Sieve Head

Confession: I'm crazy.

In the last three weeks I have:


-Lost my wallet

-Switched my bank (including online banking payments, automatic withdrawals and direct deposits.) I had a Bank of America account since I was 12. They suck. I moved on.

-Lost my keys. Josh was sweet and said P probably just hid they and that I will find them. Not yet.

-Backed into the mailbox and something known as a whiskey barrel (incidentally, this does not hold whiskey- it is for flowers) at the end of the driveway of a friend’s house.  Thankfully we are still friends, she is very understanding.

-Moved (toddler and old lady dog in tow) and nearly doubled our mortgage.

-We have someone doing a short rental in our townhouse. I had to drop the keys off at the tenants work. She works at a school. There are two schools next to each other- Sand Castle Middle School and Sand Castle Elementary School. I left the keys at the middle school. The tenant works at the elementary school.

-Had a terrifying nightmare that an adult sized beaver lived in our basement. I even screamed out, "Oh my God!" in my sleep and woke myself up.

-Finally I basically signed my infant son (read: nearly 2 year old) up for college (read: pre-school). Where he will take naps without me. Play without me. Learn without me. Thrive without me.

I'm spent.

I think I may let Pmonkey make dinner tonight. I have a feeling it will involve icing, peanut butter and crackers.

Party Pooper

I have a very good friend named JD. We met in high school and have been friends since.


Every year, or for at least as long as I can remember, his parents host a St. Patrick's Day party. I'm told an authentic bag piper is present. Legend has it there is an insane amount of alcohol. Word on the streets of our home town is that the food is nothing short of amazing.

I say all of this from the perspective from someone who has never actually attended the party. I'm going by the tales JD regales me with after the party. For you see, in the 10 -or so- years we have been friends, I have NEVER actually gone to this party.

I suck.

I can't really remember why I have not gone in the past. Maybe when we were in college the date of the party did not jive with my recovery from my most recent Jager hangover.

Most recently, I know one year I was pregnant. The following year I had a baby.

This year was going to be it. Josh and I had my parents lined up for an overnight babysitting session with Pman.

We had arrangements to stay at another friends’ house. We. Were. In.

However, for reasons too boring to go in to, (in a nutshell, we needed to get the old house in order for the renters) Josh and I did not go to the party.

After we finished what we had to do on Saturday, Josh and I (and SweetP) went out to dinner, pushing back our bath and bed routine by about an hour. I was trying to rush rush rush through the bath (because we skipped it the night before).

There is no way to ease into this- so instead, I will set the scene.

P, wearing only a diaper, is holding onto the side of the tub doing his normal excited squeal and "can't wait to get in the tub" dance. -seriously, this is every night. I unfasten the diaper and begin rolling it up...when...

My son pooped on the floor.

HE POOPED ON THE FLOOR!

Josh said that's what I get for interrupting him while he was doing his business.

When I told JD I was not going to be able to make it to the party, he told me I had to blog about why I chose to hang out in an old empty townhouse over bag pipes and beer. If only I had stuck to my guns and gone to the party, someone else would have had to clean up my son's poop from the bathroom floor.

Sad State of Play

Pfunk has a birthday coming up (sort of) (June 24).  In the event you are in the market (or biologically obligated) to purchase a gift for him, I think this post will serve as shopping inspiration.

The boy LOVES to be in the kitchen.  As I was unpacking, this sponge was the only "toy" I felt was safe enough to play with in a new house, without any real supervision.  This was pre-easel and pre-markers.  I do have to say, the table looks very shiny, but I do hope this picture is not some twisted form of foreshadowing.

Every boys favorite "outside" toy- 15 feet of white cable cord.

That's a swiffer.  In our yet to be paved- thank you snowy winter- driveway.  He runs with it, as if he actually is swiffering, from the garage to the top of the driveway and back.  He squeals with delight as he does this.  It may sound cute, but really, it's quite pathetic.

I need to draw your attention to the jacket as well.  It is large I know, but it was $16 and it's reversible(!). It's also a 3T and will likely fit him until he is 12.

My neighbors probably sit in their houses sipping their coffee as they watch my son "play" with his "toys".  Surely they notice Abby sitting, quivering- for no reason other than we are not safely in the house- and tethered to the porch and think, "Wow.  I wonder if this neighborhood is taking part in some sort of outreach program.  There goes our property value."

Zesty Pickle

Confession: I have one of those faces, and apparently one of those voices.

The other day I called Verizon to cancel my account with them. Actually I was calling to make sure the account had been cancelled and that I would not be charged for a service I no longer had. I hate when I have to do other people's jobs for them.

While the Verzion lady was waiting for her computer to reboot from a recent crash, (surprised? me either) she said, "Well, while we wait for this to do its thing, I will just tell you something woman to woman..."

I don't want to hear what you have to tell me. I was at her mercy. And she knew it. All I could do was listen and give the occasional obligatory "uh-huh."

She began be telling me not to answer the door for people I don't know. I know I may sound young on the phone, but I'm not home sick from 5th grade. What's next? Are you going to tell me that if a stranger calls I should say my mom is in the shower?

Verizon lady told me an awful tale about how she was home from work last Monday and -long story- short a guy broke in her back door window. She called the cops and they caught the guy.

I said, "Wow, sounds like you should get some sort of alarm system."

She said, "Yeeeeaaaa. It's my childhood home. People know I live alone. So..."

Huh? So does that mean you are not going to get an alarm? Does anyone else fail to see the connection between not getting an alarm and living in your childhood home?
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These things happen to me all the time. Strangers think I work in whatever store I happen to be in at the time. They think I have answers to their annoyingly ridiculous questions. They think I WANT to answer their annoyingly ridiculous questions.

Recently I was in a Target that had a grocery section. I was not in the grocery section. I could see the grocery section if I turned my head 45 degrees to the right, but I was a good 8 aisles away. I did not have ANY grocery items in my cart. This man walks over to me and says, "Do you know where they keep the cake mix?"

"Um. I think the grocery section is over there. Check the bakables aisle."

He nods and heads in the grocery direction.

As he approaches the bakables, he turns toward me and yells-YELLS- "HEY! YOU WERE RIGHT! THANKS!"
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When I was pregnant I was in the condiment aisle in front of the pickles (of course) at Safeway. It should be noted I was also sort of in front of the ketchup since they are next to each other. I could have just as likely been buying ketchup, pickles or checking the expiration date on my Edy's coupon.

An older man picked up a very large jar of pickles, labeled as "Zesty" and "Bold". He asked me. Me. Not talking, not looking at anyone, not even really looking at the pickles- me. Again, it should be noted I was not wearing anything resembling a name tag or a Safeway uniform.

"Do you think these will be spicy?" I told him probably. "Huh." He said as he put the large jar in his basket.
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I guess it is inherited. A man once asked my mom what raw broccoli was and how to cook it.

True story.

Further Evidence

Confession: I am an idiot.

Exhibit A

I teach at a community college. In one of the classes I teach, speeches are required and a lot of my students are apprehensive about being in front of the class. To help them I have a few non-graded, practice activities I do with the class.

This past Friday I did one of these activities with my class. Basically, each student gets in front of the class and speaks about something for 2 minutes. Usually they talk about a childhood memory or a goal they have after graduating college.

This kid- let's call him Frank. I once dated a guy named Frank who was into the drug scene a bit too much for my liking, but from now on every time I meet someone named Frank, I think he must also be into drugs. Name association is a terrible thing, although in this case, I was not far off.

Frank's turn comes up for this impromptu speech and he starts talking about how much he LOVES chocolate. Said he didn't have it until he was 12, but he fell in love with it right away. He was going on and on about Belgian chocolate, dark chocolate, wanting to make chocolate professionally- on and on.

Everyone is giggling. I thought they were giggling because he was clearly very passionate about chocolate, which did not fit into what we already knew about him from previous activities.

I even asked "What was the first chocolate you had? Like M&M's?"

More giggling- growing in intensity.

He replied, "No it was some foreign shit." P.S. I had just got done telling them that cussing in a presentation is largely frowned upon and will affect their grade negatively.

Later another student came up to me and said, "Mrs. Phillips you are so funny. You know he was talking about pot and not chocolate, right?"

It was then that it hit me, he was NOT (?) talking about chocolate. I gave her a look that could have been taken as- of course I know OR as- huh? Then I said, "Meg, do you have a question about the project?"

Oh, why did I have to ask the M&M question?

Exibit B

Josh and I are college educated people who have good jobs- until Sunday we thought we were smart.

We took a family trip to Ikea so we could purchase affordable things to fill our lovely new house with. Our new house with new furniture and new Ikea-like items. Can't you just hear the heavenly harp softly playing in the background?

We were on our way to the check out when I saw an easel.

Pdoodle likes, no- LOVES to draw. I usually tape a bunch of paper to the table and let him go to town. He usually stays on the paper, but that is what washable markers are for right?

So when I saw this $15 easel, I thought it would be a stroke of genius to purchase it and earn a little more unpacking and laundry time for myself- just another day in the life of an American Princess.

As Josh and I were working on hanging the final round of blinds, we commented on a very quite Pscribble. Then we saw it, well him.

Brandishing a red- RED marker Pdestoryer ran to the (new) chair and began scribbling.

Our living room furniture is orange and olive.

Thank you to the good people at the Coppola Winery and the angels who manufacture Goo Gone the marks are mostly...not totally, but mostly gone.

Looking back, I cannot believe I trusted a 20 month old with markers and paper and the general newness that is our house.

In other news, I have this site linked to a sight that emails me every month to tell me how many people read the blog, the average length of the visit and a few other things. It told me for February I had over 200 visits. Why then have my follower numbers held steady at 25?

Followers make me happy.

Full Disclosure

Which came first, the bad mommy or the whiney Parker?

I am NEVER moving again. I STILL do not have my credit card or debit card- thank you Bank of America. (I am in the process of switching banks.)

Verizon is being difficult about setting up a landline.

The Comcast guy who came to install our cable could not bury the line so our cable cord is running up the length of our driveway- ABOVE ground. He also told me he mounts flat screen TV's on the side (stop telling me about your personal life weirdo) and he would hang ours - 3 of them- for $250. INSANE.

I have been on the phone for the better part of each day since we moved into this new house.

NEVER moving again.

Between all the phone volley sessions, unpacking and laundry- yes I even have to do laundry in my new house- I have not been the happy go lucky mommy I usually am (read: not usually, but strive to be).

Left to his own devices, Parker has taken up a new hobby- whining. Among the words he knows and uses regularly is the word "this". It is usually mixed in with a little bit of "snack snack" followed a lot- a lot- of whining.

Learn to speak kid. I will give you whatever you want if it will make you stop THAT.

Yesterday, I hit an all time low. Since this blog is about confessions- here goes.

Pfunk knows the sign for all done. When he is eating and does this sign, I always make him take one more bite. I do this for a few reasons- 1. I want to establish and maintain my control. 2. I don't think he really knows when he is full and therefore done eating verse being bored and done eating. 3. It's usually not a big deal because I ALWAYS do it.

Flash to lunch time yesterday, one more bite was a major deal. He said, "no." I tried all my tricks.

Nothing.

I said, "Ok, I'm going to starting cleaning up. You can get up after you have one more bite."

He lost his shit. Crying. Screaming. That desperate hiccup-like breathing.

I stomp over- in my best (or worst) mommy is mad- fashion. I pull the tray off his chair and say, "Fine. But I need you to leave me alone for a little bit."

No need to call CPS- we were both in the kitchen and the new house is very open and empty rendering it mostly childproof.

As I stood at the sink doing dishes, I can hear his wailing and whining loud and clear, so I glance over. My sweetP is crouched down- still sobbing- peering at me from the space created between the chair and table. It sort of looked like a Normal Rockwell meets Mommy Dearest type of scene.

In what can only be described as mean, I said, "I can see you. Mommy needs a minute away from you and your whining."

I swear, P turned, walked down the hall and into a room that is occupied by a sole four and a half foot book shelf. On the top two shelves there are books, the bottom three shelves are either bare or have some of his toys on them.

I heard him pull out a toy and play with it for a few seconds. Then nothing.

Worried, I looked up. He was back in the kitchen. Not whining. Not crying. Just sweetly, silently watching me.

I picked him up and promised to stop yelling if he stopped whining. (what?) Parker looked at me and said, "yes."

He is a very sweet forgiving monkey. I am very lucky.

I Feel a Part II Coming On...

Discipling Parker.
Comforting Parker.
Locking myself out of the house.
Making dinner.
Grocery shopping.
Changing diapers.
Losing my wallet.

Common factor: The items on the above list cause a person (me) to feel as though they (again me) are stuck in their own personal version of Groundhog Day.

Most recently, the last item on the list is causing me a slight bit of repeat embarrassment.

I just posted this about losing my wallet.

I am a mother (a pretty darn good one if I do say so myself), a wife (mostly good most of the time) and a college trusts me to teach paying students how to be effective communicators and write standard early college level essays. However, I cannot seem to hold onto my wallet despite the fact that it even has a little strap that my wrist fits in perfectly. I cannot manage to go a month without misplacing it- severely.

It took me a full  6 hours to admit I lost it. I swore I would find it. I would not give in. I was on a quest.

Hours later, my determination dwindled and I conceded.

My first call was to cancel my credit card. As I the words were slowly dripping out of my mouth, “I need to report my card lo...lossssss...losT.” it hit me- if I cancelled my cards, I would be in the middle of moving without any connection to my money. If I cancelled mine then J’s would be shut down too.

I was near tears and my voice was beginning to shake. The nice man from my bank told me he would rush my new credit card and waive the “rush” fee.

One reason I love being a girl is the way men react when you get emotional- it’s like a damsel in distress/knight in shining armor thing and I’m 100% ok with it.

Once again, thank you kind stranger.

Then I realized I also have to get a new license, library card, Safeway Club Card, Giant Club Card, Banana Republic Credit Card, debit card and school faculty ID.

Not to mention hundreds of dollars in gift cards- mostly Home Depot earmarked for 3 ceiling fans with lights. When you come to the new house you need to come in the hours of daylight or see the house via candlelight.

I also lost P's orange ID card from Hopkins. This makes me teary for real- for real.

As if all of this is not a blow enough, now I have to relive my absentmindedness several times over to total strangers. A majority of these customer service representatives are nice, sympathetic and helpful, however not all fall into that category.

I suppose it is not all bad, I needed to change my address anyway with most of these places, but calling to say, "Hey! look at me in my new house, please send further correspondence to ____."

Is very different from saying, "I'm a sieve head and no longer have my wallet. Or possibly my son threw it away while I was not watching him- I think I saw him run by with scissors and my pink Vera Bradley wallet. I couldn't really see through my glass though- red wine is quite opaque."

As if all of this was not punishment enough- now I have to go to the MVA armed with my passport and settlement papers in an attempt to get a new license with my new address. I PRAY they make this easy. (har-har)

Also, Josh is a very smart man. He did not say word one about any of this. He just occupied Psizzle as I dug through the trash, tore apart my car, and unpacked a few recently packed boxes.

no luck- obviously.

Stay tuned- a trip to the MVA usually means a bonus blog entry.