Thursday, November 18, 2010

World's Pickiest Eater

I am the world's pickiest eater.

Ask anyone, they'll tell you it is true.

My parents will recall the tale of one fine Lenten Friday where I spent over SIX hours sitting at the kitchen table because I refused to eat one stinkin' fish stick. I still refuse to eat them.

My husband can tell countless stories of the lip-smacking cuisine he has poured his heart into (bacon and jalapeno wrapped quail, homemade Texas chili, pork chops) that I won't touch. Many a night he has eaten a Filet Mignon and I dine on grilled cheese and veggies. Amazingly, we are both happy with our dinners.

There is no method to my eating madness, either. I used to tell people I was a vegetarian. It soothed alot of egos at dinner parties when I wouldn't eat the main course, but it's not true. I love bacon and I eat homemade tacos and bratwurst.

But that's about it. I will not touch chicken or any other kind of poultry. (Really, won't touch it. The Hubs has to cook that stuff. Yuch.) I hate fish - except I love sushi and have just begun eating tuna rolls and California rolls. I don't think I will ever be ready for sashimi.

I won't touch steak. (And, yes, I am from Texas. I know. I think that's why they kicked me out of the state.) I hate pork chops. I refuse to eat hamburgers or other "meat" products at fast food places unless I am wasting-away-to-nothing-can-you-still-see-me-when-I-turn-sideways starving. The list really could go on and on.

So I guess I have no reason to complain because my kiddo won't eat his turkey, ham and cheese sandwich unless it's grilled. At least he eats it.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

If you don't like celebrity gossip, you should pass on this. . .

If this morning you missed TMZ, Extra or every morning news program known to man, I have some exciting news for you.

Kate Middleton and Prince William are engaged.

Oh, ahem, excuse me. . . Katherine Middleton.

Yes, the Katherine Middleton the British press pegged 'Waity Katie' because after eight years of dating, The Prince still had not proposed.

God Forbid a girl be all of 28 years old and not be married! A spinster!

She has incredible poise and maturity, much more than I ever have (had, or will probably ever have). And I admire that about her.

Because I once was her.

No, silly. I wasn't British. I didn't wear darling hats slightly cockeyed, but looking just right. (Seriously, who can look that cute in a hat besides Katherine Middleton?!) And I never, ever dated a Prince. (Unlike, if you can believe it, a Real Housewife.)

But I did wait for what seemed like forever for the guy I loved to ask me to marry him.

So, this girl from Texas has something in common with that girl from Britain. Or as we say it in my neck of the woods, I smell what she's stepping in. I'm picking up what she's putting down. I git her.
The Hubs and I met when I was 19 and he was 22. His fifth - and last- year of college and my second.

If he had asked me to marry him that first year, I would have said yes.

But he didn't ask that first year. Not when he graduated. Not when he got his first big-boy job. Not when he stayed in Lubbock, because he didn't want to move away from me. And not when he bought me a jewelry box for Christmas and whispered, "There's something special inside" only to hand me a pair of earrings. (Beautiful earrings, yes, but did he really not get it!?)

But I was ready. I had found the guy I wanted to marry, so what was the big deal? Why couldn't I finish college and he start working while we were married? Why wait!?

Because he wanted to wait. He wanted to become established in his job and have money and his own place, rather than one he shared with three other guys and. . . . .blah blah blah.

We had our ups and downs, complete with the requisite few month break-up. (Just like Kate and William!) Then I graduated college and decided to go to grad school and he moved across the state. A year later, I quit grad school, found a big-girl job and moved across the state with him. He quit his job that moved him across the state in the first place and found another, better job.

And I waited.

Waited as we were in the same place, then different places, then the same again and still. . .nothing happened. And I got asked the same questions. From my friends to my friends parents to co-workers. "No ring, yet?!" after my birthday/Valentines/Groundhogs day. "What is he waiting for? Do you think he's ever going to propose?"

People asked me why I was still with him. "You're ready to get married, right? So why are you waiting for him? Why don't you find someone else who is ready to get married, too?!"

Because that's not how this works, people.

See, I love this guy and I want to marry him. That is for the rest of my life. So if I have to wait a few years (ok, six) for him to be in the same place as me, I'll wait. Because waiting a few measly years for the right person is a million times better than rushing into anything with the wrong.

So, I feel ya, Katherine, future Queen of England. I know why you patiently smiled and accompanied him to wedding after wedding for all your friends. Not because you are passive, silly or a doormat. Because you are strong, confident, and know what you want.

No longer Waity Katie. Now you're Matey Katie.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Jingle Bells, Batman Smells. . . . .

I'm not allowed (by strict rule of The Hubs) to bring out any Christmas lights, trees or decor until the day after Thanksgiving.

Not even the hand-painted blocks that count down the days to Christmas, held by a teddy bear in a tacky Christmas sweater.

The boughs of holly and wreaths of ribbons and pinecones must stay wrapped in their boxes in the back of the garage cabinets, stuffed behind all the crap stuff we have bought since last Christmas. (Except for the mistletoe, which I never took down and The Hubs stopped noticing about May!)

I would decorate now if he let me, and turn a harvest-y, fall Thanksgiving into a red and green feast.

He asks for so little (ha!) so the least I can do is hold off on unloading fourteen mega boxes of lights and glass ornaments until he is ready for the madness.

But there are no rules as to how early my blog can start Christmas. . . and it looks like the holiday season is a-fast approaching.

We are two weeks from Thanksgiving, and two weeks and one day from Black Friday. In other words, I-Have-to-be-First-to-Get-my-Christmas-Cards-Mailed Day. The darkest day of the holiday season.

Last year I was a mom of a 6 month old and blamed him for not getting cards mailed until (gasp!) December 10th.

This year, I am determined to do better.

This year, I have help (yay!!) in shutterfly.

Even though I have boxes upon boxes of holiday cards stored from post-Christmas sales of years past, I can't resist the shiny glitter of a new, perfect photo Christmas card. Like this:

Which only shows me that if I am going to send out photo cards from Shutterfly this year, I am going to have to start taking some better pictures.

Yes, Shutterfly is giving me 50 free holiday cards to write this blog. But that doesn't mean it's not all true - I have used shutterfly for years and I love their products. Want to get your own free holiday cards? Check it out!!

Monday, November 8, 2010

Better Late Than Never

Oh, friends, it is my pleasure today to receive the Worst Mommy of the Year award.

Not for forgetting my camera and not being able to take Halloween pictures.

Not for bugging my friend to take pictures and then bugging her again and again and again and again to send me the pictures so I could post them on my blog.

Not even for having Halloween pictures posted about a week after every other Mommy Blogger.

No, not because of that.

But because I made my kid dress as an Oompa Loompa for Halloween. (And then dress up myself as Veruca Salt.)

Could this be considered child abuse?!

And, just for shits and giggles, last year's Chewbacca.

Yes, we do have the most awesomest Halloween costumes ever!

Sunday, November 7, 2010

Another Potty Post

There are many things I thought I would do as a Mama. Clean up poop. Wipe up snot. Cry. Laugh. Not sleep.

But I never thought I would be posting a picture of my toilet on my blog.

Why, yes, that is my toilet. Why did I post a picture of this? Because sometimes as parents we get excited about the littlest things and sometimes those little things are toilets.

Because you see the lid of the toilet? Weird-looking, huh?!

Inside the lid is an even smaller toilet seat. A toilet for midget butts. (Or toddlers, I guess.)

When I asked The Hubs to pick up a new toilet seat (because the dogs collar tags had scratched ours every time she drank out of "her" bowl), I never imagined I would be excited about it. And I never thought it would be a parenting move.

But, voila. A training toilet that fits into a regular one. Who would've thought?

(And just so you don't think that a toilet seat is ALL Bjorn got today, check out his other new toy, straight from a garage sale. Just in time for beautiful weather!)

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Be careful what you wish for

I'm not saying The Hubs isn't helpful - he does change a mean light bulb and kill big bugs - but sometimes I feel like I have three kids. One's furry, one says "Joooo" for "Juice" and the other can't remember where he put his sunglasses. (On the counter. Right there, Hon.)

What I really want is some help around here. You know, a maid. Like Rosie.

But my Hovercraft is in the shop and Astro's been eating the trash. My life is not The Jetsons.

So when Bjorn started offering his help, I gladly took him up on it.

He now puts his bowl and cups in the sink when he is finished. He also puts his blocks, books and cars in the sink. I don't think he really knows what the sink is for.

He wants to carry the clothes to the washer and throw them in himself. But most of all he loves to help me fold the warm clothes from the dryer. They make perfect snuggle rugs. I usually have to do laundry all over again because of dog hair!

He wants to vacuum and cries, banging on the hall closet, whenever vacuuming is done. He has his own Elmo vacuum now. We vacuum together, only instead of the "Rrrrrrrrrrr" of a vacuum motor, I hear Cookie Monster say "Oh, me love to vacuum with you."**

He loves sweeping, especially with the big broom. More than once I have been whacked in the head as he swings the broom handle around. This kid has no sense of space. No sense of space at all, I tell ya.

Dusting is his real all-time favorite, though. Or wiping up in general. I hand him a sponge or a paper towel and he wipes up any spill or dirt. Not before trying to eat whatever he has spilled, but, still, he wipes it up.

So be careful what you wish for. You might just get it. In pint size.

**I'm a terrific speller. I almost won the spelling bee in 6th grade - but lost to an 8th grader who later went on to make a 1600 on his SAT's. But the one word I probably hate to spell the most is vacuum. Who puts two "u's" next to each other? It just looks weird. And I misspelled it every time I wrote it in this paragraph. **