Dumb, Dumb Doodle

While he's been mentioned, I haven't formally introduced you to the latest member of our crazy cast of characters.

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.

Bailey makes our children look passive and well behaved.

Not too long ago, I listed for my friends on facebook all that he had done by 9 am:

ate my breakfast
licked half a tub of organic butter
chewed up a candle stick, mesh bath pouf, ball of yarn and a pair of underwear
ate the ear off a pillow pet and half a cardboard box


One other night, Hubby came home late one night to the following doodle debris gathered on the floor:

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Yeah, he's a keeper.

My Fabulous Fashionista

My D2 is cool. Yeah, I know, your kids are cool, too. Right, Right, of course.

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.

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.


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.

Her Rules?

1. Wear Pink. Always. Preferably Hot Pink. Although a paler pink can be used at times to keep everyone guessing.

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!

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.

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.

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!

Damn 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.

This year we started out great! A few days after Thanksgiving Buddy made his debut.

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.

But Hubby and I had a little trouble this time around. It was a busy year for us.

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.

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!

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.

And then there was the fun Hubby had with him. Putting him in some precarious and questionable situations just for the fun of it.

Her name certainly isn't Chastity....

Buddy just loves snacking on bananas... What? You thought he was holding onto something else? Perv.




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!


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!"


Shit.


What I proceeded to act out was Oscar worthy. Amazing. Best Mommy of the year award stuff.


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.


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"


Shit.


I needed to step things up.


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!

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.

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.

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.

And Buddy is currently spending his vacation at Hubby's office. Till next year.

Well, Hi There

Ummm... Hi.

How have you been? Remember me?

So I took a little break. Yeah. That's it. A sabbatical. A sabbatical from an oft-neglected blog.

But I miss it. So I'm going to try again. Will you come back? I hope so.

Why did I stop in the first place? Besides my short attention span to just about anything?

Well, it's complicated.

I'm going to put it all out there for you.

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

Kind of like my arse. (Oh my god. Did I really just type that?)

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.

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.


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.

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.

But come along, lets see where else my adventures take me!

That Mom

So 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.

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.

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.

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"

Oh, uh, surrey. Hmmmm, guess I should be wearing those glasses after all.

Hello, my name is Jenny, and I'm an Asshole.

The First Day of the Rest of Our Lives

My 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.

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.

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!

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.

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?

It never dawned on me that having children would mean going through school all over again.

Quirks?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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....

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.

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.

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.

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.