It has come to my attention that Mac users cannot see the lovely shade of pale green of my comments link. I think the word 'prejudiced' was flung out there. In my defense, it is not *I* who has anything against Macs. No, it's BETTY. She's a Mac bigot. She regularly says that Macs suck. I, of course, tell her that we don't use that word in our house, but she can be very belligerent, especially after a few drinks. (Hey, what she does on her own time is none of my business.) However, after 2 of my 3 readers point out the same problem, I have to step in. So I've convinced her to change the color to white. She says if you can't see that, then it's time to get a real computer.
(Again, her words, not mine.)
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Give me a 1...Give me a 4....
Shnookie2 turned 14 on February 10th. It's hard for everyone else to believe, and in some ways it is for me (like I remember pushing her out of me JUST YESTERDAY), but mostly, her getting older is never a shock to me. She's just so darn mature and capable and poised, and I think I'll vote for her for president. The funny thing is that she's a little short for her age, so when we go to restaurants, they often give her a kids' meal, which makes her about as mad as she ever gets. But those hostess-people don't KNOW her; otherwise they'd be asking her if she'd like a wine list. Okay, that didn't come out right: My daughter is NOT an alcoholic. She's just so mature that we who really know her sometimes forget she's not an adult. Not that we forget and give her alcohol ever. Not that she'd take it, because she's a good girl. Not that people who drink are bad. (Afterall, I did name my dog Boozer. Not that he drinks alcohol. Not that I'd stop loving him if he did.)
Sooooooo....Shnookie2. This year was technically what we call a 'family year,' in that we don't have a friends party, but I told her she could have a few friends over. I said that because I know she'd do it all--and I do mean all--by herself. And she did. She made invites, she bought all the decorations and goodies (I did force a fiver on her to help out), she researched party games on the internet, she decorated, and she directed the whole gala herself. My only job (self-imposed, btw) was to relieve the teenagers of Shnookies 1 & 2 every once in awhile. But mostly I just lay in bed watching TV. I can handle that.
That party was Saturday night, the 9th. On her actual b-day, she begged me to 'let' her make her own cake. This girl loves to bake. And she does not know the meaning of simple. She ended up making 4 dome cakes that she decorated and inverted to make Barbie dresses. Here's the pic:
After she spent 4 hours making these cakes, we spent 2 minutes devouring them, and she turns to me and says "Thank you Mom for letting me make these." And I said "Hey, my gift to you." Do I need to say it again? PERFECT CHILD . . . . . . PERFECT PRESIDENT
yah baby.
Seriously, every week someone different is telling me what a treasure Shnookie2 is. "She's so sweet" "She's always happy" "She's so helpful" "She's the best babysitter we've ever had" and on and on and on. My response these days isn't "Thank you," it's "Isn't she amazing? I feel so lucky." It just doesn't seem right to take credit for the personality this child was born with and has made blossom all on her own. I swear she could've been plopped down in the middle of the desert and somehow figured out how to be Mother Theresa. A couple of weeks ago, she casually mentions to me that she's going to pick girls at her school who are so sweet but don't have many friends, and annonomously slip an encouraging note into their lockers. She's so incredibly kind to EVERYONE, including her siblings, and--more shockingly--to me, her mother. She tells me at least once a week what an incredible mother I am. I know--can we bottle that?
This may seem like an odd thing to point out, but I have admired her lately with how little she gossips. At an age when girls live to dis other girls, she has nothing but glowing things to say about everyone. I know that her friends feel like they can confide in her, because she'll stay mum forever about other people's business, even if they don't expressly ask her. As a mother, it's very frustrating, cuz how am I supposed to know the goods on my neighbors if she won't spy for me through her friends???! hehe
It's one of those things where she's so perfect that, as her parent, you freak yourself out every so often, wondering if she's obsessive about perfection and she's gonna snap any day. Like she'll start ranting "NO WIRE HANGERS!!!" and shave all her hair off and we'll hear about it on YouTube.
I learn things from this kid every dang day. I hope that we always stay close, that she'll always share with me her life. Because it's gonna be phenomenal, and I am blessed to have her example for inspiration. Love you, my baby love.
Sooooooo....Shnookie2. This year was technically what we call a 'family year,' in that we don't have a friends party, but I told her she could have a few friends over. I said that because I know she'd do it all--and I do mean all--by herself. And she did. She made invites, she bought all the decorations and goodies (I did force a fiver on her to help out), she researched party games on the internet, she decorated, and she directed the whole gala herself. My only job (self-imposed, btw) was to relieve the teenagers of Shnookies 1 & 2 every once in awhile. But mostly I just lay in bed watching TV. I can handle that.
That party was Saturday night, the 9th. On her actual b-day, she begged me to 'let' her make her own cake. This girl loves to bake. And she does not know the meaning of simple. She ended up making 4 dome cakes that she decorated and inverted to make Barbie dresses. Here's the pic:
After she spent 4 hours making these cakes, we spent 2 minutes devouring them, and she turns to me and says "Thank you Mom for letting me make these." And I said "Hey, my gift to you." Do I need to say it again? PERFECT CHILD . . . . . . PERFECT PRESIDENTyah baby.
Seriously, every week someone different is telling me what a treasure Shnookie2 is. "She's so sweet" "She's always happy" "She's so helpful" "She's the best babysitter we've ever had" and on and on and on. My response these days isn't "Thank you," it's "Isn't she amazing? I feel so lucky." It just doesn't seem right to take credit for the personality this child was born with and has made blossom all on her own. I swear she could've been plopped down in the middle of the desert and somehow figured out how to be Mother Theresa. A couple of weeks ago, she casually mentions to me that she's going to pick girls at her school who are so sweet but don't have many friends, and annonomously slip an encouraging note into their lockers. She's so incredibly kind to EVERYONE, including her siblings, and--more shockingly--to me, her mother. She tells me at least once a week what an incredible mother I am. I know--can we bottle that?
This may seem like an odd thing to point out, but I have admired her lately with how little she gossips. At an age when girls live to dis other girls, she has nothing but glowing things to say about everyone. I know that her friends feel like they can confide in her, because she'll stay mum forever about other people's business, even if they don't expressly ask her. As a mother, it's very frustrating, cuz how am I supposed to know the goods on my neighbors if she won't spy for me through her friends???! hehe
It's one of those things where she's so perfect that, as her parent, you freak yourself out every so often, wondering if she's obsessive about perfection and she's gonna snap any day. Like she'll start ranting "NO WIRE HANGERS!!!" and shave all her hair off and we'll hear about it on YouTube.
I learn things from this kid every dang day. I hope that we always stay close, that she'll always share with me her life. Because it's gonna be phenomenal, and I am blessed to have her example for inspiration. Love you, my baby love.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
They grow so fast...
I was prepared for Boozer to grow fast...I thought. Afterall, we once had a Newfoundland who started out 1 pound at birth and was 140 lbs at one. I knew he grew so fast that I only had one semi-good picture of him as a 'baby.' I learned from that and have been taking TONS of pictures of Boozer (I'm sure the kids feel a little slighted. Sibling rivalry and all that), but 4 weeks later and LOOK . AT . HIM:
(And may I remind you, you are supposed to be looking at the DOG, not at the sheet hanging in my entryway. From a fort my girls made 3 WEEKS AGO but have not looked at since. Cuz that's how we roll.)
So Boozer resides in our guest bathroom (because it has a tile floor...think it through...ah-hah), and we've put up a baby gate in the doorway. To get him in or out, you have to lift him over it. Well, I'm quite sure I'm in my last few days of being able to do that. The poor guy runs from me when he can tell I'm about to lift him in, cuz it ain't pretty. I think we're both stripped of our dignity from the ordeal. I have to wrap my arms from behind around his middle, heave him up into the air while quickly shifting to grab one hind leg for leverage. This leaves all his 'business' exposed to the world at large. Once we get to the gate, (which, unfortunately, puts us face to face with a mirror) I have to use my ab muscles and a well-place leg to propel him over the gate. At this point, he usually starts squirming, eager to end the humiliation. Sometimes he lands square on his face, but the deed is done.
Just be glad I don't have pictures of THAT to share.
Oh, this would be a good time to share a story: We (the humans only) are eating dinner around the kitchen table the other night when we hear a familiar sound--a toilet flushing. But a quick look around the table confirms that all six of us are indeed seated at the table. We all rush to Boozer's bathroom, and sure enough, he'd somehow flushed his toilet! I half expected to see him sitting on the pot, reading the paper! (There would definitely be a photo in that!) But actually, he was cowering by the door, staring at the white fixture that had somehow made the scary noise. So here's me with my fingers crossed, hoping he'll figure out the rest of the toilet procedure and we'll never need a pooper scooper again. It happens in movies, right?
And finally, I've taken a pic of Boozer every Saturday to document his growth. Here's the series so far: (If you flip through them quickly, he does a little dance :) haha)
January 5, 2008
January 11, 2008
January 19, 2008
January 26, 2008
February 2, 2008
(And may I remind you, you are supposed to be looking at the DOG, not at the sheet hanging in my entryway. From a fort my girls made 3 WEEKS AGO but have not looked at since. Cuz that's how we roll.)
So Boozer resides in our guest bathroom (because it has a tile floor...think it through...ah-hah), and we've put up a baby gate in the doorway. To get him in or out, you have to lift him over it. Well, I'm quite sure I'm in my last few days of being able to do that. The poor guy runs from me when he can tell I'm about to lift him in, cuz it ain't pretty. I think we're both stripped of our dignity from the ordeal. I have to wrap my arms from behind around his middle, heave him up into the air while quickly shifting to grab one hind leg for leverage. This leaves all his 'business' exposed to the world at large. Once we get to the gate, (which, unfortunately, puts us face to face with a mirror) I have to use my ab muscles and a well-place leg to propel him over the gate. At this point, he usually starts squirming, eager to end the humiliation. Sometimes he lands square on his face, but the deed is done.
Just be glad I don't have pictures of THAT to share.
Oh, this would be a good time to share a story: We (the humans only) are eating dinner around the kitchen table the other night when we hear a familiar sound--a toilet flushing. But a quick look around the table confirms that all six of us are indeed seated at the table. We all rush to Boozer's bathroom, and sure enough, he'd somehow flushed his toilet! I half expected to see him sitting on the pot, reading the paper! (There would definitely be a photo in that!) But actually, he was cowering by the door, staring at the white fixture that had somehow made the scary noise. So here's me with my fingers crossed, hoping he'll figure out the rest of the toilet procedure and we'll never need a pooper scooper again. It happens in movies, right?
And finally, I've taken a pic of Boozer every Saturday to document his growth. Here's the series so far: (If you flip through them quickly, he does a little dance :) haha)
January 5, 2008
January 11, 2008
January 19, 2008
January 26, 2008
February 2, 2008
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