tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58807962024-03-14T07:03:33.888-04:00The Sketch FactorShe'll get a hold on you,<br>believe itAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04275480990932180222noreply@blogger.comBlogger1310125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-86815948924288769222012-03-13T10:59:00.002-04:002012-03-13T11:03:02.662-04:00Rigid Control Freak the SecondWe thought we had our hands full with Doodle, y'all. At 2 1/2 to 3, Doodle was, as we described, a "rigid control freak."Enter Scribble.This kid will tell you the sky is red if it means he can argue. He'll fight on whether he pooped his pants, as you are changing the offending diaper.But a few days ago, he took it to a new level. After corralling my hubby and I into the living room to join handsUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-49545938663117275582011-12-09T11:09:00.005-05:002011-12-14T15:43:16.876-05:00I Want the World's Most Dangerous, Dung Spewing Mammal for ChristmasAround this time of year, radio stations begin playing the legions of holiday music we've all forgotten about since last year. Music that should have been taken out back and put out of its misery with daddy's deer rifle, but lives and breathes anew each season. Who knew Billy Squier had a Christmas song? I do, because some desperate radio station plays it once a year. Hope you're enjoying those Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-46914404828447186622011-11-04T12:03:00.001-04:002011-11-04T12:09:44.456-04:00Anything Could HappenScribble loves books. His favorites are books about animals, especially those with photos. He knows most of their names and the noises they make, and whether they could eat or bite you. It’s always fun to read one of these books with him, as his commentary along the way is priceless.This morning as I was getting ready for work, Scribble was paging through a magazine that we got from the ClevelandUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-91811260105103307442011-08-23T13:28:00.003-04:002011-08-23T13:30:52.665-04:00BrilliantThis weekend, my husband made homemade spaghetti sauce with tomatoes from our garden. It was an afternoon-long effort and I know he was proud of the result. Last night, he used the sauce and made eggplant parmesan. Doodle and Scribble had spaghetti and meatballs, because, homeys don't play dat eggplant. Doodle takes his first bite and declares, "Dad, this sauce is BRILLIANT!" I was thinking to Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-39416981106318646832011-07-29T09:10:00.002-04:002011-07-29T09:12:57.325-04:00Smurf My LifeLast night at dinner, I remembered a promise I had made to Doodle last weekend."We still going tomorrow?" I asked him, and as the words were leaving my mouth, I turned to my husband and said, "Why did I just do that? Why am I doing this to myself?" I mean, maybe Doodle had forgotten what we had talked about doing on Friday night.But it was too late. I had to follow through. "We still going to seeUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-1465872720263205672011-07-14T15:59:00.001-04:002011-07-14T16:01:58.094-04:00<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false EN-US X-NONE X-NONE MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-16192777456842726412011-04-13T22:52:00.002-04:002011-04-13T23:06:17.721-04:00Dopple GangedI'm an only child. People often find this surprising about me, because I don't fit the stereotype. I don't have that spoiled princess vibe going on, at least not most of the time. Although I had plenty of friends in the neighborhood to play with when I was a child, I had a vivid imagination and could entertain myself for hours on end by making up games with dolls, stuffed animals, etc. But I did Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-58172492097261800422011-01-27T21:19:00.001-05:002011-01-27T21:21:57.462-05:00Senseless<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4ptUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-21163926364790369412011-01-24T14:43:00.002-05:002011-01-24T14:49:00.999-05:00I suppose it’s very nice<!--[if gte mso 9]> Normal 0 false false false MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]> <![endif]--><!--[if !mso]> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-72138186788071666812010-12-23T20:54:00.020-05:002010-12-28T21:58:48.725-05:00Let’s get re-acquainted, you and I.It’s certainly been a while. Turns out this new job does not allow me to wile away the days on Facebook and write incredibly witty blog posts on the company dime. This is most unfortunate. I could be, like, level 90 in Farmville by now.(This is some random FV character and DEFINITELY not my own screenshot.)So many times I have wanted to visit. To come share someUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-7915878910299908342010-02-09T21:16:00.003-05:002010-02-09T21:26:52.894-05:00What's poppin'Let's face it.There is no dainty, ladylike way to eat popcorn.I should know - I've tried to find the method, and it just doesn't exist. I could, quite possibly, be the world's messiest popcorn eater. When I eat popcorn, it looks like a jackal going to town on some dead thing in the Serengheti. Some of it may find its way into my mouth, some may find its way onto the floor instead. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-66546069448670494312009-11-25T09:49:00.003-05:002009-11-25T10:09:00.683-05:00Berry goodI was nearly an adult before I realized that a cranberry was an actual berry, rather than the gelatinous, cylindrical substance that came from an Ocean Spray can. When I was growing up, it was my job every Thanksgiving to open the can, run a butter knife along the inside of the can, and then very carefully, shake out the cranberry sauce. The goal was, of course, to get it out in one Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-29130546596155495912009-11-02T14:33:00.002-05:002009-11-02T14:59:21.686-05:00Baby stepsWith any luck at all, one day this week I will come home and discover that I have steps on the side of my house, leading up to the side door.Sound familiar?Maybe it should - because about thirteen months ago, I was having the same hopeful thoughts. And then one week went by, then another, then another. And then it became fairly obvious that we'd been had. We got GOT, to quote a BB11 Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-36364046531666125902009-10-28T16:12:00.004-04:002009-10-28T16:16:46.951-04:00Outsmarted by the masterDoodle and his dad come home from school the other day and Doodle spots his squirt guns on the back porch, cast aside from some sizzling September day. "Dad, can I play with my squirt guns?" he asks."No, Doodle," says his dad. "You can only play squirt guns when it's warm out." It's jacket weather when he says this - a biting October day where crisp leaves form a blanket Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-89962712508338897532009-10-22T16:54:00.002-04:002009-10-22T17:13:07.545-04:00Como se dice, "stupid?"I knew it would happen eventually, but I thought he'd at least be in grade school. I saw it in the still-distant future: Doodle comes home with school, armed with homework that is just too difficult for me to help him with. Heck, after he masters basic math, I'm out. But I wasn't ready for his four-year-old self to come home and be reciting stuff in Spanish.I think it's Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-83657010649496785592009-10-12T10:36:00.002-04:002009-10-12T10:45:13.704-04:00Safety TipsWhen picking up Doodle from school on Friday, my husband noticed a list the teacher had made entitled "Safety Tips." It was tips given by the kids, and each tip had the kid's name who contributed the tip.The list reads something like this:Don't run in the hallway - JamesKeep all the legs of the chair on the ground - AvaPay attention to the teacher - MadisonListen to the directions Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-89180617711194832352009-10-05T13:57:00.003-04:002009-10-05T14:10:52.066-04:00A messy situationWarning: this post is going to deal with the topic of baby poop. If you can't handle the poop, come back another time.I arrive at my office this morning, log in to my e-mail, and up pops a message from a family member with a subject line of "[Scribble's] Poop."Without reading it, I already know what's coming. Last night, while we were at said family member's house, Scribble went Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-54234537045421666472009-09-18T14:05:00.007-04:002009-09-18T14:32:23.759-04:00ChubbifiedBy a show of hands, who thinks I am damaging Scribble for life by calling him "Chubs?"Maybe it's because Doodle was a string bean as a baby, and still is. He never had any delicious baby thighs to pinch. His were always pretty thin. Lucky kid, he inherited his father's genes! Scribble, on the other hand, has pinchable thighs, a nice buddha belly, and irresistable baby arms. I find it Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-36554667646975148732009-09-17T14:15:00.001-04:002009-09-17T14:17:59.189-04:00Home away from homeI’ve been in my current job for ten years, in my current office for about 8 ½. We moved in early 2001 to a brand-new facility, custom-made for us. I remember in the early days, we were not supposed to eat at our desks for fear of soiling the new carpet. There are tales of people being busted by executive assistants for having such banal snack foods as apples and bananas at Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-28617616281467066832009-09-03T09:52:00.002-04:002009-09-03T09:59:36.320-04:00Information GatheringAt the tender age of 4, there's stuff that Doodle just doesn't want to talk about with me and my husband. Such as, "What did you do at school today?" So we had to find out about the fire drill they had a school from my in-laws, with whom Doodle shared the whole incident, including how Scribble was carried out by a teacher, since he can't walk yet. Can you imagine a fire drillUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-9879337616319503892009-09-02T11:33:00.003-04:002009-09-02T12:03:15.243-04:00Someone, please light a fire under my hubby's patootieSome people, maybe all, I haven't asked everyone so I will only assume "some", feel that their lives are out of order when their house is out of order. I am one of the some, fo' sho'.So you may have noticed by my last post that the first few weeks of Scribble's life were a little chaotic and that I may not have been the Mother of the Year. I Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-75598464037263240432009-08-28T13:44:00.004-04:002009-08-28T15:47:16.832-04:00The hardest job that doesn't require a degree or any formal trainingOh. Em. Gee.You people needed to warn me about this.Having the second kid? Well, it's not just TWICE as hard. It's like everything becomes infinitely more complicated. It requires mad time management skillz, the ability to multi-task 24 hours a day (including while asleep), and such talents as assembling a Transformer from Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-25026623943352392552009-07-20T14:39:00.004-04:002009-07-20T14:55:55.297-04:00Hey babyOK, Nathan. It's your big Internet premiere. Remember, first impressions are everything. Knock em dead, buddy!Oh. Well. That didn't go so well.Let's try this again.Introducing:Nathan James, aka Scribbleborn June 26, 20096 pounds 8 ouncesLikes:Milkthe car seatthe sound of the dryerhis brother, Doodlelate night televisionDislikes:dirty diapersbeing late for mealtimewindy weatherReady to tryUnknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-2189858981147896672009-07-02T22:39:00.001-04:002009-07-02T22:39:52.230-04:00Last Summer by Pete YornOne of my favorite songs off the Pete Yorn album. Posting here so I don't lose the link.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880796.post-13484819272404878762009-06-22T15:34:00.003-04:002009-06-22T16:05:51.213-04:00Any day nowDear Future Me,I realize that it's customary in a mommy blog type of post to address your post to your born/unborn child. However, since I'm sure my son will have absolutely no interest in this information at any point in his life, I am addressing it to my future self.Time is moving so quickly, and I know that in a few days, I'll have totally forgotten the sensation of what it's like to be Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2