Sweet Dreams are Made of…Something I Have No Access to!

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I have always had funky dreams. In color. Bright vivid color.

I had a recurring Freddie Krueger dream from the ages of 15 to about 35 where he was chasing me up an oil rig (which RIGHT there tells you something is wrong, because I’m afraid of standing on a step ladder with only 2 steps), and right when he’s about to grab me with his shiny metal knife fingers, I turn to him and say: “I love you, Freddie” and he disappears until the next time I have the dream.

I’m sure a dreamologist would have a field day with me, but I would be afraid they would commit me to a hospital of no return if I shared too much.

The other night, I wasn’t feeling great, took a few Motrin and went to bed. I started talking in my haze again, which just delights the husband. So much, I’m pretty sure he puts down whatever he’s reading and stares at me, silently giggling while I spout off about whatever.

So that night, I was POSITIVE that our plecostomus, (nicknamed Plucky) was making “NUM NUM” noises while licking the algae from the tank. He likes to do it full on stuck to the front of the aquarium so you can see his tongue thing moving all over. The tank is about 10 feet from the bed, and I started giggling like a loon in my sleep because he was so into the lickage. I wake myself up half-way from my laughing and I hear Jeff say (in an “aww, that’s my crazy ass wife” tone”: “Whatcha laughing at sweetie?” I tell him, then fall back to sleep.

The Pluckster in his "King of the Tank" pose (ignore the poop)

The Pluckster in his “King of the Tank” pose (ignore the poop)

I had a total of 426.5 dreams that night, and the following were the highlights:

1. Gary Coleman and I were playing chicken in a pool with Will Smith and Philip Seymour Hoffman (Arnold was on MY shoulders).

2. I was attacked by the rhesus monkey from the movie “Outbreak” but since I had 13 bananas in my pocket I distracted him and ran away.

3. We won 18 billion dollars in the Powerball and when I was waving the ticket and screaming: “OH YEAH, WE’RE RICH BITCHES!” a gust of wind took the ticket and two days later some 19 year old frat boy claimed the money.

4. I was a featured clarinet soloist for a John Williams movie, and right when I went to play the reed broke into my lip and I had to get it removed at the hospital.  I was not asked back.

5. I sat down on an oatmeal pie and was stuck to my couch for 2 hours and had to call the police to unstick me.

6. I flew to Scotland with my mom and took her to dinner. We forgot our wallets and they threw us into Loch Ness for not paying.

The rest of my dreams are just too crazy to write down.

I Gave Birth to a Sensitive Skeleton-Loving Scientist

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So I am the lucky mom of 3 boys, a ginger, a blonde, and a “might be dark-blonde-might be brown” brunette. All three are left-handed.

I am right-handed, and completely useless when it comes to teaching them how to write, eat, draw, throw, and generally anything that involves the left side. Luckily, my husband is left-handed, so when they go to Kindergarten, he can do all their homework with them.

HAHAHAHA

So out of my three boys, Tyler, the younger twin, is probably going to be a scientist, engineer, doctor, or Destroyer of the Universe. I’m ok with any of those scenarios.

I was a teacher for many years, and between teaching in the classroom and music lessons, I’ve had students from ages 3 to 55, and I’m not sure I’ve ever met a young one more interested in how things work. He LOVES to take things apart, put them back together, take them apart, put them back together, ad nauseum.

He’s like my husband in this respect, except (as far as I know) my husband doesn’t fall to the floor wailing, screaming, and kicking if he can’t figure out how to put a lid back on, or is unable to squeeze a 9 inch Batman toy into a 3 inch helicopter cockpit.

The anger. Ohhhh, the anger.

When he was little, he used to bang his head on the floor repeatedly when something didn’t go his way. It would be scary to see for any child, but he has hemophilia, and the lumps he would cause himself to get would make him look like a rhino. It’s really hard to convince people that your two-year old did that to himself, and you’re not an abusive monster.

On top of that, it looked like I beat him and not his twin. I probably should have put prosthetic horns on the other so they would match. They ARE twins, after all.

As serious as this child is, he has the sweetest smile, and at almost 5 years old just made it to 30 pounds. His nickname is “Teeny Tiny Tyler” which he thinks is funny. He was tiny when he was born and the NICU nurses ironically nicknamed him “Mr. T” which has been his usual name ever since.

He looks up to his “older” twin at the same time he tortures him. Andy has taken to writing Tyler’s name on a “bad list” whenever he gets mad, and Tyler sobs uncontrollably when this happens. He won’t believe me that Andy actually has no power over lists, but there it is.

He is amazing in so many ways. His giggle could make Ebenezer Scrooge crack a smile. His excitement for simple things from a sip of strawberry milk, or an oatmeal pie is contagious. When he’s sick, he doesn’t complain, he just thanks us for taking care of him then orders us out of the room so he can sleep.

He bruises easily and they can become quite ugly, but he doesn’t complain about pain. His brother, Andy, on the other hand, needs a band-aid for everything (one time for a paint stain he insisted was blood). He is a rule follower, likes things to be a certain way, and knows instantly if I took a different road to our destination.

His arms and legs flail when he runs, and it’s amazing he has any balance whatsoever. He loves watching Goosebumps, ParaNorman, and other “scary” shows, and absolutely loves to play with his dad’s Halloween decorations. So much that even in March we have a plastic witch, pumpkin, and a skeleton toy that’s as big as he is that he carries around and takes to bed with him.

Right now he is moping around the house because he broke the arm of his “skellington”…my husband is sad too seeing as how he’s had that thing for about 25 years.

photo (5)

I want to hold and hug and protect this little tiny thing all the time, but he’s way too macho for those kind of shenanigans. He does tell me I’m the “best girl ever”, so that’s definitely enough for me.

I’m lucky to have the crazy kids I do, even though they drive me nuts.

Face it, they are a product of their environment, and I might just be certifiable.

I Gave Birth to a Clown…

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Not the disturbing “IT” clown, or the creepy “Poltergeist” puppet clown that have both individually scarred me for life, but a regular old, fun-loving actual clown. A 4.5 year old clown with no way of controlling his random spaz movements, or about 99.999% of what comes out of his mouth.

And I love it.

Our twins are definitely representative of my husband and I. Andy is loud, a ham, thrives on attention and making people laugh, is creative, quirky, and breaks almost everything he touches.

Like me.

Tyler, on the other hand, is a serious little monkey. He needs to know how everything works, and likes to pull things apart, then put them back together, then pull them apart, then put them back together, ad nauseam. He is quietly funny, likes to be alone in a room of people, and likes to imagine.

Like my husband.

Of course when either one of them is acting like a jerkhead, we like to say the child got that from the other parent. Who doesn’t do that?

So, the clown, my Ando Bonando:Andy the Clown

He likes to break into random dancing like Elaine on Seinfeld, and there’s nothing he won’t dance to. He does the “worm” standing up, then falls onto the floor, does a handstandand just stays like that for a few minutes. I call it Abstract Breakdancing. He bursts into Imagine Dragon’s “Radioactive” while banging on the piano, and loves the beginning of Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance”.  He likes to talk to adults, and he says the most awesome things.

Today, he was talking about his teacher, Ms. Stacey.

Andy: I think Ms. Stacey is engaged. ( I didn’t think he knew that word)

Me: No, she’s married, honey.

Andy: (eyes wide) To the MUFFIN MAN????

Me: (likes to go with it) The one on Drury Lane?

Andy: Well, there is only one muffin man, mom

’tis true, I know of no other muffin man.

He’s also very blunt, crude, and kinda gross.

We were at the McDonald’s play area the other day, and he and Tyler were playing with a little girl they just met. (They call girls “girdle”)

Andy says LOUDLY:

“I smell farts. I can taste them in my mouth! Hey, girdle, are you farting???”

I died for a minute.

He is in love with “Shrek the Musical” and screams at anyone that will look at him: “WHAT ARE YOU DOIN’ IN MY SWAMP?!”

He wants toys and costumes that don’t exist and if he had his way, he’d be wearing a Doctor Doom costume and carrying around a 4 foot Buzz Lightyear toy that will clean his room for him.

I hope he’s always this carefree, although not too much in school.

I don’t want to have a permanent chair in the principal’s office.

Words and Phrases That I Hate…

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You know how there are some things people say that make you cringe? I have a few of those. They are either not actual words or they invoke a feeling of oogieness I cannot shake.

Please to enjoy the following:

1. Irregardless – YES, I know it’s in the dictionary, but it says it’s nonstandard, which is a nice way of saying: “OMG, we totally know it’s not a word, but since people keep saying it all the damn time, we’re just gonna stick it in here.”

Regardless means: “Without regard”, sticking the “ir” on it, makes it a double negative and I ain’t got no time for that.

2. Preggers - The most bass-ackward way of saying pregnant. It makes me want to rip off the ear lobes of the person who says it and then sew them back on upside down.

3. Fester This word brings to mind an image of unhealed, moist, infected wounds and bald Uncles.

4. Feces – I know it’s the technical term, but for some reason “poop” is just way less gross. Say it with me: Fee – Sees

5. Bosom – I’m pretty sure it’s because I used to watch “Bosom Buddies” and called it “BOZE-EM” and my mom made fun of me. Plus just look at it for a minute, it just looks weird.

6. Broad – I hate it when men call women a “broad”. I want to yell: “Hey, great-great grandpa, 1914 called, and they want you back!”

7. Maggot – *full body shiver*

8. “Cheaper to Keep Her” – Nothing says love more!

9. “Old Ball and Chain” – See #8

10. “It is what it is”: It has to be what it is, or it would be what it isn’t, and that would blow everyone’s minds.

11. “Could care less” – Now, if you could care less, that means you still care a little. If you don’t care at all, and have no more caring about it to do, then you couldn’t care less.

There are more words and phrases that irritate me, but in keeping with my G – PG13 rated rants, I will refrain.

This broad’s outta here.

 

2014 in review

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The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,200 times in 2014. If it were a cable car, it would take about 37 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Feel the Power of the Elf on the Shelf!

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I did something kinda bad last night.

I made my kids cry, and deep inside, where my cockles are, it gave me a HUGE happy.

They were being ROTTEN, and I WANTED them to cry.

(Ok, in their defense, I didn’t try to redirect them, or pay attention to them, or feed them, but STILL, acting like the end of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, is no bueno.)

So, the Elf on the Shelf, named Shredder, has a lot of power in my house. At least for a minute or two. Telling the kids that Shredder is going to tell on them helps keep them in check for about 56.8 seconds.

We ONLY move the Elf at night after the kids go to bed, on days they are being punkasses bad listeners. THAT way, they know they need to try harder.

Last night, I was on my last nerve, and that was even my last reserve nerve, of which I had about 5,000 stored up in my nerve reserve holder. I was about to lose my mind. I was trying to wrap presents, and they had to wrestle RIGHT THERE.

I was trying to eat dinner and they were wrestling RIGHT THERE.

I was trying to Pee, for crying out loud, and they were wrestling RIGHT THERE!!!

So, when they weren’t looking, I grabbed the Elf off the shelf and hid it in my underwear drawer, ’cause that’s how I roll.

I walked into the family room and said loudly: “Oh, NO. THAT’s NOT GOOD!”

The kids came running, and I pointed to the empty space on the shelf.

I said: “Oh, Wow, guys, Shredder was so irritated that he left WHILE YOU WERE STILL AWAKE to tell SANTA you’ve been bad!”

Instant wailing.

Like at an Italian funeral. ( I can say that, as those are my people).

“I DON’T WANT SANTA TO BE MAD!” one wails.

“I’M NOT GONNA GET ANY PRESENTS!” the other wails.

They were so loud, I shut the pocket doors to the family room, and sat in the living room with my equally irritated husband and we giggled.

Hard.

The Elf has power. Not like Grayskull power, but that little creepy thing is a wielder of something helpful here and there.

Ode to My Brother

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My little brother turned 40 the other day.

That makes me 43, I hate to say.

I feel older than that, my life’s over I’m fearing.

What’s that you say? I’m losing my hearing.

I remember us as kids playing outside.

Making leaf houses and on bikes we would ride.

We played Circus Atari, killing the stick man with glee.

We’d practice stunts with him balanced on my knee.

I laughed at his Ken doll with its girl-like “down there”…

Then my Barbie dolls would suddenly be missing their hair.

We danced to 45’s on my Disco record player,

To Dolly Parton, Eagles, and even Leo Sayer.

I stretched his Plastic Man to epic proportions,

Then my Farrah Fawcett head he painted to distortion.

There was that thing with our cat, that’s too hard to tell,

But let me assure you, it was funny as hell.

He’s all grown up now, with a wife and kids – there are two,

Who thankfully never smelled his teenage tennis shoes.

Hard to believe I’ve known him 40 years,

He’s brought me laughter, bruises, jokes, and tears,

But I think he’s pretty awesome, and I wanted to say,

To my brother, Happy 40th, (Now YOU’RE OLD) birthday.

 

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