tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5526426467200444342024-03-13T03:36:11.383-07:00Adventures of JenMy Mom says I'll be the next Erma BombeckJenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.comBlogger82125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-61111972637014219342012-02-03T07:20:00.000-08:002012-02-03T07:20:40.357-08:00How did we get here?Well, it happened. Right when I was busy running around from appointment to gym to kid's schools to swim lessons.. I've been so busy with the kids the last few years I didn't even notice it coming.<br />
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I, and all my peers got old. Yes, I'm talking about you. And you. It hit me hard this week. Somewhere between putting violet streaks in my hair and receiving news that my 20th high school reunion was being planned I got old.<br />
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And then I made the horrible connection between the violet streaks and the getting old. OH MY GOD! Am I having a mid life crisis? Is this what it looks like? What's next? Too short skirts and botox? Maybe I'll suddenly feel the need to ride a motorcycle. Who knows. <br />
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Violet streaks. I like them. Muchly. Didn't so much like that it took two days to accomplish, and I had to walk around for 24 hours with strange tiger striped hair. But the purple I'm liking. Of course when my 6 year old daughter had a friend over, and I noticed she had the same color streak in her hair my pride shook just a little. But I'm liking it.<br />
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But quasi-punk rock hair. It's not so bad, right? I mean as far as mid life crisis's go. Lately it seems like everyone has a friend. The friend who is getting a divorce. Or the friend of a friend who caught their spouse cheating. Or the buddy who freaked out and quit his job and is moving to Peru to seek clarity. We're all doing it. Some by small actions, others by huge life changing ones. Some are going about it more positively. I have a friend who is writing a novel. Another is making a major, positive career change. Some are having their last baby, completing their families. <br />
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It's a funny time. Full of self-evaluation. Questioning. How the hell did I get here? As for me, after 15 years of looking a little more conservative than I am on the inside, I'm embracing my inner punk rock girl. I missed her.Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-17887554138643686152012-01-31T09:15:00.000-08:002012-01-31T09:15:42.335-08:00The Air in HereD2 is spending a few days with her Mimi and Pop Pop. Getting in some special alone time with her.<br />
Our first night D2-less was Sunday. Hubby and I enjoyed being able to focus our attentions on D1. She read her homework book to Hubby then helped me make dinner. It really was nice. But oh my, it was so incredibly quiet. Even with the tv on as background noise. The air felt so still, so quiet. Hubby and I discussed how much D2 brings to our family, our home. She fills up the air for us. Her constant chatter, the singing of her own special medleys. And yes, the bickering with her sister. It's amazing to us how a little 4 year old being could occupy all the air around us. Hubby and I both agreed that we didn't like it. Just didn't feel right. Yesterday, while D1 was at school, and during the time I usually spend alone with D2 I ran errands. Telling myself I needed to get these things done. But really? I just don't think I wanted to be engulfed by the silence.<br />
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Next year, D2 will be in school. If she gets into the charter school I'm hoping she gets into, it will be a full day of kindergarten for her. 9 am till 3 pm. How am I going to breathe in all that empty air?<br />
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<br />Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-50476546896177561682012-01-26T10:37:00.000-08:002012-01-26T10:37:37.587-08:00What's For Dinner?A few years back, if you had asked me, I would have told you that I love to cook. Before budgets, and after school activities and 3 meals a day on the table. It was fun to cook.<br />
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Before kids, when I worked, I did not cook every night. Several nights a week we got take out, or even better, went out to eat. And we had nights when both of us ate cereal or just junk food. But at least a couple of nights out of the week I did cook. WHEN I FELT LIKE IT. And I enjoyed preparing those meals. Soups, casseroles, even Filet Mignon took a frequent turn in my repertoire.<br />
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I've always loved ready new recipes. I would read them, but never follow them to the word. When hubby asked I would tell him I was "inspired" by a recipe I saw in such and such magazine. Then we would giggle because we both new I'd probably never be able to re-create it exactly. <br />
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But things have changed. I now make breakfast for 3, lunch for 2 and dinner for 4 nearly every day. Sure, I have some breaks. Pizza or chinese for dinner sometimes. Chic-Fil-A for lunch on occasion. But money is tight and I prefer healthier made at home options. So I cook. And something that once was practiced in moderation and enjoyed, is now another chore.<br />
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And lately, my recipe inspired creations have lost their mojo. The flops have outnumbered the successes. My hubby has asked for cereal instead. <br />
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Like last weekend. I vaguely remembered reading about pureeing white beans and adding it to kale, tomatoes, garlic and oil. So I added a little of this and a little of that. Didn't feel like putting the beans in my blender to puree, so after adding them to the rest of the ingredients I buzzed my immersion blender into the pan a few times. When my husband asked for salt and refused to look me in the eye, I had to ask "is it not good?" after a long pause, and still no eye contact, his reply was "have I ever asked for salt before?" Gotcha.<br />
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Or a few weeks ago when I started to make an Asian stir fry but realized I had no soy sauce, I put a little of this and a little of that in. Then the kids were fighting so I forgot about it as it cooked on the stove. What resulted was mushy and flavorless. When my husband came home late that night and asked what I cooked, I told him "dinner". When he pulled out the cereal, I dumped the left overs into the trash.<br />
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The last example also pinpoints another issue. I suffer from poor pantry inventory control. I often THINK I have the ingredients for a particular dish, but find out too late that I do not. <br />
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At 6 pm, after making sauce and boiling the water, I will realize I don't actually have any noodles. That's when I start wondering if the kids will like sauce over rice or maybe beans. Or I'll cook and season the meat for taco's only to realize that D2 has snacked away all the shells. Taco casserole it is! Crap... no rice either.... lettuce wraps!<br />
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So what is the solution? I honestly don't have one. D1 has shown a lot of interest in cooking. I'm hoping by 8 or 9 she can take over. Until then, it's sauce and rice for dinner! <br />
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Crap... the dog just ate the sauce.<br />
<br />Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-49520793709100202322012-01-24T10:10:00.000-08:002012-01-24T10:12:36.033-08:00The "A" Word: Part 2The topper came in the Fall of 2009, I had joined a Mom's book club. Children came along and were expected to play independently while the Moms discussed the book. After an especially trying meeting, where the kids weren't being especially kind to my girls, and D1 reacted in her aggressive ways, I left early. That evening I was called by one of the Mom's and asked that I do not bring my girls to future meetings. With two years perspective this doesn't sound so terrible. But it was. I was hurt and angry. No, I was all out pissed. But also so incredibly sad. Being rejected by myself was one thing. But to have my child rejected was a whole new, horrible feeling. How could they not see how wonderful and special my little girl was?<br />
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I was devastated. I began to withdrawal both myself and my girls from many social opportunities. I was even hesitant to spend time with close friends who seemed to understand the challenges I faced with my D1. I was so afraid of another rejection, or another incident of D1 behaving badly or hurting another child. I believed it would drive me straight over the edge.<br />
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I honestly didn't know what to do. So I took a step that was so incredibly scary to me. I called an Autism resource and requested an evaluation. My heart was in my stomach. As I spoke with the receptionist I began to cry. She reassured me that it would be ok. That she had a son with autism, and really it was manageable. That made me cry even more. <br />
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It just brought me too far back. Back to my own childhood, my own difficulties. Too shy, too awkward. Which made making friends very hard, and made me a huge target for teasing and bullying. One of my number one wishes for my kids was not that they would be straight A students or star athletes. I simply wanted them to have it a little easier than I did. I wanted them to be outgoing, to have lots of friends and make great childhood memories. I wanted them to never have to play alone during recess, to never not know who they could sit with at lunchtime. All the terrible lonely memories of my childhood, the ones that left me sad still, so many years later. I could not handle my baby girl going through the same thing. D1 was creative, funny, and so incredibly smart. The thought of others not valuing these attributes as much as I did was heart breaking. <br />
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Of course the appointment we made was not immediate. As I now know, most autism providers have notoriously long wait lists. And while a month seemed a long time to wait, it was actually incredibly short compared to other providers wait lists. Once the appointment rolled around I was scared. Questioning myself once again. Maybe I was over-reacting. She just had some quirks and was a little behind her age socially. All kids have areas they struggle with. Was I dragging her to some evaluation unneccessarily? Wasting everyone's time?<br />
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But I was so incredibly glad I went. The therapist who conducted the evaluation was kind, non-judgemental and understanding. After talking with her for an extensive amount of time and giving her the evaluations I had filled out ahead of time, we were told to return in a week. While I went to the initial evaluation alone, hubby came with me for the results meeting. At this point, hubby was even more skeptic than I. He seemed to lean more on her issues being more of a result of our parenting. Bringing him along to this appointment was very important to me to get us on the same page. <br />
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The therapist began referring to D1 as a "fence sitter". She was borderline. Definitely had attributes of ADHD. But also many attributes of aspergers. She explained to us that the evaluations were hard to do on a young girl. That the tests were tilted towards the more typical aspie - a boy of age 7 or 8. She told us that very often girls do not get diagnosed with Aspergers till about fourth grade - when the social structure of school becomes much more complicated. <br />
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I know many people are relieved when they finally get their child's diagnosis. The years of wondering and not knowing what to do are done. But I did not feel that way. I was grieving and scared. What kind of difficulties would she have to over come in the future? What kind of family life would we have if we were constantly taking D1 to all the therapies that were suggested for her?<br />
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As that winter began, I went fully into myself and kept my girls close. Looking back, I remember it as a very dark and lonely winter. A winter full of waiting. At the evaluators suggestions, I tried to find social skill groups, speech and behavioral therapies. But all of these required more waiting lists, initial evaluations and placements with the right therapists and groups. Waiting. <br />
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<i>~ part 3 of this series will be out next week ~</i><br />
<br />Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-29622689058783956722012-01-19T12:13:00.000-08:002012-01-19T12:18:00.072-08:00The "A" Word : Part 1When she was just under 2 years old, someone mentioned it, in response to my lamenting over her hitting others so much. It nagged at me. But I brushed it aside. Not my girl. She looked us in the eye, she showed us affection. She was learning to talk. <br />
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But still, the hitting continued. It didn't appear to be something she was going to grow out of. As members of the local MOM's club, we became playgroup drop outs. The crying children and judgemental Mommy eyes were just too much. I carefully selected the places we would go. Outdoor venues seemed to be o.k. for her. Playgrounds with lots of space and not too much noise were usually good experiences. Closed in loud places like Chuck E. Cheese were just plain horrible. Even close friends disappointed me - suggesting playdates should be avoided till D1 grew out of this stage. It was frustrating and lonely. I wanted everyone to love my little D1 like I did. I wanted everyone to see how amazing she was - smart,creative and sweet. Yes, sweet. She loved her Mama and her DaDa. <br />
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And at this time we had our little D2. My D1 tolerated her at best. Terrorized her at the worst of times. I would take out my beautiful baby and keep my fingers crossed that no one would notice the scratch marks across her face and ask how they happened. I lived in constant stress. Setting the baby down on the floor and walking into the adjoining room for just a second was never an option. I never knew what my D1 might do. D2 was carried around with me nearly every second. <br />
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I made extra phone calls to our pediatrician, explaining the latest event and being told it was all in the normal range of developmentally normal. But it just didn't seem right to me. No matter how much I hoped and prayed, she wasn't growing out of it.<br />
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I felt lonely, scared and confused. I would vassilate between wondering if something was wrong with my girl and brushing it off as over-worry of a Momma with her first born.<br />
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When my D1 was about 2 1/2 we added another big transition to her little life. We joined the exodus from over-priced New Jersey to PA. And it was a bumpy transition. While looking for a permanent home to buy we lived in a horrible rental with fleas, scary, unstable trees and electrical issues. I was able to explain away my D1's behavior on the wacky transitions. <br />
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But her behaviors, our living quarters and my post-pardum hormones put a toll on me. I was exhausted, weepy and full of mood swings. With support from Hubby, my Mom, Sister and one very close friend I made it through a very lonely confusing time. <br />
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Once we found our permanent home and settled in I prayed she would make the adjustment and her behaviors would improve. But as she grew a little older and the hitting continued and was joined with a few other quirky behaviors I wondered some more. The over the top fear of loud noises, the non-existent impulse control (I mean, a lake in our kitchen? Really?, the strange sensory seeking behaviors (paint smeared all over your body, really? we just cleaned up the lotion you smeared) the seemingly literal translation of everything we said to her. I read up on <a href="http://www.sinetwork.org/about-sensory-processing-disorder.html"></a> Sensory Processing Disorder. I read about how ADHD<a href="http://www.scholastic.com/teachers/article/girls-and-adhd-are-you-missing-signs"></a> can effect girls differently. I would see some similarities, but others that seemed not quite right.<br />
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Feeling so alone in a new town I bravely set out to make some new friends. Despite the experiences I had in my NJ Mom's Club, I decided to join the local chapter again. Just shy of D1's third birthday I bravely attended a playgroup at another Mom's house. It went well. The Mom's in the group seemed to have more children, appeared to be more laid back and less hoverish about their kids. <br />
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We went through a nice time where the hitting and other behaviors seemed to only happen at home. While still frustrated, I was relieved that she was learning to play well with others. <br />
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But at home she began biting me, her Daddy and her sister. My cute little D2 walking around with cuts and bruises the shape of a mouth on her arms and legs. It was heart breaking. I talked to our new pediatrician. His response was that it was outside of his scope of knowledge. He referred us to a therapist. I made an appointment and nervously met with her first, without D1. After explaining D1's behaviors, the therapist suggested I try biting her back. Really? Where did she get her degree? Redneck U? I was frustrated and feeling more alone than ever.<br />
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Hubby and I were so confused. Could anyone help us? Were we just inadequate parents who didn't know how to handle a spirited child? <br />
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Then in the Spring of '09 my then 13 year old nephew was diagnosed with <a href="http://www.webmd.com/brain/autism/tc/aspergers-syndrome-symptoms">Aspergers Syndrome</a>. It sent me into a tailspin. Could my little girl also have this? I compared articles on girls with ADHD and girls with Aspergers. It all just left me so very confused. I could see a little of her in both. But it just didn't seem totally like her. The confusion and uncertainty continued.<br />
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She continued with the strange,although hilarious, impulsive behaviors. No bottle of lotion, paint, glue or shampoo was safe when left out. I would enter into a friends home and quickly scan the area for possible future messes. She once again began hitting others outside our home. We received reports from school of hitting, and once again I had to break up fights at play dates and other social situations.<br />
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<i>~to be continued in a few days</i><br />
<br />Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-90338892727982348242012-01-16T08:24:00.000-08:002012-01-16T08:24:25.231-08:00A Very Loud NoiseMy D1 is not much for the mornings. The whole idea of getting up, getting dressed and quickly eating so she can start school just doesn't appeal to her. So each morning is a struggle. It involves a lot of <strike>yelling</strike> prompting on my part, and a whole lot of rushing. Toss in a crazed, dumb doodle and the mornings are absolute chaos. Most days, it requires me to drive D1 to school, since the bus is almost always missed. Usually she is still on time for the start of school, but on extra crazy days I have to walk her into the school and sign her in late.<br />
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In late October we had one of those extra crazy days. After over an hour of a whole lot of <strike>yelling</strike> prompting, the morning was topped off with a run through the neighbors yards to retrieve our dumb doodle who had gotten loose. <br />
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After my morning run, to say I was stressed out was an understatement. We parked in the front of the school and I had to usher both girls into the school to sign D1 in. Feeling a little guilty for all the <strike>yelling</strike> prompting I did that morning, I paused to give D1 an extra hug before I shoved her out into the world alone. And in those 2.5 seconds I lost track of D2. But as I heard the deafening sound of a fire alarm, I quickly found her. With a very guilty and upset look on her face. <br />
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Oh. My. God. <br />
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She pulled the fire alarm.<br />
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My first instinct was to run. To grab both girls, shove them into the van, and speed off. No one needed to know!<br />
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But I took a deep breath, remembered I was wearing my big girl panties, and did the right thing. <br />
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I stopped one of the secretaries as she rushed around, knowing it wasn't a planned drill and worried over what may be happening, and told her, it was my little one. She stopped and stared for a moment then went to work.<br />
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We walked outside and watched as all the children began filing out of the school. D1 told me she thought she may throw up. D2 held on to me, her face buried into my shoulder. I wished I had someone to hide my face into, too.<br />
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A teacher came by and offered to usher D1 to her teacher and classmates. So D2 and I sat on a bench and watched as all 455 students and 67 faculty members filed out into the parking lot. D2 straddled my lap and pressed her face into my chest. She lifted her head only once, to whisper that she wished she could go back into my belly.<br />
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As the principal went by I stopped him and apologized. He said it wasn't exactly the way he wanted to start his day, but he assured me it was ok, and that it wasn't the first time.<br />
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Then, as the fire truck pulled up, I cringed just a little more. Was this really happening to me? <br />
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Oh. My. God. A fire truck. My daughter's doing.<br />
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The firemen quickly cut off the deafening alarm. I heard the Principal announce to the students that a "visitor" had accidentally pulled the alarm and they were to now quietly return to their classrooms. D2 and I sat there quietly, as the 455 children and 67 faculty members filed past us, staring and now knowing who the "visitor" in question was.<br />
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I waited and once again spoke to the Principal. I asked him if I needed to do anything else. He nicely replied <strike>get the hell out of my school</strike> no, that we could go home.<br />
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My D2. Known by 455 students and 67 faculty members before she has even been enrolled in the school.<br />
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I went home and spent the rest of the day coiled into the fetal position.<br />
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<br />Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-43086379617001386842012-01-10T19:34:00.000-08:002012-01-10T19:34:51.510-08:00Dumb, Dumb DoodleWhile he's been mentioned, I haven't formally introduced you to the latest member of our crazy cast of characters.<br />
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Bailey is our puppy dog. We have had him for a year. He is a a Golden Doodle. Which is fancy for mutt. No, he's a combination of a Golden Retriever and a Standard Poodle. Because our life was feeling so dull, what with the two insane children and all, we decided it was time to add a puppy. Cause you know, we didn't have enough to do. <br />
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Bailey makes our children look passive and well behaved.<br />
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Not too long ago, I listed for my friends on facebook all that he had done by 9 am:<br />
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ate my breakfast<br />
licked half a tub of organic butter<br />
chewed up a candle stick, mesh bath pouf, ball of yarn and a pair of underwear<br />
ate the ear off a pillow pet and half a cardboard box<br />
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One other night, Hubby came home late one night to the following doodle debris gathered on the floor:<br />
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To improve his behavior, I signed us up for doggy obedience class. They gave me a can full of rocks to shake when he was misbehaving. It totally freaked him out! Worked like a charm for two days. Till he ate the can.<br />
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To top it off, he's not the smartest. My hubby will throw him a treat, expecting him to catch it in his mouth. Every single time it hits his head and drops on the floor. He runs into walls. He constantly barks at his own reflection. He still doesn't understand the command "sit!". He prefers the plastic bag over the cookies inside. <br />
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We've renamed him. He is now referred to as The Dumb Doodle. I'm not sure D2 even knows that his real name is Bailey.<br />
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Like my kids, he drives me crazy. As if my mornings aren't crazy enough, they haven't ended till I've chased him around my bedroom at least once to retrieve my eye glasses or a pair of socks. The afternoons aren't complete till I've yelled at him for stealing D2's snack. <br />
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But, just like my kids, I love him. The big, dumb doodle waits for my husband to get out of bed each morning so he can jump up to snuggle with me.(Bet my ultra-chic flannel bear paw print sheets in the picture above are impressing the hell out of you.) In the afternoon, D2 and the doodle snuggle together to watch cartoons. He follows me from room to room. When I get out of the shower, he is leaning against the bathroom door, waiting for me. <br />
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Yeah, he's a keeper.<br />
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<br />Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-79328428279044929812012-01-08T18:46:00.000-08:002012-01-10T17:35:30.673-08:00My Fabulous FashionistaMy D2 is cool. Yeah, I know, your kids are cool, too. Right, Right, of course.<br />
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But no. I mean she's really cool. Just. Cool. I could certainly fill pages on everything I love about D1, as you could about your children. But that's not what I'm talking about.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0CPFliLZqOc/TwpQHCid25I/AAAAAAAAAFM/tWs1PHVq720/s1600/P1010342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="290" width="390" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0CPFliLZqOc/TwpQHCid25I/AAAAAAAAAFM/tWs1PHVq720/s400/P1010342.JPG" /></a></div>Have you ever met someone who was just so self assured,so comfortable in her own skin? A person with style,knew what she liked, and had no time for anything else? That's my D2. She has attitude, creativity and style. SHE LIVES LIFE IN HER OWN FAIRYTALE. She does. I feel honored to be allowed access into D2's world. It's a magical place. Full of Rock N Roll, Hot Pink, Fairies, Princesses and Frou Frou skirts.<br />
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In my experience, the style mavens I have known have their fashion rules. They have a look. A formula to their fabulousness. So does my D2. <br />
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Her Rules?<br />
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1. Wear Pink. Always. Preferably Hot Pink. Although a paler pink can be used at times to keep everyone guessing.<br />
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2. Skirts. Always. Whether on it's own, or as a layering piece, a skirt sets off an outfit. Wearing a dress? A skirt layered underneath adds volume and interest!<br />
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3. A good article of clothing is seasonless. That fabulous PINK tank top adorned with watermelons? Of course it can be worn in January! Layer it over a long sleeved, solid pink colored shirt and you've got a statement piece.<br />
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4. If it has a touch of pink, it matches. Matchy-Matchy is so yesterday. Live a little! If you love the skirt, and you love the shirt, put it together.<br />
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5. Every fabulous pink outfit must be topped off with an equally fabulous hair piece. Taffeta bows, great big flowers and multiple pig tails - alone or all together - is the icing on the fabulous pink-frosted cake!<br />
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<br />Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-6529692646001930122012-01-06T09:31:00.000-08:002012-01-06T18:36:15.213-08:00Damn Elf!Last year my Mom gave my family an Elf on the Shelf. The girls were sooo excited. They named him Buddy and eagerly looked for him each morning. My husband, luckily, was great at moving him each night before bed. It really added to the fun of the Holiday season.<br />
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This year we started out great! A few days after Thanksgiving Buddy made his debut. <br />
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He surprised the girls with a breakfast - he went into my Christmas things and brought out some holiday plates and mugs. He left them hot cocoa,marshmallows and pastries. The girls were out-of-their-minds thrilled. <br />
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But Hubby and I had a little trouble this time around. It was a busy year for us. <br />
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A few nights after being with us, we stuck Buddy on a metal wall hanging in the living room. We tucked his legs behind it to leave it secure. The next night we forgot to move him. After the girls discovered him in the same place they panicked. Buddy was stuck in the metal tree! He couldn't move his legs! Did he break them? That night they anxiously said good night to him and wished him luck getting unstuck. <br />
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Another day he fell from the tv stand. What to do? If we moved him he would lose his magic from our touch. But if we left him there he would surely meet his demise through the teeth of our dog. So using just two fingers, I delicately moved him back into his spot. That was a close call!<br />
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He was a lot of fun though. I enjoyed listening to the girls talk to him. Ratting out each other for wrongs done. Long explanations of why they did some of the naughty things they did.<br />
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And then there was the fun Hubby had with him. Putting him in some precarious and questionable situations just for the fun of it.<br />
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Her name certainly isn't Chastity....<br />
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Buddy just loves snacking on bananas... What? You thought he was holding onto something else? Perv.<br />
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But I have to admit, I was kind of relieved to hide him back in the trunk in the basement on Christmas eve. One less thing to have to remember to do each night!<br />
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Fast forward to this week. D1 has a new friend over for a play date. After about the third "no, you can't do that" I agreed to let them into the basement to look at hubby's matchbox car collection. Five minutes later three very upset little girls come up stairs. D1 is holding Buddy out in her arms. "We found Buddy in your Christmas stuff!"<br />
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Shit.<br />
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What I proceeded to act out was Oscar worthy. Amazing. Best Mommy of the year award stuff. <br />
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I told them to put him down. He'll lose his magic! We discussed that he must have accidentally got stuck in there. I said that I bet Santa was very worried about him. I told them that while they shouldn't have been poking around in that stuff, it was a good thing they saved him! My D2 seemed to go with it. She fully believed. D1's friend also seemed convinced. I asked her if she had an elf on the shelf. She said yes, but that hers definitely went back to the North Pole. He definitely wasn't in their basement because their basement was full of mold. Hmmmm... file that under "kids say the darndest things!". Hee Hee.<br />
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But D1 seemed a little leary. I could tell she was really thinking and analyzing the situation. Then I heard her whisper to her friend "maybe Buddy really isn't magic. Maybe our parents move him around every night"<br />
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Shit.<br />
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I needed to step things up. <br />
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I asked them to show me the trunk they found Buddy in. They took me downstairs and pointed it out. I got a look of worry on my face. "oh no! that's where I keep Santa's mug for milk! I went down here Christmas eve to get it, Buddy must have followed me! Then I let my eyes tear up just a little as I quietly said "oh no, do you think I hurt Buddy?" Their eyes all got big as I said this. They started discussing the possibilities, talking over how hurt he was. It was working!<br />
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We went back upstairs and discussed what to do with Buddy now. We decided to delicately move him onto one of my few remaining Christmas decorations. A small decorated tree in the foyer. I instructed them to begin singing Christmas carols as I carefully moved him. Then we said a prayer to the spirits to protect him and make him well.<br />
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After D1's friend left (and I won't even go into the awkward conversation with the other Mom... ummmm surrey but I may have ruined your child's belief in Santa and Elves... surrey about that)we spent the rest of the evening watching Christmas cartoons to help infuse Buddy with the magic of the Christmas spirit.<br />
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After they went to bed, Hubby drafted the most brilliant of letters to the girls. It was from Flick, the head elf. It thanked the girls for finding Buddy. It explained that he was in the elf hospital, in tough shape but he would survive. The girls were thrilled, and convinced. Thank God.<br />
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And Buddy is currently spending his vacation at Hubby's office. Till next year.Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-68783340962608244242012-01-04T17:37:00.000-08:002012-01-04T18:13:31.567-08:00Well, Hi ThereUmmm... Hi.<br /><br />How have you been? Remember me?<br /><br />So I took a little break. Yeah. That's it. A sabbatical. A sabbatical from an oft-neglected blog. <br /><br />But I miss it. So I'm going to try again. Will you come back? I hope so. <br /><br />Why did I stop in the first place? Besides my short attention span to just about anything?<br /><br />Well, it's complicated.<br /><br />I'm going to put it all out there for you. <br /><br />First of all, I was feeling a little like the only posts I could write were the funny, poke-fun-at-myself types. I like writing those, don't get me wrong, but I'd like to write other stuff. So I'm thinking the New Adventures of Jen will be a little more well-rounded<br /><br />Kind of like my arse. (Oh my god. Did I really just type that?)<br /><br />The blog is going to be a little more like me. All over the place. Joking, crafting, cooking, dreaming, savoring, gossiping, bragging and maybe a little bitching. <br /><br />But I can promise you one thing. It won't be about my love of sports. Well, except maybe my love of drinking beer at Hockey games. I do love that.<br /><br /><br />And then, well, there was my kids. I was finding, or maybe just feeling, that people in my local sphere were holding some of the stories against me. Kind of expecting certain behaviors from them because of the stories I write about them. My kids are unique. I'm unique. We aren't vanilla. But if you can't love us, then we don't need you around. This is something I'm working on, something I need to fully embrace, but I do believe it. <br /><br />And then one of the other reasons why I stopped the blog was something a little harder to talk about. Something I'm still struggling with sharing, even as I type this. You see, well one of my girls has a touch of Autism. Just a touch. For reals. Borderline. But still so,so hard to accept. And yes, at this point, almost 2 years after the diagnosis, we are in such a better place. She is doing great. Learning and making strides. And yes, I believe soon, very soon, that it won't be her diagnosis. Or the diagnosis will change to ADHD. Or just pain-in-the-arse tween. My hopes for the blog is to share a little of what we went through, to educate other parents, provide comfort to some. But that part is going to be a challenge for me. It's one of my babies after all. Will I be doing her a disservice by telling all about her? I don't know. Perhaps I will keep it more on what I went through with the diagnosis, not so much about her. We shall see.<br /><br />But come along, lets see where else my adventures take me!Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-22587712219640729242010-09-16T12:14:00.000-07:002010-09-16T12:28:23.995-07:00That MomSo my little D2 started gymnastics at one of those "we'll teach your kid to do a somersault for a ridiculous amount of money" franchises. D2 really has a good time, and if you will allow me to brag, she's pretty awesome at it. <br /><br />But, something has been driving me nuts. Her twenty-something instructor, who also happens to be the co-owner, along with her Father (ahem), keeps her cell phone in her pocket during class. She takes it out and looks at it every few minutes. It bugs the hell out of me! How much am I paying? And she's totally disinterested in teaching her class? Plus, a few times while she was checking it, she should have been spotting kids, and instead used only one hand to help them - totally inadequate! Three classes went by, and she kept doing it.<br /><br />So being anti-confrontation, I sent her an email. After I hit send, I re-read it,and thought uh-oh! a little harsh! But oh well, she deserved it, I figured. And no, I did not sign it "a fellow texting addict" she didn't need to know THAT.<br /><br />About an hour after I sent the email, Miss Gymnast called me. Arghhh! Did I mention I hate confrontation? This is what she said: "I received your email, and appreciate the feedback, however, I think their is a misunderstanding. I don't keep my cell phone in class, in fact it's not allowed. I keep the remote to the stereo system in my pocket. I use it to change the music"<br /><br />Oh, uh, surrey. Hmmmm, guess I should be wearing those glasses after all. <br /><br />Hello, my name is Jenny, and I'm an Asshole.Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-8794836897389030142010-09-10T11:03:00.000-07:002010-09-10T11:53:35.490-07:00The First Day of the Rest of Our LivesMy D1 just finished up her first week of kindergarten. Sending her off that first day was momentous. Watching her walk up the steps of the bus was a literal step up to the next stage of her life. My baby! Gone. A part of the machine. After a couple of days, though, it dawned on me. She wasn't the only one sucked into the machine. I was, too.<br /><br />For the past five years, as a stay at home Mom, I've been pretty much on my own. No real schedules or deadlines to meet that weren't of my own making. I did what I wanted, when I wanted. Of course, don't let that statement mislead you. It's not like we stayed up all night and slept till noon. But still, it was a laid back sort of life style. <br /><br />Now our schedules will be dictated by school and extra-curricular activities. Bus times and homework. Morning routines and bedtime routines. And by the time D2 graduates, It will have been 15 years of this routine for me! Have I mentioned to you that I get bored of things easily? 15 years of this? Wow. I mean, I know it will change in a few years as they get older. But still, take the dropping off at the bus(because the bus stop is almost a mile away, I drive her there - ridiculous!) I'm thinking I can't let them walk there by themselves till fourth grade, at the earliest. Which means when D2 is in fourth grade - five years from now! And I'm already hating this part of the routine, after day 4! <br /><br />And yes, I know, I haven't even made it into homework battles! My brother told me about the homework struggles with his 7th grader. When my bro told his son to write one more sentence in each paragraph of his essay, my dear nephew wrote at the end of each paragraph "this is one more sentence" Sarcasm runs in the family. <br /><br />Oh, and did I mention the politics of it all? Suddenly, I'm concerned with how cool D1 appears. Are the kids making fun of her for her shoes not quite matching her outfit? Because her pig tails are a little too wild? And where is my place in things? Do I give her a hug or a high five at the bus stop? When can I email her teacher to ask how things are going? <br /><br />It never dawned on me that having children would mean going through school all over again.Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-79781310758179196212010-08-24T18:11:00.000-07:002010-09-02T17:48:45.845-07:00Quirks?So first of all, I know, I know. It's been MONTHS. Months. And you thought you were over me, you no longer looked to see if I was around, no longer cared if I cared. And then suddenly, here I am again. Consider this your bloggy booty call. I'm back. For tonight, at least. Just looking to have a good time is all. Guess I just didn't want to be alone tonight. Alone with these bizarre thoughts running through my head, that is. No, I haven't been drinking. I just can't stop thinking about you. <br /><br />Here's what's on my mind: I thought I was pretty normal. I had a few hang-ups but nothing too major. Or so I thought. I have a friend who is in the same boat as me. The staying-home-with-two-girls-and-trying-to-deal ship. We talk a lot. Confide in each other. But over time it has become clear that maybe I'm over-sharing. She has pointed out that maybe my little quirks are more like a little bit of crazy. Neurotic. There, I said it. Neurotic. Yeah, I gotta touch of the neuroses. <br /><br />Well, first came the banana incident. We were road tripping to some sort of children's activity, and my friend, let's call her Elaine, said she was going to snack on a banana. "Did I mind the smell?" This is where I paused. I ended up telling her that while the smell didn't bother me, I had this thing, where I had a really hard time looking at someone while they ate a banana. "huh?" Yeah, it's just so PHALLIC. It makes me uncomfortable. Like I'm a peeping Tom or something. Is that weird? Uh, yeah.<br /><br />Ok, then there was the lunch incident. I was at her home around lunch time and she offered me something to eat. Pasta with chicken. As I said no, she noticed that I had to stifle a gag. "You don't like pasta with chicken?" Uh, no, I like pasta and I like chicken. Just not together. Hmmmmm.<br /><br />Then out of the blue, in the middle of March, Elaine asks me if I like yogurt. Well, yeah, just not in the winter. "what?" Well, I eat it. But only in the summer. Oh, okay....<br /><br />And then there was that time at the gourmet restaurant. They offered pomme frites (yeah, french fries) with mayonnaise. And so I drilled the waiter. Was it homemade mayo? Real mayo? Or some crappy Hellmans. Because that, I don't like it. But homemade stuff, yum-o! Elaine's eyebrow went up rather high on that one.<br /><br />Okay, then I was having a bad day, and I kind of went off on her about how much I hate deli meats. That yes, I may have an all out fear of them. I can't even get myself to buy them at the grocery store for my husband and kids. They are that gross to me. (ACKK.. I'm gagging as I type this). It's their slimey feeling smelliness that gets to me is all.<br /><br />I mean, we all have our hang ups, right? I guess mine are just centered around food. Hey, I'm not judging you for your issues with public toilets. Oh wait, that's me... yeah, so if I have to spend more than three minutes in one I start to go into a panic attack. Or you, you don't like to splash water on your face... oh wait, that's me, too. Hmmmm, well you, you out there, you're still afraid of the dark! Crap, that's me, too. And reader number 82, you twitch when someone touches your nose! Oh no, that would be me, as well.<br /><br />Oh my god! I'm freaking nuts, aren't I? It's not just a few food quirks. I'm certifiable. Ah well, I gotta go. Need to make sure all the doors and windows are locked before it gets too dark out there.Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-64402876722061020222010-01-26T11:12:00.000-08:002010-01-26T12:17:14.698-08:00Adventures in BabysittingSo I tricked, errrr, I mean I asked a friend to watch the girls for me tonight while Hubby and I went to a meeting. More than once I asked, "Are you sure?" and she kept saying it will be fine. But then she made a joke about being sure to hide all the scissors. Which got me all worried, I mean should I fill her in on EVERYTHING the girls could possibly get into? I keep thinking I should call her to discuss. But then I start thinking about what the conversation could be like, if I really did follow a policy of full disclosure.<br /><br />Me: Sooooo, I just wanted to touch base about tonight and what you can expect from my girls. Thought I'd give you a few tips.<br /><br />Friend: Oh, it will be fine. My kids can be a little rambunctious at times, too!<br /><br />Me: (nervously)yeah, I'm sure! Just, ummmm, you said you were having spaghetti and meatballs?<br /><br />Friend: yes, do they like that?<br /><br />Me: Sure, but you weren't going to put grated cheese on the table, right? I mean, not where they could actually reach it? And if you are having salad, you will lock, I mean put the dressing in the fridge so they can't get to it, right?<br /><br />Friend: uh, sure.....<br /><br />Me: Ok, great! And your kitchen and powder room sinks - you could put the soaps on a high shelf, right?<br /><br />Friend: (long pause)yeah, I guess I could do that....<br /><br />Me: great, great! Oh, and the upstairs bathrooms, you don't have hair gels or make up or shampoo just out, right?<br /><br />Friend: ummmm, actually I do.<br /><br />Me: Well, why don't you just do a quick trip around the house and gather those things up. Put them on a high shelf, too.<br /><br />Friend: Oh, I'm sure they won't get into anything like that! But, ok.<br /><br />Me: Yeah, I'm sure it will be fine. Oh yeah, if you have any step stools you may want to lock them in the garage. Wouldn't want them to be used to get up to those high shelves of yours! I mean, just in case, that is.<br /><br />Friend: Ok. So how long did you say you would be gone?<br /><br />Me: Oh, just a little over two hours.<br /><br />Friend: Oh, no problem. The girls couldn't possibly get into much trouble in that little bit of time.<br /><br />Me: (long pause for hysterical laughter mixed with crying) Yeah, of course not.<br /><br />Friend: Ok, so anything else?<br /><br />Me: Well, let me see. You weren't going to give them anything with sugar or red dyes, right? That makes them a little crazy....<br /><br />Friend: Oh, I just made cookies with red M&M's. My kids were all excited....<br /><br />Me: Oh, just let them fill up on them before my girls get there! Oh, and after D2 eats or drinks anything, force her to use the potty. She refuses to wear a diaper, but she also likes to pee in some strange places!<br /><br />Friend:(silence)<br /><br />Me: Ha ha, that was a joke. sort of. I mean, she doesn't do that all the time.<br /><br />Friend: (silence)<br /><br />Me: Oh, just one more thing! While you are putting away the soap and stuff, make sure there are no pens, pencils, markers, paint, or glue left out! Boy, do they like to color on those walls!<br /><br />Friend: (silence)<br /><br />Me: Ok! So see you tonight!<br /><br />Friend: Oh, darnit! I just took another look at my calendar. I almost forgot we have a really, really important meeting. Uh yeah, we have to meet with the hamster breeder out in New Jersey. Wow! Can't believe I forgot about that! Looks like I won't be able to watch your sweet girls after all!<br /><br />Me: Really? Oh no! I mean they are such easy girls to watch. Maybe you could take them with you? There isn't a whole lot of damage they can do in the car once they are strapped in. Just don't give them snacks....<br /><br />Friend: So sorry! Nope, not enough room in the car! Oh look at the time, gotta go!<br /><br /><br />Wow. I'm sure that's how it would play out. Definitely, definitely not making that call.Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-37686115299250375612010-01-25T10:44:00.000-08:002010-01-25T11:24:53.430-08:00Wishing upon a MinivanSo my husband is car obsessed. Obsessed. I have to clarify this, though, because I think there are many kinds of car obsessed. He isn't the Nascar watching, Budweiser drinking kind. Nor is he the "I just rebuilt my engine in my free time" kind of guy. He's just obsessed. He gobbles up the free for sale catalogs you get at grocery stores like a teenage girl reads texts from her boyfriend. He knows the name and year of nearly every car on the rode. When we first started taking long car trips together I used to ask him why he was so quiet. He wasn't pondering anything deep, nope he was checking out the cars around him. Obsessed.<br /><br />About every two years he gets the itch. The itch for something new. He decides one of our cars is lacking something or is about to break. So lucky him, this spring the lease on our minivan is up. But I put a wrench into the situation for him. Foiled his plans! I want us to buy a less expensive car in order to lower our monthly expenses. When I announced the magic number,his face fell. "You only want it to be how much? and that's WITH tax?" Yep, sure is.<br /><br />He started with scare tactics "well, you know, I want you and my girls to be safe in this car" and "we won't really know what we are getting if it has a lot of miles on it" But once acceptance set in, he became practical. He asked me for a list of the top five things I wanted out of this car, in order of importance. He said he would try to look with that list in mind. Once I stopped laughing over the thought of me, Jenny who doesn't give a damn about cars, and rarely even notices that others are on the road, writing this list, I went to work. And 30 seconds later I was done. Keep in mind this same list would have taken dear hubby days and days to complete. But I gave him mine in 30 seconds flat.<br /><br />Here it is:<br />1. must have third row seat<br />2. good mpg<br />3. not ugly<br />4. power doors/seats<br />5. dark blue<br /><br />Yep, there's my list. Hubby shook his head after reading it, and then I found it crumpled up in the trash a few hours later.<br /><br />So now I'm feeling guilty. Maybe I should have put more thought into this list. So I have re-thought my top five into a true list of what this Stay at Home Mama really needs. Here you go, Hubby:<br /><br />1. An electronically controlled divider that pops up between the seats in the back row to prevent back seat bickering.<br /><br />2. An automatic vacuum that gets to work every time you hit the remote control lock button. Cleans up all the snacks debris in an instant!<br /><br />3. A stereo system that allows two cd's to play simutaneously. Girls can listen to their Raffi in the back, while Mama rocks out to her New Wave.<br /><br />4. Time travel ability that ensures you are never late for another ballet, swim or preschool class again.<br /><br />5. Built in coffee maker. Wait, maybe that should be first. <br /><br /><br />There it is!Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-5440302186647620372010-01-04T10:59:00.001-08:002010-01-04T11:25:52.393-08:00A Letter to the Manufacturer of the Graco Doll StrollerDear Sir or Madam:<br /><br />I am writing to thank you for building such a durable toy. We have had your doll stroller for two years now, and I knew it was built to handle rough toddler play, but I had no idea how well made it really was until this Holiday season. I mean, who would guess it would withstand a grown man, an ex-soccer player, kicking it across the span of two whole rooms? <br /><br />Ok, I feel I should back up, I mean a grown man doesn't just kick a toy with that sort of force and determination for nothing, right? Well, I should hope not. But to better understand the reason behind this grown man showing a child's toy such violence, I think I need to set the situation up a few hours before the kicking incident. Hmmm, on further thought, lets rewind a full week. Oh, and I guess I should explain that the ex-soccer player is my dear husband.<br /><br />As was tradition, two weeks prior to Christmas we bought and put up our Christmas tree. It was a beauty - perfectly symmetrical and it smelled divine. I just love that fresh pine scent, don't you? We had it decorated and looking lovely by the end of that weekend. But by Monday morning I was feeling a little uneasy. The tree looked like it was leaning. By that night I was afraid for the life of my treasured ornaments. I asked my husband to do something about it, but he said it was fine. The next night it looked worse, so once again I asked him to do something but he said it would be fine. Sigh. And so it went for a full week. "It's fine" So the following Sunday we had a tree that in my opinion looked like it was defying gravity. And I wasn't surprised when we all heard a soft "ting" and found the tree on the ground. Not surprised, but definitely upset. Some of my favorite ornaments were broken as a result. Oh, but I will confess, being able to say "I told you so" made me a feel a bit better. So the tree falling down set up our schedule for the next couple of hours. What turned into trimming off a few branches to make the tree sit more solidly became a full re-construction of the tree - drilling holes to re-insert branches, using wood glue and twine to restore our tree to it's original beauty. And all the while Hubby and I were doing this, our dear children were being told to stay out of the room for fear of being hurt by broken ornaments. My poor D1 and D2 did a great job for the first hour, but being only 2 and 4, they started to get impatient and wanted to help. So we let them explore the contents of Hubby's tool bag. Which was fine until they started fighting. So once again they were banished. Ok, I'm sure you are wondering what this has to do with your doll stroller, be patient, I'm getting there.<br /><br />As hubby and I tried to creatively use twine to make the newly glued-in branches look natural, it dawned on me that my dear children were being very quiet. Too quiet. Uh oh.<br /><br />I spied my D1 first. Asked her what she was doing and her reply of "nothing", made me look a little closer. Her hair! Why was the side of her pretty bob now crooked? "WHERE IS YOUR SISTER?!" I found her sister upstairs. I simply followed the trail of blonde hair that was spilled through the family room and up the steps. There she was, my adorable two year old with the haircut that will be talked about for the rest of her life. Her cute bob with bangs just touching her eyebrows was replaced with a more, a more, ahemm, modern look. Bangs completely cut off - think crew cut style, while the sides and back were left to their original length - that is excluding the random bits that were also completely cut off. <br /><br />I marched both girls into the Christmas tree room for my husband to see and tearfully (ok, maybe a bit over dramatically!) exclaimed "Christmas is ruined!". Taking in the new haircuts and my tears, my husband sent the girls to their rooms, then turned around and kicked your stroller through the foyer right through to the other side of the Christmas tree room. Where I cried out "thanks, now you broke a toy, too!"<br /><br />But to my amazement, your wonderful toy made it through! Not a dent or crooked part on it. And while I hope no other family goes through a day with such multiple disasters, I know I will recommend your toy to every Mom I know.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br />Jenny HennyJenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-87714189632095088052009-09-30T10:44:00.000-07:002009-09-30T11:08:55.307-07:00RandomSo I've had a ton of ideas running through my head on blog posts. Little narratives that go on in my head as I go about my day. But, yeah, obviously I haven't stopped to write them down. Once again, it's been a while, huh? I wish I was one of those types that write here every day but that just isn't happening, now is it? Sorry about that.<br /><br />So what's been going on here? Well, lets see:<br /><br />D1 is into a full schedule of activities: preschool three days a week, dance class one morning and Soccer every Saturday afternoon. School has gotten off to a good start. And so has dance. Which, I have to tell you, I REALLY never thought I would sign up one of my girls for dance or gymnastics or anything like that. When they were babes in my arm I swore I wouldn't be one of THOSE Moms. I somehow have those activities linked with eating disorders. Yeah, I know, she's four. But that's just how I think. So I went against that self imposed law. Oh well, next thing you know I'll be signing her up for a beauty pageant. (<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">hee</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">hee</span>. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth!). <br />Soccer isn't going quite as well. But as I keep reminding my soccer loving husband, she's four! She looks cute in her little uniform, at least.<br /><br />As I'm carting D1 all over town on these activities, I've been noticing the other Moms and laughing to myself. They all seem vaguely familiar, though I don't know any of their names, or the names of their children, for that matter. But they are familiar all the same. We've all been floating around mindlessly in this little suburban bubble of ours, shuttling our kids to the playground, McDonald's, the pool, library and so on. Living parallel lives of time outs, Happy Meals and slides. Like a secret society, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">unknown to all, including it's members.</span><br /><br />In addition to these activities, I've been carting D2 around as well. She seemed to be feeling a little left out, so today we started a Mommy and Me Dance class (I know! from being against dance, to joining a class myself! Just call me hypocrite!) It actually went much better than any of the other activities I participated in with D2 - so I have high hopes (which of course will come crashing down at ab0ut week # 4. )<br /><br />With all these activities, what has really been taking up my time is my sweet D2. At 2 1/2 she has come crashing, thrashing and screaming into the terrible two's. From the moment she wakes up till the time she goes to bed, it is all about our battle of the wills. I know this, I know it is an important part of her growth to test her boundaries and establish her independence. But oh my god! Nothing, not even her crazy older sister prepared me for this. I am quite simply exhausted.<br /><br />Mischief has become her middle name. Pouring juice onto the carpet, dumping cornstarch onto the desk, emptying shelves of it's books. And that was just one evening. She has smeared balmex all over the couch, threw poopy diapers across the room. Locked herself in my dressing room to play with my makeup. Had tantrums over the correct type of juice she wants to drink. It has been endless, and I'm just so tired!<br /><br />And that my friends, is what I've been up to. As many of these things were happening, the narrative in my head was hilarious. But written too long after, it sounds rather dull. Hang in there with me, though!Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-56442646139275714312009-09-04T11:25:00.000-07:002009-09-04T12:01:37.389-07:00Chicken, anyone?So last week we took a day trip to the Lake at <a href="http://www.mtgretnalake.com/about.html">Mt. Gretna</a>. The girls and I met my parents and my niece and nephew. My father is a HUGE fresh water enthusiast who is surrounded by a family of beach lovers. Which of course means that his chance to swim in a lake is pretty infrequent. None of us had ever been to Mt. Gretna, but we were excited by what we read about it. And it was great - a shallow roped off area for the little ones, docks to dive off, this incredible trapeze swing to jump into the water with, and a really high dive to also jump off. So much fun! My father has fond memories of jumping off cliffs into rivers and doing other "dare devil" activities. So within just a few minutes of being there, he was chasing after my 9 year old niece and 11 year old nephew. He did a quick jump off the high dive and then he was off to the trapeze swing. As I watched him in line for the swing, I remarked to my Mother "look at Dad, he's the only adult there. Good for him". Uh yeah, maybe there was a reason for that. As he hobbled out of the water, clutching his stomach, we were definitely worried. He couldn't believe the pain he was in - said something in his stomach "popped". Yep, after just 15 minutes of fun, my Pop was out of commission for the rest of the day. The next couple of days brought on MRI's, ultrasounds and trips to surgeons. Did you know that you could actually rupture a muscle? That's what he did. Crazy stuff. He'll be out of commission for a couple of weeks now.<br /><br />So the rest of us continued to have a good time while my Pop watched. We rented these great inner tubes and floated around. But my niece seemed a little disappointed. She wanted someone to play with her. She kept bugging me to go off the high dive with her. I kept saying no,and no and oh yeah, no again. But then I saw some older (than me) ladies doing it, and so I started wavering. It would be fun to be the cool Aunt that went and had a good time with her niece. Well, I guess I'll do it.<br /><br />Ummmmm.... Did I ever mention to you my fear of heights? Yeah. As I was climbing up the very slippery ladder, I kept telling myself "don't look down". I was horrified. And once I got to the top, do you know what my sweet niece did? She baled on me! Just jumped! That was it, she was gone. Floating in her inner tube and smiling up at me. So there I was, on this little platform, up at least a gazillion miles in the air, and surrounded by a bunch of 11 year olds. I kept walking to the jump off point and freezing. I. CAN'T. DO. THIS. The sweet girls kept telling me it really wasn't that bad. The boys kepts saying just do it! 5 separate times I tried to jump. I couldn't do it. I needed to close my eyes to do it. But then I was afraid I wouldn't clear the metal contraption that was holding us up. I needed to keep my eyes open. But I COULDN'T DO IT! The girls told me I had to, informed me that someone broke their leg climbing down the slippery assed ladder. I could believe it. That seemed just as treacherous as jumping. But I JUST COULDN'T DO IT.<br /><br />The kids were getting more pushy - just do it! But I couldn't. I looked to the shore, my parents were there, watching. Pop had the camera all ready to go. Mom was cheering me on. My girls were looking at their role model with great expectation in their eyes. But, I JUST COULDN'T DO IT. The lifeguard kept giving me these looks like what the hell are you doing up there, old lady? Oh god, I was old. I was the old, chubby scared, lady at the lake. The humiliation.<br /><br />The lifeguard finally told me to just go down the ladder. He had to whistle and yell at the kids below to clear the ladder so the old, chubby, scared lady could get down. I'm almost certain that's what he said.<br /><br />And so, scared to death, I descended down the ladder. To great cheers from above. No, ok, actually not cheers. The noise, in fact kind of went like this "bawk, bawk, bawk" THEY WERE CLUCKING AT ME! Oh my god! The 11 year old punks were calling me chicken!<br /><br />Yep, push that up to number 1 on my most embarrassing moments list.Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-76465635398294190952009-08-31T12:08:00.000-07:002009-08-31T12:30:45.706-07:00Home Alone IISo, our final morning alone was quite blissful. Sleeping in, followed by more newspaper reading and coffee drinking on the couch. In honor of Father's Day I made brunch for Hubby and my Father, who would be with my Mom to drop off the girls. I even enjoyed making the breakfast - no one to whine "when will it be done" no one to trip over or supervise stirring the eggs. Just some cooking fun. <br /><br />We were excited to get our baby girls back. Refreshed and enthusiastic over parenting again. <br /><br />When they arrived, it was such fun to hear about their weekend away. Finding out what they did with their Mimi and Pop Pop. The new adventures they encountered. We enjoyed a nice brunch with my parents then off they went.<br /><br />Hubby and I were still in relaxation mode, and the girls were happily rediscovering their toys. As we continued to read the paper, and make plans for the rest of the day, the girls played in the playroom and living room - shuttling toys between the two rooms as they often like to do.<br /><br />Suddenly my little D2 walks into the room. "D2, what is that blue stuff in your hair?" CRAP! She got into the toiletry bag that my parents returned along with them! Where else is it? <br /><br />And so I went into the living room to discover blue toothpaste smeared all over the wall, carpet and Hubby's beloved leather man chair (which btw, I have commandeered into the beloved Mama hiding from the rest of the family chair - but I guess that's another story!) Where was the rest of the items in the toiletry bag? What else did they get into?<br /><br />And that's when I discovered it - the Benadryl bottle behind the chair. Once 3/4's full, now empty.<br /><br />WHO DRANK THIS!!!<br />WHO?<br /><br />What followed was a lot of screaming. A lot of confusion. We figured since D2 was covered in toothpaste, she must have drank the Benadryl, too. A quick call to my Mom to ask if she recalled how much was left in the bottle. Then the dreaded call to Poison Control. They were asking me for information, information easily found on the benadryl box. Why could I only see the spanish directions? "Calm down, Ma'am. Take a breath, you're upset" says the hotline operator. Ok, breathing again.<br /><br />The operator advised we take D2 to the emergency room. More chaos follows. Hubby and I are not dressed, it dawns on us that we took the back seats out of the car in order to pick up D1's new mattress. Lots of tripping over one another, and yelling.<br /><br />Where is D1? I search for her, and finally find her in her room. She is close to unconsciousness. OH my god! It was her. She must have drank it. Or did they both? What do we do? Who do we take to the ER? It was decided to take both of them.<br /><br />Once at the ER we are immediately relieved when the nurse at the front desk tells us to take a seat. Relieved and annoyed. Hello? These are my babies! Make sure they are ok! And relieved, it must not be a big deal if they aren't taking them right away.<br /><br />Once in, it becomes very clear that D2 did not have any of the Benadryl. D1, however, most definitely did. She went from barely able to walk, to cranky, to hyper as anything. The Doctor did very little. They kept her for about 6 hours to "observe" her, and then sent her home.<br /><br />What a day! I now fully understand the feeling of not knowing whether to hit someone or hug them. Such a scary, scary feeling. Horrible, really. Thank the spirits above that she was fine.<br /><br />And my weekend to recharge? Ha! I was back to being the harried Mom in no time! Silly Mommy....Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-87506528824531877372009-08-20T09:04:00.000-07:002009-08-20T09:08:32.031-07:00A MysterySo I know I owe you Part II of my last post, and I have some other things I want to tell you about. BUT, this is just a quick post I wanted to share.<br /><br />This morning the girls painted. Painting turned into D2 needing to wash her hands. Washing her hands turned into playing in the sink. Playing in the sink turned into her being totally soaked. Her totally soaked turned into her taking off all her clothes. So, I sent her upstairs to get some new clothes. About 5 minutes went by, and she was REALLY quiet. So I went upstairs to investigate. I found her amid a huge mound of clothes. When she saw me she said "I pooped" and sure enough, the indisputable evidence was smeared down her leg. But here's the thing: I can't find the poop! I've walked around the entire house sniffing and looking and it hasn't turned up!<br /><br />Where the hell is the poop?Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-91723401788392607522009-08-10T10:38:00.001-07:002009-08-10T11:10:31.955-07:00Home Alone, Part ISo back in June, Hubby and I celebrated our 10th anniversary. To celebrate, my parents took the girls for the weekend. Picked them up Friday afternoon, and dropped them back home Sunday morning, which happened to be Father's Day.<br /><br />I was giddy with anticipation as I waited for Hubby to get home from work on Friday. I have this amazing dressing area adjacent to my master bath and for once I actually used and enjoyed it. Sat on a chair and slowly put on makeup, took my time going through the makeup brushes to find the one's undamaged by my girls; used the blow dryer to style my hair with out intermittant stops to listen and make sure the girls were not up to any mischief. <br /><br />Once Hubby was home, we hung out and watched some tv. Grown up tv. Then we were off to dinner. We chose a restaurant I have been wanting to go to for a full year. The Farmhouse - known for cooking to the season and using local farms as their food source. When we arrived, our table was not quite ready, so we sat at the bar. Sat at the bar. No, we didn't pace the parking lot, praying dinner wouldn't extend too far into bedtime. Nope, we sat at the bar and oggled over the beer list. <br /><br />After being seated, there was a delay in being served. But it didn't matter. No one to shush, or say "sit on your bum!" to; we simply enjoyed our drinks and chatted. Ok, I'll admit, we did a lot of chatting about our girls, but what do you expect?<br /><br />As dinner was served and we took our first bites, we wept. Yes, tears burst forth from our eyes. What an amazing meal. We cried for the perfection and we cried over the knowledge that once upon a time, two DINKS used to enjoy a meal such as this because it was a Tuesday. A whim, a "I don't feel like cooking" kind of night; not a meal that had a one year wait list. The meal followed by dessert,and dare I say it? After dinner drinks! was sublime. Perfection.<br /><br />The next day we slept in. Then we read the saturday paper and each had two cups of coffee. Yes, I drank two cups of coffee. Savored, actually. While sitting on the couch reading the paper. Yes, I know I said that already, but I just wanted you to understand fully the signifigance of this. I drank my coffee while sitting on the couch. Not standing over the counter, quickly slurping and impatiently waiting for it to cool down. I drank it on the couch. Reading the paper. <br /><br />Next, because of the rainy day, we changed our plans of walking around Jim Thorpe. Instead, we did something more ordinary: ran errands. I know, you are rolling your eyes, wondering why we would waste a day such as this on errands. But here's the thing: we ran errands TOGETHER. It wasn't our usual divide and conquer Saturday where we split the girls up and each run around to get stuff done. We drove around, in the little car, the car without car seats. Together. We bought peanut butter and hot dogs. Picked up D1's new mattress. Together. At one point we got back into the car, looked at each other and smiled. <br /><br /><em>This is kind of fun<br />Yeah, I've missed you<br />Yeah, you're kind of fun to hang out with<br />You too!</em><br /><br />It was nice, a relaxing rainy Saturday afternoon. <br /><br />That night we met up with friends at a new Gastro Pub. Yeah, it's a weird description, but that's what they call it. It was yummy - great beers, plus one of my favorite things ever! European style french fries with real home made mayo. Real mayo - not some crap you buy in a jar. Yum. We hung out with some good friends, ate, drank and listened to the live band. A great night. <br /><br />We went home high on solitude, but excited to get our baby girls back the next morning. <br /><br />To be continued....Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-10419169737069387272009-08-03T12:52:00.001-07:002009-08-03T13:08:00.903-07:00Remember Me?So, ummmmm, uh, Hi. How have you been? Good to hear... yes, I know, I know. It has been a while. And yes, to be honest, I guess I have been avoiding you. Sorry about that. But really, it's not you, it's me. No, really, it is. I mean yeah, you could post a few more comments or link me to your blog, but that's not it, not really. It's me. <br /><br />I feel like I owe you an explanation. Remember one of my first posts where I told you I get really excited about things, and then drop them? Yeah, that's happening. Sorry about that. I've been really busy though. Yeah, I mean <strong>So You Think You Can Dance </strong>takes up two whole nights, and then the rest I've been really busy eating ice cream. Scooping up that vanilla and adding that Hershey syrup just right takes TIME. <br /><br />So what have I been up to? Well, lets see. My girls have been my girls. Crazy. Into lots of stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. There was a Benadryl scare that required taking them both to the ER. Double bills for the ER - now that is a good time. And yes, thankfully they were fine. There was a beach vacation that was wonderful. The girls are now tanned beach babes. D2 has no fear, and D1 worked off some of hers along the shoreside. Took a visit to Assateague Island to see the wild horses. Yep, driving an extra 90 minutes to see 5 horses in the parking lot was pretty priceless. Vacation ended badly with a lot of blue nail polish being painted all over our rental home's bathroom - and D1. That was a good time. My family hit a new high on the gluttony scale. I believe it was 15 pizzas, 5 large Thrashers, 4 large orders of wings and like 100 ice cream cones. <br /><br />My garden has now hit a full time season of neglect. The squash bugs and mold should be abolishing all hopes of vegetables shortly. The plans for next year have been set in place: a new plot of grass and a veggie co-op from one of the nearby farms. I can't wait for good tasting fresh vegetables and all that new grass!<br /><br />There was a good week of a cold/flu thing. Left me trembling in bed for several days, forgetting the 90+ degrees outside and thinking it just had to be the middle of February.<br /><br />Now that it is August, can you believe it is freaking August?, We are trying to jam pack every last thing we wanted to accomplish this summer into 4 short weeks. Lake Tobias, pool days, local zoo days, cave exploring, ice cream parlor hunting and fire fly collecting. Not to mention my personal goal of drinking down at least a dozen more Gin N Tonics (sighhhhh.... I think I've only had one this entire summer!)<br /><br />So that's been our summer so far. And I promise, I'll keep in touch!Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-39657150377636169552009-06-09T11:17:00.000-07:002009-06-09T11:24:59.187-07:00Hay is for HorsesSo as we pulled into the driveway, D1 spied the bale of straw I just bought sitting next to the garage. It's for my slacker garden. The garden that will become the garden of neglect by the end of the summer - a tradition two years in the making. Anyways, D1 asks "why do we have hay". And as a responsible Mother I reply "hay is for horses". I mean, what else was I going to say? But I couldn't stop there. I told her "we bought a horse. It's sleeping in your room. I'm not sure where you will sleep tonight". In the half second of forethought before I made this statement I figured she would whine that she wanted her bed, and I would simply tell her that I was joking. But she didn't whine, she got excited. Started talking about feeding it apples,sharing her bed with it and going for rides on it. I could have stopped there, but I didn't, I went with it. As we walked into the house, she nearly knocked me over trying to get upstairs. I braced myself for the tears. Instead, she yelled down "Mom, I can't find her!, Where is she!" I told her to look in my room "She's not there, Mom!" So I went upstairs and said to my dear D1 "now silly, do you really think Mommy put a horse in your room?" And her reply? "Oh yeah, right. It's in the yard?"Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-605304493970233852009-05-21T12:07:00.001-07:002009-05-21T12:33:27.980-07:00My addictionSo, I have a dirty little secret. I'm addicted. Addicted to my Blackberry. It really must be like crack, I hear that is also very quickly addicting. I've only had my blackberry for a month, and I can't believe how addicted I am.<br /><br />Let me start at the beginning:<br /><br />My husband needed a new cell phone. He uses his for work, so a multi-functioning device made sense for him. When he was looking into them, he mentioned to me that the current sale was buy one, get one free. Well, I knew NOTHING about them. Except I saw them on a commercial once, and thought they looked cute. A nice little accessory to put into my Coach handbag. So as hubby left to go to the Verizon store, I told him sure, I'd take one, but don't bother getting me the internet connection, because I don't need THAT.<br /><br />Yeah, I was that clueless. See for those of you who are also clueless, you can't get a Blackberry with out internet connection. It's kind of pointless.<br /><br />So Hubby comes home from Verizon, and before he even gives me the phone he announces that we had to pay for the internet access. He reduced our minutes, so we are actually paying the same, but we had to have internet access. Right away my hackles are up - we could have been SAVING money by reducing our minutes, but instead we are paying for the internet? Arghhhh. Then I start playing with the phone. Mine is a storm, or something, I don't really know. It doesn't actually have buttons, you have to push on the screen for it to work. In all of two minutes I decided I HATED it. It must go back, I declared! I put it in the box, while Hubby shook his head repeatedly at me. The next morning he asked me to just try it for a couple of days. Well, ok. But I wasn't going to take the protective clear plastic off of it, so I could still return it if I wanted.<br /><br />Yeah, on day 3, D2 pulled it all off. The phone was mine. I've made peace with the push screen, actually I'm pretty good at it. I can punch in an email at a pretty fast speed. Have to admit, I'm a little embarrassed by it. I mean, come on, why the hell does a housewife need a Blackberry? What urgent matters do I need to attend to online? Scheduling the latest playgroup can't wait till I have time to sit in front of the computer? I mean really. It's kind of silly.<br /><br />But that doesn't stop me from checking it ALL THE TIME. Constantly. The little ding of a new message is hypnotizing: MUST CHECK MESSAGE NOW! And it's pathetic, just how detached from the here and now I've become. I'm playing with the girls at the park, and suddenly I have an overwhelming urge to check my messages. Or in the middle of dinner I hear a ding and desperately want to get up to see what it is. I mean really, ho<br /><br /><br />Sorry, where was I? My phone just dinged so I had to check what it was - not to worry, it was just SPAM. Now, I forget what I was s<br /><br />Sorry, sorry, it happened again. Apparently book club is being re-scheduled. Good thing I checked it right away, urgent stuff, you know?<br /><br />So last night I think I hit rock bottom. Hubby and I frequently spend our evenings on opposite ends of our sectional watching tv and playing with our blackberry's. Yeah, I know, it is as pathetic as it sounds. Sometime's we IM each other. Uh Huh. We really do.<br /><br />We were watching the finale of American Idol. Does it make us sound less pathetic if I tell you that we watch it in order to mock it? Yeah, I know, it doesn't. At least I tried. <br /><br />So to annoy Hubby or to make him laugh, I'm not really sure, I start using my FB status update to add my two cents to what is going on during the show. Some of them were actually hilarious in my opinion. Hee hee. But ok,maybe, just maybe, it was a little overboard to write 15 updates in about 23 minutes. But come on, Hubby was laughing! Who cares about my other 144 FB friends, right? <br /><br />I know, it was as low as a Blackberry addict could go,right? Where do I go for counseling on this sort of thing?<br /><br />Or ma<br /><br />Ah never mind, my phone is dinging again, going to go check it....Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-552642646720044434.post-86550364003135945662009-05-06T11:24:00.001-07:002009-05-06T11:39:34.639-07:00Spring FeverSo after several days of miserable rain, late Saturday afternoon, the sky cleared, the sun shone and the temperature rose. It was a beautiful day! A touch of spring fever infected hubby and I. And after perusing the horrible state of my kitchen, I decided that not only was there no way in hell I was cooking, but I wasn't going to eat in that wretched place, either. Out to eat for the Henny crew! We decided upon a fav italian restaurant that featured an outdoor patio - a perfect space for our unruly children.<br /><br />As we drove there in our mini-van, with the windows rolled down, the 80's retro rock pumped up, Hubby and I sang along with our kids bopping along in the back. I smiled, and day dreamed of the chilled glass of Riesling I was going to sip on at the patio while eating whole wheat pasta tossed with sun-dried tomatoes and fresh basil. Exchanging a few buzzed giggles with hubby and smiling at our children's banter. I was ready for a relaxing, fun evening. <br /><br /><br />Ok, so this is where the fun music comes to a scratching halt and reality hits in the sitcom version of this glimpse into my life. <br /><br />We walked into the restaurant,to find that the patio was closed for the evening due to a threat of rain. The restaurant was packed with boys in tuxedos and girls in skimpy dresses and updos. IT WAS PROM NIGHT! And so we backed out of the restaurant as quickly as possible.<br /><br />I pouted all the way to the next restaurant, where we were turned away for the very same reason. An understanding hostess who obviously had children of her own, suggested it would be a very bad idea to eat there because of the crowds of teenagers. A helpful Hubby suggested that we do eat there, as a public service to all the parents at home worrying. Our children on display would make such a great statement in support of abstinence.<br /><br />Then we drove around for 15 minutes, arguing over where to eat. I pouted. Hubby still insisted on having the windows open, which just felt like an annoying wind to me, at this point.<br /><br />And so we ended up at Panera, eating salads and grilled cheese sandwiches. The whole time shocked and amazed that it cost us $36 to eat those entrees. Salad, cheese and bread for $36??? Arghhhhh! My chilled wine was replaced by iced tea. My ambience replaced with reprimands to the children on sitting still. It was reality at it's finest.<br /><br />For the most part, I don't miss my life before children. I really do treasure them, and love our times together. But sometimes, just sometimes, I miss the casualness, the unplanned-ness of eating out, taking our time finding a place and savoring a meal. Especially the savoring of the meal.Jenny Hennyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05717451035074774677noreply@blogger.com1