Too Much Perfection?

This morning the wutz decided he wanted to fix his own hair. This isn't particularly unusual and I don't consider it a big deal, so I left him alone in the bathroom so he could do what he wanted. Now, you might expect this to be where I begin in on the horrid things he did to his hair - in normal posts from me it would be - but not today. Today he used just enough water to flatten out the rat's nest in the back of his hair and he brushed it out nice and flat. It looked pretty good, if I do say so myself, but I was too busy then to notice anything other than it wasn't spiked with gel or suddenly green or something like that.

So off to school we went. Upon arrival we got out and as I was walking him to his class, I looked down and realized his hair did, indeed, look rather nice. Of course I took the opportunity to compliment him on his hair and a job well done. With a small hand he smoothed back the coif and said, "Thank you, Mommy, I wanted it to look good like this today." I queried him as to why and he replied, "Because I am going to take you on a date today, Mommy!" Shocked, I asked where were we going on this date. He looked at me and smiled sweetly and said, "Wendy's!"

Oh. Yay.

Okay, there are some situations where you can just tell that the marketing and think-tank people are all male. This new Apple release of their iPad is a prime example. I recognize that every comedian in the country is likely cracking very similar jokes, but it wouldn't be me if I didn't pause to offer the ole What. The. Fuck. Apple?

So there, I did. Seriously, Apple. Hire some more women. If you had, you'd know that iPad sounds like something we women loathe to wear once a month. Didn't one person... I mean, just ONE stop and say, "Wait, I think maybe we should rethink this whole iPad name. Let's give it 28 more days and see if it sticks."

For weeks now, the wutz's school has been practicing for the Christmas program. Over and over. Bless them, they have worked so hard for this program. The wutz has been singing the songs nonstop. He'll be playing, then suddenly he'll burst out in song - a Christmas song, of course. You likely saw the video I posted of him singing "The Chubby Little Snowman" which is one of the songs they have been practicing.

During practice, my dear child was the loudest and the most boisterous of the entire school, according to the teachers. So that's why I was so surprised when Friday, after waiting for over an hour to make sure I had a good seat, as the Christmas program began, my child came down the aisle with his face as bright as his red pajamas he was wearing. Tears of pure terror streaked his cherub cheeks.

Ut oh.

As soon as he saw me, he ran up to me and I kissed his cheek and whispered he'd be okay. I gave him a loving shove down the aisle, then he suddenly collapsed to the ground. Face first. So there my crying child was. In the aisle as if he'd been struck down and laid out in the Spirit or something, until the teacher ran and picked him up and carried to his seat, where I could hear him crying that he wanted his Mommy.

Awwwwww.

Finally it was his class' turn for their two songs. I waited eagerly to see if he had calmed. But, alas, I did not see my dear child. I looked over each child standing there on the risers. No wutz. Then I leaaaaannnnned over in the pew so I could see down the aisle to the front of the church and what I saw, I shall never forget:

My child, my dear, darling child... was army crawling down the center aisle searching desperately for me. He would raise up at each pew looking for me. Then he finally found me and he scrambled on my lap. Where he proceeded to whisper/sing each and every song in my ear as we watched the rest of the Christmas program from the pew.

*sigh*

Yesterday, we took the wutz to Granny and PopPop's house so we could sneak off and make our annual Christmas toy run. The wutz, as always, was delighted to be able to spend some time with my parents. He adores them, of course, as they do him. So while he got to eat way too much sugar, we trekked to Tallahassee to enter the bowels of hell, otherwise known as Toys R Us.

On approach to the parking lot there were cars lined up waiting for vacant parking spots. Not a good sign. We bypassed as much of the traffic as possible by veering straight to the back of the parking lot because it is easier to hoof it than wait for some idiot to back up and depart.

Upon entrance to purgatory, we were greeted by a line of customers that literally wound around the inside of the store. Damn. After a few moments' panic, we realized that said crazies were in line for Zhu Zhu pets. Hahaha! I already have three of those suckers! So we marched into the frey and began our shopping. We impatiently waited for people blocking us left and right to decide on their purchases and continue on so we could get the things we needed and get the hell outta there. Finally we did. But not before I passed an employee clutching extra Zhu Zhu pet tickets. So I asked him for one, he handed it to me, and I purchased it for $9. No waiting in line required. Take that, suckers!

After we left purgatory, we drove to the outskirts of the city to a restaurant I'd been dying to try. Once we arrived at Z Bardhi's, we realized they didn't open until 5pm. It was 4. But the owner saw us approaching and he quickly unlocked the door and ushered us inside. The waiter asked if we minded waiting about 10 minutes over drinks while they got everything fired up so they could serve us. Of course we didn't mind a bit. We didn't even have to wait that long and we had the entire place to ourselves. The house salad was delicious and the lasagna was even better. But the bread was the best ever, soft and crispy all at the same time. Heaven. I can't speak highly enough of the place and I cannot wait to dine there again.

After leaving a substantial tip, we departed and made our way back to the parents' house to pick up the wutz. But once we got there he refused to leave. R e f u s e d. Why? Because his cousin Michael was there! He wanted to stay and play with his cool cousin. After trying for way too long to persuade him to come home with us, we finally caved and told him he could stay. It was to be his first night away and I was fully prepared for a 3am phone call from a crying kiddo to come pick him up. I am happy to report the call never came! He finally called at 8:30am to tell me he was ready to come home. And by the time we arrived, he'd changed his mind!

So, we all survived not only a harrowing shopping experience, but also the wutz's first night away from home!

The one good thing about Wednesday...

I had to park next to a small throng of protesters when I went to get my yummy, delicious cyclone shrimp from Jonah's today at lunch. Of course, the protesters were attempting to rally the troops against government mandated health care. Blah blah. Lots of the signs had statements about being informed and being angry.

But the one that amused me the most was the one that was so informed, she didn't know how to spell her own profession correctly:

Last week I was nagged, poked, prodded, and cajoled into snapping a picture of my tatas for Twitter's Boobie Wednesday or whatever the hell they call it. The purpose is, of course, to promote breast cancer awareness. Since i hate the color pink, snapping the pic was a helluva lot easier to swallow then wearing their pink swag.

Today my tatas were featured on the the Boob Emancipation Project!

Check me out:

I've been Emancipated. Okay, well my boobs have been at least.

The wutz decided over a month ago that he wanted to be Thomas the Tank Engine for Halloween. I was saddened that he picked out a cheap costume from Target instead of some of the uber-cute costumes I'd found online, though. Apparently he's grown out of the stage where I can use him as my dress-up doll. *sniffle*

So tonight we dressed him up in his little costume and took him first to Grandma's house, where she gave him a handpainted cauldron of treats. Inside the cauldron was a toy tractor and trailer. Wutz bliss in a cardboard box.

Next we drove to town and went to Granny and PopPop's house. There he got an entire bag of chocolate and another toy package that contained a truck, tractor, and trailer. He was thrilled to death and immediately started playing with his loot.

Finally it got dark enough to go Trick or Treating. We went to the Polo Grounds because they close off the streets so vehicles cannot drive through. It is very crowded with children, so it really makes it a lot of fun. Except for the handful of snotty kids with zero manners that I want to bop in the head with the wutz's treat pail. And I did it several times in my head, too. It made me feel a little better. But I digress...

After the first house, the wutz realized something was very wrong. We walked up to the second house and he stepped closer to the steps and the lady handing out candy. He hesitated. Then he leaned forward and looked into the basket containing oodles and oodles of candy. When he realized there really was no tractors in the basket he shook his head and turned around to leave. Fortunately, the lady had no clue why he stepped back and turned, so I eased in quickly and steered his shoulders so he had to accept the candy in a quasi-polite manner.

Back on the street we had to have a brief little talk about what Trick or Treating is really supposed to be about. Fortunately, he got the hang of it and ended up having a great time.

Tuesday night I met up with a friend of mine and her two kids to take them all to the county fair and the Demolition Derby that was also being held there that night. The wutz was looking forward to the Derby and was already bellowing, "Derby!" back from his carseat as we traveled to the fairgrounds.


However, when we got there all was forgotten once we wove our way through the building where all the booths of vendors hawking their cheap wares were set up and we then arrived at the threshhold to the fair itself. Once the kids saw the lights and the rides the Derby was all but forgotten. So we gleefully tanked the Demolition Derby plans in exchange for $20 armbands for each child in attendance.


My friend and I followed the small tugging hands of each child, first to the flying Dumbo knockoffs. Then we made our way to the race cars that looked much like the vehicles I could hear being destroyed mid-Derby.




After the race cars we stood for about 15 minutes outside of a funhouse that had a plexiglass maze. We laughed so hard our sides hurt from watching each of our oh-so-graceful children bonk their heads repeatedly on the SAME pane of plexiglass each and every time they attempted to wander through the maze.






It was a grand time.

Until little dudes and the diva started getting tired around 10pm. Then we knew it was time to depart. So as we wandered back out the fair we then had to retrace oursteps through the gauntlet of vendors.

While trying to make our escape my friend's son kicked over a fairly large potted plant, sending it toppling onto its side. My friend and I both turned around and looked down at it and then each other, both faces mirroring the "I'm not bending over in these jeans to pick that up." So we all just walked past it and acted like nothing happened.



But then...


A little further down the gauntlet, so close to the end I could see the exit, the wutz walked up to a giant stuffed dog, stared at it for a moment then head butted it so that it went tumbling backward onto the floor. Fortunately a booth worker was there to retrieve it, because I can assure you none of us planned on it. Too much effort, you know.


On we continued toward the grand exit when a small group of teenagers stopped us and one said, "We just have to tell you, you two have the coolest kids EVER. They are awesome!" It was then that we cracked up and laughed all the way back to our cars.


Yes. Our own personal Demolition Derby. We were so very proud.

The other day, I purchased a good bottle of Riesling. When I say good, I mean it cost more than five bucks. In other words, it wasn't no Boone's Farm or anything. But for the life of me I cannot recall what it was.

But I digress... as usual.

Once the wutz was in bed, DH and I decided that a nice glass of wine was in order and well deserved, so off we went into the kitchen to pluck down two wine glasses and fetch the bottle of Riesling and open it with the corkscrew.

Corkscrew?

Where is the corkscrew? No, seriously, honey... where'd you put the corkscrew?

Hellloooo? Corkscrewwwwww?! Where are you?

Nope. It was not to be found.

I know it was there the other day. The thing is, items alway seem to go missing in the exact frame of time when I actually need them.

I needed that damned glass of wine.

We then proceeded to get a little creative with our wine opening skills. We enlisted the help of a metal skewer, two army knives (minus the corkscrews, who doesn't put a corkscrew on an Army knife??), the stem of a cake mixer, a set of channel locks, and a pair of needle nose pliers.

Nothing, and I mean nothing, worked.

By then a good half hour had passed and I was in dire need of me some wine. So I did what any desperate wino would do. I drove the cork into the wine bottle and we both finally enjoyed a nice glass of cork-enhanced Riesling.

Since I've really nothing phenomenal (where the eff did the spell check feature on blogger go?) to write about, I am simply going to post a few Demotivators that I've saved because they entertain me. I'm sure some of you won't get the Parelli one, which just amuses me further.

Enjoy.

Poor fella...


... And we all know who gave it to him.

Hysterical.

As I've previously posted, DH was laid off in January. As a whole, I haven't minded having him home because he does manage to stay busy and out of my hair, which is how we both prefer it. However, he has been home this week and has begun pacing like a caged tiger. It drives me batshit because I am quite capable of making the most of alone time. Of which, I have had none this week. I need T-time to stay sane. Needless to say, I'm feeling rather insane at the moment.

And yes, I do blame him. Mostly. And mother nature, but I digress.

Anyways, I worked today while he was home with the wutz. After work I ran errands which included grocery shopping. As I shopped, my phone rang numerous times. Surprise, it was DH each and every time to make additions to my ten-mile long grocery list. Said additions forced me to criss-cross across the grocery store a half a dozen times at minimum. But I preservered and completely the grocery shopping.

Only to come home to an empty house. And a carload of groceries.

Where the f*ck were they?!? you ask. They were down at the pond skipping rocks. Ahhhhh, to have such a relaxing life.

Finally, the boys arrived and DH helped me unload the remaining two bags of groceries. Then he informed me he had decided to try his hand at cutting the wutz's hair.

Yes. Really.

I know, I know. I'm well aware that I could stop writing this blog here and now and every single one of you would know exactly what happened next. It is that f*cking obvious.

So yes, DH used the wrong sized blade guard and now my child looks like Mr. Clean's offspring.

And yes, we are leaving next week for a week long vacation to visit my brother and his family.

But no, I didn't kill DH. I wanted to, though. I really did. My arms were outstretched and my tensed fingers were poised to coil around his neck, but I gathered myself, breathed deeply, then went into the bedroom and shut the door and pretended I was single. If but for a minute.

Okay, I must interupt this regularly scheduled boring YouTube day to post that one of my submissions has been featured on Cake Wrecks today!

The Joe Blow's Another Year is the submission I offered up for your viewing displeasure.


Very cool.


Go check it out.

I hate April 1st. I hate the pranks, the calls from my mother trying to fool me, etc. I always call my sister to remind her that the day is April 1st, so she'll have a head's up that my mother will inevitably be calling to prank her.

However, this year I decided to get in on the action! I have a coworker that is a perpetual prankster. He's gotten me more times than I can count, so I wanted a little payback.

I took a screenshot of his desktop, complete with the Georgia Bulldog logo background and all the icons. I then set it as his desktop background and turned off the icons.

When he came to work this morning and logged into his computer then double clicked on his email icon it failed to work. So did his internet icon. And his solitaire icon. He promptly rebooted.

Upon logging in again, he found that the icons still didn't work. That's when he called in my service to fix his computer. While he answered the phones for me, I 'fixed' his computer and told him I didn't know what the problem was, it was working fine for me.

However, every time he gets up and moves away from his desk, I again turn the icons off.

Needless to say, he's ready to toss his desktop computer out the window.

I think I may tell him the truth sometime next week.

Sometime this weekend half of a Bounce dryer sheet migrated into our shower. I'd be willing to wager that it hitched a ride on the back of one of the towels that gets unceremoniously slung over the shower door. No matter how it found its way into the floor of the shower, it has been there for nearly a week.

One might think that I, being the dutiful wifey that I am, would have picked it up by now. However, if you think that, you obviously do not know me well. Oh no, I have spent my hour-long showers each night pretending not to see this little vermin looking thing that was sopping wet by the time the hour was up and the water had grown cold.

I have surreptitiously avoided the thing in hopes that dear ole DH would finally cave and slog the nasty thing to the trash can. A girl can dream, right? Not surprisingly, though, that has not happened.

Fast forward to yesterday evening when the wutz and I showered together...

He looked down and his eagle eyes zeroed in on the abandoned Bounce sheet. Immediately, he swooped down upon it, gripping his prey in his little talon and holding it up like he'd found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

"What's that?" he asked in his inquisitive little voice.

"Trash." I replied.

"Oh." he said as the little cogs in his brain began to work. Then he nodded sagely.

"White trash." he declared.





Yes, little grasshopper, you may never know just how right you are.









Seriously.