New Blog

Hello all 5 followers and 8 readers!

I have a new blog and probably will no longer be posting on this one.

I know, I know. It's so confusing.

Here's my new blog. Please feel free to follow me there.

It's kind of lonely so far.

www.sunfuzziesaredelicious.blogspot.com

Yes, it's called "Sun Fuzzies Are Delicious."

Pleae come follow me there. I'll be so happy if you did.

The future of Lounge Lizards

Does anybody remember the old Bill Murray "lounge lizard" routine from Saturday Night Live?

If I remember correctly, he was dressed in tight pants and a shiny 70s type shirt singing the words "Star Wars...Nothing but Star Wars..." to the tune of the Star Wars Theme.

Then he said things like, "Don't ever change. Not for me. Not for nobody. Babe. It is 'Babe', isn't it?"

Does anyone ever want to grow up and become a Lounge Lizard? Do they even exist anymore? It's been about 15 years since I've been in a "Lounge" type atmosphere and I can't remember any Lizards with microphones. I could be wrong, though.

Here's the thing-

For all of our hard work spent with character training and raising her up to be a good pre-schooler, I think my daughter has a future as a Lounge Lizard.

My daughter has this play microphone. It's one of those that has a reverberating (is that a word? Maybe I should have said "vibrating") string in it and it's shaped so that it echoes around the vibrating (reverberating? Oh, you know what I mean) string to give it a very loud, obnoxious sound.

At first, my daughter used it to star in her own musical. That's our fault. We subject her to Disney musicals and Fred Astaire movies, what did we expect? She danced around making up her own stories and then bursting into song (using the microphone). For awhile it was really very cute.

But then something happened to my child. It was like wires in her head got crossed somehow. I can't figure out what caused it. And this adorable little singing sensation became the type of person that your mother warns you about.

Thankfully, so far she's only tried her routine out on the fish in the fountain in our backyard.

Pre-Schooler: (holding microphone out to fish) So, what brings you here? (Waits for answer) Uh-huh. Wanna hear a joke? I know. I know. It's so funny. What did the boy Octopus say to the girl Octopus? Ready? 'I want to hold your hand, hand, hand, hand, hand, hand'...Get it? Anyway..."

Does that not sound like a Lounge Lizard in the making?

I hope it's just a phase.

Common Haiku

So I guess some of the media got tired of talking about Usama Bin Laden all the time and decided to turn their attention to more important things.

Like who is being invited to the Presidential Poetry Night.

Up until recently, I didn't even know the President had a poetry night. I tried going to a poetry night at a coffee shop and I thought something must be wrong with me because I didn't get much out of it.

I think Shakespeare is poetry, so if they had read Shakespeare all night it would have been different. Maybe.

My favorite form of poetry, though, is Haikus. They're so much fun to write. You can write them about almost anything.

But I digress.

The President invited some guy named "Common" (I'm not even sure that's how you spell it) to the poetry night and apparently this guy is kinda famous for being political and controversial. Like loving Obama, hating President Bush, and using all kinds of unkind words. I never heard of him before recently, so I'm wondering how famous can this guy be?

On the other hand, it was only several months ago I learned that Lady Gaga was a singer and not a new kind of cheap body spray. Speaking of which, does anyone remember the body spray called "Jean Nate" or the one called "Baby Soft"? Did I just date myself?

I digress again.

I think if they were looking for a good poet, they should have asked my Mother because she writes awesome Haikus and she LOVES Obama. She would have been a shoo-in for poetry night.

For those of you who don't know, a Haiku is a form of Japanese poetry. It consists of three lines. The first line being 5 syllables long, the second being 7, and the third being 5 syllables again.

It looks something like this:

Poet called Common?
Who is he? He has issues.
His mouth needs some soap.


See? It's easy.

And it's a great stress reliever. You should try it some time.

As I said before, my Mom is really great at writing Haikus. This is the one she emailed me for Mother's Day. By the way, Chloe is my daughter.


A Mother's Day Haiku
by Lisa's Mom

OMG Chloe
Where is my new underwear?
Is that a new hat?


For those of you who don't have children who put your underwear on their heads, this makes no sense. I laughed out loud.

Haikus rock. Instead of a poetry night the President should have Haiku night.

And he should invite my Mom to perform.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Comfort Food...

It's the day before Mother's Day.

Happy Mother's Day to all the Moms out there.

This is how my day went.

We took my daughter to the local High School this morning to have a swim evaluation done. This is a prerequisite to being able to sign up for summer swim lessons. And she really, really needs swim lessons.

While waiting in line at lane four, a child about 4 families ahead of us started crying that he didn't want to get into the pool. I thought, "Boy, I'm glad I'm not that parent", because I would have no idea what to do in that situation. Thankfully, it seemed that my daughter was excited to do her swim evaluation and to take swim lessons.

When we got to the front of the line, the sweet High School girl evaluating this line of children, said to my daughter, "Do you want to come in?"

"Sure," said my daughter, throwing off her shoes.

But then came the task of figuring out a way to get in to the pool. Once my daughter realized she had no easy way to get in to the pool, but was going to have to rely on the kindness of strangers, she freaked out. She became a trembling mass of jell-o. She did what the sweet High School girl asked her to do, but she did it shaking all over and repeatedly saying, "I don't like this."

By the time sweet High School girl had brought my daughter back to the edge, she was crying, "I want my Mommy! I want to get out!"

I was THAT parent. It's too long and embarrassing to explain how I handled the situation. Let's just say that my daughter's pre-school teacher was in the next line and will have a lot to tell the other teachers on Monday.

We are still going to give swimming lessons a try, because I am determined that this child knows how to swim.

That was my morning.

This afternoon, I was helping my daughter with some project she was doing, and I went to go sit down on the chair next to our breakfast table, but I missed the chair completely and managed to land, hard, on my hand and right cheek. (My bottom cheek, not my face). It took me several minutes to convince myself I could stand up, and several minutes after that to attempt walking anywhere.

My whole backside is achy and it is a pain that is spreading up to my shoulder blades.

I have pain killers somewhere in this house, but I refuse to take any until both my children are asleep and I know I have several hours before I have to function.

Somehow I managed to drive myself to the store, buy a few groceries, and put together dinner.

I made guacamole for a snack while I was cooking, because guacamole is one of my comfort foods.

And here's what I did for dinner.

Pay close attention because when you have a bad day, you can make this sauce and then everything will seem better.

I browned some steaks in a skillet using olive oil and then put them on a plate in the oven to warm. I once overheard a co-worker say that olive oil releases toxins at a certain temperature and therefore should not be used for cooking, but only for salad dressing, but clearly this co-worker has some deep issues that I can't even begin to understand.

What am I going to use? Vegetable oil? Um, no. Canola oil? Did you know canola oil is really bad for you, because there's no such thing as a canola. I use it anyway, but I'm just saying. Butter?

Well, I could use butter, but we are on diets around here and I use butter enough as it is.

So I browned some steaks in a skillet. Alton Brown's rule is "you only turn the steaks once". I try. I really try. But I end up turning the steaks more than once, mentally beat myself for doing so, and then make a sauce to cover up any mistake I may have made with the steaks.

Here's the sauce:

*After removing steaks from the skillet and putting them on a plate (cover them with foil, or keep them warm in the oven), add a little more olive oil to the pan.
Make a mental note that the steaks will continue to cook, so don't overcook them in the pan.

*Add sliced onion to the pan and proceed to saute (saw-tay) in the oil until they are brown and translucent. Scrap up what brown bits you can.

*Add as much as 2 tablespoons flour to pan. Stir around the pan with the onions on not too high of a heat. Make sure the flour thoroughly coats the onion and starts to turn a golden color.

*SLOWLY add in 1/2 cup of soy sauce (I prefer low sodium)

*Continue to stir frequently, and SLOWLY add in 1/2 cup decent red wine. (If you use two buck chuck, I will slap you silly).

*Continue to stir frequently, scraping up any remaining brown bits on the pan, and SLOWLY add 1 cup milk. (I use two percent, but you can use whole milk or even heavy cream if you are particularly indulgent. Whatever you do, don't use fat free. Yuck!)

*Turn up heat a bit and stir frequently (close to constantly) until the sauce starts to bubble around edges and you can get a layer of sauce on the back of your spoon. Run your finger through the sauce on your spoon. If you leave a stripe, you can call it ready.

Take off heat.

Spoon over steaks and serve. I served this with a pear and gorgonzola salad and a nice red wine.

One last note, some people are steak purists. They think putting a sauce on a steak is evil and preach against it. In general, I agree with them. If I know someone good (like a nice restaurant) is cooking my steak, I will leave it "naked". Well, maybe I might order some grilled onions or blue cheese crumbles, but mostly have a naked steak. Once again, I state I was in pain and making comfort food so the evils of covering my steak can be further explored at a later date.

As the hours pass, my pain increases and I worry about my ability to make it to the Mother's Day champagne brunch I have been so looking forward to.

On the upside, my daughter lived through her swim evaluation and promised to give swimming lessons a try, my baby only threw up on my foot once tonight, and I was blessed with a pretty good Mom myself. Oh, and I had a pretty nice dinner.

Our new used car is in the shop again.

It's been in the shop for two days because this little airbag light came on.

I really don't see why a car would need to be in the shop for two days for a tiny little light on the dash, but apparently it's a big deal if you get in a car accident and your airbags don't go off.

Consequently, I have been stuck in the house for two or three days with a four year old and an 8 month old. This is very disturbing to me because usually when I can't think of anything to do, I say, "Get your shoes on. We're going out!" I can still say that, I mean, we go for walks and stuff, but it's almost ninety degrees outside and I'm a wimp. And going for a walk can only take up so much of your time.

So here's what we've done since we've been homebound: made brownies, ate brownies, played Rapunzel (Chloe always gets to be Rapunzel-we attach a scarf to the back of her dress underneath her real hair and let the scarf hang down. Then I pretend to climb up it. We do this over and over), glued construction paper to an old diaper box and decorated the box, made noodle art, worked on math skills and sight words, played games on the computer, folded laundry, made a zoo out of stuffed animals, and whined when we didn't get our way (we all did that). We also played outside with the water table and splashed each other.

Oh, and the grown-ups had Bible Study at our house last night. Our Bible Studies go like this: we have snacks and drink and then we study the book of Hebrews. We have been in chapter two of Hebrews for over a month now. This is not for lack of concentrating, on the contrary, we happen to disect and focus on and discuss almost every little nuance of the text.

Last night, the subject of Jesus being tempted in the garden of Gethsemane came up. We talked about how it is likely Gethsemane is the point where Jesus takes on the full realization of what taking on the sins of the world actually means. It's heavy. Really heavy. On top of that, Satan comes along and tempts Jesus again (Remember, he tempted Him in the desert). This time, the temptations come with the weight of all humanity in play, so to speak. Again...heavy stuff.

This morning I remembered a speaker that I heard at a woman's retreat I was attending a few years ago. The subject was the garden of Gethsemane. Here's kind of a summary of what I remember, in my own words, not the speakers, because as I said it was a few years ago.

We (as women) size each other up. We compare ourselves to other women all the time. Are we prettier? Smarter? Is this woman a threat to me? We may not even be aware that we are doing it, but we know we all do it.

Here's what we need to keep in mind. "Every woman has her Gethsemane." In other words, if something hasn't happened to you yet to make you feel like the weight of the world is on you in a very heavy way, it will. And if we keep this idea in mind when we look at each other, we won't be so quick to see the negative. More likely, we'll be quick to feel a sort of comradeship or kindredness. (Is that a word?) Somewhere in the back of our mind we can think, "Hey, I've been there too."

Now of course, if you want to get technical, we won't ever have a Gethsemane experience like Jesus had. But Jesus had that experience so He could say in a very real way, "Hey, I've been there too."

Anyway, that's my thought for today.

And being stuck in the house without a car for a few days is an inconvenience, but it's no Gethsemane.

Thank goodness.

Reflection on this day in history...

And so the United States celebrates around the world at the death of Osama bin Laden.

In case you've been living in a cave, that's the dude that heads up that terrorist organization that's responsible for about 3,000 deaths on Sept. 11, 2001 among other things.

He really ticked me off with that and personally, I think the guy was pretty evil and I was thankful that that's one less person to be spreading evil around.

But if you look on facebook there have been a lot of reflective statements about Osama's death, including some dear friends who have reminded me that as christians, we are to also show mercy and grace and not dance on graves.

I'd like to post some of the cool things that were said by my friends on facebook. Some of them made me laugh and some made me cry and some made me feel convicted...well, you get the idea.

And then I'll close with what my husband posted because I think it says it all for me.

1) Score : Waldo-1, Osama-0
2) One nation, UNDER GOD, indivisible with Liberty and Justice for all
3) It's always a good day when you get the bad guy
4) Read Ezekiel 33:11
5) Thank you to our men on the ground who fought the good fight
6) Thanks to our troops
7) The sight of a crowd peacefully but proudly waving my red, white, and blue is a beautiful sight.

The truth is, they all said it better than I could. I don't think I feel emotional to the extent that the families of the victims of 9/11 feel, but I have to admit-when I saw a group of firemen standing straight on top of a firetruck in New York, it hit me that these men know men who sacrificed their lives to save the lives of our fellow Americans.

And that is a beautiful thing.

To see a group of young people standing outside the White House chanting "USA! USA!" is a beautiful thing.

To, for even a brief moment, put aside our political differences and appreciate the magnitude of what has taken place is a beautiful thing.

To know that the men who went in and brought down Osama didn't die themselves, is a beautiful thing.

To hear a group of military students sing the Star Spangled Banner is a beautiful thing.

I guess I could go on and on.

And no, it's not right to dance on anyone's grave in anger and it is right to reflect on what might have been in a perfect world and to show mercy and grace.

But I also think it's right to assume our God is a just God and sometimes he allows justice on this world, in this lifetime.

As my husband said: "I can pray for even this villain's soul, but where temporal justice is concerned, some folks just need killin'"

One last thanks to the Navy Seals. They rock.

And I will sing the Star Spangled Banner a little louder this year at the 4th of July fireworks.

Car fight and Rapunzel Hair

I love our new used minivan.

Right now I'm sitting in the front seat blogging away as my husband takes us to our exciting destination- the Festival of Books in LA.

I'm on my iPhone, by the way, so I have no idea how this will look when I post it.

But that's not important. What's important is that my husband is throwing out what I like to call "Chris' fascinating facts" while my children fight in the back seat.

For example, "Did you know that cruise ships have jet engines now?"

Fascinating facts (and he's got hundreds of them) are actually more pleasant than what's gone on the in the seat behind me. I didn't know an 8 month old and a 4 year old could already know how to do the whole sibling fighting thing in the car.

And I didn't know a 4 year old could find so many things to cry about.

Both kids are sitting next to each other. My 4 year old has burst out crying and said (five times now) "ow! Ian pinched me!"

The first time she spit at him (!) and I gently said, "Don't spit at your brother! He's just a baby, honey, he doesn't know he's hurting you."

After the fifth time, both my husband and I threatened to turn the car around. It's then that I remembered we have a whole other back seat. Which is where I will move my daughter when we stop for gas.

I love this car.

By the way, the other thing my daughter was crying about was that she wants to wear her Rapunzel hair (a long scarf I tucked into the back of her dress so she can pretend) into the book festival. This may be a battle I choose not to fight. So if you go to the festival today, you may see a small blondish girl trailing a long scarf out of her dress singing about being in a tower and having a dream. That would be my child.

Just Go To Bed!

I'm not blogging about how difficult bedtime is around my house.

Although it is a challenge.

This time I'm blogging about Children's Literature.

How many of you (the eight people that read my blog) are familiar with Mercer Mayer's 'Just Go To Bed!'

I adore that little book.

I love how the little creature-what is that creature anyway?-has so many stories going on in his head and plays pretend through the whole book while his Dad tries to get him to go to bed.


But you know what I love most about this little book? I love that the illustrator of the book drew these little creatures looking slightly frazzled.
Because whenever I get up in the morning, or during lunch time, or when I've lost the baby's new sippy cup again, or when my daughter throws a fit because she can't watch 'Little Einsteins' one more time,...you get the idea...I think of those frazzled looking creatures in the book and I feel a bit better. Look at those creatures. You'll see what I mean and you'll never look at the book the same way again.

And by the time bed time rolls around and I'm ready to say "Just go to bed!", I know there is some parent out there experiencing the same thing because Mercer Mayer wrote a book about it.

Man and Woman Buy A Car

Our Jeep finally gave up and said, "I'm through with you guys. I'm done. No more." At least that's what it said in my head.

We were faced with two choices.

Go shopping for a new used car, or pay the huge amount of money it would cost to fix the Jeep. Usually shopping appeals to me. You would think that since I have been shopping for new used cars on the internet for over a year now, I would be excited about the prospect of finally getting my hands on a different car. But the Jeep just picked the wrong week to quit. We've been so overwhelmed with work and the kids, that we were both just exhausted at the idea of looking for another car.

Onward we moved, though. Like good little soldiers we toughened up and started searching on the Internet for cars. I made a list of used cars within what I thought our price range was and I handed the list over to my husband and told him to "get to work" on getting us a car.

Enter the good, the bad, and the ugly differences between this man and this woman who have sworn forever to love and cherish each other. I am happy to say that not once did we fight like cats and dogs over this, but I did feel like crying every now and then.

My husband is a researcher. My husband is slow to make a decision. My husband would take a year to find the perfect car for us if he could.

I am impulsive. I hate negotiating. Enough said.

We test drove a few cars. We narrowed down our choices to three. We got cornered with sales people a few times trying to offer us their best deal. We walked out. The first time we walked out, I nearly had a panic attack. I've never done that before. Walk out. I was afraid I'd hurt the nice car salesman's feelings. I was afraid someone else would snatch up my car.

My husband sent my head reeling when he said the Internet said that in order to get the best deal, you have to walk out more than once.

By the time we had selected the car we wanted, I was nearly curled up in a fetal position on the floor. We had gone back and forth about mileage, year, model, and make, of cars. We (my husband, let's be honest) had entertained the idea of getting the Jeep fixed (to which I said, "YOU can get the Jeep fixed. I'm not driving that car anymore." ) My husband assured me that the negotiation of the car we wanted could happen by phone.

"You do it," I said.

Now here's where testosterone kicks in and men are in their element. Exhausted as he was, my husband managed to talk them down $1,600 from their original asking price. By the time he was down to negotiating the last ten dollars, I was so anxious I threw my hands up in the air and said, "Just take the deal."

He did it. And now we have a MiniVan. We have a Minivan that has an engine that's already giving us problems and the back passenger door won't open. My husband's taking it to the mechanics at the dealer today. Thank goodness we have a warranty.

I bet my husband finds something to negotiate about anyway.

The Difference Between Boys and Girls

Well, the Jeep died again. That's another car story for another day, because I'm not sure how the story ends. On a totally different note... Now that my baby boy is 7 1/2 months old, my husband and I have definitely noticed a difference between our boy baby and when my daughter was a baby. Here's a few examples. When my daughter was a baby, she would delicately pluck threw carpet fuzz and her car seat foam and eat them both. My son can pick up an entire wipie container with one hand and seemingly try and eat the whole thing. My daughter would giggle and coo. My son laughs out loud, yelps, and hollers. All the time. He's especially loud when he's trying to beat some sort of object against the floor with all his might. Like he can kill it. My daughter showed signs of being curious at an early age. My son can already pull himself to a standing position, grab whatever items I put on the couch to get them out of his reach, and pull them down to the floor with a look of triumph. And then attack them like he's out to kill them. My daughter would lie still to get her diaper changed. My son will do a complete three-sixty several times during a diaper change. I'm usually sweating by the time I have him fully dressed again. My daughter could skip a bath every now and then. It seems like my son needs them every 5 hours. I tried to explain the yelping thing to my co-worker, Jana, when she brought her precious one year old, over for a playdate. She said, "Oh, that's just language aquisition." I wonder what language exactly is he trying to acquire? Because it's one I've never heard before. I'm exhausted all the time, my house is constantly a mess, and I haven't had a haircut in 8 months. By the way, I adore this little guy. Seriously, I'm crazy about him.

Hotel Life from the Perspective of a Four Year Old

A few weeks ago, my Aunt passed away. She was 88 years old.

I decided to trek the kids to Tahachapi to go to the service for my Aunt.

My kids have traveled farther in a car than this, but because we were staying over night in a nice hotel, it seemed like a real "trip" somewhere.

This is what I imagine my daughter's first experience in a hotel was like.

How to experience a hotel if you've just turned four years old.


1) Run through big glass doors.
2) Run around lobby and climb all over lobby furniture while Mommy isn't looking.
3) Wait patiently (while singing) in hotel lobby for Mom to go get the luggage.
4) Ask if you can have a ride on luggage cart. Whine when mom says no.
5) Whine when Mom tells you to push stroller to room because Mom's hands are full pushing luggage cart.
6) When you get to the door of your hotel room say loudly, "I don't want to stay here. I want to go home."
7) When Mom opens door to hotel room run inside and say, "WOW!"
8) Find all the lights and turn them on and off while Mom is trying to get baby settled
9) Jump on bed. Get yelled at. Cry. Bounce on bed on knees. Ignore Mommy sighing.
10) Point out to Mom that it has an "office" (desk with desk lamp) for Mom to work
11) Point out big TV
12) Run into big bathroom and make mental note of how big potty is.
13) Say that your hungry.
14) Eat hamburger and french fries on top of suitcase while watching TV
15) Get jammies on. Run around room in jammies.
16) When Mom finally says, "Time to settle down. What bed do you want?" Make a big deal out of choosing a bed. Turn Mommy's bed light off for her. Turn it on for her. Turn your light on. Turn it off. Whine when Mommy says, "Okay, that's enough."
17) Crawl into bed with "lovies" and games. Wait for Jeri (Mom's step-mom) to arrive to play with you and the baby while Mommy works.
18) Watch TV with Jeri in bed. Climb out of bed. Get back in bed.
19) Say goodnight to Jeri. Sing while Mommy takes a shower.
20) Finally go to sleep.
21) Have continental breakfast in hotel lobby. Ask for everything. Eat nothing.
22) Cry when you have to check out. Say that you don't want to leave.

Car Story #2: The Maui Car

So here is car story number two.

My mom has owned a variety of fun (read: about to fall apart at the seams) cars in her time.

When I was really little she owned an Austin Marina. (I was really little). I liked that car.

But the BEST car my mom ever owned was this beat up white Fiat. We called it the Maui car. Not only because we lived on Maui at the time (I was about 12 years old), but because Maui cars had a reputation for being awful, but not so awful that they couldn't get you to the beach, which was the whole point of owning a car on Maui.

This fun Fiat had it all. I remember it had holes in the floor of the car in places so you could watch the road rush by under you. It had holes in the roof where the sea air had rusted through. When it rained, we had to put towels on our seats and on our laps because the rain would come through the roof and land on your head and your clothes. If you didn't wear a towel over your lap, the rain would stain your clothes.

The Fiat was also very noisy. It had a broken muffler. You could hear the car coming from down the street. My friends got so good at recognizing the sound of the Fiat that when I would go over to their house, 2 minutes before my mom would pull up in their driveway, they would say, "Your mom is here."

The piece de la resistance was the trunk. The trunk was so tempermental it would pop open everytime the car went over a speed bump, or a pot hole, or a mongoose that had become roadkill, or if you played music too loud.

So picture this. Every day my mom would drive me to Kula Elementary School. Every day the Principal, Mr. Kanimitsu, would stand in front of the school to welcome the students. Every day my mom would drive her noisy car over the speed bump right in front of Mr. Kanimitsu. Every day my mom would lean across the passenger seat and yell out the window that was broken and didn't roll up all the way, " Good Morning, Mr. Kanimitsu! Do you mind putting the trunk down?"

Mom loves to tell the story about how one day she was carpooling myself and my snotty science fair project partner, Kimberly, to school. Kimberly sat in the back seat scrunched down so as not to be seen by others.

Mom got pulled over by a Maui cop. Mom starts searching frantically for her Driver's License, which she kept bundled up with her credit cards and business cards held together by a rubber band.

My mom asked what seemed to be the problem or something like that. The officer proceeds to tell my mom her muffler is too loud. The following conversation is true. No words have been altered to protect the innocent junior highers in the back seat.

Cop: Ma'am, your muffler is too loud.
Mom: What?!? (shouting over loud muffler)
Cop: TURN OFF THE CAR. YOUR MUFFLER IS TOO LOUD!
Mom: (still searching frantically for license) WHAT?!?
(cue kids sinking lower in back seat)
Cop: YOUR. MUFFLER. IS. TOO. LOUD.
Mom: ( I promise this is true) (turning off car) I'm sorry. I can't hear you. My muffler is too loud.
(pause)
Cop: (heavy sigh) Just get it fixed.
(Cop walks back to motorcycle)

Mom drives off to school, just around the corner. Hits speed bump. Trunk pops open.
Two girls crawl out of the back seat with notebooks blocking their faces.

Mom: Good Morning, Mr. Kanimitsu! Would you mind putting the trunk down?

Kim never carpooled with us again. That's okay, I didn't really like her anyway.

Car Story #1: Pinto on Fire

I love car stories.

I decided to include some car stories on my blog because I find them humorous. Since only about 8 people read my blog at any given time, I mostly write for myself anyhow.

So here is car story number one.

I once dated (like 20 some odd years ago) this guy named Joe. I still know Joe, and he's still one of my favorite people. I adore his wife even more, so I don't think either of them will mind if I tell this story. I also don't think they are two of the eight who read my blog.

Anyway, we were about 19 years old and Joe was taking me on a date in his green (if I remember correctly) 2 door Pinto. Joe likes cars and he liked to buy all these different parts for cars and fix cars up. So Joe decided that on the way to our date he wanted to stop by this place (read: car junk yard) where you can get inexpensive car parts (read: dirt cheap).

At this point in the story you should know that the passenger handle (on the inside of the car) didn't work. If Joe wanted to let me in his car, he HAD to open the door for me from the outside.

So we go to the car junk yard and park right outside. Joe goes in, gets the part he wants, and comes out in a timely manner. Joe opens the hood of the car. Joe starts car. Joe fiddles with car.

Engine catches on fire. Flames leap into the air.

I'm watching this all from the passenger seat.

"Fire!" I yell. (duh)

"Get out of the car!" Joe yells.

"I can't!" I yell. I yank on broken handle.

At this point in the story you should know that Joe worked for Baskin Robbins Ice Cream.
Joe runs to the trunk, grabs his Baskin Robbins uniform and proceeds to beat the heck out of the flames with his uniform.

Uniform burning!

Finally, Joe realizes I should probably be let out of the car. I am set free. Joe beats on flames with his uniform some more. Flames are out. Uniform is burned.

I think Joe made some comment about knowing how to show a girl a good time.

Teach Your Baby To Read?

I haven't blogged in awhile.

Life has been busy. Our whole house was sick for about 6 weeks. We just kept trading germs. It was really fun.

Being sick gave us a lot of time to watch TV. A lot. I know. That makes me a bad mom.

This bad mom saw the commercial for "Teach your baby to read" more times than I can count. If you haven't seen the commercial-let me explain.

Apparently, by using a bunch of flashcards with pictures (and corresponding words) you can teach your baby to read.

At first, the teacher part of me kicked in. I take it personally when these programs brag about how important it is for your baby to read without mentioning that before your baby should read, your baby should know shapes. And do all those baby things like babble and crawl and walk and use their senses to explore the world around them. It's how the brain works. There's a fancy teacher buzzword for it called "scaffolding" and it's actually pretty darn important. Without "scaffolding", you may 'teach' a concept, but heaven knows that concept won't stick in little brains worth a darn.

More importantly, though, was when I realized there were really no benefits in teaching my baby to read, but there were lots of benefits in keeping my baby in the dark for awhile.

For example, my now almost 4 year old can spell "cat". It's only a matter of time before she figures out nap is spelled n-a-p. There goes my ability to say, "She needs a n-a-p." I also like to spell c-r-a-n-k-y and d-e-s-s-e-r-t. The sooner my kids learn how to read, the sooner they learn how to spell, and then if I want to talk to my husband behind their backs, I actually have to pull him in to the other room so we can be alone. And if I pull him in the other room so we can be alone to talk, then I've left my almost 4 year old alone with the baby. Who knows what could happen? Then I might have to sue "Teach your baby to read" for not putting in the warning clause about how if someone uses the program then someone can't spell around their children anymore.

I might start a movement.