Go Blue
I know I'll get some guff for this photo, being an Ohioan and all, and for submitting my child, who doesn't know any better, to wearing the much maligned maize and blue, but ... HOW CUTE IS THIS???

Seasons change
I am on hold with FedEx right now and they are playing Christmas music. Jeepers!
Today also marks the first day I have had to break out the nylons, or hose if you prefer, since spring.
I am not pleased with either of these developments.

Buy the book
Last evening, I took Doodle to the library to return our week's batch of movies, including the heinous, disturbing film "The Brave Little Toaster." The parking lot was packed. Unusual for a Thursday night.

When we got up to the children's room, I noticed some activity in the adjacent meeting room ... a book sale!

I should explain that one of my many quirks is that I love to own my books. I love libraries, don't get me wrong, but there's something about knowing that my favorite reads are stacked away on my shelf for safekeeping that just does it for me. I do love indulging at Borders, but even better is amazon. I can't be trusted online! Used books! For cheap! It's a dream come true.

So when I saw the book sale beckoning, resistance was futile. Too bad my child couldn't be contained. I could have stayed there for an hour, browsing the titles. I did, however, manage to pick up some VHS videos (yes, we still have a VCR, along with a DVD player) for a dollar apiece, including the much-loved "Toy Story" and some other Disney titles. When I paid ($5 for my bounty) I learned that Saturday is a megasale where you can fill a bag for $3.

I'll admit, I can't stop thinking about it. It's just such an exciting prospect for me to come home with a SACK of books for that little amount of money. I was thinking that I'd just load up with a bunch of random stuff, like a grab bag, and then read everything regardless of what it is.

I'm going back. Without the child. Try and stop me!

I wish
Doodle wanted to say up for a few extra minutes and watch TV with me. I've pretty much eliminated all the shows off the DVR that are watchable with Doodle. There's "Heroes" (too violent, weird), "Entourage" (too many f-bombs, nudity), "True Blood" (too vampirey). Right now the only show that I have DVR'ed that we can watch with Doodle in the room is "Project Runway." I'm several episodes behind on this show, so the one I punched up last night opened with Chris March parading onto the runway in full, towering drag ... that, too, got turned off.

So I happened to have recorded an episode of "Austin City Limits" featuring John Mayer. I decided that was ok to watch, despite the fact that my husband was also in the room and he was probably suppressing the urge to throw a boot through the television. I believe he is of the mind that Real Men Don't Like John Mayer, and his point probably has some validity.

Not helping this was the fact that Doodle kept saying, "That's John Mayer, mommy? Is that your boy?"
"Yeah, he's my boy," I said, shooting a sideways glance at my irked spouse.
"Can we see him?"
"We're seeing him right now, on the TV."
"I want him to come to my house."
"Me too."

So money and he doesn't even know
Last night, I got called on the carpet for being cheap.

Doodle has picked up on the concept that in order for us to buy him stuff he wants, like toy cars, we need to have money. In his mind, getting more money is as simple as going to the money store and getting some. And then of course, instead of spending this money on things like car payments and mortgages and groceries, we would naturally spend it all on toy cars, and maybe the occasional Thomas train.

Lately, Doodle has been giving us a hard time about listening. He's a stubborn little Dickens, and wields his power like any good tyrant would. Particular sticking points include using the potty at home (he stays dry all day at school, but doesn't seem to mind sitting around in a soaking wet Pull-Up at home), and cleaning up his toys when he's done.

I got the brilliant idea that I would bribe my child with money to get him to clean up. I haven't stooped to bribing him to pee on the toilet... yet ... it just seems too messed up to pay someone for their bodily excretions. ANYHOO, when I told Doodle this plan last night, playtime was over, then and there. Money is the great motivator. Toys were put away, lined up, a stray snack bowl was put in the dishwasher, all while my husband and I sat on the couch in amazement, not lifting a finger.

When Doodle finished, we went and got his piggy bank. I opened my wallet and grabbed some random coins. It happened to be three pennies and a dime. "Here's four monies," I said to him. I mean, the child doesn't know denominations. My husband, however, calculated that this clean-up work had earned Doodle all of 13 cents and protested. "Give the child a quarter for god's sake!"

"He's THREE!" I screeched back.

So cheap old mom had to go back into her wallet and deposit a nice, shiny quarter into Doodle's car fund.

Ike, Ike baby
I live nowhere near a hurricane-producing coast. The worst Lake Erie does is throw several wollops of lake effect snow on my commute to and from work a few times during the winter months.

But regardless, Ike snuck up north and bitchslapped northeast Ohio yesterday.

We were fortunate not to lose power at home, but my inlaws and many friends were not so lucky. While I was at my inlaws' house for dinner last night, a large tree fell and took out their entire deck and tore down power lines. The tree missed their house by a couple of feet. And luckier still -- no one was outside when it happened. During nicer weather, we spent much of the evenings on the deck. Had the tree fallen when we were outside, there would have been nowhere to run.

I've never been one for storms. Some people like to watch lightning crack across the sky; my instinct is to cover my entire body in darkness so the flashes won't reach me. When I was little, I used to have an emergency bag of my favorite toys near me all the time in case there was a tornado so I could take it with me to the basement. I think only once did I ever have to take cover with this bag in tow.

This was, by far, the most eerie storm I've ever experienced. Never in my life have I been so afraid of WIND. I've never felt so vulnerable than when the snap of that tree sent my family into turmoil. Every gust of wind after that made me want to grab my child and burrow underground somewhere until it was all over.

And that was just here, in Ohio.

My heart goes out to the people who experienced the full brunt of this storm.

Wicked game
Here's the new game played ad nauseum in Sketch Factor central.

Doodle: (points to one of us) You're Buzz Lightyear. I'm Zurg. (Buzz's evil nemesis)

Whoever gets picked to be Buzz Lighyear: *shoots imaginary lasers at Zurg any number of times between 1-20)*

Doodle/Zurg: *shows no signs of taking damage from any of the laser fire and takes ONE shot at Buzz*

Buzz: *man down*

Doodle/Zurg: *cackles evilly*

A variation of this game is "You're Captain; I'm crocodile."
In this game, Captain Hook, usually played by my husband, is able to occasionally "hook" the crocodile, whose sole mission in life is to eat Captain Hook. The croc promptly disables the hook. The Captain's trusty underling, Smee, now played by yours truly, has to fashion a new hook for the Captain.

No strings attached
Because it is that time of year, the "what the hell am I doing with my life" season, I have been contemplating making some changes and doing things I've wanted to do but have been too busy/lazy/financially unable to do. One thing that I know I want to do, before I transition from thirtysomething to cougar, is to fulfill my rock 'n' roll dream.

I've been playing guitar for half of my life, but not well. Beginning at age 16, when I got my first acoustic guitar ("Ruthie"), I've always just winged it. And because I never learned the ropes, my guitar chops are still fairly beginnerish.

Since I play by ear, I learned a few basic chords and from there was able to teach myself the chords to my favorite songs. And because my favorite songs traverse a wide range of cheesy to hipster, I have quite a repertoire of cover songs.

I've always wanted to parlay that into some sort of band. I envision myself in an 80s cover band, but there are definitely some 90's and even current day songs that I'd like to include. So my latest dream band would be an ultimate cover band that plays three sets and progresses through the decades. This would, of course, be complete with costume changes.

So today I made an important first step in making my dream a reality. I am going to start guitar lessons. Start from scratch, and learn the basics. Build on what I already know. And see where it takes me.

Separated at birth

Is it just me, or does




=





?

Big day
This morning, Doodle woke up with a dry diaper. "You want to try and tinkle on the potty?" I asked him.
"Um, no," he said. "Maybe I'll go on Thursday."

Apparently Thursday is the day when it all happens.

Bridging the cultural gap

This is what my blog looks like translated into Spanish. Who knew that "sketch" in Spanish was "sketch!" And that "factor" was "factor!" But in Spanish, you just reverse the two.

Santa Claus is Comin' to Town, or, Pandora's Box

As I may have mentioned before, Doodle loves his trains. Particularly of the Thomas the Tank Engine variety. We've been using the toy trains as motivation rewards in Doodle's potty training. I have this whole complicated chart system going, in which he earns stickers each time he attempts or succeeds to use the potty. It's been working somewhat well, because he enjoys putting a sticker on the chart, However, he thinks he gets a train for every try, and it just don't work that way.

He also errantly seems to think that anything he asks for, he will get. When he looks through the Thomas the Tank Engine brochure that accompanies any toy purchased, he points out all the toys he wants.

Last night at dinner he was showing us the train set he wanted, and my husband, with all the best intentions in the world, said five words that changed everything: "Maybe Santa will bring it."

When I last checked, it was August. So by my estimation, Christmas is still a loooooong way off. Especially to a toddler who doesn't understand the concept of time and who thinks five minutes is an eternity.

Doodle's eyes brightened. "Yeah! Santa will bring it!" He said. "Santa's coming over tonight!"
"No," we told him, "Santa won't come until winter time, when there's snow on the ground."
"Look!" he responded, pointing out the window. "It's starting to snow!"

At this point I dissolved into giggles and had to excuse myself from the dinner table.

Throughout the rest of dinner, and after dinner while I was cleaning up, Doodle talked incessantly about Santa Claus' impending visit. My husband and I exchanged glances and wondered what kind of Pandora's Box had been opened with the mention of Santa.

"Doodle, I have something to tell you," I tried. "Santa's not coming tonight."
"Nooooo!" he howled. "He is!"

When I began to fill the bath tub with water, Doodle melted down. It became apparent to him that we were proceeding with the normal, pre-bedtime activities, which did not include a visit from Jolly Old Saint Nick. It was the full water works, complete with lashing out in anger at both my husband and I for not allowing Santa to come over. Somehow we distracted him, and we got him bathed, pajamaed, and in bed.

This morning, as I was getting ready for work, Doodle was in an adjacent room, playing with his Thomas trains. He was talking to himself, concocting a train story of some sort. I clearly heard him say, "Well, Santa's coming over on Thursday ..."

Oh boy.

If there's one thing we've learned as parents, it's that Doodle forgets NOTHING. By hook or by crook, Santa will bring him the train set he wants. Because Daddy said he would. Maybe.

Goings on
Boat Day was slightly disappointing in that everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, was on their best behavior. IBL was subdued, Bad Lady was surprisingly gung ho and wanted to stay out longer in the boat rather than go home early. Color me shocked! The other cuckoo did not wear a life vest, thankfully.

In Doodle news, over the weekend, he began to show interest in using the potty. This has been a constant struggle for months. We had given up asking him about it because he would become hostile when asked if he wanted to use it. Everything has to be his idea. So we let it become his idea. This weekend, while we were at a wedding (a wedding in which my husband became horribly drunk and consequently slept in our bathroom), Doodle went tinkle TWICE on the potty. The next day he pooped on the potty at home. Hooray!

I'm probably due to spruce this site up with some pics, so those will be coming soon, I sorta promise.

Barack Roll

A little bonus posting action for you all since it's been a while. This nearly made me cry, made me say goodbye, made me tell a lie. It's really only funny if you know what a Rick Roll is, so google that and then help yourself to this one...

Just Sit Right Back And You'll Hear a Tale ...

A tale that will involve me and my co-irkers on a boat. For an entire day. On Friday. Let's take a look at some of the players:

IBL, who is rumored to have a fear of water;
Bad Lady, who is surprisingly upbeat about this trip (it's a day away from the office, so, it can't be THAT bad, right?)
and someone I don't have a nickname for but who is missing a few screws and who has bought her own life jacket to take on the trip and had to be talked out of buying a wet suit.
Dwight Schrute could board the vessel and I wouldn't flinch.

Already a typical man

Doodle and I have this complicated bathtime game involving twenty or so small die-cast metal cars. He drives one of the cars up onto the side of the tub, to where I am sitting. I must say hello to the car as it approaches, and goodbye to it as it turns and lines up behind the previous car. I must address the car by name.

Most of the cars he owns are from the Disney/Pixar movie, so they have come with names already assigned to them. Other, unnamed cars, have easily identifiable nomenclature such as "taxi cab", "van", "white van", "Citgo #21", etc.

But he has recently, ahem, "acquired" several new cars (thanks to us leaving him with grandma while we went to the Indians game Tuesday night...). They made their bathtime debut last night. So when a new one drove up for me to greet it, I stumbled. "Hi ... what's your name?" I asked. My son made up a name. "Red Car" was one.

"Hi, Red Car, what are you doing?" I asked, putting a twist on the game.

"I'm going vroom vroom splash!" my son said, or something like that. It's kind of hard to recreate onomatopoeia.

Every subsequent car had to be greeted with "Hi, what's your name?" even if I knew it was Lightning McQueen, Citgo #21, white van, etc. And then I had to ask every car what it was doing. They all answered with some variation of the "vroom vroom splash" response.

EXCEPT for Sally.

Sally is Lightning McQueen's girlfriend in the movie "Cars" and she also has the dubious distinction of being the only female car in our collection. So when I asked Sally what she was doing, I got a bit of a different response: "Going shopping."

REALLY.

Then Sally chuffed off, apparently in search of a Bloomingdales.

Elevetiquette
My office building is a modest four floors, and is equipped with not one, but two elevators.

I imagine in larger office buildings, the elevator traffic is much more dense, but the same set of rules which I am about to lay down certainly would apply.

First of all, there is a set walking distance from the elevator where one is expected to hold the door/have the door held. In my office building, I will hold the door for you if I a) you are several paces behind me, but I know you; b) see you coming through the door and you are within shouting distance for me to ask whether you're going up. A good general rule is if you make direct eye contact with a person coming through the door, you should probably hold the elevator for them.

Button pushing. My general rule is, if I get in first, I will press your floor button. If you get in first, please press my button. If I know what floor you're going to, I'll press it for you. (With only four floors, two of them occupied by my company, I do this pretty often.)

Once inside the elevator, there are boundaries. I will take up space in a back corner. With one other passenger, they should take the opposite diagonal corner. If a third enters, passenger #2 should step into the back corner opposite me, leaving passenger #3 in a front corner. If there are more than three people in the elevator, please observe the rules of personal space.

Conversation. With such a short ride, I don't expect it, nor in the morning, do I want it. If you talk to me, I'll answer, but I'm not going to ask you how the weather is.

Last but not least, if you are in the elevator and you are cleaning it in the middle of the day (we have the cleanest elevator in the WORLD), please do not try and hold a conversation with my boobs.

No, bigger than Jesus
I'm driving Doodle to day care this morning and from the back seat, the request comes: "I want Beatles."

Doodle frequently requests the Beatles, but more specifically the "Let it Be" album. In Doodle's mind, there are two kinds of music. The Beatles, and everything else. And everything else is completely unacceptable.

Sometimes, if I want to listen to something else (read: always), I try to ignore him. But as most of you know, trying to ignore the demands of a three-year-old is futile.

"I want Beatles!" he repeated.

OK. This is a battle not to be won by me. So I look (while of course paying attention to the traffic around me) up in the visor above my head where I store my cds.

"I want Beatles!" echoed Doodle from the backseat.

"I'm working on it," I responded.

I locate the cd. "I want Beatles!" says Doodle. There's another cd in my stereo. I have to eject that cd -- "I want Beatles!" -- and put the other one in. While I'm fumbling around with the cd's, I get another "I want Beatles!"

"OK, I HEARD YOU!" I say, through clenched teeth.

"Jee-zus!!!!" comes the response from the back seat.

Do you know how hard it is not to laugh at times like this? Especially because I know that he most likely got that from me.

Big Crazy
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... Big Crazy.



Actually, his name (I think) is Gordon. All these trains look alike to me.

However, Doodle refers to him, without any explanation given, as "Big Crazy." Other trains on the Thomas the Tank Engine series also have this moniker, and for the life of me, I cannot distinguish a pattern. For instance, it is not the trains with only the square faces, or the round faces. It is not all the blue trains.

Here is Edward, who is NOT Big Crazy:



But here is Chick Hicks, a character from the movie "Cars," who at times is and at other times is not Big Crazy:



I wish I could crack the code!

One thing is for sure ... Doodle loves his vehicles. George and the Man With the Yellow Hat are all but a memory now.

A quickie

*takes a breath*

I've been mired in work, my dangerous facebook addiction and ... work. So my blogging has suffered quite a bit. In fact the only reason I'm here now is because facebook is down. I'd like to jump out the window because facebook is down.

I'll be back soon with pictures, and a tale of something known only as "Big Crazy."