Pick one

The blog is taking too long to load anymore. Help me decide on what needs to go. Take my quiz.

Which interactive module should Sarah get rid of?

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  The clock. I don't need to know what time it is where you are.


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  Today's Reason to Drink. I need a reason?! Last time I checked I didn't.


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  The weather. I don't care about your weather. I have weather of my own to worry about.


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  Washington, the pink monkey. Even though I can grab his little head and violently shake him about, he is not necessary.


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  Gullible info. Hey, if I need to know useless information, I will decide when and where I do that. What, are you my mom or something?


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  Bush quotes. Although it refreshes with new quotes on each page load, I do not need to be reminded of this dolt.


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  The photoshow. I hate you so much that I want to take away the only meaningful thing on your blog. Jerk. Take a picture of that, Ansel.


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  Nothing. I want it all. 24/7. In fact, why not add more crap?

view results

Jack(ed up) O' Lantern

Dylan had a very complex design mapped out. The plan, and the pumpkin's face, fell through. Every time Jordan passes the pumpkin outside, he opens his mouth as wide as he can, and sings, "Ahhhhhhhh!"


Here's the original design.

A Conversation VII:

Dylan's pediatrician tells all of the parents that using real words to describe parts of the body is the right thing to do. We are very open and honest with Dylan, hoping that it makes for less confusing and/or damaging serious talks later on. Example: the good touch/bad touch talk. So, I ignored the advice this week:

Dylan: Mama, I want to be a baby.

Sarah: Why would you want to be a baby again, Dylan? They poop in their diapers and eat mashed up food. (Two things he hates, thinking it would discourage him)

Dylan: No, like a very small baby. Like in your belly.

Sarah: Why do you want to be in my belly, Dylan?

Dylan: Well, I want to look around and see your bones and stuff.

Sarah: Dylan, honey, babies don't open their eyes in their mama's bellies. (I know, I know...Looking back, I should have stopped talking and said how interesting that was.)

Dylan: Why not?

Sarah: Because they don't want to get food in their eyes. Hurry up and finish your Rice Krispies before they get soggy.



I could have posted the picture that he drew of himself handing me a pink flower under the sun, but I thought this one was more interesting for today.

Some light reading

Some of you may remember me saying something about my sister coming in.

We decided to make it a memorable week. So, we did what any normal pair of sisters do (Indigo), we got tattoos. We got the same thing, just in different places. While I opted for the inside of my wrist, she went with the back of her neck.


What is it?- you say..

Well, in short, it's a Buddhist mantra, written in Tibetan, meaning:

"The mantra Om Mani Pädme Hum is easy to say yet quite powerful, because it contains the essence of the entire teaching. When you say the first syllable Om it is blessed to help you achieve perfection in the practice of generosity, Ma helps perfect the practice of pure ethics, and Ni helps achieve perfection in the practice of tolerance and patience. Päd, the fourth syllable, helps to achieve perfection of perseverance, Me helps achieve perfection in the practice of concentration, and the final sixth syllable Hum helps achieve perfection in the practice of wisdom." - Gen Rinpoche, Heart Treasure of the Enlightened Ones

Now Taking Bets

The letter of the week is "F." In honor of this great letter, we decided to let Dylan get a fish. So, this morning, Dylan and I went to the pet store and picked out a Betta fish. He chose a multi-colored, half dead fish at first, but I was able to redirect him to the more alive fish. He settled for a large red Betta.

His name is Golden. (He just likes the name) Golden fastinates the kids....at least for now. I have already caught Dylan shaking the crap out of the bowl, laughing as Golden swishes around inside. I give him two months. Mark- two weeks.

You may place bets. For your convenience, his status will be updated on the right under "About the boys." The prize for the winner? You may purchase his predecessor. For now, Golden remains king of his castle.

Choices, and where you can stick 'em

Every time Dylan does something that may warrant some time on the step or in his room, we review his choices. Good choice- listening, bad choice- not listening, etc. This allows children to play an active role in their behavior and consequences. I am unsure where I first learned this from, but I know that Dylan's school follows the same philosophy. I do think it makes a difference. It helps kids think about the consequences before making their choice.

Let's say Dylan bonks Jordan on the head with a Weeble Wobble. Jordan cries, Dylan knows he's in trouble, he must apologize to Jordan, and then he is immediately sent to his room to think about his choices. When he comes back downstairs, we discuss them.

Sarah: "Dylan, what kind of a choice did you make? Was it a good choice or bad choice?"

Dylan: "Ummm, pretty much bad."

Sarah: "Okay, then what do you think would have been a better choice?"

Dylan: "How about if I am nice and don't hit?"

Sarah: "That would be a great choice, Dylan."

There are some times though, that I fantasize about throwing the stupid choices act right out the window. Take, for example, yesterday. Dylan and Jordan were sitting on the couch, watching Baby Einstein after Jordan's nap. This is a very delicate time for Jordan. He is at his worst after he wakes up. As he sat quietly watching the show for the millionth time, Dylan proceeds to swipe all of Jordan's Cheerios from Jordan's lap, scattering them all over my nice, just vacuumed floor. Jordan wigs out.

What happened next:

Sarah: "Dylan, why did you do that?"
(Sarah's fantasy): "What the %*^$ were you thinking?! What is the matter with you?! You knew he was gonna freak out and now I have to put up with all of his pissing and moaning!"

Dylan: "I don't know."

Sarah: "Well, it was not a good choice, and now you will have to clean up the mess, apologize, and go sit on the step."
(Sarah's fantasy): "Alright, wise ass, now, clean up all this *^%#, then say you're sorry to this screaming freaking banshee, and then you can mix me up a martini before you carry your sweet ass up the stairs where you will remain until you are eighteen!"

I Told You So

Ever have just a bad week? You know, when everything seems to go wrong? Dylan's having one of those weeks.

Dylan has been testing his authority in the house, or lack there of. Any time I have said "No," or "don't touch," he has absolutely done the opposite. I have told him a bazillion times not to pick at his scabs. I don't know where he got the little cuts from in the first place, but he has picked the heck out of his face. I was so afraid that he would scar his face for the rest of his life, that I had to put bandaids over the scabs so that he would quit picking at them.

Then, this morning, after making his scrambled eggs, he thought he would see if I was telling the truth when I told him the stove burner was hot. I think my exact words were: "Hot, don't touch."

Three seconds after I told him that, and had my back turned, I hear him scream. He touched it.

This has not been The Dylan's week...

Gobble on this

I hate to cook. HATE it. I enjoy watching others cook. I enjoy eating said cooked food. I'll even go so far as to watch the occasional cooking show on tv. When I make food myself, even if and when it comes out alright, I am far too pissed that I cooked, and now disgusted by what ingredients actually went into the meal (Ever had a caper? BLAH.What the hell are they anyway?), that I am no longer hungry.

That said, Dylan's preschool thought it would be a great idea to have a Thanksgiving Day dinner for the kids. Woo hoo! There's one day I don't have to cook!

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

I got the memo in Dylan's cubby.

They ask each parent to make a dish which is distinctive to the child's heritage. This dish must be able to serve all 19 children, and each of their two guests.

So, let me see, that would be roughly calculated out to be....19kids + (2*19)parents/40 loaves of bread= enough Irish/Ukrainian peanut butter and grape jelly for EVERYONE!

The other 3 glaring atrocities of this fabulous idea are (in no specific order):

1- This will take place mere days before Thanksgiving (aka-more cooking and unfortunately for him-Jordan's birthday) Like nobody has anything better to do than cook for 57 people.

2- We are asked to bring in a recipe card with the cooking instructions of our "special dishes" for the preschool cookbook that we may later buy.... I'm sorry, buy?!

3- Oh, yeah, we are supposed to have our children participate with the cooking, explaining our personal heritage, sharing old family stories, and be able to describe to the class what the monstrosity that you just cooked is, what it contains, and any allergic reactions to look for or animals harmed in the making.

Didn't they get MY memo? No? Well, then, let me just get it for ya...hang on a sec.....hmmm, I know I put it here somewhere......just here a second ago....where could I have.......

OH! I found it! Here it is!

(ahem): Bite me.

It's a honey of an "O"

All parents mess with their kids. Seriously. We do it all the time. The only difference between us and all the other parents, is that we document those special times. This was taken a few days ago. Mark, Jordan, and I all finished our dinners, and were patiently waiting for Dylan to finish. Jordan became a bit antsy, so we fed a fudgcicle to him. Once he finished, I went to kiss him and our faces stuck together. I did what any rational human being would do. I stuck Cheerios to his face. Mark and I thought it was a riot. Dylan, on the other hand, thought it was disgusting. Once he saw the Cheerios, he started to gag. As many of you know, he does not have a strong stomach at all. He is also quite the perfectionist. "Food," he said, "doesn't belong on Jordans." Ever since the incident, Dylan gags everytime he sees Cheerios.

Aaargg!

Over the weekend, we were lucky enough to have received four tickets to our favorite college football game. We decided to bring along two of our closest friends, Mark and Heather. (To avoid confusion, we will refer to my Mark as "husband") The weather held out for us, and it ended up being a fantastic day for football, tailgating, and having no kids. After the game, we stopped at the closest Perkins for some dinner. Heather and I ordered club sandwiches, while Mark and husband decided that the "Captain's Catch" appealed to them more. This was a poor ideas on many levels. Seafood in a Perkins? In a town nowhere near the ocean? At 9:00 at night? (Well, there should be a law) The boys pretty much licked their plates clean, but did not eat the onion rings that came with them, because they didn't taste too good. Oh, the irony. Even Heather chowed down a couple "shrimp." I, however, stuck to my sandwich. Lucky for me, I hate seafood. After dinner, we paid our bills, jumped in the car, and drove...

...ten miles. Mark had to find a place to dock, unfortunately for him, the Captain was calling. Aaargg! Once we were back on the road, everyone seemed to be doing alright again. That changed quickly once we got back home. We all met up with some other friends for a couple drinks at the local bar. The Captain was now angry with Heather. Aaaargg! The captain's call quickly became the joke of the night, and bar for that matter. I don't think we got home until about 3 in the morning. We slept for three hours before the boys woke, and the Captain had some unfinished business with husband. AAAaarGGG!

The moral of the story? When in Rome, do as the Romans do, not as the Turkish.

Update: To anyone who has been visited by the same mysterious pirate, you may now get your souviner shirt at bustedtees.com, seen here --->