A couple of weeks ago my cell phone glitched during an upgrade (and I use the term ‘upgrade’ loosely). I lost everything. For almost two days my phone was a very expensive paper weight.  I thought for sure my head would spin around and sparks would fly but finally it came back to life. I feel a little twinge of panic if I get to work and can’t find my phone. It’s this very dependence that frustrates the hell out of me. My kids would surely stop breathing if I took their phones away and my 10 year old is convinced she now must have an iPhone. What the hell for, games and taking pictures? That’s what the iPod is for. I don’t see her needing it to schedule any type of appointment or meeting, she never needs directions anywhere, and she doesn’t even use email. 

Dinner time use to be me trying to chat and ask questions about their day while listening to the frequent soft humming sound coming from under the table notifying them of an incoming message. Really?? Now, I threaten to take their food away if they bring their phones to the table. So flipping ridiculous. 

I’m so thankful I didn’t have a smartphone when my girls were little. They surely would have been neglected. I already feel like I missed so much by working full-time. Coupled with the texting revolution, I can’t help but think that all the good stuff like reading books, capturing firsts, or a good ol’ game of peek-a-boo would have fallen by the wayside. “Oooh, keep your diaper on. I’ll warm up your bottle as soon as I update my Facebook status!” I met a woman the other day who I needed to contact later and I offered to text her. She said she didn’t text and my first thought was “WTF is wrong with you?” (I also discovered she doesn’t watch KU basketball either and then I thought, “No seriously, WTF is your deal?”) 

We rely on technology so much and it’s only logical to expect that we will always be looking for the next cutting age gadget.  Sometimes though I wish it wasn’t such a prevalent distraction, especially with kids. My experience is that kids are braver typing than speaking in person. They don’t hesitate to take pictures of anything and everything and send it to all their friends. Kids are too connected and that isn’t a good thing. We look like a bunch of zombies walking around staring down at our phones like our lives depend on it. I get downright giddy when one of the girls loses their phone privileges because then I know they won’t have a choice but to interact with the family.  

How do you pedal backwards on the wheel of technology? Is there any way of severing that technology umbilical cord once you have fed on its plethora of modern conveniences? Maybe Apple makes an app for that…

Now..., Who Are You Again?

Call it an “age thing” if you like but I admit I am forgetful.  I will strategically put things in a spot that I KNOW I’ll be able to recall later and *poof*, it disappears.  I recycled a bunch of printer cartridges for my mom at Office Depot and got her a rewards card that will pay her back for the cartridges. I made sure I put her cards in a “safe place” so I could give them to her and once again, gone.  Ironically, I’m pretty sure I recycled them.
 

I got Hazel a new laser cat toy. She loves chasing that little red dot all over the house and it gets her fat cat booty some much needed exercise.  The toy came with three of those stupid little watch batteries and my first thought was, “Great. Where the hell am I going to put these so I can find them in four months when her toy dies.” I have a tiny little apple on the shelf in my kitchen that has a hinged lid. The three spare batteries fit perfectly in there. I called to Sydney to come witness my hiding place. Then I yelled to Gen upstairs to come to the railing so I could also tell/show her, “The batteries are in the apple. Okay? In. The. Apple. Don’t forget.”  Well if nothing else the method to my madness worked because now those little smartasses will just randomly yell out, “The batteries are in the aaaaapple! Hey mom! The batteries are IN the apple!”Or Syd will ask her sister;

"Gen, have you seen my black tank top?"
 "Nope, but I know the batteries are in the apple."

If they let me down in four months maybe I will at least be able to remember I wrote this stupid random entry and I’ll be good to go.

You Have GOT to be Kidding Me!

Anticipation, nervous anxiety, disbelief, jubulation! 

Yep, that pretty much sums up our Saturday afternoon before, during, and after the KU/Mizzou game. Since tickets were going for $600 a piece we decided we would watch it at one of our favorite bars instead with our friends. After the game we made a bee line to Mass Street to the Brewery. We just beat the herd of fans coming from The Fieldhouse. We passed students walking, chanting, cheering in the streets and in the distance I could hear the KU band playing "I'm a Jayhawk."  The scene resembled the celebrating that occurred after the 2008 National Championship win. We saw TV crews positioned on the streets catching the action and interviewing fans. Most of us were in stunned disbelief on how the Hawks could come back from a 19 point deficit. Unbelievable. Our coach is a wizard; plain and simple. 

We had another reason for going to Mass Street. The past few weeks I have been carefully planning “Operation Fid-ee.” Daniel had a significant birthday approaching and was insistent that we would not celebrate. We would not tell anyone. We would not discuss. Soooooo, of course I respected his wishes and threw him a surprise party! Duh. 

With the help of a good friend and the internet I was able to procure the email addresses of his friends and the plan was set in motion. I don’t know how, but the whole thing went off without a hitch. His friends were all waiting for him in the Blue Moon Lounge I had reserved at The Barrel House and he had no clue.  (Or so he says).  I’ll never forget his face when he walked up the stairs, saw all those people and said, “What the f*#@!”  Priceless.  I then thought it prudent to mention to him that I might have told a few people about his birthday.  He then understood why I had been so nervous at the Brewery earlier that evening. He kept asking me if I was okay; said I looked like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. And that’s how I felt! First of all I was pissed I’d forgotten my camera! Then I worried that I would be able to convince him to go to the Barrel House. It had already been a long day and we had been drinking since 1pm. Here it was 8pm and he was ready to go home. Thanks to my friend Patti, she wasn’t going to let that happen so she insisted we make just one more stop. Surprise! 

It is definitely a day that we will remember forever and now, for more than just a historical basketball game….  Happy Birthday Daniel and here's to many more celebrations.

A friend of mine is going through the process of finding the right preschool for her daughter. I found out she is considering the same preschool both of my girls attended and loved. As we were comparing notes I was reminded of a story. 

Gen was probably 3 years old at the time and we had just moved to Kansas from Alabama. Picture a little girl with long blond curly hair and a slight southern accent and that was Gen. She had attended preschool in  Alabama as a baby and I am convinced that the Southern women there contributed to her vocabulary being void of one syllable words. Even Grandpa Ted was Grandpa Teh-ed. Her favorite preschool teacher at her new school was Ms. Shelley and I remember her crying hysterically when she learned she was not going to get to take Ms. Shelley to kindergarten. Oh the tears! 

One day time when we picked Gen up from school Ms. Shelley told us about a visit the class had made that day to one of the local nursing homes. Gen had never been to a nursing home and so I worried that she would be a little bit freaked out by the residents. As the class walked down the hallway greeting the residents they passed a woman sleeping in her wheelchair. Gen looked at the woman then said (rather loudly), “Ms. Shelley. Is that woman dea-ad?” Stifling a giggle, the teacher quietly answered, “No sweetie. She’s just sleeping.” then hurried her down the hallway. Taking a group of filter less three year olds into an old folk’s home should be directly linked to Webster’s definition of comic relief. I wonder if I will find it as amusing when I’M the one in the chair.  (And hopefully I’m not dea-ad).

What Is This Thing You Call 'Normal'?

"Just because you are dressed crazy doesn't mean you get to act crazy. " These were my words to Syd as I dropped her off at school this morning. She tells me "Yeah, I know" but I know my words have already gone out the other side of her head.

Yesterday I described Sydie to someone as “creatively unique.” That’s loving mom code for, “that girl is out there flappin’!”  Today in honor of Valentine’s Day she wore a boy’s V-neck t-shirt that we dyed hot pink, mid-calf Nike socks (also dyed hot pink), shorts with black capri leggings and black and white polka dotted shoes.  I told her last night I needed to see the outfit before I decided whether or not to let her wear it. Then, after seeing it I told her I needed to think about it. It was Daniel who ultimately convinced me to let her proceed.., and it made her day.  As a tradeoff however I told her I wanted her hair to look really nice.  She got up early and let me roll her hair in hot rollers producing big bouncy, girlie curls. I hate to admit it but she did look super cute. As she walked into school I said to Gen, “Oooh look at all the normal kids… wearing coats and boots.”  Syd is living proof that “normal” is overrated. 

Gen on the other hand is usually a bit more practical. Today she decided it would be prudent to wear a mini skirt. There’s only three inches of snow on the ground so hell, why not? She wasn’t very happy with me for getting her to school early. My best guess is she had to stand outside for about 10 minutes before they let the kids inside. (Oops).  

 This morning in a random Valentine related conversation she tells me that in the event of a zombie attack the one thing she would take is chocolate. She claims that zombie’s LOVE chocolate and with it she would make friends with them and they would not eat her brain. Huh? I have no freaking idea what generates these thoughts. I never did drugs when I was pregnant, I swear!

Scruptious Indulgence

Those are the two words I would use to sum up my weekend. To our demise, Daniel and I love to cook and thus LOVE to eat. A year ago this week we were in the French Quarter so to commemorate we made Muffaletta's, a classic New Orleans sandwich.

You start by roughly processing pickled Italian vegetables, green olives, kalamata olives, capers, pepperoncini, fresh garlic, and a little olive oil.

To make the spread.

Then you put it on french bread with provolone, ham, pepperoni, and salami. Very simple and CRAZY tasty!

We broiled ours for about five minutes just to meld the cheese and ham flavors together. I thought I'd throw out an optional idea if you want to celebrate Mardi Gras with food versus beads and bare flesh but to each their own. I guess you could actually incorporate both together.... Hmm, I didn't think of that before.

I felt like ass all weekend with sinus issues, a headache, and body aches. The only thing I wanted to do was lounge on the couch with my blankie… oh, and install my new dishwasher. Ironically, installing the effing dishwasher ended up consuming all my lounging time thanks to outlets that have a mind of their own. It wouldn't work plugged into the outlet under the sink but it would work sitting ON my counter top plugged into the wall. The whole afternoon was one big WTF??

Just as we reached the point that we thought the new dishwasher would look stunning thrown out in the yard, we decided to break off and go downtown. We had made plans to go to the Jazzhaus to celebrate a friend’s birthday, listen to some live music, and watch the KU game. I love going to the Jazzhaus; the music is good but the people watching is prime. The featured band Saturday night played primarily 60’s British rock. Based on the enthusiasm of the crowd I’m sure several of them were reliving acid flashbacks and enjoying it. Well almost everyone had a good time. We were so mesmerized and pissed off by the game on TV that none of us noticed the paramedics giving some guy CPR. Now that is how you know you are partying with an older crowd. The firetruck sitting outside the club was our cue it was time to go home. A twelve pack of comfort food from Taco Bell later and I was finally lounging on my couch with my blankie. 

Sunday the fight with the dishwasher continued up until two hours before our Super Bowl get-together. Poor Daniel didn’t feel much better but he ultimately won out against the obstinate electrical issues and now the dishwasher runs like a very quiet, smart washing, sanitizing dream. It also looks a helluva lot better in the kitchen than it would have in pieces in my yard.

 

Cell phones have amazing picture quality. I love this pic of Gen and the detail; right down to the sparkle in her eyes.