look who’s talkin now

by si on December 13, 2011 Leave a Comment

The other day, on our way to the park, Lily starts running down a hill and exclaims ”Weeeeeeee! A ground slide!” Haha! One of my favorite parts of parenthood is trippin’ off all the crazy things that come out of my toddler’s mouth. Who is this little girl?? One day I’m teaching her how to say “milk” and “please”, then next thing I know she’s calling out, “Peace out, much love in the ‘hood!” when I leave for work. Here are a few doozies from the past week.

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I guess this is what I get for not breast-feeding long enough. Instead of Lily seeing my chest as a natural part of the body that provides nourishment and extra cushioning for cuddles, she’s just always trying to see them, period. She’s constantly trying to bust down the door when I’m changing in the room. And the more I try to hide, the more she wants to see. I’m starting to feel a bit violated! Yesterday, as I was changing, she burst in unexpectedly.

Me: Lily! Get out! Mommy’s changing!

Lily: But I want to see!

Me: No! Get out!

Lily: Mommy, just trust me. Trust me to see your boobies.

Me: What the?? Where did you learn that from?

Lily: From Tangled.

Huh? I’m pretty sure Eugene didn’t try to coerce Rapunzel to flash him. Turns out, there IS a part in the movie when he tells Rapunzel to trust him. But it’s my perverted daughter who added the “boobies” part.

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Whenever I get a knife out while cooking, or scissors out for arts & crafts, Lily gasps, puts her hands to her mouth, and exclaims, “Mommy, don’t cut me again!”

Again? Again?? I never, ever even came close to cutting her, I swear. But she says this every single time. I’m just waiting for the day she says this in the wrong place at the wrong time and someone calls CPS on my ass.

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I mentioned before that Lily insists on being called Princess, all day, every day. I’m called Prince, and no amount of reasoning or pleading has deterred her from referring to me as such. My brother has tried convincing her that I should be called Queen, but she wasn’t having it. Then today, I finally figured out why.

Lily: Mommy?

Me: Yes, honey?

Lily: Are you the Queen?

Me: Yes, baby! I’m the Queen!

Lily: But you’re not a mean Queen, right?

All this time she didn’t want to call me Queen because in Disney movies the Queen is usually evil or a witch. No wonder! It was all so clear now! And even though she has somehow started figuring out that a Queen isn’t always a bad guy, I think there is still some confusion. Because a few minutes later when she called out to me?

Lily: Hey, Witch!

Huh. I think I prefer “Prince”.

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The other night, Steve and I got into a huge fight. I ended up in my room, sitting on the floor, leaning my head on the bed, crying. Lily walked in and sat next to me. She started crying too.

Lily: What’s wrong, Mommy?

Me: Nothing, sweetie.

Lily: But, why are you crying, Mommy?

Me: Mommy’s just a little sad.

Lily: Is it because you can’t go poopie?

Poor baby has constipation issues. When she can’t go poo, she leans on the bed and cries. So, seeing me in that position must mean, in her mind, that I was crying because I couldn’t go poopie. Even in the middle of crying, I couldn’t help but laugh.

—–

Started with a story about boobs, ended with poop. My work here is done.

Filed Under: crazy talk

weekly wrap-up

by si on December 11, 2011 Leave a Comment

1. Lily has taken to bringing along imaginary Disney Princesses whenever we go. I don’t even know they’re along for the ride until I lift Lily off of the carousel and she’s all, “Wait! Wait! I need to get my friends.” Then she goes to each and every horse, grabbing hands, talking about, “C’mon, Jasmine. C’mon, Sleeping Beauty.” But no princess can come close to her BFF, Teddy Bear.  I love watching how she is with him, always kissing his nose and showing him her new toys.

2. For some reason, this picture scares me a little. Like a sign of high maintenance teenage girl drama to come…

3. Three guesses who hung these ornaments.

4. Target ran out of the cheapie cotton ball tree skirts. So, it was either this or the $30 ones. Steve thinks it looks ghetto. I think it’s fashion forward–a mini skirt! For a tree!

5. When we were decorating, Lily kept calling the stockings “socks”. Then proceeded to put them on her feet.

6. Three guesses who got a little extra fiber with their cupcake.

7. Steve wrapped my scarf around her head to be silly, but it actually looked super cute. I’m about to sport this look.

8. My grandma came into town this weekend. This right here is four generations of crazy.

Filed Under: i spy

uncultured swine

by si on December 6, 2011 2 Comments

Up until about six years ago, I had never seen The Nutcracker. I didn’t even know much about it other than it was a popular Christmas-time ballet. Then Steve’s Goddaughter joined the cast of a show put on by her ballet company, and we were invited. Steve and I are not fans of the ballet, but actually love plays and musicals, so we figured, What’s a little ballet thrown in gonna hurt? A few scenes in, I was confused. Wait. They don’t talk At ALL? Not one word is said throughout the ENTIRE SHOW? And so, except for the parts Steve’s Goddaughter was in, we were bored out of our minds. Like I said, not fans of ballet. Or of shows where no one says a word for two hours straight.

Steve’s Goddaughter has been in the show every year since. We skipped the third year, but was lured back the fourth year because her brother got cast as the Nutcracker. We skipped the fifth year, but was drawn back this year because their younger brother–MY Godson, joined the cast. This family has a fourth child who will probably join the cast in a year or two, and my daughter will likely jump on the bandwagon since she is obsessed with being a ballerina. This Nutcracker thing has become an accidental holiday tradition.

This year I went to the show solo. Steve and X hit their ballet limit and so I took one for the team. Somehow, this year wasn’t too bad for me. Maybe because I appreciate the arts more these days. Or maybe because between the three of them, these kids were in practically every scene. I actually enjoyed most of the show. But whenever it got a little slow for me, my mind wandered aimlessly.

Now, you would think that at thirty-seven I’d be more mature than my seventeen-year-old son who smirks anytime he hears the word “balls.” But I’m not. I just don’t know how those guys stand wearing those tights. They’re basically wearing pantyhose. I wonder if anyone else gets as distracted as I do. I’m not being a pervert, I’m just sayin’, some tan Shakespearean culottes would work just as well. Also? When the ballerinas are lifted up by their armpits, I can’t help but wonder if those guys ever get grossed out. I mean, aren’t the girls’ armpits all sweaty from the dancing? But I do envy those lifts. I wish Steve could just throw me up and carry me on one shoulder like that. I’m about fifty pounds away from that ever happening.

I like to think that I’m cultured and artsy. But I guess there’s a seventeen-year-old boy in all of us.

P.S. Do you know how hard it is to refrain from saying “balls” when you’re living with a toddler??

Filed Under: in other news

can you hear me now?

by si on November 30, 2011 2 Comments

Call me old-fashioned, but I love sending and receiving handwritten notes and cards. But who does handwritten correspondence anymore? That’s why I love writing to my grandma. It gives me an opportunity to use the pretty stationary I always buy but rarely use.

It also helps me avoid conversations like the one we had this morning.

I heard my phone ringing in the bedroom. I was writing in the livingroom, so I ignored it. Then Steve walked over with my phone and said, “It was Mama.” D’oh! She had called me twice before, and I hadn’t called her back yet. As much as I dreaded it, I knew I had to call her back now. That probably makes me sound like a jerk, but y’all don’t know. I love my grandma, but our phone conversations make me crazy.

Mama: Shirlene??

Me: Hi, Mama!

Mama: Shirlene, I’ve been trying to reach you! I called twice before Thanksgiving. I need your mom’s address. Why didn’t you call me back??

Me: I’m sorry. We were so busy preparing for Thanksgiving and I kept forgetting.

Mama: What? I can’t hear you!

Me: I KEPT FORGETTING.

Mama: Mmmm. (translation: she still didn’t hear me.) Well I didn’t think you, out of all my grandchildren, wouldn’t call me back. You’re always so good at writing to me. Anyway, I have 329 for your mom.  Is that the right house number?

Me: NO, IT’S 949.

Mama: What??

Me: NINE…FOUR…NINE.

Mama: Oh! Did she move?

Me: YEAH, LIKE FOUR YEARS AGO.

Mama: What?

Me: SHE MOVED A LONG TIME AGO.

Mama: Mmmm. Anyway, how are you? How is the baby?

Me: GOOD. WE’RE ALL GOOD.

Mama: Are you OK, Shirlene? It seems like you don’t want to talk. Are you in a hurry?

Me: NO, IT’S JUST HARD TO TALK BECAUSE YOU CAN’T HEAR ME.

Mama: What? I can’t hear you. Are you mad at me? You sound different. (but how do I sound different when you can’t hear me?)

Me: NO, I’M NOT MAD AT YOU. IT’S HARD TO TALK BECAUSE YOU CAN’T HEAR ME.

Mama: Mmmm. I can’t hear you. I think you forgot about my right ear. I can’t hear well from my right ear. And it’s not because of the TV. (really? because the TV is blaring pretty loudly there, which I can’t imagine is helping matters.  and maybe try putting the phone to your left ear?)

Me: I have a surprise for you, Mama!

Mama: What?

Me: A SURPRISE!

Mama: You’re coming to visit?

Me: Yes!

Mama: Oh, that makes me so happy! Listen to me. I’ll pay for the rental van so you can all come.

Me: No, Mama, we’re flying!

Mama: What?

Me: FLYING!

Mama: What?

Me: WE’RE TAKING AN AIRPLANE!

Mama: Mmmm. Ok, well try to upgrade to a bigger van so you can all come. I’ll pay for it.

This is how it goes every single phone call. Mama and I are better off as penpals, methinks.

Filed Under: crazy talk

girl you’re amazing

by si on November 22, 2011 2 Comments

Imagine, if you will, Bruno Mars’ “Just the Way You Are” playing as you view the pictures below. Because that’s the song that often plays in my head when I’m hanging out with this chick.

I cannot convey how much this little girl takes my breath away. Her imagination inspires me. Her wit constantly amazes me. Her humor cracks me up every single day. Her resourcefulness suprises me (that picture of her wearing a brown dress and blue belt? it’s actually a headband she has decided looks better as a belt). She really is my sunshine. How can bad days not melt away with one look at that face??

Filed Under: i spy

sam

by si on November 15, 2011 Leave a Comment

Growing up, I didn’t much care for my name. Even to this day, people have a hard time pronouncing it. It’s not really hard to say, but I guess it’s not an easy name to remember. My childhood babysitter called me Selena the entire seven-plus years I was under her care. And forget about spelling it. Someone once spelled it Shriliene. Seriously?

By the time I was in junior high, I was sick of it and started telling people to call me “Sam.” Because I my favorite show was Who’s the Boss? and I had a girl crush on Alyssa Milano, of course. Who didn’t?? And it really stuck–EVERYONE called me Sam. My mom even had “Happy Birthday, Sam!” written on my birtbday cake one year.

On my birthday this year, I used my “Free Coffee on Your Birthday” coupon at Starbucks, and, while I don’t go by “Sam” anymore, I still give that name to the barista. Why, you ask? Well, because if I don’t, the conversation always goes a little something like this:

Your name?

Shirlene.

What was it?

Shirlene.

Shirley?

Shirle-NNNN-e.

Shirlena?

No, no “A” at the end.

Oh, Shirlene.

Yes.

How do you spell it?

You’re annoying me.

Filed Under: crazy talk

approaching the hill

by si on November 14, 2011 2 Comments

So, it’s my birthday today. I thought that as I got older, birthdays would be less and less exciting. And to a certain extent, they are. I don’t count down the days like I used to or wait in antsy anticipation for birthday gifts or cake. But somehow, once the actual day comes around, I find I have an extra spring in my step and twinkle in my eye. We don’t have anything big planned for my birthday, just a quiet dinner with my husband and kids, but somehow I still feel like it’s an exciting day. Maybe it’s the tons of texts and Facebook messages–must be the mojo of being in so many people’s thoughts for a day.

I ain’t gonna lie, though…I’m feeling kind of old. I’m not one who would ever consider botox or a facelift or whatever the female equivalent is of a fifty-year-old man buying a Ferrari. But I am one who might have a teensy little midlife crisis. I don’t know. I’m thirty-seven! That feels so freakin’ old! I’m three measly years away from the Big 4-0 and that’s just crazy talk.

When I look in the mirror, I don’t feel like I look thirty-seven. I do, however, notice that my body has been a little creakidy lately. Like, sometimes when I walk, my knee will make a squeaking noise. And no amount of twisting, wiggling, lunging or karate chopping makes it go away. And these days, when I roll over in bed, I can actually hear each vertebrae in my back clicking into place. It startled me the first time it happened. So I started rolling over really slowly cuz I’m not trying to pull any muscles like I do sometimes when I comb my hair. Yeah, I pull muscles now when I comb my hair. My body is becoming faulty. Although, it’s not entirely impossible that these things have less to do with old age and more to do with being out of shape.

I also notice that I’m starting to listen to the radio less and less and have taken to calling music “just a bunch of noise nowadays.” Since when did I start speaking old people talk? Next thing you know, I’ll be telling stories about “back in my day.” I used to sneak listening to 2 Live Crew and NWA on my Walkman when I was a teenager, and now I can’t stand it when Steve plays his rap music around me, with all its cussing and sex talk. I have to admit I do love me some Drake, though. And I have Nicki Minaj as my ringtone. Having Nicki Minaj as my ringtone is actually worse than being old. It’s being the lady who’s old but thinks she’s still young. I’m becoming That Lady.

But probably one of the clearest indicators of an impending mini midlife crisis is the fact that I take it as a personal affront whenever someone calls me “Ma’am.” Is that really necessary? Homegirl’s probably just being professional, but I’m looking at her like, Why you gotta be so mean? And you should see how happy I get when someone calls me “Miss.” That warrants a dollar bill kind of tip for the barista.

I try to soothe my bruised and graying ego by thinking of celebrities my age. Drew Barrymore, Jennifer Aniston, Gwyneth Paltrow, Jennifer Lopez. They all still look young and hip and sexy. (My brother likes to point out that anyone that uses the word “hip” is definitely old and likely not hip.) Seeing how fabulous they still are in their thirties and forties brings me some comfort, despite the fact that they look that way because they have trainers and great lighting and expensive clothes. But still, they make it seem like 40 is the new 30. Like they still have their whole lives ahead of them.

I think maybe I need to take a cue from these ladies. Maybe instead of having a midlife crisis at thirty-seven, I should get all dolled up and celebrate a great year accomplished and many great years ahead. I guess I can fend off the meltdown for a couple more years. Or, at least until after the cake tonight.

Filed Under: in other news

ym5 live: l.a. to the bay

by si on November 11, 2011 Leave a Comment

340 miles between us, but my family is just a click away. Thanks, tech dudes.

Filed Under: ym5 Live

she got it from her mama

by si on November 11, 2011 Leave a Comment

Earlier I tweeted about my crazy ass daughter telling me she wants diamond earrings. She’s three.

I was going to add, Who’s child is this?? to that tweet, but I can’t front. She may be her father’s mini me, but her personality is all me. Along with inheriting some of my good qualities, she’s also moody, drama and high maintenance just like her mama. Much to Steve’s chagrin.

Awhile back I saw an episode of Friends where Phoebe and Rachel are calling Monica high maintenance and she’s denying it. Then she tries to convince Chandler to back her up and he goes, “But you kind of are.” And she gets all sad.

Then he says, “But it’s OK! Because I’m easy-going and I balance you out. You may be high maintenance, but I love…maintaining you.”

I turned to Steve. “Awww, how cute! That’s like us! That’s how you feel about me, right?”

From the look he gave me, I’m thinking not.

Filed Under: anti-mom, love and war

home alone

by si on November 8, 2011 Leave a Comment

Steve’s job takes him out of town several times a year. The first time I was left alone, a lizard snuck in through the back door and I freaked the eff out. I called Steve and made him stay on the phone with me while I built an elaborate trap in the kitchen at one in the morning. He wanted me to spray it with Raid. Raid? I’m pretty sure Raid wouldn’t do anything but piss it off. He suggested squashing it with a shoe. Uh, no. I decided to trap it between shoe boxes and a stack of magazines. Then I called my friend to pick me up because I didn’t want to risk waking up with an escaped lizard on my face.

Lizard debacle aside, I’m already afraid of the dark as it is. So whenever Steve’s away, I sleep with all the lights on. I normally sleep with a night light anyway, but extra protection is needed when I’m home alone. Because ghosts only come out when it’s dark, right? I believe this. Just like I believe that I need to avert my eyes when passing by a mirror at night because of Bloody Mary. You can also find me covering my eyes and plugging my ears whenever commercials for scary movies come on the TV.

Sadly, I’m not making any of this up.

Eventually, I got used to being home alone and didn’t have to call my friends to rescue me in the middle of the night. Now I look over my shoulder only a couple of times when walking through dim hallways and I sleep with only my one little trusty night light on. Yeah, I still avoid mirrors and wrap myself in an armor of blankets when I go to bed, but that’s just good sense.

So yeah, I’ve gotten pretty good at being home alone. So good, in fact, that the last time Steve returned from a business trip, I informed him, “So, I’ll be alright if you ever end up leaving me.”

And he was like, “Huh? What? Can I at least put my luggage down before we get into whatever craziness you’re talking about this time?”

This week the tables have turned and for the first time I’m the one away on a business trip. It’s weird being on this side of the video chat (I’m so jealous that Steve gets to be the one tickling Lily’s cheeks with kisses!). Even though it’s a work conference, I’ve beein looking forward to three uninterrupted nights of “me time.” And it has been nice. I don’t have to cook or clean, I can eat and watch what I want, I don’t have to be at the beck and call of a midget tyrant. But I already miss my family like crazy, and it’s only been thirty-four hours.

I guess I wouldn’t be alright on my own, if it means being without them.

Filed Under: crazy town