Crybaby Press

My Brother is 29!

"Never get less than 12 hours sleep. Never play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city. Never get involved with a woman who has a tattoo of a dagger on her body. You stick with that, and everything else is cream cheese."

That's the birthday advice I wrote in my brother's card. Of course, it's not original. That's something that he (being him), and I (being me), and we (being us) already know. It's Coach Finstock. Teen Wolf. Duh. 

I've said it before and I'll say it again, lucky me that my little baby brother turned out to be someone I would be friends with anyway. For his birthday, we trekked to St. Augustine with our significant others a couple weeks ago to see Hall & Oates live in concert. Funny, funny, funny. They did a double encore (of course) and I'll bet you can guess what they shut it down with. Private Eyes- oh shit! The funniest part was that his T-shirt is from the 2006 tour and mine is from the 2007 tour (I think it was called the "Violin Souls" tour. I'm not even joking.). According to the T-shirt guy, Mr. Hall and Mr. Oates, um, well, they don't want to print new shirts until the back inventory is sold-out...Times are tough, you know. Especially for Hall and Oates.

Happy 29th birthday to my brother and my friend. Somehow, I got extra lucky and I get to be your sister.

With love always, 

Snot

Doll Bellies

Her: I need to make tickets.

Me: For what?

Her: I'm having a movie theater where you can bring pets and I'm making a movie.

Me: What kind of movie?

Her: I have this great idea! It's called "Doll Bellies" and it's all about dolls with big bellies!

Me: Fascinating.

Her: Well?

Me: Well what?

Her: I need to make the tickets!

Right, the tickets. Let me get out my ticket-making supplies. First things first, that's what I always say... "Doll Bellies" coming soon to a theater near you.

Letters to the Easter Bunny

Easter Bunny,

My mom did not scoop the poop so please hide our eggs in the front yard.

The end. Thank you.

Love, Lele

Easter Bunny,

Please hide my eggs HARD.

From,TT Bird

These guys get straight to the point, I tell ya. No messing around. None of that "Hey, Easter Bunny! How have you been? Did you have a good year? How's business?" But despite their curt notices that were more marching orders than pleasantries, the old Easter Bunny showed up with about 50 of the 200 pounds of sugar the average American consumes annually. I had to throw away some Halloween, Christmas and Valentines candy to make room for it. So, uh, be careful eating candy at my house. There's no telling how old it may be.

Hope you had a nice Easter. Or, a nice Sunday, if Easter isn't your thing. If nothing else, I hope you at least had some Peeps.

Your Epidermis is Showing

My kids love to hear about what I was like when I was a kid. They love to hear about how I went to sleep-away camp when I was 10 and how I was once the Tomahawk Princess at a summer recreation program. They want to know how old I was when I first saw Goonies and if I was scared. They crack up when I tell them about booby traps I set for my brother and how I would mix up potions and trick him into drinking them.

I love it that they are interested, because as fun as it is for them to hear it, it's even more fun for me to recall it. Just the other day I taught them the old epidermis joke.

I was unloading the dishwasher, and as Lele was talking to me I interrupted, "Le! Oh no. Lele, your epidermis is showing!" I clasped my hand over my mouth snickered a little. Immediately she looked behind her to see if -I don't know- there was a rip in her drawers or something. 

"Huh?" she said.

"Dude! Your epidermis! Quick, run to the bathroom!" I teased.

"My what? Where?"

That old joke is still funny to this day. When I explained it to her, she tried it on everyone we know. I'm sure her teacher appreciated that. The epidermis joke is right up there with "Look under there! Under where?" They love that one too. 

It's fun to walk around quoting my favorite old movies to each other. Like when Lele gets out of the shower and I say in my best Johnny 5 (from Short Circuit) voice, "OOO, Stephanie! You change colors!" or when all three of us are dancing around singing "No Disassemble, no disassemble for me!" to the tune of "More than a Woman".

That's one of the cool things about being a parent. It's a second go-around at playing with PlayDoh Barbershop, LiteBrite and Mr. Potatohead. Watching Annie, Free to be You and Me and Snoopy, Come Home. Playing freeze tag, kickball and hide and seek. Just tonight as I type this I hear Eat it by Weird Al coming from the other room. 

It's a crap-shoot, though. I tried to get them to watch The Last Unicorn. Negative. The Game of Life? Boring. Strawberry Shortcake? Dumb. I'll tell you what, though, in a few years I'm going to force The Cure and The Smiths on them and they WILL LIKE IT, dammit! For now, I'll settle for playing Operation with Schoolhouse Rock! blaring in the background. Maybe I'll see what they think of The Go-Gos next.

The Evolution of Fighting: 2009

In the car, on the way home from piano lessons.

Him: Lele, you are making me extremely angry. Mom, I am making a very good choice not to hit her right now.

Her: I am feeling very angry too. Mom, I really feel like I want to hit him back.

Me: Everyone is making good choices not to hit right now...

Him: I am overflowing with anger. I feel anger in my whole body.

Her: I would love to take off this seat belt and tackle you right now.

Him: I wish I could punch you but I am making a good choice not to. Mom, I'm making an excellent choice not to punch her.

Her: Please do not talk about punching me. Mom, he's thinking about punching me so now I am thinking about kicking him.

And on and on and on. It's weird, really. I'm glad they've temporarily stopped wailing on each other, but this new kind of fighting is kind of creepy. I'm testing it out myself:

Me: I am making a very good choice not to scream at my computer right now. It is running slowly, but is an inanimate object and therefore my scream will have no effect. I feel as though I would like to aid it in colliding with the wall, however I am controlling my emotions. I am electing not to use high-volume expletives when addressing it it

Yeah, see, it's not working. I should take a lesson from the Stepford children in the back seat.

A Leisurely Float Down A River

I thought that maybe this year I'd try to be a little more "outdoorsy". You know, discover a new part of myself. Experience nature with the kids. That kind of thing. So my cousin Shane, who is actually quite outdoorsy himself, invited us on a canoe trip.

"It's so relaxing. You're going to love it, dude. It's a really easy trip, easy to do with the kids." he said. "Just a couple hours in nature."

5 hours, 8.5 miles, and one 7-foot alligator later, I was ready to kill him. And myself. And everyone in my general vicinity.

Yeah, turns out I'm not the "outdoorsy" type. Turns out that an 8.5 mile canoe trip actually is NOT relaxing. Turns out 8.5 miles is really far when you've never rowed a boat before and have now idea how to steer it. Turns out there really are massive, deadly, huge alligators in the waters of Florida. Actually, there are probably MORE horrible reptile/amphibian/insect creatures in the wilderness that I didn't see and don't even want to think about. Turns out I hate canoeing.

It was funny for the first mile. Ha, Ha, Ha, we keep ramming this boat into these rotting branches on the edges of this twisty, narrow river. Ooops! Bumper boats! Sorry about that. Ha, ha, a weird bug just fell out of that tree onto my arm. Ouch! That kind of hurt. No, I don't think it was a black widow, but yeah, it did have some red on it.  Want a TicTac? Oh look, a mile marker. We have to be almost halfway by now. What? We've gone only 2 miles? We have 6 more to go? Shit. OK, well lets keep going -crash, bam- Oops, sorry about that. Quick! Duck! There's a branch hanging down over here!

Yeah. Hilarious. Then at about mile 3, my cousin's wife says to me, "OK, now don't freak out. If you freak out, you're going to tip the boat. But, umm, THERE'S A HUGE ALLIGATOR RIGHT THERE!"

To which I reply, "What the f$@#ing hell! Are you mother f&$%ing kidding me right now? Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"

To which she replies, "It's OK. Just stay calm and keep rowing."

Which in my mind translates to, "Shut the hell up before he comes over here and knocks over all three of these boats so he can kill all six of us one by one by tearing us apart at the bottom of this God-forsaken swamp!"

Yup. Relaxing, leisurely canoe trip...and only 5 more miles to go.

By the end of the trip, aside from being in near cardiac arrest from my heart rate being elevated to the fight or flight level for 5 straight hours, my shoulders were burning, my head was pounding, and my jeans and undies and daughter were soaking wet and freezing. Awesome.

In short, I did not like canoeing. The end.

Dog Armpits

Him (while molesting the dog's underarm area): Mom! Dogs are the opposite of humans. Humans do not have hair all over their bodies, but they do have hair on their armpits but dogs do have hair all over their bodies but do not have hair on their armpits! Mom! Did you know that?

Me: Huh. Well, you learn something new every day, don't you?

The Long Pause

I haven't posted in awhile. I don't know why, really... I suppose it got to be like losing touch with a distant family member or friend. You mean to call, but then you don't, and then you feel like it's been too long, and then it feels kind of awkward, plus you worry about those passive aggressive "Oh, well look who finally decided to pick up the phone" kinds of comments so then you definitely don't call...

Where was I? I don't know- busy worrying about the election and the economy. Busy with starting 3rd grade and Kindergarten. Busy dealing with my friends getting laid off and then busy dealing with getting laid off myself. Busy distracting myself from my plummeting home value and hemorrhaging retirement accounts. Busy making bat costumes and styrofoam snowmen.

But I'm back now. So, umm, hi. And Happy New Year.

Love,

Cortney

We Rock America's Dairyland

Look! It's us. In Wisconsin.

Yup, last week we headed up north for my youngest cousin's wedding. You know, it's only a 2 hour flight to Milwaukee. Only. A two hour flight. But when you're stuck between two little kids whose sole missions in life are to aggravate the ever-loving crap out of each other, it seems a whole lot longer.

Anyway, we made it. In this picture, we're at Apple Holler in Sturtevant, WI. Here you can pay $30 to pick as many apples as you can fit into this huge bag they give you, which is somewhere around a million. We loaded onto a wagon pulled by a tractor and the driver took us out to the middle of this huge apple orchard. Lele and TT Bird loved this place. And by loved, I mean LOVED. They were plucking apple after apple from the trees, biting into every other one. The only problem was that the place was swarming with huge, violent mosquitos, but they didn't care. I'm telling you, The Magic Kingdom has nothing on Apple Holler. After we finished apple-picking, we headed back to the little farm to feed the goats and watch the bunnies. They had pony rides and a couple different mazes. They had apple cider and, uh, Miller Light. They also had a restaurant where i shared a GIANT cheeseburger with- get this- FRIED PICKLES on it with my mom. We loved it.

After Apple holler, we headed over to my cousin's house for a family BBQ. We were all, "Hey! That Apple Holler place was so fun." and they were all, "Apple Holler? That place is for dorks. We never go there." Funny, because that's exactly how I feel about all of the hokey Orlando attractions. I mean, The Holyland Experience? Medieval Times? Come on.

Aside from the apples (which, incidentally, we had to find a way to dispose of at the end of the trip without Lele noticing. We were all speaking in code- "What should I do with the 30 lbs of manzanas in the back of the rental car?" "Uh, maybe there's a umpster-day for the anzanas-may at the otel-hay."), the other highlight of the trip for the kids was the free continental breakfast, otherwise known as the free "Eat as many Donuts as Possible in 4 Days" breakfast.

Then there was the wedding. Lele refused to wear her dress. Then she agreed to wear the dress, but only with jeans underneath. Then I threatened to leave her in the car, so she reluctantly pulled off the jeans and spent the entire ceremony with a look of disdain on her little face, tugging at the hem of the dress so no one would see her undies. I was so pissed at the time, but hey, she comes by it honestly. I myself am not the dress-wearing type.

You'll notice in the photo album that by the time the reception was in full swing, she was back into her jeans and t-shirt uniform, dancing to that awful "Shorty Get Low" song, which my 8 YEAR OLD FREAKING REQUESTED. And we don't have cable. And I only let them listen to Radio Disney (well, and and my classic alternative XM station). WTF! TT Bird caught the garter and then caught the attention of a lovely young lady (you'll see her in the pink dress in the photos). Then, after that, I proceeded to have, oh, a few rum and cokes, and ended up doing The Chicken Dance. Yes, friends. The Chicken Dance. In addition to some goofy line dance. Oh, family weddings...someone always ends up doing The Chicken Dance.

The next day, we ended the trip, of course, just like it began. With me in the between 2 tired little monkeys on a 2 hour flight, fighting all the way back to Florida.

"Bouncy" as a Euphemism for "Kiss Those Size 4 Lucky Jeans Goodbye"

Lele and I were taking a shower together a few nights ago.

Her: Mama, you are so bouncy. (poking me in the side)
Me:  Bouncy?
Her: Yeah. You know, my Daddy isn't bouncy at all.
Me:  So then what is he?
Her: He's kind of like Jack Skellington.

I never really thought of the extra few pounds I've put on over the last year as "bouncy", but I much prefer that description to "belly fat" or "love handles". "Bouncy" almost sounds like fun. Like jumpy castles and trampolines! Wheee! I'm bouncy! Like Violet Beauregard in the Willie Wonka movie.

 See? Fun. Wait, but things didn't turn out so well for Violet, did they?

In any case, Lele's observation got me thinking about how many freaking years I've wasted being insecure about my weight and having what could be called- in a VAST freaking understatement- a "negative body image" (and that would be putting it lightly). I was in high school during that whole "waif" thing and let me tell you, my school churned out more anorexics and bulimics than you could shake a stick at. I teetered on the edge of that myself. I don't want that for Lele. Lately, I've felt that insecurity flare up again, but I refuse to ever contribute to that mentality when it comes to my own daughter.

So that's enough of me getting dressed in front of her while singing The Smiths, "You're the one for me fatty..." to myself under my breath. Enough of me saying, "Hold on, let me get my fat butt on this thing" as I'm trying to get on a swing at the park. It's bad for her and it's bad for me. So that's it. No more. Size 4 Lucky Jeans, you can kiss my bouncy ass.