Category Archives: parenting

Summer Imagined v. Summer Real


Are you having this problem? In your head, you figured when school let out that you and your kids would do all kinds of amazing projects, day trips, maybe even camping?

Then, two days into it you realize you have serious crankiness issues.

And not just with the kids, but with yourself.

We were going to make art books. Instead, we are making ice cream runs.

We were going to go to the beach. Day 1, we got the bottom of our foot scraped by barnacles and are “never going back to the beach again!”

We were going to read, read, read. Instead, we are marathoning Phineas and Ferb.

I guess there is still too much time to correct course, but each summer I forget my margarita recipe the uphill battle from the year before. Same soldiers, different battlefield…

So, how’s your summer going? Are you doing what you intended to do?

And most importantly, do you have a good, strong cocktail recipe to share?

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Yet another broken bone…

No one told me my family was gonna be a bunch of reckless nuts there’s a competition between the Hubs and the Kid. Last year, the Hubs broke his knee all kinds of ways to Sunday.

And now…the Kid has broken her arm. She gets points for being small and cute with a broken appendage, but I think the Hubs is still the main prize winner and security x-ray setter-offer forfreakinever. Screws and plates will get you that honor.
I should just accept that our family album will be in black and white.

But enough about them and their lesser calcium deposits. How does all this impact you, Wendy, you ask? Are you doing okay? How terrible is all this broken bone business for you? Poor Wendy!

Well, frankly, I could have used more of that meditative time in the ER at midnight. I mean, how often does a mom get to sit for hours in the same spot and navel gaze? It’s not like the Kid plays softball.

Plus, if they weren’t perfected already, I have thoroughly honed my ice-pack-refilling skills. Vegas, anyone?

Unfortunately for me, because of this break the Kid has now managed to get herself excused from Friday jumprope class the big, whiny baby, so there goes my weekly happy hour late afternoon “me” time. Thanks.

Finally, as if this blog and other blogging duties I’m ignoring weren’t enough, now I have to mind the etsy shop for this?
Creations by the Hubs

Let’s pray for a fast recovery or I’ll be needing a recovery program.

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trios, triplets and…

Somehow I started explaining what trios and quartets were to the kid the other day who says I can’t home school!.

“Four singers or musicians is called a ‘quartet,’” I said all knowledgeable-like, glad she’s only seven and impressed by the simple basics.

“And three is triplets!” she said.

“Well, when it’s babies, three is called ‘triplets’ but when it’s adults, it’s called a ‘trio.’”

“What about when it’s three kids? What’s that called?”

“Um…that’s called trouble.”

You know what I’m talkin’ about? Have you had three kids together on a playdate??

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Eggs and Hot Glue Guns, a Cunning Easter Egg Craft or Pure Misfire?

Warning: numerous eggs were harmed in the making of this post.

You all know how the Hubs is into all his power tools, right? No task too big or too small to bring some apparatus to plug into a socket.

Easter is apparently no different.

This year, besides his usual take-your-time, draw-it-out-ahead-of-time approach, the Hubs decided to experiment with a hot glue gun.

We started with plain, boiled eggs (I don’t recommend brown eggs but I’m dumb and lazy and used what we had…)

and the usual dye tablets plus vinegar.

There may have been other liquids involved so that I could handle the slooooow pace of this hot gluing and can we just dye them already??.

So, just make your design (either planned out or wing it, *ahem*) on the egg.

Be careful with the glue gun! We did have a small incident totally not related to beer.

I’m just sayin’, they don’t call it a hot glue gun for nothin’.

Then submerge in your color of choice.

So, the Hubs’ plan was to peel off the glue once the color is on the egg to reveal his special pattern in white underneath, but guess what?

Glue sticks to stuff!
Oh, shit.

As you might imagine, many eggs were eaten as a result of the peeling-off process.

As a side note, if you want to peel your eggs easier, just put a bunch of hot glue on them. Works like handles!

But one or two turned out pretty cool.

And most importantly, a certain someone enjoyed eating eggs watching the process and spending quality time with her pack.

Happy Easter!

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The Breastfeeding Doll: and the problem is…?

WARNING: stereotypical mom rant forthcoming!

I’m sure you’ve heard about that doll, the Breast Milk Baby, and I read a few articles on parent reactions to it.

(Hey, it’s got a pacifier! Some parents would object to that!)

I figured all the hub-bub was mostly media created on a slow news day. Real people wouldn’t object to such a basic concept, right?

But after reading a local Facebook friend’s poll that asked if his friends would buy such a doll, I guess I was wrong once again.

Stunned is how I felt reading the 40 comments about how “creepy” and “gross” that sounded, how little kids don’t “need to be exposed to such things at such a young age”, and even that it “might encourage earlier sexual behavior.”

*Blink*

Are you people for realz?! A doll that holdontoyourhat doesn’t come with a bottle and pretends to be fed from a mother?! This is outrageous??

No, I’m outraged that so many in our society wring offensiveness out of a basic, healthy, mammalian behavior.

God forbid young girls (and boys, right?!) learn at “an early age” that boobs have a purpose slightly more important than bouncing in a wet t-shirt on a beach in a reality show.

Yes, Virginia, my girls had a job and they did that job well!

We’re not all livin’ on a farm anymore, and all our pets are fixed, so just where is a kid going to stumble onto casual viewing of breastfeeding? Maybe at their house (if they’re not an only child like mine), maybe at a park, but mostly nowhere.

And is breastfeeding sexy? How will donning that toy bib and holding a plastic doll up to the flower nipple inspire hot, lascivious thoughts? (I’m talking about the intended use of a suckling doll, people; don’t go all Deliverance on me now!)

News flash: If you’re really breastfeeding a baby, then you are sleep-deprived, undernourished and overtired. Yeah, that’s hawt.

You wanna complain that dolls should not have specific functions, like walking, talking, pooping, growing hair, or breastfeeding, and that kids should to pretend that Ken has a wiener their dolls can do all those things. Fine. I hear ya. I’m all for imagining you’re on a hot beach with a sweating Paolo and margaritas wild characters and crazy story lines.

But object to this doll for these other reasons? Laughable. A disgrace to mammals everywhere.

What do you think about a breastfeeding doll? Do tell!

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Seattle’s Museum of Flight–Take Off For Great Rainy Day Fun!

Maybe you are like me. I had lived in the Seattle area over 8 years and never been to the Museum of Flight. *gasps*

I hate flying am not into planes, or WWII movies, or tools. But listen to me, people, the Museum of Flight was fun.

They have tons of actual, historical planes inside to see,

and real planes outside to go into and pretend to be presidential.

Did you know Rod Stewart flew his hairdresser over in the Concorde before a show? Dahlink, it was so very necessary.

The museum has a huge indoor area for kids to run explore around and get worn out, complete with kids-climb-around-sit-in-aircraft zone. And if you go with a ratio of 4:2 kids to adults like I did, you will want that.

If you have a better ratio, more conducive to oh, say, pausing, reading, or thinking, there is a lot of historical information to absorb.

May I never need that information.

But this was interesting. In my own home state of Texas, they were training women pilots! (or “girl pilots” as all the headlines said…)

Sounds like a Hollywood movie waiting to be made. Starring who? Sandra Bullock? Gwyneth? Reese?

Then there was the Animals in Space display. (No, no mention of Pigs in Spaaaaaaaace, for you muppet fans.)
Using monkeys, though, I could totally understand, some brains, some finger dexterity.

But dogs? Do we really want intelligent life out there potentially meeting up with a slobbering, constantly hungry, tail-wagging representative?

Then again, maybe we do.

So don’t be like me and wait 8 years to check it out. The museum is a short hop from the downtown ferry terminal. It’s fun, educational and a great waiting-for-summer-to-come family activity.

And probably even better if you are interested in planes!

Have you been to the museum? What’d ya think?

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Twins separated at birth

Did you read this story about the twins born by c-section at midnight of New Year’s Eve in Illinois?

Doctors pulled out the girl in 2010 and then the boy in 2011. All planned out.

What are people thinking? Or maybe, what are the doctors thinking? Get your patient’s kid in as Baby 1? Or is this what they do for grins these days given the increasing numbers of monotonous c-sections?

Whatever. Smirk, Doc, if you want. The parents totally missed having a tax deduction in 2010 on that boy.

Then, I had to go read the article’s comments. It’s become a train wreck thing for me now, reading news stories’ comments. I don’t want to, but I can’t seem to stop myself.

Like a calorie-free 1 lb. bag of peanut M&Ms.

Including the feeling sick afterwards.

Don’t page down, don’t click to read comments, don’t you do it, Wendy, nooooooooo.

ARGH! I did it.

Know what they riffed off on in comments? You’d never guess.

rowdy (ID name) picked up on the fact that the parents had different last names and wrote that it was sad another unmarried couple is on the front page for New Year’s.

And then it went from there.

Judge, judge, judge-y, judge their worthless judge-y self.

Even a staff member chimed in that you kids should play nice or go home (more or less).

Why do I do it? Why keep reading those things? Should news stories allow comments? Do you read those things?

Or gasp are you commenting in them?

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