Haiku of the Day

The wee-er one strikes again

hard to write haik
withot se of fll keyboard
milk, compter: bad

They say there's no se crying over spilled milk. Bt they did not have milk spilled into the keyboard of their iBook. As yo can see, I am withot the se of a certain key. More than one, actally. There are three keys that don't work, all total, bt only one of them is sed a lot.

My blog posts are now a fn word mble game! See if yo can figre ot which letters are broken. I st don't know what I'm going to do.

Fck.

musings from the road

short holiday trip
many sweets, imodium
we should be home soon

We're eating our way through north Dallas right now, finishing up the holidays with a punctuation mark made of chocolate and stomach aches. It's been a swift, fun trip, and I'm looking forward to heading home sometime tomorrow to start getting things back to "normal."

There are definitely things I'm going to miss when I get back home, though, namely nice toilet paper and fabric softener. You never know just how scratchy your towels are (ditto for your toilet paper) until you stay over at someone's house.

Also, I will miss staying up late with people who are willing to play Scrabble with me even when I shout things like, "SUCK IT, WORDY MCTINYBRAIN YOU'RE GOING DOWN!"

One more thing I'll miss? The 46 inch LCD flat screen HD TV, glowing with the glory of Verizon Fiber.

Oh, and people who say, "Would you like me to make you breakfast?" after allowing you to sleep until 10 am.

Hell, what am I talking about? I don't want to go home.

Well, yes I do. Because scenes like this take 5 years off my life (note the Christmas tree covered in antique GLASS ornaments, and the uncontrollable RC car underneath it. eeee):

Aaaaaaand Scene...

Merry Christmas!

santa's sleigh is full
various tummies are too
Happy Holidays!

And it's here

holiday frenzy
the gifts are bought, presents wrapped
now it's time to clean

We're all running around like crazy today, trying to clean up the pig sty house in anticipation of our guests. Things were really out of hand around here and so now my husband and I are frantically trying to remove carpet stains and handprints off the wall and things like that, in addition to the regular cleaning.

My husband would never admit this, but I will: we're feeling a little compensatory after the Christmas Debacle of Aught Six. So we're working hard to make this Christmas extra special nice (even though none of the victims of Aught Six will be here, nor will they probably ever come back).

The cleaning commences. Threats of calling Santa and canceling Christmas are thrown about in an unmeasured fashion. The wee one is cowering in the game room, picking up drifts of small plastic toys that are at least knee high. The wee-er one tosses laundry on the floor as quickly as I can fold it. We are a merry lot.

And also, in the vein of our most favorite Christmas movie ever - a Christmas Story - I unleashed a powerful string of profanities this morning that hovers over our house, still. The wee one, in an attempt to see if his toast was ready, hopped onto the counter and spilled an entire travel mug of coffee onto a present I bought for a friend; a present I am beside myself over because it's so incredibly fantastic. Now it is incredibly, fantastically stained brown and infused with the scent of french roast and chicory. As I stated so plainly this morning: AHHHHHHH GODDAMMIT FUCK NOOOOOO!

Sigh.

The cleaning continues... and I'm wrapping that present anyway. Things that smell like coffee are nice. Right?

a riddle

Q. What's green and red and orange and a little sparkly?

A. Dog puke on my bedspread! Shiny wrapping paper does not the best breakfast make.

Four things you should know before grocery shopping with a toddler:

1) Don't expect the bagger at the grocery store to understand how to actually bag your groceries. Despite the seemingly ample size of his head, it is apparently not big enough to process the thought, "placing a carton of eggs next to a toddler might result in something bad happening."

2) Always check to make sure the above-mentioned toddler is not seated next to a carton of eggs carefully placed next to her by the ample-headed yet thought-free bag boy. Do this BEFORE you push the heavy, heavy cart out of the store and through the parking lot.

3) If you have neglected to perform the second step, above, don't stop your buggy in the middle of the parking lot, even if you notice your poco diablo wielding eggs in both fists like tiny, very expensive, brown grenades.

4) Failing to perform number three on the list may result in either a) getting run over b) watching several birds narrowly escape the cruel and ironic fate of being bombed with fresh eggs or c) all of the above

Please feel free to share this list with anyone you think might benefit from it.

uh

Sock in water bowl
The hell is it doing there?
Blame dog. Blame baby.

I was going to regale you

Hilarious stories of grocery shopping, court house annex visits, and the trials of other mundane yet exciting things will have to wait. As I stand here trying to blog (yes, I'm standing and typing as I cook dinner. What? Don't you do that?) the wee-er one has BITTEN me on the THIGH through my jeans.

Um, OUCH.

The baby wins. Blogging must wait. And I must buy thicker jeans. Or a new kid. Either way.

intervene! intervene!

can't.

stop.

shopping.

Dear Gas Tank,

mileage may vary
the car conspires against me
and my poor budget

Hey there, Gas Tank. You and I have been getting a lot more face time lately, haven't we? I think you're a really nice tank and everything, and I do appreciate everything you do for me and my family, but, well, I think it's time we talked.

It's not that I don't enjoy standing next to you and freezing my ass off while you guzzle away my vacation savings, it's just that I think we've been spending a little too much time together lately.

I'm flattered that you want to spend all this time with me, but I want the time we spend together to be out of mutual appreciation, not desperation, you know what I mean? I feel like maybe you've been working overtime, or conspiring to get me closer to you or something. And I'm totally not criticizing, because I get it. You have a crush on me. And when you see me your day brightens. Birds sing a little louder. The clouds make little heart shapes in the sky. I've had crushes before. I know how you feel.

But manipulating the mileage you get? Just to feel my hand unscrew your lid? I don't think that's the most effective way to get my attention. Because I can tell you for certain, I didn't drive 520 miles last week. That's why I'm confused as to why you were empty today. I'm pretty sure this happened the week before last, too, Gas Tank.

I hate to say it, but... that's not cool.

Not cool at all.

I know our relationship is complicated. I know it's based on money and uncomfortable politics. But in the past we've been able to put that aside, you and I. Our relationship has been pure-ish. I feed you once every few weeks, and you help me haul shit around. It's very win-win.

But, now? Now I don't know what to do, Gas Tank. I feel betrayed. I feel like you're guzzling gas just to get my attention. Can't we go back to how things used to be? Can't we relive the good old days? I think we have something special and that we can work out our differences. Does that make me crazy? I don't know. But I need your help with this. A person-Gas Tank relationship takes work from both sides. Can I count on you to cut out these shenanigans and go back to our 520 mile days?

I genuinely like you. Almost even respect you. Will you respect me back?

Please?

Because if you don't stop fucking around I could easily toss you aside for one of those fancy new hybrids.

Get it together, Gas Tank. I mean it this time.

Sincerely,
Kari
concerned mother

I know this is going to sound crazy, but...

people can be nice
even when they don't have to
how crazy is that?   

I just got back from the Tax Assessor's office. Now, you'd think this might require a Letter to Someone I Hate, but it doesn't! I'm am very, extremely, happily pleased to announce that the people at the tax assessor's office are quite nice. They're nice on the phone, they're nice in person, and then they're nice in person again when you have to go back because you lost the receipt they gave you when you went the first time.

The lady today thought about not being nice. I could see the battle of good vs evil going on behind her eyes. But I smiled a lot, made fun of myself, totally played the frazzled mama card, and even batted my eyes a little, and it worked. She was nice!

Thanks to her willingness to be friendly and helpful, I will avoid having to pay extra fines and/or have a warrant issued for my arrest. Whew.

Have I mentioned lately how much of a pain in the ass traffic tickets are? It's not the money, it's the hullabaloo involved in taking care of the thing.

But anyway, hooray for the tax assessor's office. I never thought I'd say it, but there you go.

diagnosis?

By the way, when your seventeen-month-old wakes up looking like a prizefighter because her eyes are swollen? It may turn out she has a double ear infection resulting in pink eye.

In case you were wondering.

our eight weeks is up

wily little thing
superhero steel stomach
makes me cry sometimes

That wasn't a very good haiku, but you have to forgive me. First, the wee-er one woke up with both eyes almost swollen shut. We called the doctor and made an appointment. Then she slammed her fingers in the closet door. We kissed them and felt better. Then we had a lady come walk through the house to tell me how much it will be for her to scour it from top to bottom (not too bad, though she did seem a bit dazed to be accosted by a noisy dog and a toddler prizefighter).

And then.

Then we had a bit of a catastrophe. You'd think I'd be used to these things after the wee-er one has eaten rocks, sipped old beer from the trash, sucked on an imodium, gobbled up some pirate's gold, etc. But it's always a shock to have to call poison control.

Here is the aftermath:

There is no such thing as childproof with this kid.

A special day

sweet young innocence
yet it's still freaking me out
how does this happen?

"Today was a special day because I got something no one else got," the wee one told me when I picked him up from school today.

"Oh, yeah?" I answered, thinking it was a sticker for good behavior or something like that.

"I'm going to show you, but it's a secret for everyone else," he said. He whipped his backpack around and pulled out a piece of paper. "It's from Natalie." Natalie is a girl at school he talks about a lot - her pretty hair, how fun it is to hit her at recess, etc.

The paper had a drawing on it of a boy and a girl holding hands. On the top, written in wonderful kindergarten handwriting, was a profession of love.

"I wish I could jump into this drawing," the wee one said wistfully. "I would flip dimensions so that I could kiss Natalie and then flip back really fast."

"Oh?" I asked, trying not to sound shocked.

He gazed at the drawing. "It makes me want to cry I like it so much," he said, closing his eyes and smiling.

It kind of makes me want to cry, too, but for many different reasons. I knew he was precocious, but this is (charmingly) unsettling, you know what I mean?

My five-year-old lothario. Good grief.

how can this be possible?

sleeping is so nice
I'd do it everyday
if that was allowed

I'm having a weird thing this morning. For one, let's just say I'm very, very grouchy. But I slept until 9 am so you'd think I'd be full of energy and cheerful and all that.

Is it somehow possible to have too little sleep and too much sleep at the same time?

Is two days in a row of sleeping until 9 screwing with my head?

Have I become that person - the one who is perfectly fine and functional on 6 or 7 hours of sleep but who totally turns into a headache-y pile of mush after 8 hours? How can this be? I used to be able to sleep a good 12 hours in a row and feel like a superhero. Of course, that was before kids and bills and a mortgage and freelance work and worrying about mean people stealing stuff off of my lawn or worse.

I feel kind of crappy this morning and that's a bummer. On top of that we're going to brave the grocery store in a few minutes. HEB on a Sunday. We're trying to be strategic, though - get there before the churches let out. Will we make it? Will our gamble pay off? My grouchy v-shaped eyebrows vote no. But we'll see.

I'm going to stay up really late tonight and get up at my ass-crack of dawn regular time in the morning and see how that flies.

Sweet tiny baby Jesus, I miss coffee.

it's been a long time

down and dirty blues
without all of the cursing
god love etta james

I was driving home from picking the wee one up at school and I heard Etta James singing At Last on the radio. It actually, literally took my breath away.

Maybe I can wean the wee-er one off of Amy Winehouse and onto Etta. It's all fun and games until your toddler's first words are "I don't wanna go to rehab, no no no."

taco cabana fajita chicken taco plate?

not a good idea.

QVC

This is an open letter to the person (you know who you are) who has gotten me hooked on watching QVC:

I will get you.

It will be when you least expect it.

I will pop your Quacker Factory cherry with a handsome sweater set. Or I will get your kids hooked on pretzel-wrapped hot dogs. Maybe I'll use a multi-faceted nut wrench in some nefarious way. Don't even get me started on the animal print tweezers.

All I'm saying is that you better watch your back. I have nine seasons of the X-Files just looking, looking for a new convert. Especially the episode with Burt Reynolds.

You think Chuck Woolery slinging socks is bad? Just wait until you're knee deep in alien-human hybrid mythology and you call me crying about what's going to happen now that the X-Files have been shut down.

Just wait.

quack, quack,
Kari

this is a test of the emergency vacuuming system

they are a small gang
baby and furry cohort
conspire against me

This morning the wee-er one and the dog were giggling furiously in the living room (yes, I swear this dog laughs at me). I went in there to investigate and they had somehow snatched a tea bag, destroyed it, and were busy grinding the tiny tiny tea leaves into the carpet.

"Ahh!" I said. "No!"

I was rewarded with a laugh from the wee-er one, and a few calories burned from the pursuit of the dog, who began running around like crazy, refusing to drop the mangled mess of the bag.

Finally, I got the bag away from him. I turned my back for maybe 3 seconds to throw it away and when I turned around again, he had snatched the tree skirt from under the Christmas tree and was doing his best to disembowel it.

"Ahh!" I said. "No!"

It was easier to wrest the tree skirt from him, because it's about four times his size and slowed his escape by tripping him several times.

So, on the floor? A million gazillion tiny, tiny tea leaves ground into the carpet, topped with a spray of pine needles from the abused Christmas tree, and seasoned with a sprinkling of sequins from the filleted tree skirt.

Out comes the Dyson! We've had it for a few month now, but it hasn't had a real test, yet. Nothing of this magnitude. I flip that sucker on and the wee-er one and the dog run for cover.

As quickly as one can strangle a beloved pet, the mess was sucked comfortably into the vacuum canister. I was very impressed with the sucking power. It's like the vacuum version of, uh, something that sucks a really lot. The vacuum version of Celine Dion. The vacuum version of Aveda Be Curly (why doesn't that shit work on my hair? WHY?). It was amazing.

In other, non-impressive and non-related news, I'm having a bit of a problem with a growing addiction to Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton Christmas song duets. There's this one where she talks about "a fast-talking lover and slow-burning wood" and I chortle hopelessly every single time I hear it. I am Beavis. My immaturity is staggering.

But at least I'm Beavis with a nifty vacuum. Huzzah!

Dear Heartless Grinchy Thieving Bastard(s),

Am trolling craigslist
I will track you down, assholes
you should be ashamed

So, Heartless Grinchy Thieving Bastards, I understand that animatronic light-up yard reindeer and their light up sleigh and their sleigh's stuffed and jolly inhabitants are pretty ridiculous. I, myself, constantly make fun of them. But just because I make fun of them doesn't mean I don't like them. I actually like them a lot. I think they make the yard look festive and funny. And though I can't find anything ironic about them so that I can passive-aggressively feel superior to my neighbors, that's OK. Christmas is not about feeling superior to your neighbors. That's what well-behaved children are for.

Anyway, HGTBs, you guys fucking suck. You suck for stealing our reindeer. You suck for stealing our reindeers' sleigh. And you suck for stealing the Santa and Elf who were happily residing in the reindeers' sleigh. You suck for making the wee one have to chew his cheeks as he fought away the tears this morning when he discovered the deer were gone. You especially fucking suck for making me unable to enjoy the extra hour of sleep I get on Sundays. I had to get up early today to fill out a goddamned useless police report, and explain to my kids why there are people in the world who steal CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS.

Assholes.

I hope you're enjoying them. I hope your kids think you hung the fucking moon for getting them animatronic reindeer for your yard. I hope you're not trying to sell them on craigslist or eBay. I hope you didn't steal them to throw at cars off of highway overpasses. I hope you didn't drown them in the pond across the street. I hope you're all happily fucking sitting together in your yard, drinking light-up animatronic beers and enjoying a beautiful afternoon.

I also hope I don't find you. Because if I do, you're going to find out what it feels like to have a light-up animatronic reindeer, plus his two buddies, plus a sleigh, plus santa and an elf, all having a throwdown in your ass.

You have made the baby Jesus cry, Heartless Grinchy Thieving Bastards. I hope you're happy.

Sincerely,
Kari
concerned mom

kapow! kabang! kablooey!

hmmm? what is that sound?
BCS is imploding
like Vegas hotel