Category Archives: Partying with the Ponies

June 27, 2014 · 4:52 pm

A Chaotic Home is a Happy Home

The one thing I’ll never compromise on is… having chaos in my house.

Growing up, I lived a pretty quiet life. It was just me, my family and my books. That didn’t really change until I had my son. As any new parent knows, babies can be, how shall we say? Disruptive. My house was an explosion of plastic crap, baby bottles, and two people too tired to clean anything up.

Adding to our general disarray, we had three fur-shedding tornadoes; two cats and a dog. There wasn’t a day that went by when tumbleweeds of hair and dust didn’t roll past my feet.

I tried to keep up, but I couldn’t. The house was mostly clean, but I still had toys, books, and crafts everywhere. I had to choose; picking up board books or playing with my son. Don’t get me wrong, I would try to toss a few things into a basket as we played, but it was never enough.

My house isn't messy.

My kids are awesome house designers.

Soon, we moved, adding to and losing some from our brood. My daughter was born, one cat and a dog died, and we adopted three energetic pups.

In our house, it’s loud. A sample of our symphony…

“Mom! She’s using my Netflix!”

“Well, he’s not eating breakfast!”

“That’s mine! Don’t watch ponies!”

*Sobbing* “Mommy! He hit me!”

“She started it!”

“Aaarrroooo! Bark! Bark!”

“Where is your father? I am trying to make sandwiches. Have you finished breakfast?”

“Yeess…”

“Brushed your teeth?”

“Ummmm….”

“Stop fighting, brush your teeth, and for the love of God, daughter of mine, brush your hair; you look like you’ve been fighting with a raccoon.”

“Grrrr…. Grrr…”

“Where’s Tiny? And, what’s in your backpack, baby girl?”

“Do not put Tiny in your backpack.”

“Meow, meow, meow…”

“Someone let the cat into the basement, and get your shoes on!”

It’s not all bad, there’s also this…

“Daddy, throw me on the bed!”

“Now me!”

“And mommy!”

“No. Not mommy.”

“Squeal… squee!”

“Again! Again!”

“Woooooof!”

“I don’t think Sparkles likes the excitement.”

Or…

“I got the blankets to make a tent! Let’s watch a movie and make cookies.”

“I want the dough!”

“I want the bowl!”

Notice all the exclamation points? Yeah, we’re a boisterous bunch. Boisterous, messy and ridiculously happy. So, come on over. You may have to dust some cat hair off the couch, but you’ll have a good time. I promise.

This post was part of the Finish the Sentence Friday bloghop. There are always fun topics, and I don’t participate enough.

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June 20, 2014 · 6:47 pm

Delivery Room Drama: My Daughter Fell Out of Me

Good day, friends! Today, I’m back over at BLUNTmoms sharing the story of how my sweet baby girl came into the world. Honestly, it’s no wonder I am not having any more kids.

Here’s a preview to pique your interest:

Even before she was born, my daughter liked to screw with me. She managed to convince my OB that she was a boy, so I spent roughly 20 weeks prepping to have another penis in the house. That all changed when I got an up-close-and-personal, 3D look at my baby.

We had told the technician we were expecting a boy, so the surprise was palpable when she pointed out the hamburger buns on the screen. I thought there had to be a mistake.

Read the rest over at BLUNTmoms. You won’t regret it, I promise.

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June 10, 2014 · 8:00 pm

You Want My Kids to Play With What?

I always keep my eyes open for new games or toys for the kids, and I have noticed a disturbing trend in what’s out there. Apparently, toy and game makers want my kids to play with poop.

Yes, poop. That disgusting, foul, corn-laden beast that haunts parents everywhere.

Here’s a sample of what I found:

1. Have Barbie pick up her dog’s poop. You feed the dog biscuits and it poops out brown tic tacs. I can barely get the kids to feed the dogs let alone clean up after them. With my luck it wouldn’t make my kids scoop poop, it would lead them to believe poop is like a tic tac and they’d eat it.

Barbie and Taffy

Barbie, Taffy, and her turds. The dog’s. Not Barbie’s.

2. Laughing Japanese Poop. It’s poop that laughs and dances. Since when does poop have a face? And when does that appear? Is there a giant piece of poo smiling away in my body right now? It’s just creepy.

3. Doggie Doo. The point of the game is to feed the dog, listen to it fart and then after it poops, you clean it up. And apparently, what comes out is runny, stinky, putty. Yes! Let’s all play with poop. And then we can rub it all over the walls and revel in the poopiness of it all.

See the yellow poop? Not only is the dog pooping, but it's also diseased.

See the yellow poop? Not only is the dog pooping, but it’s also diseased.

4. Dogs and cats can get in on this too, because who says humans should have all the fun? For our furry little friends there are toys for them shaped like poop. My dogs already eat an obscene amount of poop; theirs, the cat’s, random poo outside. Do I really want to train them to think of poop as a toy? They’ll start chewing it on the couch and asking me to throw it for them. No thank you.

Poop toys. For dogs. Ugh.

Poop toys. For dogs. Ugh.

5. Poopsy pets, the one toy in the mix that purports to be an educational one. It comes with a girl and her pet unicorn. You shove poop into the unicorn’s gullet and then sparkly, twinkly turds pop out the back. Does the education come from teaching kids that unicorns are real, or that poop comes out as a rainbow? Because, I don’t find either to be particularly true. Unless it’s the dogs’ poop after they eat a box of crayons. That stuff is rainbow-riffic.

The small balls are sparkly, unicorn poop. Fun!

The small balls are sparkly, unicorn poop. Fun!

6. A squishy poop toy. Having a bad day? Angry at your boss? Squeeze the shit out of your stress, literally. Yes, nothing relaxes me more than having a giant turd in my hand. It’s why I love changing diapers and wiping my kids’ butts. Oh, wait. Poop makes me gag. I have no urge to squeeze it. Does anyone?

Relieve your stress with this playful poop.

Relieve your stress with this playful poop.

7. Plushy poop and toilet paper. Yes, let’s give our poop a hug. It’s so naturally cuddly. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. Poop as plush. It just makes sense.

So sweet! Just like poop was meant to be!

So sweet! Just like poop was meant to be!

Sadly, I found other varieties of poop. Honestly, what does it say about our society that people buy these things? Are we getting dumber every day? Or, am I giving too much of a shit about shit? It’s a question for the ages, really.

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May 27, 2014 · 12:20 pm

What Am I Doing with the Kids this Summer?

I hate planning summer activities, so I appreciated the prompt for the #TuesdayTen linkup about your summer bucket list because it was probably the only way I would ever be forced to come up with stuff for my kids to do that don’t involve a DS or marathon viewings of Ben 10.

Here’s the list…

Winnebago road trip to Mammoth Caves. My husband is all over the RV thing. I think he’s watched too many episodes of Extreme RVs. I want to take a test run before plunking down a bagillion dollars for one. The caves are close and the only way I am camping, especially with kids, is in a Winnebago. I am a germophobe and I would likely be apoplectic from the time we arrive, especially if I had to use a public toilet and shower with them. I can hear me now, “Don’t touch that! Why are you eating that flower? No, you cannot pet the foaming-at-the-mouth squirrel!”

Make wildflower daisy chains. I have no idea how to do this, but it seems like such a summery thing to do. I have a feeling I’ll fail miserably, the kids will walk away after a few minutes and I’ll be left trying to tie just one flower into my daughter’s hair. With my luck, it will be ant-infested, and the ants will invade the RV when I try to wash them out of her hair and we’ll have to sleep under the stars and use a port-a-potty.

Catch (and release!) fireflies. Don’t know how this will go either. I am a little squeamish about closing my hand over the fireflies to catch them. If they tickle me, I’ll probably squish the bug as an involuntary reflex, and scar the kids for life. They go to their therapist talking about their mom the bug killer. Maybe I’ll make the husband do this.

Eat watermelon until the whole family is about to pop. Who am I kidding? We do this every year. Watermelon does not last a day in our house.

Stop and stare at the caterpillars. Have you ever looked at these fuzzy beasts? They’re pretty cute. I can deal with this type of teach and learn activity. All I’ll have to do is prevent my daughter from hugging it too tight. Although, at least she’d be labeled the bug killer and not me.

Image

Lake Logan in the Hocking Hills, a favorite place to hike.

Take a hike where we walk too slow and stare too long at the trees. Sometimes I feel like our hikes are a session of speed walking to catch the faster members of the family, sprawling on the bench while waiting for everyone to catch up, and then carrying the kids for a few miles when they get tired. I’d like for all of us to go slow and really appreciate what we’re seeing. Maybe even look up once in a while. Oh, and I’ll get some sort of kid carrier for my husband so he can do the heavy lifting.

Feed some ducks. I know. It’s all fun and games until one of the ducks starts chasing you for your bag of bread. Note to self… make the hubs carry the bread bag.

Campout in our backyard and make smores. Or just eat the chocolate. I LOVE smores, but the kids just like the chocolate so I end up eating more marshmallows and graham crackers than my hips appreciate. I may be able to get away with handing the kids a chocolate bar and sitting beside our firepit one evening. I am sure my waistline will thank me for it.

Stargaze, and make up our own constellations. Who can tell what constellation is what? For the life of me, I can never see what the stars are supposed to be. Who gets a lion out of four stars randomly clumped together? Even with the lines on a stargazing chart, I don’t see it. I think someone made it all up so the artsy types look stupid. The only exceptions are the Dippers, but I think anyone can see those, so they don’t really count.

Swim until the kids turn into raisins….. while I sit on the sidelines with a margarita. Now that’s what I call summer.

I really hope we can do all of this over the summer. It would make for a great back to school report. The kids can talk about eating chocolate until they threw up, their mom squashing bugs, and their dad getting attacked by ducks. Now those are the kind of memories you hold with you forever.

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May 7, 2014 · 4:22 pm

The Seven Things That Haunt Me From My Childhood

When I go shopping with my daughter, she will invariably find something that she MUST have. When I tell her no, she usually asks that I buy it for her birthday. I can only hope that she forgets about it before then. Lately, when she asks, it reminds me of all the things I asked my mother for and was never given.

Not that I’m bitter. And it’s not like I have a list of those items right at my command. Oh. Wait. Yes I do.

Teddy is the cutest!

Teddy is the cutest!

1. Teddy Ruxpin. For those of you who don’t know, Teddy was a toy that when you put a cassette tape in his back, he would read you the story. The eyes and mouth moved, and he interacted with you. It was a miracle moment that made artificial intelligence seem real. Okay, let’s be honest, I really wanted to put my Bangles tape in and have Teddy sing along.

Alf? Garfield? Awesome!

Alf? Garfield? Awesome!

2. Shrinky Dinks. You color them, put them in the oven, and THEY SHRINK! Even better, you could watch them shrivel up right there in the oven, and turn into tiny, little raisins. Did it ever happen in my oven? No. There were no raisins for me. Only a heart shriveled by sadness.

3. Baton/pogo stick. These outdoor toys were hours of fun at my friend’s house. She and I would take turns twirling and trying to stay upright on the pogo stick. We usually ended up hitting ourselves in the head or skinning a knee or other appendage. I knew deep in my soul that if I had one, or both, I would be able to perfect my technique and go on to fame and fortune. Wouldn’t you pay to see a girl on a pogo stick, twirling a baton?

You can see the conversation flowing through the phone!

You can see the conversation flowing through the phone!

4. Clear telephone. How cool was this? You could see the inside of the phone! Again, technology was totally rad during the 80s, and being able to see how things worked, was the raddest! And then there were the phones that also had neon lights in them. Clear and neon? Gossip would be so much juicier! “Like, oh my God! So, Bobby talked to Amy, who talked to Candace, and she says he thinks you’re cute! Squee!” See? Better!

Pucker up, Buttercup!

Pucker up, Buttercup!

5. Kissing Potion. My friends had it, and I wanted it to wear all the delicious flavors too! Then I could make out with all of the boys I talked to on my clear telephone. Between this and Lip Smackers, there was no end to the cherry-flavored love I could share.

6. Strawberry Shortcake doll. Okay, I did have one. But that was because I stole it. Yes. It’s true. I am a thief. I loved Strawberry Shortcake. I wanted a cat like Custard, and friends like Orange Blossom. And, Strawberry smelled so good. So, one time when my cousin was over, she brought a Strawberry Shortcake doll with her. I played with her the whole time, and when it came time for my cousin to go home, I hid Strawberry. My mom eventually found her and returned her to my cousin. And I never forgave her for parting me from my sweet-smelling Strawberry Shortcake.

The only way to look totally rad!

The only way to look totally rad!

7. T-shirt clip. All of my friends wore long t-shirts and leggings. But there was one friend who wore it with more panache than all of us; Jennifer. She was all of three apples high, had a perfect side ponytail and awesome leather LA Gear shoes. We all wanted to look like her. I tried, so hard, but my hair was too short, I was gangly and I had absolutely no way to tie my shirt off to the side. My mom would not buy me a t-shirt clip, so I had to settle for a scrunchie to tie my shirt. Or even worse, I had to tie my shirt in a knot. A knot! It was such a great indignity. It’s a miracle I ever recovered.

Many, many years later, I know why my mom refused to get me all of those things. I would have played with Teddy a few months and thrown out the Shrinky Dinks after they shrunk. And, seriously, should I be kissing any boys? No! It’s a good thing I never had any Kissing Potion. My knotted t-shirts and I were better off without all of it. I only hope that my daughter realizes that when I say no, it’s said with love. That and I don’t want her kissing anyone. At least not until she’s married.

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May 3, 2014 · 10:17 pm

Scenes from a Dance School Waiting Room

Every Saturday, I trundle my tiny ballerina off to dance class. While she pliés, I sit in the waiting room and have an experience straight out of Sartre.

Cat dancing

Not my kid, but I think this is how she looks in class.

Racing at the speed of light to make my daughter not nearly as late as she is, I toss her into the classroom and take my seat. By then, Dance Dad has already started talking.

Dance Dad is the token male in the group. He has a baby with him, and he expects everyone to want to know all about his kid’s milestones. Did you know that his son is learning to walk? He is a little unsteady on his feet and is very hesitant about being upright. He’s also big for his age, but the doctor’s not worried.

Oh, do go on. Please. This is all so very interesting to me since I’ve only been through parenting babies twice.

Dance Dad’s magic baby crawls all over the place, eats other kids’ snacks and generally has a free reign. Why? Because when Dance Dad isn’t ignoring his kid by talking to everyone, he is absorbed by his iPad.

The first object of his soliloquy is the Trapped Mother. She has a baby roughly the same age as Dance Dad’s, so of course she wants their babies to play together and hear all about Dance Dad’s baby.

No, no she doesn’t.

Poor thing has a deer caught in the headlights look. She probably wants to give her kid Puffs and walk the baby around the room on her tiny spaghetti legs.

I am smarter than Trapped Mother. I buried my head into my Kindle as soon as I could whip it out. Of course, the kids had the volume cranked up, and it was blaring Candy Crush music for a good minute before I could figure out how to silence it. I guess there is no real accounting for my intelligence.

Dance Dad has a little assistance from Nosy Grandma, who is no relation to Dance Dad, but as her name implies, she works her way into every conversation. It started innocuously enough; commenting to her husband, who never uttered anything more than a grunt, about the other conversations going on around her. If Dance Dad talks about a large baby, Nosy Grandma talks to her husband about some baby that she knew who was very large.

Eventually, Nosy works her way in to the conversation, and by that I mean a one-sided stream from Dance Dad, and they have a fanciful volley of one-upmanship. Poor Trapped Mother was now doubly screwed. It was a tractor beam, and she was sucked in. She didn’t even notice when her daughter dropped Puffs on the floor and started eating them.

I gagged a little, but didn’t want to draw any attention to myself by letting her know that her child was contracting Ebola from a dirty floor.

Dance Dad and Nosy Grandma discuss the state of Ohio’s schools and how they each know a school district worse than the last, and kids with even less education than the other. I almost passed out by how far my eyes rolled up into my head.

To distract myself, I looked around the room. One poor mom was so far gone that she let her sons run up and down the hallway screaming at the top of their voices. Another spread out her work on three chairs so no one would get close to her. Poor things. They looked like the walking wounded. Their souls crushed from their encounters with Dance Dad.

The smartest was the woman talking to her daughter in Japanese. At least if she pretended to not speak English she wouldn’t have to be caught in Dance Dad’s tractor beam. I must learn how to do that by next week. Maybe I could be mistaken for French. Or at least French Canadian.

Parlez-vous la danse? Oui! Oui!

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