Tuesday Night Lights

Tuesday is football night. Yes, its true. If you have a seventh grade football player, it is indeed football night. Hunter is on the Longhorn Seventh Grade "A" team. Chad and I agree that it is important that one of us be in attendance at all football games. I want to make sure that someone is there in the event that he does get hurt. (This is a remote chance, and I am not a super paranoid parent, but someone should be there.) So, that means that Chad goes to all of the away games. Breastfeeding and seventh grade football games don't mix. When there is an away game, I stay home with the little kids. When there is a home game, we all go, and Chad stays with the babies until there is a meltdown. Then he goes home and I stay.

Last night, I stayed. But, this was our first Tuesday night game with the babies. We decided to load up the wagon. Its a two-seater. If you don't have one of these, be sure to ask Santa for one. It is great. My niece calls it the "dragon" as we dragged the kids around in it all weekend! Way better than a double stroller. We even took it to Target, but that's another story.

The game was okay and the kids were fine. At half-time, it was bed time. Chad headed toward home and I was left to interpret the game by myself. It was a different world. I looked around the stands, and I realized, I knew 1 parent in the entire crowd. This was a DIFFERENT crowd. The parents that remained were die hard. There was a ton of yelling: at the coaches, at the officials, at the timekeeper, and at the kids. Luckily, I have been studying the game and was able to understand most of what was going on.

I don't know what I think about being in this particular parent crowd. The dads that were there were VERY critical of every kid on the field. And they would scream things to the kids on the field. There seemed to be pecking order in the crowd. The dad of the son that was getting the most yards had the "right" to be the most critical. And of course, anything great that happened was a result of "their teaching" or "their coaching." This seemed to go on between 5 or so parents. I am glad that Hunter had a good game and none of these crowd experts were compelled to yell at him. I think if they had, I might not have been able to keep my mouth shut... and then Chad would have had to figure out how to get 2 sleeping babies out of bed to come get me out of jail.

A Glimpse of Me in the Future?

Thursday was an exciting day. I got to go to the urologist. Yeah for me.

When I made this appointment a couple of weeks ago, the receptionist had mailed me the new patient information packet that I was supposed to complete prior to arrival. As is typical for a doctor's office, there were 47 forms all of which required you to write your name, address, social security number, insurance information, etc. repeatedly. (I am going to make labels of this information for myself the next time I go to the doctor and stick one on every page!) Why do you have to hand write the same information on page after page? Can't they just type it once? What a waste of time. I digress...

Earlier in the day, I had completed all of the paperwork and had made copies of my insurance card and drivers license, and put everything in a manilla folder including copies of all of my labs from my other doctor. I am so organized. :-) So, when I got there, I just handed the receptionist my folder. She, of course, tried to stop me, by finding fault with my ability to fill in all of the blanks, but I had already checked and had filled them all in. I quickly sat down. There were 4 other "patients" in the waiting room - 3 men and 1 woman. I was probably 40 years younger than each of them. At least 40 years. The woman was by far the funniest. After I dropped off my info, she stormed the receptionist.

Lady: "Do you have Dr. X's phone number?"
Receptionist: "Dr. who?"
Lady: "Dr. X's."
Receptionist: "No." (Clearly annoyed.)
Lady: "Don't you have some Dr. book back there that I can use?"
Receptionist: "A Dr. book? (rolls eyes) I have a phone book."
Lady: "Gimme that."
Receptionist: Slams yellow pages down on counter. "There you go."

The lady then goes into the corner, where there is a phone. She starts calling doctors offices. I don't know if they were random doctors or doctors who are lucky enough to call her a patient, but the typical phone call when like this:

Lady: "Do you have any flu shots?" This part was always screamed, as if the person on the other end couldn't hear, when I am fairly certain, the lady must be somewhat hearing impaired.
Lady: "When are you getting some?"
Lady: "Well, where am I supposed to go to get one. I have to have a flu shot."
Lady: "Well, I guess I'll have to go to Walgreens."
Lady: Slams down the phone and starts to flip the pages of the doctor book angrily.

Clearly, she was in want of a flu shot, in a bad way. I know I heard her call at LEAST 3 different offices.

The three other men in the office were all struggling to complete there paper work. The receptionist kept finding errors and omissions from their packets. Also, the lighting was poor and the print was small. I am not looking forward to getting any older.

Going to the urologist was about as you would expect. I did pause to take a photo of the "special" chair used in exams.

How fun is that?

Potty Success - Sort of...

At Cutter's daycare, the room he is in is Potty Centric. It is filled with kids that are in the potty training stage. Hmmm. Well the kids may not be in the potty training stage, but of potty training AGE... So, he sees it all day long. Everyone lines up to go potty.

Several weeks ago, we thought we should buy a potty for the house. If daycare is working on this, then we should too. I bought this one, because it looked comfortable. Like a 2 year old cares. Actually, the reason I bought this one is that it was in stock the day I went to BRU. It's a potty.

We showed the potty to Cutter. He knows what it is. He knows where it is. In fact, every night before he gets in the bath tub, he takes it apart, puts it back together, sits on it, and produces zero bodily fluids: fun is over - gets in the bath tub. This ritual has been going on for about a month.

Saturday, Cutter was in the tub and let out a little toot. Then he said "Potty?!?" I was out of the room at the time feeding Kenzie. Chad decided to let him out so he could sit on the potty. Sit it on he did. He squeezed his knees together and peed... all over the bath room.

Chad has been cursing the potty since I bought it claiming it is too small. Okay - potties don't come in sizes. Cutter will just have to learn to point it down or sit on the regular potty. This, however, was little consolation while you are cleaning urine up off of the floor.

Chad did the right thing... he praised Cutter for his accomplishment. When I heard the commotion, I went into the bathroom and did what any of you would do at the site... Laughed, and laughed, and laughed!

And that's not all. At the end of the bath Cutter started to stick his finger in his ear and whine. I know you are thinking ear infection, but that's not it. He gets globs of ear wax. So, he will sit there, still as can be, while Chad fishes the ear wax out of his ear canal. (Don't freak out - he doesn't go digging in there, just wipes it out of the opening with those baby Q-tips that cost 4 times as much as the regular ones because they are fat and weird shaped.) Cutter, curious boy that he is, wants to see the wax. Chad handed him the Q-tip. Cutter repeats, "Ewww, yuckey." He then proceeds to try to lick the Q-tip. Chad reacts quickly by knocking it out of his hand. Cutter screams.

It was a good night.

Fraud?

Let me start by saying I am pretty particular about the law. I try to be a good, law abiding citizen. Yes, I speed in my car and things like that, but in general, I keep things on the up and up.

Several months ago, I was at the pediatrician's office and I saw a little girl grab her mom's iPhone and squeal "Dora... Dora..." The mom, with exasperation, rolled her eyes and started an episode of Dora the Explorer on the iPhone. The child was mesmerized and watched, sitting down for several minutes.

That was genius. I thought I was a technology person, but I had not even considered letting my 18 month old play with my treasured iPhone. But after 30 minutes sitting in a waiting room, better judgement prevailed. I needed to get me some Dora.

I searched on iTunes. A season of Dora is $29.99. But he doesn't watch Dora. Why should I buy that? He watches Elmo, that's what I should get. So I purchase a season of Seasame Street for $19.99 and downloaded it and figured out how to put it on my phone for the next time I need it. So far, it has been a good investment.

But, and there is always a but, why should I pay iTunes when I have a BOATLOAD of DVDs that I OWN? My opinion is that I shouldn't...

So I consulted my friend who is to computers what my husband is to hunting/fishing. He told me about a software that "strips" the copyright off of DVDs so that you can rip them into iPhone format. He has used it for some time. So, I downloaded it. It has a 21 day trial period. In 21 days I should be able to rip a good many of them and save them for a rainy day... Besides, I did pay for the DVDs. I am not distributing them. Only "backing them up". Right?

With some maneuvering, I get it all to work and I rip a couple of Elmo DVDs to iPhone format. When Cutter starts to freak out, and beg for m'Elmo, I pull out the phone and let him watch. Target, Gringo's, the car... it never lasts long, but it does work.

This morning, I am working from home and thought, what a good time to do some more DVDs. My trial period expired so I need to purchase the software. I click the link, and go through a very typical internet shopping experience: create an account, uncheck the box for "send me stupid emails with more crap I don't want", check the box for "notify me when upgrades are available" give them shipping address, credit card number, credit card secret code, etc. I get to the final check out and the currency is in Euros, with a USD estimation. Hmm. That's weird. "COMPLETE THIS PURCHASE." Click.

Let's go. I have a day, people. Everything downloads and I start my thing. Turn to my laptop from work and the phone rings.

800 number. I'm not answering... But something tells me to answer.

Hello.
This is Chase Bank's Fraud Alert calling to verify your credit card account. Did you recently purchase software. Press 1 to confirm. Press 2 for more information.

Oh crap. I guess here is where I press 1... I did buy it. Buyer's remorse sets in. Press 2... More information, please...Yep. That's the place. Yep. That was the amount.

I had to confirm more than a month's activity - half an hour on the phone. It was all my stuff. What have I done? Am I on a special list now? Are they keeping track of people that by software from out of the country?

Can you say, paranoid? Maybe I should just pay iTunes... or buy stock in Apple...

Toilet Paper

Why is it that one of the most inexpensive items in your home is the cause of much angst... and jovial conversation?

Let me begin by talking about our cleaning lady. She is wonderful. I love her. She does a great job, always shows up when she is supposed to, picks up all of our "donations" (hand me downs, etc.) and takes a personal check if I forget to get her cash in advance. (She is legal, but probably evades the tax man. Hey - if i could, I would.) And I repeat. She is wonderful.

However, each week when she comes, there is always something that we can't find. I have always told the kids, don't leave it out and she won't have to put it up. Dishes are frequently in different places. Clothes may be put in the wrong closet. Stuff like that. Nothing big. You have to look at it like a game... security badge, security badge, if I were the cleaning lady, where would I put you?

This morning, I had gotten ready for work and packed all of Kenzie's bottles etc, for daycare. For the next 2 weeks, I am to take Kenzie to daycare in the morning, Chad will take Cutter, and then I will pick them both up in the evening. Chad is attending a training class held offsite, so we won't be carpooling. Chad had gotten up when I started packing the car. I wasn't paying much attention until I found him in the utility room poking around in the dark.

Me: "What are you doing?"

Chad: "Uh, looking for toilet paper."

Me: "Why?"

Chad: stupid look

Me: "There is plenty in the bathroom."

Chad: "No there's not."

Me: thinking in my head - well, if there weren't so many Cabela's catalogs...then I start laughing.

Me: "Did you look on the back of the toilet?"

Chad: "No, the spare rolls of TP should be in the basket. They were no where in the bathroom."

Me: "Did you look on the back of the toilet?" Laughing out loud this time

Chad: stupid look "Why would they be there?"

Me: Shrugged my shoulders. The Cleaning Lady moved them. Still laughing. I walked into the bathroom and showed him at least 2 mega rolls of toilet paper.

Chad: "Kiss my a**."

How is that men that STAND to pee facing the back of the toilet don't see what is there? Potpourri, room spray, and spare toilet paper. You would think, they, of anyone out there would notice. If it had been a snake it would have bitten him.

Bye, Bye, Birdie

For those of you who don't know, the hunting season has started. From here on out, my husband will seek out every opportunity to go kill some sort of bird, duck, or deer. Keep in mind, he continually searches for opportunities to fish, even if it is only in the ponds near our house. So, I guess, for many types of animals, my husband is their worst enemy.

Me, on the other hand, I could care less about these activities. Chad is a fisherman. I am a catcherman. What is a catcherman do you ask? A catcherman is someone who only wants catch the fish. The whole experience of fishing and casting over and over again is beyond me. The scenery can be nice, but, whatever. If I put my line in the water, a fish had best jump on it. Otherwise, I would rather just read a book.

As far as hunting goes, I am not a hunter, I am a killer. If I drive 6 hours to freeze my a*^ off in a deer blind, there better be some meat in it at the end of the morning because, no, I am not going again in the afternoon. I will be sitting in front of the TV watching the Hallmark Channel or Food Network thank you very much.

Bird or duck hunting is something I have NEVER even wanted to try. Why would I get up at 4 in the morning, put on plastic pants, trapse through a marsh in the rain to squat and hope some stupid birds fly over - that I have to be able to tell are the right species and shoot at while they fly 40 - 60 mph over head. Keep in mind that most days when I drive to work, I rarely get to drive faster than 40 mph. No. This is not a sport for me...

Until last night...

I needed to fill up my car with gas. On the way, there was a bird standing in the middle of the road. Normally, birds fly away when a car approaches, even if they just barely make it out of the way. I was driving, maybe 30 mph, (it was in a residential zone) the bird looked me in the eye, but I didn't waver. I drove straight over him.

There was a small thud on the front end of the car and as I passed over him, I saw feathers flying through the air from my rearview mirror. Hmmm. That was weird. Bye, bye, birdie.

I called Chad. He asked me what I hit. I told him I hit a bird. He thought I was going to tell him that I had hit something more serious... He asked me what kind of bird. A gray one. My biggest hope was that it wasn't stuck in the grill when I got to the gas station. Removing a bird carcass was not on my agenda for the evening.

Good news. Only a few feathers remained. I easily removed them, deposited them in garbage and sanitized with a wet one.

Another successful hunt.

The First Swear Word...

Last week I was picking up the kids from daycare. The first time to pick both of them up by myself. You wouldn't think that this would be two (too) difficult. And its not. But it does take some organization and balance.

Picture this: postpartum mom, baby carrier, diaper bag, bottle bag, and a really quick on his feet 19 month old. Peak traffic time. No parking places. This was my afternoon.

I got to daycare and of course, no parking. I circled the parking lot until a spot opened up. The last row, farthest from the door. Oh well. Go in. Get Kenzie folded into her carseat. Then I go get Cutter. He is like a pinball bouncing from rubber band to rubber band. We toddle out to the car. One hand is trying to keep track of Cutter, the other is holding Kenzie in the carseat carrier with the diaper bag and the bottle bag on the shoulder. If they have security cameras, someone had to be laughing their butt off.

We get to the Mercedes minivan and, of course, some jerk had parked kind of close. Mercedes minivan has BIG doors. I set Kenzie down on the ground and try to corral Cutter before he runs into traffic. I squeeze through the opening and set him in his carseat. At that point, the bags on my shoulder hit the ground.

Keep in mind I have all glass bottles... me and my green republican self. The bottle bag had a slight opening in the zipper, and one proceeded to roll underneath the car.

"Shit." I mutter.
Just in time for Cutter to proudly repeat.
"Sit... Sit."

I ran around to the other side to snap Kenzie's seat into the base. Then I run back to the driver's side, squeeze in between the two cars so that I can get in. I hear Cutter...

"Sit...haha... Mommy SIT!"

So I said what any other mom would say,
"Look Cutter... Mommy is sitting! See... SIT."

He meant it to be a swear word... but he's only 19 months old. It can be just a regular word, right?