a helicopter. I scream because the bird is flying towards me, Chelsea and THE OPEN APARTMENT DOOR. Chelsea screams. Dog barks. We both scream some more.
BUT!
BUT!
The bird flies OUT the window that DOESN'T have glass a floor below us.
We declared ourselves heroes and called it a day.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Am I just too sensitive....
I really try to be an open minded person, and to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. I honestly do try to see the good in people, and while I have learned that there are some people who are just NOT good, I still always try.
I try to be tolerant of those who believe differently than I do - I certainly don't agree, but I whole heartedly agree with their right to believe whatever they want to believe. Me and ole Patrick Henry are like long lost BFF's with the whole defending your right to free speech and all...
But sometimes I fail.
I cannot for the life of me fathom why people opt not to breast feed their children. I'm not going to get into the entire 3 part melodrama about my own faulty equipment (you can look through the archive for those), and I will admit that maybe some of my opinions about breast feeding come from the fact that I couldn't.... but seriously people. Boobs are baby feeding machines. It's their purpose. It's what the old man with a beard and a penchant for smiting things intended them to do.
I had a run in with a woman at Target the other day. She was so offended that another woman DARED to feed her child in the food area of the store. She called it "gross" and "icky" - and it was all I could do not to punch her in the face. THIS is exactly why there remains a stigma associated with breast feeding. Yes, there are many people who think along similar lines to me - but there are an equal number of people who feel that a woman should burqa herself up to even consider breast feeding in public.
I get that boobs have been sexualized to holy hell - but should babies be deprived because of that? I've actually heard someone say that she didn't want to BF because her boobs belonged to her husband, and it would be too weird for a baby to "use them". I'm sure you can imagine the look I gave her.
I just don't understand. I don't understand why you wouldn't at least try.
Among other things I don't understand are:
1- Why there is a debate on gay marriage. Consenting adults. Loving relationships. Give me a good reason other than "the Bible tells me so".
2- Why people don't take advantage of Buy 1 get one free opportunities. If you are buying ONE anyway, why not get one for FREE. If you can't use it, I'm sure someone can.
3- How TV works.
I try to be tolerant of those who believe differently than I do - I certainly don't agree, but I whole heartedly agree with their right to believe whatever they want to believe. Me and ole Patrick Henry are like long lost BFF's with the whole defending your right to free speech and all...
But sometimes I fail.
I cannot for the life of me fathom why people opt not to breast feed their children. I'm not going to get into the entire 3 part melodrama about my own faulty equipment (you can look through the archive for those), and I will admit that maybe some of my opinions about breast feeding come from the fact that I couldn't.... but seriously people. Boobs are baby feeding machines. It's their purpose. It's what the old man with a beard and a penchant for smiting things intended them to do.
I had a run in with a woman at Target the other day. She was so offended that another woman DARED to feed her child in the food area of the store. She called it "gross" and "icky" - and it was all I could do not to punch her in the face. THIS is exactly why there remains a stigma associated with breast feeding. Yes, there are many people who think along similar lines to me - but there are an equal number of people who feel that a woman should burqa herself up to even consider breast feeding in public.
I get that boobs have been sexualized to holy hell - but should babies be deprived because of that? I've actually heard someone say that she didn't want to BF because her boobs belonged to her husband, and it would be too weird for a baby to "use them". I'm sure you can imagine the look I gave her.
I just don't understand. I don't understand why you wouldn't at least try.
Among other things I don't understand are:
1- Why there is a debate on gay marriage. Consenting adults. Loving relationships. Give me a good reason other than "the Bible tells me so".
2- Why people don't take advantage of Buy 1 get one free opportunities. If you are buying ONE anyway, why not get one for FREE. If you can't use it, I'm sure someone can.
3- How TV works.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Potty Time, Excellent!
I am so sick of fucking potty talk.
There. I said it.
Over the past 2 days I have gone into SUPER POTTY MOMMY mode and have been talking about the potty like I was a televangelist and the toilet was my messiah. Pickle has taking to looking at me like I'm a recent escapee from the looney bin.
Why is toilet training such a big "thing"? I think Mr. Bee and I have done a darn fine job of raising Pickle so far. Have we been following a "method" or a book step by step? No. We decided long ago to take things as they came. To work on our own time schedule. To do the things that worked best for our family.
We co-slept. She eventually moved over to her own bed.
We would bring her into ours when she would wake up in the middle of the night. Now, she sleeps through the night. (Most nights. And not nearly long enough in the morning to suit her parents.)
My point (I do have one this time) is that we have been able to work WITH Pickle. With her natural tendencies, what felt right for all of us, and it worked great.
Why, I ask, is potty training something that is non-negotiable? We started searching for a preschool/daycare situation for Pickle to start in the fall. The one I liked the best, requires that the 3 year old (eeek!) group be potty trained*. Well, great. No pressure, right? The problem... she really has no interest. I've tried every undergarment option there is. Little potty, seat for big potty. Putting the potty in various places. Rewards. Praise. Hair pulling (mine, not hers).
Fact is fact. She's not ready.
So I decided... fuck it. Seriously, I'm going to stress myself out about this? Can I change it? No. Would it be nice if she loved the potty and were trained yesterday? Hell yes. But she isn't - and I need to just move on for now.
So I started looking for different options yesterday, and really feel pleased with the option we've got. There is a private daycare in town that looks really nice and they have room for her in the fall for 2 days a week. Perfect. Best thing - when I brought up the potty training issue the owner told me that that was not a problem at all. In fact, she has a 3 year old daughter herself who has no interest in the potty. And she actually said, "And you know what... I am letting her work at her own pace from now on. And maybe our girls can learn together." Ahhh.... relief.
So now, while potty training is the goal - I don't feel rushed. Or pushed. Or inadequate because I didn't have her potty trained at 18 months. She'll do it when she's ready... just like she's done everything else. In her own time.
*They did caveat that they knew accidents were unavoidable at that age, but I don't think "Peeing her pants every time she has to go" meets that criteria.
There. I said it.
Over the past 2 days I have gone into SUPER POTTY MOMMY mode and have been talking about the potty like I was a televangelist and the toilet was my messiah. Pickle has taking to looking at me like I'm a recent escapee from the looney bin.
Why is toilet training such a big "thing"? I think Mr. Bee and I have done a darn fine job of raising Pickle so far. Have we been following a "method" or a book step by step? No. We decided long ago to take things as they came. To work on our own time schedule. To do the things that worked best for our family.
We co-slept. She eventually moved over to her own bed.
We would bring her into ours when she would wake up in the middle of the night. Now, she sleeps through the night. (Most nights. And not nearly long enough in the morning to suit her parents.)
My point (I do have one this time) is that we have been able to work WITH Pickle. With her natural tendencies, what felt right for all of us, and it worked great.
Why, I ask, is potty training something that is non-negotiable? We started searching for a preschool/daycare situation for Pickle to start in the fall. The one I liked the best, requires that the 3 year old (eeek!) group be potty trained*. Well, great. No pressure, right? The problem... she really has no interest. I've tried every undergarment option there is. Little potty, seat for big potty. Putting the potty in various places. Rewards. Praise. Hair pulling (mine, not hers).
Fact is fact. She's not ready.
So I decided... fuck it. Seriously, I'm going to stress myself out about this? Can I change it? No. Would it be nice if she loved the potty and were trained yesterday? Hell yes. But she isn't - and I need to just move on for now.
So I started looking for different options yesterday, and really feel pleased with the option we've got. There is a private daycare in town that looks really nice and they have room for her in the fall for 2 days a week. Perfect. Best thing - when I brought up the potty training issue the owner told me that that was not a problem at all. In fact, she has a 3 year old daughter herself who has no interest in the potty. And she actually said, "And you know what... I am letting her work at her own pace from now on. And maybe our girls can learn together." Ahhh.... relief.
So now, while potty training is the goal - I don't feel rushed. Or pushed. Or inadequate because I didn't have her potty trained at 18 months. She'll do it when she's ready... just like she's done everything else. In her own time.
*They did caveat that they knew accidents were unavoidable at that age, but I don't think "Peeing her pants every time she has to go" meets that criteria.
Monday, July 13, 2009
A Baby Bjorn is NOT a Jock Strap!
I don't claim to be a perfect mother. Hell, I am certain that there are plenty of things that I will unwittingly do that will send Pickle into years of therapy. But, one thing I did manage to get right was the instructions that accompanied all the baby carriers I used with her.
Yesterday, I saw someone carrying their infant in a front carrier below their waist. The baby was just dangling there in way that was way too reminicent of a pendulum. It took everything I had not to go over and yank up those straps. (And maybe give a little information about the benefits of carrying such a wee one inward facing, but I didn't want to be one of THOSE people.)
Maybe they had a good reason. A deranged nuts kicker out on the loose that could only be thwarted by wearing a baby near your package as to soften the blow? Inability to make it to the bathroom in time? Next time I happen to be playing soccer I'm just going to say, "To Hell With Shinguards!" and strap a couple newborns on.
(Obviously, I wouldn't do that.)
(I don't play soccer.)
Yesterday, I saw someone carrying their infant in a front carrier below their waist. The baby was just dangling there in way that was way too reminicent of a pendulum. It took everything I had not to go over and yank up those straps. (And maybe give a little information about the benefits of carrying such a wee one inward facing, but I didn't want to be one of THOSE people.)
Maybe they had a good reason. A deranged nuts kicker out on the loose that could only be thwarted by wearing a baby near your package as to soften the blow? Inability to make it to the bathroom in time? Next time I happen to be playing soccer I'm just going to say, "To Hell With Shinguards!" and strap a couple newborns on.
(Obviously, I wouldn't do that.)
(I don't play soccer.)
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