Where have I been you ask?

I've gone MIA, I admit it. (I also think that I have started my last 10 entries the same way)

It might be because I'm starting a small business (bilingual Spanish/English preschool). I've been hosting open houses, going to conferences, and brushing up on my arts and crafts skills. So writing this blog has fallen by the wayside. After working, feeding the kids, getting them to bed, and slugging down a bottle of wine, I just can't seem to find the time to blog.

OR...

It might be because my neighbors got a swimming pool and we've been spending all of our time over there relaxing, playing, and perfecting our butterfly. I know...how awesome is that? Right next door. Can't you just picture it?

Well, that would be nice, but this is really what cropped up next door. Right in their front yard. Right in our direct line of sight. Right where my kids can skip over and drown their little bodies.

Do you see now why I need to down a bottle of wine every night? And you thought your property value went down? Just be glad you don't live next to this!

And for the record, I had to sneak out at 6am to take these pictures because they are ALWAYS in the pool. 5 of them, just hanging out, trying to swim, but constantly stepping on each other's toes, screaming and laughing and oblivious to the eyesore they have left us with. AND...we haven't gotten an invitation to swim in that germ infested, pee-bowl.

Is it just me or...

When Paul from the Fraternal Order of Police calls do you tend to be nicer to him than any other telemarketer that would have the nerve to call at 6:30pm? The other suspects would barely even get through the mispronunciation of my name before I stated my distaste for calls during the dinner hour (but really I have a distaste for them at ALL hours), but when Paul calls, I feel like I need to be polite.

It went something like this...

Mrs. Kanoo?

Uh, I guess

This is Paul from the Fraternal Order of Police (aka Telemarketing City, I get paid $5/hour to make these calls) and first we would like to remind you and your family to never drink and drive. (Especially after you have spent a night with friends from your pre-kids days, and you think that one last glass of red wine isn't going to matter and we have that road block set up right on the corner of you neighborhood.)

OK...now he has my attention.

So Mrs. Kanoo, it is in these difficult time that we really need your help.

Oh Paul, you had me and then lost me again SO quickly. We don't have any money and if we did...well, I just won't go there. But I can't just hang up on him...can I? He's from THE Fraternal Order of Police.

Paul...I interrupt...I really appreciate you calling but...I am home alone with two kids trying to wrangle them in the bath, so it is a really bad time. (a really bad time because see, really I'm downstairs enjoying a glass of wine while my husband does all the heavy lifting in the bath tonight)

Sure thing ma'am, have a nice night. (I know your address, your phone, your family statistics...don't even bother trying to call 911...we know what a freak you are when it comes to emergencies.)

Am I right, or am I right?

A follow up

My husband is wonderful. Really. I mean that. But that doesn't mean a girl can't poke some fun every once in a while. And while he doesn't exactly read my blog, enough of our family reads it and heckled him on his last feeble attempt to give me some free time that you think he might have learned his lesson.

Or not.

Last weekend, at my in-laws house at the beach, I was given two options and allowed to choose which one I wanted:

Honey, he said with a giant smile on his face how about I give the kids a bath and you can just deal with the cable guy.

And in case you are someone like say...my mom...who always gives the person the benefit of the doubt (in this case, assuming that he is trying to strike a deal to his advantage). It was QUITE clear that he thought he was doing me a HUGE favor by giving the kids a bath while allowing me to follow the cable guy around the house trying to figure out why none of the TV's worked only to figure out that the power cords on ALL the cable boxes weren't working (only in New Jersey and only with Comcast!). So you know what I said?

Thanks, but no thanks. I'd rather give the kids a bath. Wait...did I really just say that? Must be the Jersey sea air that is making me a bit crazy...and him too for that matter!

Urghh ER

We've been to the ER a fair amount of times with our boy. And let me tell you, I don't do very well when looking crisis right in the eye. I cry, I hyperventilate, then I find my husband and hope he can deal.

First, there was the time that a piggy bank mysterious feel from the sky and donked him in the head. ** He had a cut on his head, it bled...it was his head...but in hindsight I should have known that it wasn't life threatening (in fact I should have known that a good old band aid would probably have done the job). So what do I do? Yup...I called 911. And as I was talking to the nice lady on the other end of the line and getting frustrated that all she wanted to know was if I needed an ambulance while I only wanted her to tell me if the pediatrician gave stitches, I took a few breaths, stopped bawling my eyes out, and realized I was over reacting just a wee-bit.

And then there was the time that he fell at the pool and we thought he broke his leg. That was...of course...until the nurse on the phone was asking me if he could put pressure on his foot as my boy was hopping on one foot (the injured foot) around the kitchen. So, you guessed it, no broken leg either.

So this weekend, our reaction to our little girl taking a tumble should come as no surprise. Don't get me wrong, the tumble she took was no joke. Head over heals, head bumping along the way, 15 steps down, and to add insult to injury, it was on yellow shag carpeting from 1980. I can't even accurately tell you what happened from there, I just know she had a bump the size of a large egg on her head and before I could say Natasha Richardson, we were in the car to the ER. But also in typical fashion, by the time we got to the ER we recognized that we were over-reacting a bit. And as we looked a the full waiting room, we wondered just how much we were over-reacting. And by they time the got us back to a "room" to see the Doctor, I think it is safe to say we knew she wasn't really hurt. Otherwise, I can't imagine we would have been taking pictures.

Long story short, she's fine and I'm getting better.

As we were driving home, my husband applauded me for not crying. I think he just didn't see the tears streaming down my face once the whole ordeal was over.

**maybe, just maybe, the true story is that I placed the piggy bank on top of the changing table and it rolled off and smacked the poor boy right in his big fat noggin.

One more thing

I also promise to NEVER have an egg hunt for 80+ kids and not have enough eggs. And if I ever did that, I might acknowledge that something went wrong and apologize to the 40 or so parents who were trying to console their crying children because they didn't find any eggs.

What a cluster f*&^.

The first of my promises

When I have my own preschool I promise:

To NEVER make your child take home a stuffed animal, pretend he is real, brush his teeth, take him to birthday parties, and make a photo album about the experience.

Why? you ask.

Because it is a MAJOR pain in the rear-end for all involved. And embarrassing to boot.

Even the little boy was over it by the end of the first afternoon...see?

I mean seriously. My almost 5 year old carried around this mangy monkey the whole weekend and I carried around the camera in order to document everything they did together. And this weekend...lordy...what didn't we do? Birthday parties, t-ball, egg hunts, grandparents visit...and the whole time I had to pretend like it was normal for my boy to carry around a stuffed animal and for me to talk about him like he was a member of the family...it was weird. But I did it. All in the name of not being the lamest parent in preschool.

Of course, I'm probably still the lamest parent in preschool because it seems like everyone else likes to have the monkey. Me...not so much. I couldn't wait to give him back this morning. Unfortunately, I left the dirty, ant-ridden (we had a bit of an outbreak and I was once found trying to pick the ants out of his "hair"...who says I didn't care for him?) toy at home and had to make an extra trip back to school so that Max didn't miss snack.

As my son pointed out at one point this weekend (I think it was somewhere between brushing his teeth and having him rinse and spit), "it is just a stuffed animal after all."

Buh-bye Max.

It's Official

I'm going back to work. The perfect opportunity has fallen into my lap and so we have:

The Tiny Explorers

A bilingual preschool (Spanish and English) for children aged 18 months to 3 years. Learning and exploring the world through language and play.

I'm SUPER excited about all of this, so excuse the shameless self-promotion. And think of all the crazy stories I'll be able to share next year!

He wasn't the only one who learned something

This weekend we headed to the beach. A change of scenery was in order and nothing says heaven like a beach house with orange shag carpeting. It was perfect. No need to do yard work, no tball practices to go to, and no birthday parties. It was calm, it was quiet, and it was relaxing.

That is until, of course, the little boy decided NOW was the time he would learn to ride his bike without training wheels. He is four and three quarters, after all.

My husband tried for about 3.2 seconds to help the boy. A little bit of yelling, a little bit of tears, and a lot of stubborn personalities crashing in the fresh Jersey beach air, and he was out. So I stepped up to the plate.

I'm the calmer one. The more patient parent. The one who yells, "stop being such a wuss!" Uh...what...bet you didn't see that one coming, did you? It just came out of my mouth. Somewhere between "pedal faster!", "stop leaning damn it!", and "are you trying to kill me?" I swear, something jumped in my body, took over, and made me the nasty stage mom I never thought I would be. Sing louder Louise.

But a couple of deep breaths, a swig of a very strong drink, and my husband with the video camera recording every minute of the experience WITH THE VOLUME ON, I pulled myself together. And so did the little boy. And next thing I know he was off to the boardwalk to get a hoagie and a tatoo (we were in Jersey after all!)

Mission accomplished.

Obama Arms

A friend of mine from college today put on her facebook status update, "I'm working on my Obama arms."

I knew instantly what she meant. Those sculpted, toned, always in a sleeveless dress arms that make me drool and lift 10 more reps when I'm at the gym. I want those arms too.

Earlier this week I read an article by Maureen Dowd in the New York Times that brought up the idea that people thought that Michelle Obama should cover up her arms. Enough already, they said. We've seen "thunder and lightening," she should cover up already. (if you have been living under a rock for the past 3 years, her arms are quite the toned arms, the envy of many!)

Uhhh...what???? Are we not in 2009?

Michelle Obama is a mom, a Harvard graduate, a multi-tasker, the first lady, and the inspiration to millions of women around the world. Why should she cover up her arms? They are just one more reason why I love her. Many people think that her husband Barack is an inspiration to all because he allows many people believe that they too can be president one day. Well...you know what???...I'm not one of those people. I never thought or will think that I can be president.

But I look at Michelle Obama and I think...I can be that mom. A good example, a volunteer, a compassionate and supportive partner, and a hot mama...I can be her.

Michelle...you hear me...don't you dare fall prey to the critics. Don't cover up those arms. Just like the education and degrees you have worked so hard for and show with pride. Flash those puppies, wear those sleeveless dresses, and give me inspiration each time I go to the gym.

I'm off in the morning to work on my Obama arms. Are you going to join me?

Watching the World Go By

I've been doing a lot of staring out the window lately. Mostly because, until lately, it has been too damn cold to go outside and I have been dreaming about warm spring days where we all can play outside. I see visions of kids on bicycles, kites flying, scooter riding, soccer playing, dog ball throwing...and of course, me with a seasonal margarita in hand. A week ago when we had six inches of snow, an injured back, and a puking kid...the dream seemed out of reach. But you know what?? This weekend my dream came true, well at least most of it.

This weekend it was finally nice out. We opened up the doors, windows, dusted off the kids Crocs, and headed outside to get some fresh air. I got the bikes out of the garage, pumped up the soccer balls, scraped the leaves and dirt out of the swing. threw the ball to the dog, and whipped up a batch of margaritas, followed up with a martini chaser. You know what was missing? The kids.

Well...OK...the little girl was game to swing, roll in the dirt, and eat the dog's tennis ball...but we couldn't find the boy ANYWHERE. Where was he?

Then I looked out the front door again and there he was. Sitting on the steps watching the boys next door (ages 8 and 11). I asked him,

Do you want to bike? play soccer? fly a kite? walk the dog? drink my margarita?

No, no, and no thank you, was his response. (we have been reading Miss Manners around here after all)

So what do you want to do? I asked.

I just want to sit here and watch the boys next door. Maybe they'll ask me to play today.

Now, I didn't want to run the risk of watering down my drink, but I swear there were tears in my eyes. His desperation to be older, to play with the big kids, to wish time away. It made me so sad and made me swear to never wish away time again....it is already going too fast.

Need some wine to whine

I've been really struggling to blog lately. It's not that I don't have things to say...lord no...that is hardly the case. But I get in front of the computer, log in, and then I just don't really feel up to story telling. OH...I SO want to tell you about selling the damn Bronco and how my lovely husband forgot to come home from work in time to settle up with the 6'5" burly mountain man that bought the truck. How he handed my thousands of dollars in cash and then couldn't get the car to start. My husband's other car was blocking the Bronco in, and when I went to move it, its battery was dead. So I had to put it in neutral and let it coast down the driveway. Did I mention the 6'5" mountain man, beard down to his chest, gentleman in my kitchen with my two young kids? Eventually the Bronco started, the very sweet and gentle mountain man (he played star wars with the boy as I hunted for the title of the car) drove away and I threw the kids into the car and sped my way to happy hour.

On my way home from happy hour, after telling the Bronco story to all my friends...including how he arrived in a Toyota Matrix Zip car...I formed the perfect blog. Short, sweet, humorous, and memorable. But when I actually go to write it...it doesn't come out that way. I've lost my blog mojo.

My only logical conclusion is that I need wine to blog. And see...I've given it up during the week. In an attempt to lose weight, I'm trying to cut out the alcohol from Sunday-Thursday. Sure, I might be losing weight, but I'm also losing any readers out there because I have been SO BORING. So have faith people, like all great writers before me, I'm going back to the juice. It is a new beginning, a rebirth, and the day after a snow day...I'm off to Costco in the morning for a case of wine and I should be back on track by the time the kids are in bed.

One of these is not like the other

I try really hard to cook and eat well. Don't get me wrong...I have my vices, weaknesses, and secret stashes...but for the most part, we eat healthy and try to keep the junk out of the pantry. So imagine my surprise when I was in the pantry this afternoon and tucked in, all flirty and cozy with the old-fashioned oats, was a can of Spam.

I don't care that Anthony Bourdain AND Barack Obama have both been popularizing spam sushi, this item has no place in MY pantry. The nerve of it to put its moves on my whole grain and organic food, and end up spooning with the oats.

So when I confronted the Spam pimp, aka my husband, and informed him that I found his nasty Spam, his response was, "you only found one?"

Uh, what? You brought a posse?

I don't care if you are "Crazy Zesty", let me assure you, this will be a one night stand only.

I'm alive

There are so many reasons that I have disappeared for nearly 2 weeks and here they are in no particular order:

1. I have been studying the dictionary to learn the definitions of starblaster, annihilated, destroy, implode, droid, robot (specifically the difference between droid and robot)...the list could go on forever. We are EXTREMELY focused on all things Star Wars around here and I am trying to keep up and answer all questions. R2D2 I can do, but it turns out I have no idea who the hell Padme Amidala is.

2. I have been stressing about Kindergarten applications. We found out that we got into our 2nd choice, and won't hear from our first choice until May. It may seem simple, but it is enough to keep me up every night. I have called 3 times since our acceptance to make sure I am doing all the right things so they don't give my space away...they haven't yet, but if I call once more, they just might.

3. I've been trying to find a job. Not really trying that hard, but I have sent out my resume to a couple of places. And you know what? People just aren't calling me back. 5 years ago, I could have had any of these jobs...but now...not so much. Damn economy...oh and the 3 typos I found in my resume yesterday. Ooops.

4. Speaking of the economy, I have been struggling with what the right way to address our impending financial doom. Do I buckle down, save every penny, and horde until this passes? Or do I do my best to put some life into this economy. I mean, seriously, some of these sales are too good to pass up. I've been doing a bit of both. I spent a total of 3 hours trying to buy clothes for the kids at Crew Cuts so that they'll look cute when we're poor...but also have switched to all generic brands for housekeeping. I know, I know, the sacrifices I make.

5. I've been reading a new book recommended in the New York Times. Miss Manners' Guide to Rearing Perfect Children. I'm on page 57 (the font is WAY small), but I'll let you know how it goes. Or better yet, feel free to let me know how perfect my children are!

6. I've been doing 2 a day work outs. Why? I don't know. Perhaps my jeans have recently been restricting the oxygen to my brain. But I bought this AWESOME DVD that is literally kicking my ass. I still go to the gym and make sure that I do this once a day. Just staring at my new friend Jillian's stomach is enough to keep me motivated!

I could go on and on...but you get the point. In fact, you are probably so bored right now you wish I had never reappeared. Hopefully we'll get a bit more interesting in the near future. If not, I'll have to resort to fiction.

Are you sick of my kids yet?

I'm not. Well at least not now while they are both in their rooms asleep. But there is an odd love fest going on over here. Don't worry, it is sure to end soon!

A Little Help for a Friend AND Free Money!

Just a little public service announcement here...

My dear friend from college had and "AH-HA" moment after having her adorable little boy. Her idea amazingly combines all of her prior work experience with all the consumerism that we call parenthood. This brilliant idea is the Parents Insight Network.

TO JOIN

Just click here

What happens is she contracts with companies that want to target products to parents of young children. She conducts surveys, trials, and whatnot.

True story...she sent 40 of us to Target, had us fill out a survey based on some questions they were looking to answer, and we all got $50. Not divided equally, but a piece. It's like free money is falling from the skies. Imagine...getting paid to go to Target...or to use a baby carrier for a few months...or to just spout off your opinions on the millions of products we are convinced we need.

Pay it forward to a mom who is trying to make her good idea work. Join her network, it won't cost you a thing, and you just may make a few bucks for having an opinion.

Oh...and tell her I sent you!

Snow Day!

We haven't had any snow up here this year and I have been VERY excited about the prospect of snow this week. I haven't felt this way since I was in grad school and hated my internship SO much that every night I would pray (not that it would do me much good) that it would snow. When I would wake up in the morning, I would rush check to see if the parking lot in our back yard (yes, it was a classy condo) was covered with snow. Unfortunately, the bright flourescent lights that lit up the parking lot (and our bedroom for that matter) always faked me out and for a brief moment I would think that it had snowed...when it hadn't. In fact, I did this check the back yard routine every morning I had work from November to March...did I mention that I was in North Carolina and it NEVER snowed that year. Damn South and making me go to that blasted internship. I'm still bitter.



So last night I went to bed dreaming of white flakes, rosey cheeks, and chocolate chip cookies (I have to make cookies when it snows!). I woke in the middle of the night, looked out the window and there it was, the magical white glowing ground, lit up from the sky and my neighbor's christmas decorations (which they have yet to take down...might I mention that they have been up since November 5?). I rolled over, went back to sleep, and smiled that I didn't have to go back to that darn internship.



Needless to say, we've enjoyed today...and by the way it is looking we'll enjoy tomorrow too.



Happy, happy snow day!

When Little Boys Play with Dollhouses

First of all...how awesome is this dollhouse? My cousin gave it to me because her boys didn't have interest in it...but mine on the other hand...

Imagine how creative our dioramas in elementary school are going to be!

Hit the Road Jack

This is from Madame Tussuad's in Amsterdam. After unveiling the new Obama wax statue, they packed up Bush's bags and put him on the sidewalk.

I understand your smile Mr. President-Elect...I too feel the same.

OK, so not only do I have to admit to you all that I was sore from playing Wii, but now I have to tell you that I can't type because my left hand is sore.

Sore from what you ask? get your mind out of the gutter people this is a PG kind of place!

From the piano.

Yes, you read correctly. In the same Christmas in which our house was invaded with video games, we also obtained a piano. Seems that my husband has visions of us sitting by the fire, playing songs for one another, perhaps even singing along, in some fantasy land of musical talent.

So far I am the most talented (not saying a lot for the rest of them) because I can play TWO songs with TWO hands. I don't even know what the first song is called, my fingers just magically play it. This particular song is the only remaining piece of evidence that I took piano lessons for three years in the early 80's. Stuck way back in the depths of my brain alongside the phone numbers of my friends from elementary school is this song. It has been there for nearly 30 years and it has held up well. Quite pretty, if I do say myself, even if it only last 15 seconds.

The second song I learned this week. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Have you heard of it? I'm reading the notes, playing with both hands and my son claims that he can recognize the tune. It sounds quite funereal because I am not playing up to tempo quite yet. I figure at this rate I should start working on We Wish You a Merry Christmas for next year.

As bad as I may be, I am really enjoying the piano, wishing that I kept up with my lessons, and hoping that my family stops puking sometime soon so I can resume my trips to the gym and can report that I am sore from activities like kickboxing and pilates. Not necessarily newsworthy, but a lot less embarrassing.

A Wii bit hypocritical

If I have said it once, I have said it a million times. We are not going to get video games. My kids can go to their neighbors like I did to play Space Invaders, Frogger, and all those other cutting age games they have these days. I talk about it incessantly, shout it out loud from the rooftops, and roll my eyes at everyone who has given in to the temptation of nintendos, playstations, or anything of that sort. I hate the idea of video games so much that I have a violent physical reaction to the vision of my kids vegging out in front of the TV playing Grand Theft Auto or anything that involves guns, crashing, or violence of any sort. So what, you ask, am I doing with a Wii in my basement?

Well, you see, I asked for it. I asked for it when I made all of these declarations professing myself holier than thou for never allowing a video game in my house, and I also asked for it when I mentioned that I would want a Wii Fit for Christmas. And my parents, you know, the ones who didn't let us have video games, didn't have cable, and only TIVO public television, bought me a Wii and Wii Fit for Christmas.

And you know what? It is SO cool and I can't stop. I'm the one who is in the basement by herself playing golf, doing her exercises, and figuring out how the hell to hit a backhand in tennis.

And you know what? I'm sore. I'm sore from the lunges, the yoga, and the laughing because I can't ski jump AT ALL. My son keeps saying, "I hope you don't make a big snowball again Mommy."

I'm also sore from the boxing match that I had with my 4 year old. I'm not sure it is a healthy way for us to be interacting right before dinner, but it sure was fun. He was was jumping up and down each time he knocked me to the ground, and I was secretly smiling each time I gave him a good blow to the head.

I'm a hypocrite, I know. I just have to hope that pretend boxing your mom is less scarring than blowing up cars. It certainly was more fun than what I should have been doing, making dinner.