Category Archives: vents and rants

I’m not dead

No, that’s a lie. I am dead. This baby is killing me, slowly, from the inside out.

I’ll write a real post as soon as I go a whole day without puking.

So…don’t hold your breath.

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Filed under It's all about me, parenting, pregnancy #3, vents and rants

Childhood Stories With Amanda -or- Let’s have a laugh at my expense

I give you, the story of how I came to be terrified of dinosaurs and museums and dark amusement park rides, and various other ridiculous things.

Once upon a time, long ago in the 80’s, I was a young girl who loved dinosaurs and I loved museums.

Then, when I was 9 years old (this was not in the 80’s, mind you. I’m not that old), I got to go to Florida with my Gifted class because we had the honor of being invited to watch the space shuttle Endeavor make its inaugural launch into space.. While we were there, we spent a day at Disney World/Epcot center.

When we were wandering around Epcot I saw a sign for the Universe of Energy ride.

This ride seemed like a winner because A: there was no line and B: it was a long ride/movie inside an air conditioned building.

Upon entering the ‘ride’ (at this point I thought it was just a movie) you are seated in big long bleacher seats that are facing a giant screen. On the screen you are presented with an exceedingly boring video about the mechanics of fossil fuels and how they effect our lives every day.

Then, all of a sudden, the bleacher seats start splitting apart into three sections and begin turning to the right. As you turn, the ‘wall’ to the right opens up and reveals this

Please note the tracks at the bottom of the picture, that’s what our bleacher cars are traveling on. Also note the dinosaur all the way too the left. He plays a very large roll in this sad tail.

That smug jerk.

Look at the expression on his face? All “La Dee Dah. Just chewing on these weeds. Don’t mind me, I’m just a robot, I can’t hurt you!”

LIES!

At this point I was mildly freaked out because I wasn’t prepared to be thrust into a prehistoric rainforest dripping with dinosaurs. And I do mean dripping. That cud hanging out of his mouth was oozing with robot saliva…I can still feel it dripping on my me as I scream in horror…but I’m getting ahead of myself.

As you can see in the picture below, the bleacher car travels right past this small flock of long necks. The bleacher car is to the far bottom left.

And this is when things went horribly wrong. Our car was in the exact spot as the car in the picture when all of a sudden it came to a screeching halt. But even though the car stopped, the robo-dinos did not. That dino to the far left kept bending down and slamming into my head with his dripping wet sea weed cud over and over and over and over. None of my friends had gone on the ride with me, so I was packed into my seat with strangers to my left and no room to scoot away from the dino assault. I have no idea how long this went on, but it felt like an eternity.

And when it was finally over, I left that ride a very different girl. Since that day, I haven’t been able to go to museums or amusement parks without suffering from overwhelming anxiety and full on panic attacks. Because I’m obviously the most rational person alive.

Incidentally, The Universe of Energy was revamped in the late 90’s and now your tour guide through the ride is an animatronic Ellen DeGeneres robot, which might just be more scary than the dinos.

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Filed under It's all about me, PSA, vents and rants

Country living is so…special

Have I ever told you, dear reader’s, that I hate moths? I really…really hate them. They’re all spaztic and floppy and they can’t control themselves.

People say, “Oh come on, Amanda. They’re just like butterflies.”

Nay. They are not ‘just like butterflies’. There is nothing graceful about moth as it sputters and slams it’s body into a light bulb. Nothing at all like a butterfly.

What was I talking about?

Oh yes, country life.

So I knew there was a moth problem up here and I was a bit screamy and jumpy the first couple of weeks, but now I have, for the most part, learned to coexist peacefully with them.

Well, that is, until yesterday.

We were headed out for our daily trip to the post office yesterday afternoon when I innocently grabbed my purse that was sitting benignly next to my chair in the living room. I already had my sun glasses on so I couldn’t really see the purse strap as I was grabbing it, but I could certainly feel the unmistakable crunch of dead moth under my hand as I lifted it up.

In the interest of journalistic integrity I feel obligated to tell you that the instant my hand crunched that moth I dropped that purse like a hot potato and began screaming and squeeling and jumping around the room like the sissy girl that I am.

And then I began pouring Purel over my hand with such vigor that youd’ve thought it was holy water.

Kevin, being the manly man that he is, calmly scooped up the purse and tossed the offending creature in the trash. But as he walked past me I caught a glimpse of what looked like hundreds of teeny, tiny sparkly pearls in little clusters all over my purse.

Oh no she didn’t! That hussy had the audacity to lay EGGS all over my PURSE before she died on it. Oooooooh no ma’am. Not cool.

And then…AND THEN I realized that I had YARN in that purse. And not just any yarn. No. I had beautiful self stripping, baby soft wool sock yarn that was already 2/3’s of the way knit into quite a lovely sock, if I do say so myself.

I immediately dumped the contents of the purse onto the floor and started frantically picking apart my yarn as Kevin scrapped off the eggs.

Did I mention this is a fairly rare purse handmade in Uganda and was only available at Invisible Children screenings over a year ago and can’t be purchased anymore? Oh I didn’t? How silly of me.

As soon as I was certain that my yarn was in the clear, I dumped the purse in the washing machine and washed it on Hot. Twice.

Excuse me while I go douse my hand in Purel. Again.

In other news…

The kids seem to be a fan of all the insects the mountains have to offer. Especially Presley. She just loves playing with bugs of all shapes and sizes.

*shudder*

But I’m trying not to instill my utter disdain (read:abject terror) for bugs onto my offspring, so I encourage their blossoming interest whenever possible.

With that in mind, when I was hanging clothes on the line the other day, I happened upon a tiny little inch worm. Well, I can handle an inch worm! No problem! Nothing scary or disgusting about those little guys.

So I called the kids out to the back yard and had Presley bring the little guy in the house so we could do some good ol’ home schoolin’ and research what exactly an inch worm is.

We looked in Caedmon’s insect book and didn’t find anything. So I pulled out the Children’s Animal Dictionary, nada.

The kids really didn’t care anymore at this point, but I was bound and determined to figure out what the heck an inch worm actually is.

Google to the rescue!

I clicked on the first link that Google offered up and as I was scrolling through the page this picture jumped out at me

“Huh” I thought to myself, “that’s an odd looking butterfly…”

“Wait.”

“Is that…? Surely not…”

And then my eyes land on this sentence

“…larvae of moths of the family Geometridae, a large, cosmopolitan group with over 1,200 species indigenous to North America.”

Fantastic.





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Filed under caedmon, homeschooling, parenting, photoabulous, presley, PSA, vents and rants

Why I’m glad we don’t own this place, a story in pictures…

The winds they were a blowin’ in West Texas today!

fence

fence

fence

fence

And while I was walking around assessing the damage I noticed this little prize. Turns out this is what the bottom of the fence looks like pretty much all the way around the property. Can we say tetanus everyone?

fence

fence

I know we should’ve noticed that already since we’ve been here a year, but in our defense…the yard is really big. In the year that we’ve lived here I’ve never even been to the far left corner of the back yard. There could be Hobbits living over there all I know.

Anyone want to take bets on how long it takes Wayland to fix it?

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Flashback blogging part duex

Saturday, February 04, 2006
 
Um…Thanks?

I had the privilege (read: duty) to attend one of Caedmon’s many pre-school parties this afternoon. I generally love going to these little events, however, the last 4 weeks they’ve learned about a new country every week and had a country-themed party EVERY FRIDAY.  I know a party doesn’t sound like anything to be annoyed with, but “party” in pre-school language roughly translates to: “all-the-stay-at-home-mommies-come-and-bring-all-the-food-and-set-up-the-entire-party
-then-stay-and-clean-up-the-party-because-really-what-else-do-you-have- to-do-besides-eat-chocolate-and-watch-Oprah”. I can deal with that once a month, but every Friday gets old. I digress, even though I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of serving juice and animal crackers to eighteen 4 year olds, I was somewhat excited about the prospect of a little adult conversation. That being said, I actually took the time to put on makeup and even iron my clothes (gasp!).  So, I waddle my large self into the party room feeling like I looked a notch or two better than a bloated beached whale. Then the following conversation took place between me and one of  the other mom’s.

Other Mom:  “Wow, you look like you’re about ready to have that baby.”

Me: *looking down at my gigantic protruding belly* “Yeah, I’ve really gotten big these last few weeks.”

Other Mom:  “I can just tell by your face, you’ve got that…that…”

*At this point I’m already smiling and batting my eyelashes, thinking she’s going to finish that sentence with “that glow”. So I was getting all geared up to tell her that, in fact, I fake that pregnancy glow with my new Bare Escentuals Mineral Make-up (which is FABULOUS, btw).*

Other Mom cont.: “…that pregnancy look, ya know? You’ve filled out…your face has gotten fat.”

Me: “Well, you see it’s this new…wait, what? Oh, um…I guess…well…yeah…um…I hadn’t noticed.”

Other Mom: “Oh yeah, it’s definitely filled out. You’ll be having that kid in no time. Your due date is the end of this month right? I bet you won’t make it another 2 weeks.”

Me: “Actually, my due date is the last week of March/first week of April.”

Other Mom: “Oh…”

*Awkward Silence*

Me: “I’m gonna go help Carol with the juice…”

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Filed under caedmon, It's all about me, parenting, pregnancy, vents and rants

Did you know I used to blog? And I was funny, too!

It’s beginning to look like my two year blogging hiatus might actually be nearing it’s end! Presley is finally learning to watch TV the fine art of independent playing.  Caedmon is in a good rhythm with his school work. My house is dirty, but who cares. I’m carving me out some blogging time baby!

So, in honor of that (and to inspire some creativity in the dust filled corners of my brain) I’m going to be doing a series of flash backs to some of my favorite posts. Posts that, sadly, can’t be transferred into the archives of this blog because Xanga is…stupid.

So, without further ado, I give you the musings of my pregnant self roughly 2 years ago…

Thursday, February 02, 2006
 
An open letter to the un-named child in my uterus:

Dear Pint-Sized Tyrant,

Ok, look. I get it. I understand that things are getting cramped down there. I’m sure it’s annoying to have your brother slam into you repeatedly throughout the day, screaming “ARE YOU AWAKE BABY?!”.  I get that your hiccups probably aren’t fun for you either. But tell me, please, what can I do to make you stop rejecting everything I eat?  Just tell me what it is you want me to eat and I’ll send daddy out to get it, promise. I mean, the puking? For 8 months? Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?

If you just can’t manage to help me hold the food down, I can probably deal with that on one condition: You must get off the bladder. Post haste.  It really isn’t funny at all to kick Mommy’s bladder when she’s puking. It’s also not funny to kick Mommy’s bladder while she’s sleeping. And it’s certainly not funny to sit on Mommy’s bladder when she sneezes. Ok, maybe that last one is a little bit funny, but only for Daddy.

While we’re at it, dear, let’s talk about the kicking. Now, don’t get me wrong, the kicks? They’re adorable. Mommy loves the kicks, really she does. But, why must you kick at 2:45 am every. single. night.?  I don’t understand. I really don’t. It’s not 2:30, it’s not 3:00. It’s 2:45 am on the dot. How do you know little fetus? How do you know?! Can you hear the clock in there?  Can you feel it when Mommy finally hits that wonderful stage of deep sleep? Whatever it is that compels you to do this, please, resist the temptation. Just sit still for a few more hours and let Mommy sleep.

That’s all for now. Enjoy the rest of your stay and we’ll see you in a few weeks.

Sincerely,
Management

P.S. When you squish yourself all to one side of your little abode, it makes it really hard for Mommy to pull off that cute, round, belly look. Could you quit with that? Thanks.

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Filed under blog business, It's all about me, parenting, presley, vents and rants

Didn’t I use to write…or something?

I’m pretty sure I did.

But then I had this kid and she’s really demanding. And cute. Lawd is she cute!

And then there’s the other kid. Not quite as demanding, but equally cute.

It’s become increasingly easier to post pictures of them in lieu of typing, what with the cuteness and all. Not to mention the fact that typing one handed is not one of my skills and Presley requires that I do so.

Like right now, for instance. The little monster…er…princess is desperately trying to crawl into my lap while screeching “Num nums! Num Nums! Nuuuuuuuuuuuum nuuuuuuuuuums!”

So, I give in. And here I am, typing one handed. I can’t be witty with one hand. Heck, I can’t even be legible with one hand.

I’m not sure what it is about being on the computer that draws my children to me. I will sit with them for hours in the living room as they play together, watch tv, eat a snack. They don’t even so much as look at me. But the instant my hands hit the keyboard they come running.

“Mom! Can I have a cookie?”

“Num Nums! Num Nums!”

“Mom! Can you turn me into a robot?”

“Num Nums! Num Nums!”

“Mom! Why do I have eyebrows?”

“Num Nums! Num Nums!”

“Mom! Does my foot smell?”

“Num Nums! Num Nums!”

“Mom! What if my name was Ahukjnibgtdryuyghb Pthhhhhhhhhh?”

“Num Nums! Num Nums!”

AHHHHHHH!

Little blessings, they are.

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Filed under blog business, boob-a-liscious, caedmon, It's all about me, parenting, presley, vents and rants