how much random crap can i squeeze into one post?

Hi. I'm going crazy.Would you do me a favor and go look at a calendar and get back to me on the date? Because I thought it was officially Spring.



Saturday night Christina and her two adorable daughters came for a sleep-over. As usual, there was music, wine, and yummy food (Thai take-out...no I didn't cook). We woke up Sunday morning to snow DUMPING. There was at least 5 inches of new snow. The little girls decided a walk was in order so we piled on the layers and went for a long walk to the park. The kids and dogs LOVED it, and it was, admittedly, gorgeous. Then we came home and got the wet clothes off, and Anna and Piper settled in for a snuggle. Piper thinks Anna is the coolest thing since ice-cream, to the point where ONLY Anna can put Pi's jammies on, change her diaper, and help when she tries to use the potty (although Anna wasn't too thrilled about that last one).



On another note, Ms. Anna has been particularly prolific with the art lately. Here is my ALL TIME FAVORITE: And regardless of what you may think, it is NOT a self-portrait. Despite the same hair color, hair cut and identiccal eye color and eye shape. It is "just some person". So there. But is this not gorgeous?? I'm going to frame it and hang it in our FRESHLY PAINTED family room.

Also, in school, they made a book about family. Here is hers:



(click to enlarge) I can't tell you how much I love these; we all look so happy and in each one, David and I have our arms around each other. Although in the second one, it DOES kinda look like he's strangling me....

Tomorrow Anna leaves for a week (!!) to go to Arizona with her dad for Spring Break, just the two of them. They are going to the Grand Canyon, and then down to Tucson, where they'll go to the Arizona-Sanora Desert Museum, quite possibly the COOLEST MUSEUM EVER, to Saguaro National Park and to this cool observatory/planatarium where they'll get a close-up view of Saturn. It's too bad she's not going to have fun or anything. It's going to be in the mid eighties (!!!!) so of course she needs a new sun-hat. And, um, braces.



I did take her to the orthodontist last week. You may think it's a bit early; she is, after-all, only 7. But we're going to have a LOOONG, intimate relationship with this man; I figured we might as well get to know each other sooner rather than later. First step: pull 4 of her baby teeth to make some room in there. Then we can start the real fun of alignment. sigh. I used to joke that I should marry a chiropractor so that I could get his services for free. Now I'm thinking I may have to charm the orthodontist. Never mind that he's approximately 79 years old. He is a very cute old guy. Hey! I know! Mom!!! I found one for ya!!

wow, do I know how to push buttons?!

Oh man, smart-assedly joke about my Pinkie being taken away too early (truth be told, 16 would have been to early) and hackles are raised, buttons are pushed and suddenly I'm the daughter from hell.

Ya'll (read MY SISTERS) are taking me waaay to seriously; I'm just giving mom shit because, well, it's fun.

Ok, everybody, let me tell you about my mother:
She used to dance around the kitchen doing this special dance called the Pogue-shuffle. She sang, all the time, everyhere, in the kitchen, in the car. It's because of her that I worship Doris Day, Carol Burnett and Julie Andrews. She was born and raised, during the Depression, on a farm in southern Idaho. When she was 19, she packed up and moved to California, by herself. Soon after, she met my father on a blind date, and married him 6 WEEKS LATER. Soon after that, he was deployed to Korea. When he returned, she and my father and their toddler son lived in a TENT in a place that rained something like 335 days a year. Many moves and a couple more kids later, she found herself in god-forsaken Winnemucca Nevada, in a SHACK crawling with bugs. She used to lay awake at night fantasizing about hopping on the train she could hear, and running away. I can't even imagine how much strength it took not to. My father became a Game Warden and she gently and lovingly cared for any wild animal that our dad brought home, from fawn to raccoon, PLUS raising 4 children essentially BY HERSELF. By then we lived in a very small cabin in the woods 50 miles from the nearest city and any sort of support network. Without anti-depressant and without becoming a raging alcoholic, which is certainly more than I can say and I'm only raising one. With help. She taught us to sew (although I never caught on) and knit and she made the most amazing home-made clothing for us AND our dolls, including, the coolest thing EVER: matching dresses for me and my favorite doll, lavendar with white trim.

And that's just all before I was 10 years old. I could write a BOOK about my mother's courage, strength and ability to hold herself (and her family) together when our father, her husband of 30 years, was murdered. Our mother is smart, funny, gorgeous and fiercly loyal and loving and protective of every one of us. Her generosity knows NO BOUNDS; she has paid for college educations, down payments for homes, bailed more than one of us out of debt on countless occassions. If she hears of a need, be it in her own family or someone else's that she read about in the newspaper, she finds a way to fill it. Her children, granchildren and great-granchildren respect, admire and love her more than we can ever say.


Despite the fact that she refused to let me carry my pink blanket to 7th grade.

I LOVE YOU MOM.

pinkie

One of my favorite bloggers, Whoorl, has written today about her favorite blankie from when she was little. She's even still got a wee bit of it left; taken on the sly the day her parents conned her into giving it up in exchange for a Dilly Bar! (hey, who can blame her? Dilly Bars rock.) We all had blankies (or a special stuffy) didn't we? The one thing that calmed and soothed us when no one else in the world seemed to care. Mine was my blanket, Pinkie. I don't remember much about it because IT WAS TAKEN FROM ME MUCH TOO EARLY AND I'M STILL BITTER but I seem to remember it being, um, pink floral with pink satin trim around it. And then, one day, my parents decided (WTF??) that I needed to give Pinkie up. I believe the story was that Pinkie "accidentally" caught on fire.

The SADDEST story of all time relates to Eric (my ex-husband for those that may not know). When he was little, he had a very special stuffed turtle. He slept with it every night and carried it everywhere. One Saturday, he couldn't find Turtle, but his family was piling into the truck to go to the dump. As his father unloaded the truck, Eric was watching the garbage as it climbed up the conveyor belt when something familiar caught his eye. That's right, Turtle. Poor little guy stood there helplessly as his beloved Turtle rode the conveyor belt up, up, up and then he fell - whoomf - onto the heap of stinky, nasty garbage. And there was nothing he could do about it. His parents hadn't even had the sense to put Turtle into a plastic bag or anything! Needless to say, he's never let them forget it.

A couple of years ago, Pier One had big, green stuffed turtles (why, I do not know) and that year Eric (then 37 years old) got not one but TWO turtles for Christmas.

What about you? What was your special "snuggle" when you were little, and how did you come to part with it?

now why didn't I think of this?

I wonder if David will let me do this to our TV room. I mean, what could be more convenient, right? If you need a snack, you just lean over and nibble on the lamp.

Only thing missing is a bottle of cheap-ass wine.



PS. In case you can't tell: they're CHEETOS. The world's most perfect food.

steppin up onto my soap-box

Have you seen this news story? An 11 year old girl in Wisconsin, who was suffering from diabetes and had been given NO medical treatement for 7 years, went into a coma and died as her parents stood by and PRAYED for her recovery. That's right, they refused to allow her to be treated by modern medicine, instead believing that GOD would take care of her. Now, as most of you know, I'm an avowed non-believer, but please tell me how two supposedly sane and rational grown people can honestly believe that God is going to save their daughter if they just pray enough. I've got a newsflash: God doesn't save people. If you want to believe God helped, that's fine. No harm in that, but the FACT is that it is medical intervention that cures people. Period the end.

This is where religion is dangerous. Very, very dangerous. When you've become so completely brain-washed that you deny your child medical care because "God's going to take care of it", you belong in mental hospital. Or prison. I strongly believe that these parents should be charged with murder. Do they have the right of "freedom of religion"? Of course. Do they have the right to sit by and pray feverishly as their daughter literally withers away to nothing right in front of them, slips into a coma and dies because they've denied her medical care? No. They do not.

And you KNOW that they will now say her death was "God's will". What I want to know is this: how can people worship a God that would "take" an 11 year old child by making her suffer such a horrible, painful, slow, death?

It makes no sense to me.

inanimate object abuse

I just told a smoke alarm to blow me softly.

Only I wasn't so polite.


Don't these things understand the concept of "crying wolf"? That damn thing could start beeping in the middle of the night and I'd wake up, think the dog was making toast, and go back to sleep.

look! there's a little sprout

check it out.

To my family: listen, you, you're coming. the end.

quote of the day:

"No, I swear, I am DONE meddling in my daughter's life".


Aaahh, famous last words.



The funny thing is (aside from the fact that she's SEVEN, so the meddling hasn't even been necessary yet!), it's recently become painfully obvious that I am a...oh god...it kills me to admit this...a "helicopter" parent. Oh jeebus....yes, I'm one of THOSE mothers. But...but...you know, she's an only child...and I tried for three years to get pregnant...I wanted to be a mother soooo badly...and by the time she arrived my marriage was essentially dead, so I could give her ALL. MY. LOVE. (yeah, I'm sure THAT helped my relationship with her father). Anyway, by doing everything for her, I've basically rendered her completely incapable of solving her own problems. Despite having watched my older sister do exactly this with her own child and oh, man, did I swear I would do things differently. Now, we're using the same parenting coach! ha!

Here's a funny story: earlier this year (she's in first grade) I picked her up from school one day. Two of her friends were coming home with us, and as we were walking to the car, Anna told me that a girl had punched her on the playground that day. Punched her! I asked for clarification ("Were you playing around and she accidentally hit you?") and was assured it was done out of pure meanness. Hhhhmmpph. That really pissed me off; NO ONE hits my kid. Hell, I don't even hit her; I do not believe in spanking. So we get to the car and as we're pulling out of the school lot, Anna yells "There she is, the kid who hit me!" Well, I wasnt' about to let that opportunity go; I asked Anna if she wanted me to talk to the girl. She said yes, and I asked AT LEAST 3-4 times "Are you SURE you want me to go talk to her?" and Anna AND her friends kept saying "Yes!" So...I pulled up to the curb, got out of my car, walked right up to this little girl and got right down in her face. "I'm Anna's mom, and I hear you hit her today." You should have seen the look on her face. She was, to say the least, speechless. I then said "If you EVER touch my daughter again, you will be very, very sorry." ha! I'll show that seven year old not to mess with ME. I strutted back to the car, and as I got in, victorious, all three girls in the back seat said "I can't believe you did that! You almost made her cry! You're MEAN!!!" Yeah. Ungrateful little shits. So we dropped it and that was the end of it.

Then today was an after-school field trip to the bowling alley, and I went along as a chaperone. Guess who was on my team of 4 little kids to watch over? That's right, Sarah, the little girl in whom I'd put the fear of god. And you know what? Not only did I not traumatize her for life or give her nightmares, she didn't seem to remember me at all. Not even when I had to "out" myself as Anna's mom. We laughed, we high-fived, hell, I'd go so far as to say she likes me.

But then again, maybe she's just silently plotting her revenge.

dear Mother Nature: you suck

boys are weird

This morning, I got to go over to the Tribal preschool and do a brief presentation about birds.

I wanted to speak to them specifically about the birds that are regularly seen on the reservation; Killdeer, Meadowlarks, Red-Winged Blackbirds, Owls, Crows, Bald Eagles. I brought some things from home and went around the office gathering items (most of offices in this building have more dead animal parts than any taxidermy). I had several bird skulls, some feathers, a couple of sets of talons, a nest. I also brought a new book I'd recently purchased for Anna, so that I could show them pictures of each bird and play the sound for them.

Now, as I mentioned, these were preschoolers, so I knew to keep my talk short and very focused. My plan was to stun them into silence with my brilliant and fascinating presentation. There would be epiphanies! I would create mini-conservationsists! They would re-think their career-paths! Lives would be changed, people.

Here's how it went:

Me: "Do you know what birds use to make their nests..."

Boy #1: "They use sticks and mud and then THEY TAKE THE MUD AND THE STICKS AND THEY GET SOME OTHER STUFF AND THEY TURN INTO TRANSFORMERS!!!"

Me: "Today when you go outside, you might see a Killdeer or a crow or..."

Boy #2: "Did you know that once my big brother saw a crow in our yard AND IT ALMOST TOOK HIS TRANSFORMER!!!"

Me: "Look at this feather. What kind of..."

Boy #3: "I got new tennis shoes and they're brown JUST LIKE MY TRANSFORMER!!!"

Me: "Have any of you ever seen a Bald Eagle flying overhead? Let me show you how big their wingspan...."

Boy #4: "Once, a Bald Eagle flew over my dad's truck and I climbed out the window and got on the eagle's back JUST LIKE A TRANSFORMER!!!!!"

sigh.

I'm sure I made a difference in the life of at least one of the little girls.



She liked my pierced nose.

open for suggestions

My daughter is one of those children who, if given the opportunity, would have her own frickin' Noah's Ark. She, who plans on being a Zoo Keeper when she grows up, asks on a daily basis for a FishBabyRottweilerGerbilBabyCornSnakeKittenGuineaPigBunnyBabyCorgieFerretHamsterBoaConstrictorBabyHairlessChihuahua. And that's just before breakfast. Seriously, it wears. my. ass. out. This kid LOVES animals. She has 3 (!) of her own cats at daddy's house. At our house we have Moby (the best dog ever) and 1 Beta fish. Soon we will be taking on her Nana's 30 gallon fish-tank which I will be staying far far away from. BUT she wants her own, cuddly animal that she can take care of herself and that would, in a perfect world, sleep with her. In her own bed. ahem.

More than anything, she wants a puppy of her own. But regardless of how responsible she is with her pets, the burden of training said puppy would fall mainly on David (because if Daisy was any indication of my dog-training abilities, well, I'll stay out of this one...). David is a PRO at training dogs, but after owning up to TWELVE dogs when he lived in Alaska, he needs (and deserves) a break for year or two. Also, he is allergic to cats. My sister just got the most adorable bunny, but little does she know that soon, Count Bunnicula will take over her house and nibble its way through every power-cord, rug and article of clothing in its path. So. That leaves us with the Hamster/Gerbil/Guinea Pig option which I hate because of the whole cage thing. Cages, to me, are cruel. Plus they STINK.

Anyone have any brilliant small/cuddly/non-stinky suggestions for a pet-loving 7 year old?? And anyone who mentions the word ferret wins an all-expenses-paid one-way ticket to Hell. NO FERRETS.

too smart for her own good

Now that Bug has pretty much figured out that both the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny are not real, she's had to take a long, hard look at Santa. The other day she came across this letter from Santa and decided to investigate.






Conclusion: "I'm almost 79% sure Santa isn't real but I still kind of want to believe in him."

me too, Boo Boo. me too.




Random photo of the day: yesterday we went for a drive out to Turnbull National Wildlife Refuge to see if the Tundra Swans had arrived yet; they had, but they got spooked and flew away before I could get a photograph. We did, though, see this little porcupine; this is the third time in a row that we've seen a porcupine when we go out there. Last time we were out there we watched as one wandered along a ridge, down across the path right in front of us and he made his way over to a tree. We stood and watched as he sloooowly climbed the tree and settled in for a nap on a branch. This little guy yesterday was just munching on some ground-cover off the road; he let me get about 10 feet away before he ambled off. Luckily I didn't get any quills in my snout!

i am a pathetic stereotype

Number 87? What? It's practical! Number 75? Every damn day. 82? Absolutely. 49? Oh god. Yes. 25? He's halarious! 64? It would be irresponsible not to. 86? Not since I lived in Oregon. 6? Preach it, sister. And last but certainly not least: #1. Fair-trade, even. sigh.

Also laughing at this. You have to keep hitting the "refresh" button.

sometimes, it's hard to be a woman

So by now the world knows that Elliot Spitzer, governor of New York, has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak. The man who rose to the top of NYC politics by vowing to eradicate crime (specifically prostitution!) in the Big Apple.

Now, politics aside, my question is: WHY IN THE SAM HELL IS HIS WIFE STANDING BY HER MAN?? Why do these wives of politicians gone astray, from Hillary Clinton to Larry Craig's wife to Mrs. Spitzer, WHY do they stand there on the stage, in their proper little suits and pearls, hands folded, looking concerned for the trouble her poor husband has gone and gotten himself into now? While he announces to the world something so deeply personal and painful, so unforgivable...something that she probably just found out about herself mere hours prior. And only then because he knew he'd been caught.

Me? I'd say "Um, no, I'm afraid I won't be able to make that press conference. I'll be busy signing DIVORCE PAPERS and watching your ass squirm up there all by yourself. Or, wait! I know! Why don't you HIRE a woman to stand next to you and PRETEND to by your wife??"

we did it!!

and it hurt like a mother. I went first, and I'm so glad I did. Because if I'd watched the process beforehand, there's no way I would have gone through with it. It involved a hollow-point needle which was left dangling out of my right nostril for 10 years er seconds. And THEN he rammed the stud through. WOW was that fun.

before:

during:

after:

But I like it and I think it's cute. And it was fun to do with my sisters; the three of us almost couldn't be more different...but we love and respect each other and this was a bonding experience. And when I'm through my mid-life crisis (if ever) I can take it out.

Boise, here I come

Now, it may not be the tropical vacation destination I've been craving, but I am going down to Boise for an impromptu "girls weekend" with my mom and sisters. There will be much junk-food, much laughter at each other's expense and, quite possibly, nose piercings. Because we each going through a mid-life crisis at the same time. The idea of the three sisters piercing our noses both horrifies and traumatized the generations on either side of us (our mother and our daughters) but that's only going to egg us on. It's better than tatoos, right?

Please take the poll at left. Not that we'll take your advice, but still. You can have the pleasure of saying "I told you so" when we complain it hurts like hell.

And mom, you only get to vote ONCE.

did I ever tell you about the time....

that my daughter, then aged 6, found a BUMPER STICKER in a drawer and put it on my butt and I forgot about it and went out into the world? That's right, I went into a fabric store proudly sporting a bumper sticker that showed a line-drawing of a very curvy woman that said "Change how you see, not how you look."

On. my. ass.

But who knows? Maybe a woman who needed that message that day saw me and felt just a little bit better about herself. Afterall, SHE wasn't the one out in public with a sticker on her back bumper.

mother of the year, part 2

or is it part 3...or 4?

Here's a story problem for you. I'll even supply the answer.

Ready?

1 balloon + 1 seven year old + 1 supposed adult (me) + 1 large ass (mine) + 1 twenty-gallon fish tank, all in one small tv room =

20 GALLONS OF STINKY, NASTY FISHY WATER FLOODING OUR NEW CARPET, several dead fish and five weeks of hard work wasted.

Nice.

Can I have a drink NOW??