Scalped

Daddy and the boys went to the barber. The boys had hair when they left, not so much when they came back. I love short hair on fellas, especially my fellas, but someone got a little clipper-crazy at George's. Subsequently, Daddy has been A. read the riot act, and B. given a set of rules regarding future haircuts. Ok, so it is actually one rule:


1. Do not bring the boys back with haircuts like that. Not ever again. Ever.


*Sigh*. I just want to fast-forward a couple of weeks. I know it will look perfect then.

If he does it again, I am painting his fingernails and toenails while he sleeps. OPI's "Keys To My Karma" should fix his little wagon. >; )

Buy this junk

Why don't they show this commercial more often? I may be juvenile (ok, take the "may be" part out, I am totally immature.) I love this commercial, and it makes me laugh just as hard the hundredth time as it did the first.







Quality commercial production, friends. Quality.

Instead, I get to see Billy Mays screaming at me (and my kids) about how GREAT THIS PRODUCT IS! I even saw him hawking some sort of insurance the other day. Yeah, Oxyclean and insurance. The man can be bought. Speaking of Oxyclean, my middle kid is completely brainwashed that this is a "must have" in our house. I do use the stuff, but you know that he has seen one too man commercials when I come home from the grocery store to him saying, while peering into the bags, "What all did you get? Oh, Oxyclean...awesome!" Really. What four year old cares about that stuff? I think Billy Mays' overenthusiasm has convinced Hunter that stain removal is a thrill. Even Super Chase was pretending to swirl around a stained shirt in a bowl while playing in the tub the other night, declaring, "Now, don't drink this. It has Oxyclean in it". Actually, it came out "Ossycleaner", but you get the point.

Mess maker, mess maker...make me a mess.

The smallest kid is trying to kill me. No, for real. He may be under the (false) impression that there is some million dollar insurance policy on me of which he is the sole beneficiary.

Today, no lie, less than 2, count 'em 2 minutes after I *tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen...to pour my self a cup of ambition* Chase follows me down, looking and smelling different than when I left him upstairs.

Me: What is on your cheek?

Chase: Wha? Nathing, mommy.

Me: No, there is something red there, come here...and what is that smell?

Chase: Oh, it is nathing.

Me: Is that...? Holy crap on a cracker. Is that NAIL POLISH?

Chase: Oh that? Oh, yes. It is. But just a little bit.

Me: Did you paint something?

Chase: Can I have some donuts?

Ugh. I walk up the stairs, preparing myself for the worst. I find a lover-ly abstract red painting on my yellow wall just at right about Short Stack height. Cheese whiz, wonder how that got there? So, I grab the nail polish remover and get to wiping while it is still wet, and not yet a permanent part of the wall. Looking into my room, now I see it is also on my door. How precious. Luckily I got it all off (along with a little of the wall paint, but you can't see it. Not unless you look for it. And I do. Every time I walk past it. And it makes me nuts. But anyway...) I was so relieved to see that it was only on the walls. Now I am pissed that I didn't grab the camera to snap a pic of the artwork. But at the time I knew time was against me and I needed to get it off the wall while the gettin' was good.

Just a small heart attack, and I quickly recovered. Sorry, little kid. Mission not accomplished. Better luck next time.

Dear David Letterman,

Yeah. And that would be you.

If you are going to have the cojones, nads, whatever you want to call it, to tell a tasteless joke about a 14 year old girl (or even an 18 year old...really, does 4 years make her fair game?) then please just stick by it, for crap's sake. I loved the apology. It was so sincere (read:forced). It was crude, it was tasteless, and it was hurtful. But then again, you have no idea what it is like to be a 14 year old girl, do you? Girls that age are veeeery sensitive, and always believe the worst in themselves. They can hear a hundred compliments, and just one negative, and guess what sticks in their heads?

Just because she is Sarah Palin's daughter doesn't make her fodder for your stupid "humor". Asshat.

I used to like you, but I am getting that creepy old guy in the neighborhood, leering at young girls vibe. It does not work for you.

You are a tool.

Sincerely,

Angry Trace who happens to be PMSing if you were wondering.

Rockin' with the blue hairs...

Playlist at Giant - yes, they are still kicking the tunes at my grocery store:

Hungry Like the Wolf- Duran Duran (and I just knew this would be a good trip to the store!)

Everybody Wants You- Billy Squier (can I get a "hell yeah!")

Quick step off the Cool Train with a little number by John Mayer, who, incidentally looks adorable unless you see him singing. Holy spaz, batman.

C'est La Vie- Robbie Neville (that's just the way it goes...that's right!)

Photograph- Def Leppard

So, no ONJ dude today, sadly...but I did see another soccer-mom-ish type in the aisle with me when "Everybody Wants You" was on. I noticed she was mouthing the words right along with me. It crossed my mind to throw up the devil horns and do a mini headbang thrash, but she did not seem to be the type who would be receptive to that nonsense. So I rocked out, but on the inside. My friends and I actually made up a little dance to the B. Squier song back in the day, and I was doing it just like I was 15 again. Just on the inside. Maybe I should have busted a move so I could be someone else's entertainment. But it seemed like little fun since I did not have any kids with me to embarrass. A little old blue haired lady passed by, and I thought about throwing up the sign to her, but thought the better of it. Might have given her palpitations. You know they just don't get us "young people". Shut up. I was young to her.

Next time I will make sure the kids are with me. And maybe I will wear some acid-washed jeans, too. With rips in them. In the butt area.

Oh, she's just walking around drinking...

Let this be a lesson for you. This is why you do not let a 4 year old answer the phone.

10:00 a.m. Ring, ring...

(Hunter) "I'll get it! Hello? She is right here. Oh, she's just walking around drinking. She just put more ice in her drink. Yeah, just a minute..."

(Me) *Choking/laughing/dying inside* "Hello?"

(Dave) *Cracking the F up* "Having a rough morning?"

For the record, it was Coke. Granted, not the best thing to drink at that time of the day, but it was sans Jack Daniels. I promise. I don't care what the kid says. I love his honesty, but damn, boy, be a little more specific.

After all, no self-respecting mother of three boys starts drinking until noon, for God's sake. A girl has to have her standards.

Just a little extree

(as Dave's Nanny would say...)

How about this for total cuteness? No, not my kid, but super farkin' adorable. Enjoy.

Doorknock- 1, Chase, 0

And so it begins...

I have said that the littlest kid is going to be the one that we are thankful we have health insurance for. He is a toughie, and is one of those go, go, go kids. Today, he and the (what he calls) doorknock had a confrontation. He fought the knob and the...knob won. Actually, Hunter was chasing him and he ran into the doorknob. I head that cry, you know the one...where you know something "just ain't right." Gram calls down the stairs as I am coming up, and I see the bloooooooooood. Not a lot of it, but blooooood nonetheless. I spell it that way for dramatic effect because seeing bloooooood makes me quite dramatic. So, anyway, I managed to keep it together and be super-calm (somehow). Once I got a good look at his noggin, I could see that he probably needed a stitch or two. Off we went to the Urgent Care (or Ready Care, I think is what they call it...) The kid was totally chilled. He only cried that inital few seconds after impact, and was a cool cucumber the rest of the time.

We get to the office, and the intake person tells me that the doctor doesn't suture children's heads. Wha? Okaaaay, then, so I have to go sit in the ED for hours with the really sick people? Uh, not happening. (PS, they just closed two schools early in town because a kid came down with the Swine Flu, and there are two other suspected cases.) She tells me she will check with the doctor just to be sure. She does, and he says he would like to take a look at it to check it and make a decision.

So the nurse comes in and irrigates the boo-boo. My bebe soldier flinches only a little, and just hangs in there 'til it's done. The nurse practitioner comes in to check the cut (I guess the doctor decided not to do it or whatever, who cares...) Long story short, the kid got three "Superman blue" stitches in his head. During the numbing and suturing, the boy was still and quiet. No fussing, no crying. I was amazed and proud. And when it was all over, a little faint. Yes, I waited until she said, "We are all done!" to get woozy and break out in a cold sweat. Good grief. Luckily I still kept it together and stayed on two feet.

Chase is currently playing with cars on the floor, totally unaffected. That is one tough little cookie.