Every Living Thing in this House

Everyone Wants a Piece of My Goddamn Pottery Barn Couch--Even the Cat.

"Aww"

"Wait."

My ONE nice bit of furniture.

Feck.

Other than this assault, it’s actually only been Sharpied once.  Still pretty pristine compared to the rest of our stuff.

Schumer's No-Longer-Secret Shame Inspires Me

 A Coupla Reasons Why Amy Schumer is my New Favorite Celebrity Mom

Image: Wikipedia

1.  Her kid has a great name.  First of all, Gene is an underused classic.  Secondly, she actually changed her son's middle name when she figured out he might get teased--her kid was originally known as Gene Attell (genital?) but she changed it to Gene David.  Some people would've dug in their heels by emphasizing the slightly-less-crotch-y pronunciation, but instead she admitted it was a little weird.  And she fixed it for the kid's sake but still figured out how to honor her friend with that middle.  Nailed it.

2.  She's real about her mental health.  Trichotillomania is a stigmatized thing, but we all have our freak flags folded up somewhere.  Amy let that sh*t fly, even though I don't know of any other celebrities who've admitted to yanking their own head hair out compulsively.  Full disclosure: I have been known to do this--both the blurting out of what used to be shameful secret for the whole damned world to know, AND the freaky hair-pulling thing.  It started when I was stressed to be driving one of my kids somewhere every day in a sh*tload of Bay Area traffic.  Now that I've allowed myself to notice what I'm doing, I'm trying to stop.  It's complex and weird, and I'm a little balder than I would be otherwise, but it happens to some of us.  If someone makes a G.I. Jane joke about me I'm hoping Joe doesn't react too poorly, though.

Happy Easter

 Happy Easter to Aunt Kay, From Your “Practice” Grandkids--

XOXO, L

Dirty Work

On Still Working at Getting Your Obstinate Child to Not Sh*t in His Pants Anymore,

For the Love of All Things Holy and Pure in this World.

Ever washed out your six-year-old's underwear in the bathroom of a grocery store?

No?  

"Well you ain't never lived!"

I Want the Truth

 

6 Y.O. Son:  Yeah Mom I washed my hands.

Me:  Did you wash those hands?  Really?  After you flushed?

Me:

6 Y.O.:  I don't WANT to wash my hands right now

Sons and Daughters

Five-Second Screenplays on Raising Sons and Daughters: Developmental Differences 

Daughter (age 2): "My diaper is dirty, Mother."

Son (age 4):  *keeps playing forever with actual sh*t in underpants*  

Daughter (2):  *pets kitty gently*

Son (4): *tries to drag cat into the bathtub by its hind leg*

She's led a hard life.

Daughter (2):  *runs to the toilet*

Son (4):  *sits on bike seat with full-sized underwear-bomb and blithely squishes own sh*t*

Daughter (age 2):  *comparing shoes*

Son (age 4):  *comparing buttholes*

B*tch and Moan

Now that I’ve been a mom for kind of a long time, I can’t decide whether I should laugh or get righteously indignant about the following story from my childhood:

When I was about seven and my brother, Max, was five, we would argue and complain a lot.

Addressing an imaginary audience, Dad would interrupt us to say, “These are my two kids, B*tch and Moan!”

Then Max and I would argue with each other about who got to be Moan. 

Happy Hollows Zoo

 "Here it is, your moment of Zen."  -Jon Stewart

Joe and the bigs are visiting my dad and Sandy for a ski trip.  So the littles and I needed something to do.  I brought them to a petting zoo/amusement park/regular zoo rolled into one, in San José.  We petted hot, sweaty goats and watched them poop.  We rock-climbed and went down two-story slides.  We saw a Giant Anteater.  There's even a roller coaster there that Arthur is tall enough to ride.  

They did not want to leave.

Lies, Damned Lies, and Real Estate Tactics

Green house (center): what we can afford here.

 

We’re trying to buy a house after prices have surged over 20% in the last twelve months.

Joe and I have tried to keep a sense of humor about the whole thing, especially because we never thought we’d be in this situation—scrambling to purchase something--anything--not even four years after we thought we’d bought our forever home, and probably kissing a swift goodbye to all of the equity in our old place.  This is only remotely possible by our having begged our parents* to help us, and we also slashed our family’s budget dramatically on the eve of sending two kids to college. But another tough pill to swallow is that we’ve had no leverage to negotiate with our offers whatsoever. It is such a strong seller’s market that homes in our area are easily going $150-200k over ask, as-is, and please pick our offer, pretty-please-with-a-cherry-on-top. 

I hear it is even crazier and more competitive in other parts of the Bay.

[Dr. Evil voice:] Two *million* dollars, but you can't have the VW

I know.  It’s a douchey thing to complain about.  At least we are not unhoused.  It’s unbelievably fortunate to have had the financial horsepower to leave our old neighborhood, however reluctantly, when our batsh*t crazy neighbor opted to screw over all of her neighbors within a mile’s radius. Stupid c**ty lady is gonna have her publicly funded, privately profiting “halfway house” with minimal supervision.  For violent serial rapists.  Who have just been released from prison.  And whose therapists are quite concerned about their known personality disorders.  Because she hates our other neighbor and feels like doing that sh*t. Ahem.

Anyway, we had a huge stroke of luck with the house hunt with the following letter we sent to the sellers of our dream home.  Let it be said that we'd never have a chance to get this place if it weren't pre-market.  And to write such a letter may be an underhanded, saccharine tactic, despite the fact that all of the things we’ve said in it are totally true.  Also, it probably doesn’t hurt that we have cute kids, one of whom has a ‘Jonathan Lipnicki in Jerry Maguire’ thing going on.  Who can say no to these kids’ faces?

“To the Owners of X  XXXX Dr,

We are a family of eight, with five sons and a daughter. We are looking for a new place to call our “forever home.”  We were recently displaced from our home in Bonny Doon because the state of California approved the release of a sexually violent predator into the home directly next door to ours. 

Our younger kids now attend [nearby elementary school] and we would love for them to be able to walk to school and [extremely close park]. Also, having proximity to open space (something we loved about Bonny Doon) and being situated on a quiet and safe cul-de-sac make this location ideal. We love this beautiful home, which would be perfect for our family, and would be forever grateful to live there. 

Sincerely,

L & J”

The “heartstrings” tactic, however obvious it must have been, has worked. They've accepted our offer. Full staggering price and they’re renting back to us for a few months at an extreme discount for themselves while they find a new place to downsize into.  Joe is nauseous at our new monthly payments, but I figure we can have a steady dinner rotation of red beans, rice, ramen, and ice cubes. Let our financial pounding commence.

*When I say parents, I do not mean my mom. 

All I Need to Know: Flatulence

 Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned From My Family of Farters

A corporeal weapon is one of the most readily available means of revenge.

Some people should never, ever consume pulled pork with beer. 

Someone who eats a pound of dried apricots in one sitting before boarding an airplane is up to something sinister and should be reported to TSA.

It’s a good idea to hold your breath for about twenty-five seconds when someone suddenly rolls down the car window. 

An unborn child is almost fully responsible for his pregnant mother’s gas and thus provides a perfect scapegoat.

Some of the worst stank imaginable can come from a kitten or a breastfed two-month-old.

When your Danish swim coach shakes his head scornfully and says, “you make the bad air”, very little is lost in the translation. 

The human anus has an impressive repertoire of sounds—a towel ripping in half, someone dropping a cup of Jell-o pudding, or the violent squeezing of an angry cat, to name a few.

Your relationship has reached the next level of intimacy when your SO comes over and you no longer bother to cropdust your downstairs roommates before getting it on.

In the flatulence industry, nobody labors harder than six college boys doing abdominal exercises in Speedos.

Establish dominance by sitting in your spouse’s lap and releasing the hounds.

He who smelt it dealt it is mathematically improbable in a household with six males.

The best way to make a classroom full of children scream with delighted laughter is to back yourself through the doorway while dragging an AV cart and loudly rip ass.

There’s a simple fix for when one of you isn’t totally in the mood—one that doesn’t invoke Kathy Bates’s hot tub scene in About Schmidt.

There’s insidious danger in being the big spoon.

The surest way to get your first black eye is to squat over your sleeping brother’s face, yell WAKE UP CALL and let one fly*.

Give a child bean burritos, make him laugh for an evening; teach him to read Walter the Farting Dog and he’ll laugh for a lifetime.

*I should know. I did this to Max in ‘93 and am still laughing about it. 

All I Need to Know: Teenager Edition

Everything I Need to Know in Life I Learned From Parenting my Teenager

Stony silence is not acquiescence.

Don’t post somebody on social media without their consent, even if it’s a f***ing hilarious clip of her doing that Alanis Morisette impression with the yodeling. 

Life is tough, but it’s tougher when you’re at the mercy of someone who makes you listen to her ‘90’s Battle of the Boybands playlist while driving you to practice. 

Interdependence makes the world go ‘round. 

It’s possible to love someone and loathe to be on the same planet as them in the same five minutes. 

The path to independence is in fact littered with decent report cards and minimum wage 1040-EZs. 

There’s a time to speak up and a time to shut up. 

There are certain tales that are best left untold. 

If you want to discourage your teen from piercing her navel, get your own navel pierced. 

Even flipping someone off in traffic can be uncool if your mom does it enough. 

Nobody likes it when their mom does ab exercises on the front lawn of the high school while waiting for dismissal. 

Conscripting your best friend as a de facto therapist might not work out very well. 

The way your parents respond to your first romantic heartbreak is related to the way you will, for better or worse, try to soothe yourself through disappointments in your young adult life. 

“Bros before h**s” stopped being a thing in the last century. 

Gender does not determine the extent of a person’s inner life.

The “cooler” a high school teacher seems to be, the bigger the red flag. 

You can never explain the concept of consent too many times to someone, especially those under a certain age. 

If you want to see how long you can hold your breath, watch a movie’s sex scene with your parents.

Mom’s Playlist Sing-Along, Interrupted

(In the car)

8: Honey came in and she caught me red handed creeping with the girl next door...

6: Picture this we were both butt na--

Mom: NOPE

--- ---

"It smells like stinks in here" -Arthur

All I Need To Know: Tween Girl Edition

All I Need To Know in Life I Learned From My Tween Daughter

When life gives you lemons, make lemon-zest slime.

Dance parties with friends should be a weekly affair.

It's okay to be sad that your friend voted for somebody gross, and that the two of you might never see eye-to-eye regarding politics.

If a boy is messing with you, ignore him. If that doesn't work, an elbow to the ribs may be called for.

Mean girls stink. Be compassionate and inclusive.

Climb every mountain; ride every roller coaster.

The sweetest Girl Scout cookie is the last one in the sleeve, the one you outran your brother for.

A girl with five brothers doesn't necessarily like being called a princess.

Jealousy and comparisons are a waste of everyone's energy; the time to love you for you is right now.

Smart is beautiful.

No matter how grown she gets, a girl needs her mom (or mom-figure) to be there for her.

All I Need to Know: Toddlers

All I Need to Know in Life I Learned From Parenting my Toddler Son

Ask before giving someone a wet, sloppy kiss.

Happiness is a toy train in each hand.

When life gets intense, close your eyes, drop to the floor, and roll around like a log to confuse the offending party.

Being older doesn’t always mean that somebody is wiser or more mature.

Sharing is the most crucial social skill.

A sibling is a friend for life, but there is nothing worse than being chased by one.

Moms who pretend not to need naps are either lying about it or taking stimulants.

Everything is worse when you’re tired.

Everything is better when you're in a Batman costume and a pair of rain boots.

No matter how good the soap smells, it still tastes like soap.

You can never really make anyone do anything. (Well, you might be able to, but it probably won’t be pretty.)

James From State Farm

So, we're still not over the never-ending stomach virus from Hell.

But.

We got to go to Family Rollout Day at Daddy's work on Saturday. Which means we got to expose a bunch of other unsuspecting folks to the virus from Hell hang out with real, live spaceships. It was cool.


Here it is, your aerospace-themed Christmas card picture.


Zach with a weird rash on his face.

We weren't actually sure we were even going to make it to the event, since Zachy had been sick and we the parental units were dragging @ss from cleaning up diarrhea and not sleeping. But we went. And the kids promptly resumed puking Sunday night/Monday morning, as if they'd barely missed a beat.

So...if you were there and we got you sick, I'm very sorry.

It's super exciting to get a picture of our whole family in which everybody's looking, and James is almost smiling a real smile rather than looking annoyed and almost-teenaged. Everybody was dressed REAL nice, too. Like, jeans and polo shirts and dresses. This is no small deal, because for some reason our eldest suffers from the irrational belief system that 1) pants are never necessary in Southern California and 2) wearing khakis or bluejeans makes him look like Jake From State Farm.

You know who I'm talking about.



Anyway, someday he may eventually recover from the embarrassment.

All Eyez On G

Two weeks ago yesterday, George was born at 35 weeks, and at least two weeks earlier than I'd originally thought he would be. He spent a week in the NICU, not strictly due to the prematurity but because he was breathing too shallowly when he first came out. Thankfully, he is home now and doing much better. I am much better, too, now that I'm not itching nearly as badly (curse you, cholestatic liver).



George Thomas B.
6.28 lb (I think!) He was a pretty good size for how early he was.
19" long

Here he is with Daddy.



The NICU thing was pretty strange, especially at first. It felt SUPER, ALL SORTS OF WRONG to leave the hospital without George. I kept having bad dreams when I got home; not that I got much sleep anyway because I was supposed to be up every 3 hours pumping, and even when I did get a little shut-eye I would wake up drenched in sweat. When he finally came home I felt incredibly relieved, and not just to avoid fighting the traffic to see him.

Also, I hate pumping.

So far, George seems to enjoy being awake often between the hours of 10pm and 5am, sleeping while being held, Skittles-flavored breastmilk, and pooping. He dislikes nasal cannulae and hiccups.

The kids are enjoying him, too. Even Zach has been pretty into him; he desperately wants to hold Baby George, but this is a dicey proposition for a two-year-old and a preemie. Maybe when he gets a little bigger and hardier (George, not Zach. Zach is plenty big and hardy--speaking of big, it is Will's tenth birthday today, and we just celebrated Zach's 2nd and James 11th. Quit growing up so fast, kids.)

Death of a SalesVan

Our dejected minivan finally shucked its mortal coil.

It happened during our multi-state road trip a few weeks ago. We'd just reached an elevation of approximately 11,000 feet, near the top of Mount Crumpet or something like that (read: overlooking Denver and 45 minutes shy of our ultimate destination, which was my brother's house). We'd already seen the North Rim of the Grand Canyon and hiked briefly through Bryce Canyon. We'd stayed in and around the "parks" region of Southern Utah enough to be getting antsy of all the Mormon/cowboy weirdness, obligatory tourism, and blazing heat, and were driving intently toward Max and Megan's. The kids had only been mildly to moderately obnoxious that day, and Joe and I were just starting to shout to each other--over the usual child-related din--about how the minivan was doing with this grand journey.

Me: (puts feet up on the dashboard, and aims the A/C directly at pregnant torso) So how's the van doing?!
Joe: You know, it's actually doing amazingly well for being at almost 200k miles!

(5 minutes later)

Minivan: RATTATATATATAT! GRrrrrrrRRRRRR! (Horrible engine noises) *Car refuses to accelerate*

Me and Joe: Oh shit.

We put the flashers on and pulled over into a weigh station area for large commercial vehicles that was right near the tippy-top of the mountain pass. The kids started to get nervous, but we reassured them that everything was going to be fine; we just needed to put a little bit of oil in the car and all would be right as rain. Somehow we managed to coast in the far right lane to a gas station, where Joe poured in, like, four quarts of oil. The van was still loud, lethargic, and very unhappy. And the minute the guy at the repair shop heard the noise the car was making in an idle, he began to shake his head in a way that was both definitive and sad.

"The damage is done," the repair guy prognosticated. Due to some kind of loose bearing rattling around all over inside, the engine was probably minutes away from seizing. But that wasn't before he informed us that there was exactly jack-sh*t on the mountain in terms of towing, car rental services, or places to comfortably stop (other than where we were standing). We could cut our losses now or we could try to make it through THE ONE LAST TINY HILL of the mountain pass (about 3 miles long) before a long downward trajectory to the city.

Naturally, we decided to try to coast it.

100 feet into the THE ONE LAST TINY HILL, the van went to the little diamond mine in the sky. Indeed, it proved to be worth more dead than alive because the junkyard (after much ado and effort to get the title) offered us more for it than the CarMax dealership would have, had it been in any way serviceable.


(This was taken after Triple-A finally showed up and the van was towed to the bottom. And Zach was the only one who didn't get the memo about making a sad face.)

Anyway, the van's long-coming martyrdom was a sacrifice that won't soon be forgotten; we got a much nicer car after Megan came and picked us up. The American Dream was alive and well for us that day, as we bought a very-gently-used, pricey foreign dream car with all the accompanying bells whistles, extra seats, and safety features.

Fast forward to today: I take four kids to the DMV to register a vehicle purchased out of state and only cried twice in doing so. Alas, that is a story for another day.

Toddlerspeak: A Few Definitions

Big Tom (n.)- See Also: Grandpa Tom.

Big Truck (n.)- (1) Any large vehicle; (2) alias of Uncle Chuck.

Elmote (n.)- A device that, when pointed at the TV, summons Elmo to the screen.

Gramma Kiss (n.)- See Also: Grandma Kris.

Nack (n.)- a fruit snack.

You've Got Male: Part Two

Boy #4 is a go! (And thank you, higher powers that be, for an apparently healthy baby!)

Elise was a little sad that it's not a baby sister, yes. But she is okay now.

OMG, what am I going to do with FOUR BOYS running around my house?!?!

Acronyms

"Take me to church, I'll whistle like a dog on a Saturday night..." -Elise, singing her interpretation of Hozier

"ELISE is an acronym. It means Eggfart Leprosy Idiotic Stupid Elephantitis." -Will, apparently unaware of wet-lab immunoassay ELISA

"Oh yeah? 'WILL' stands for Whalepoop Idiotic Lame Loser!" -Elise, without missing a beat