The Loony Bin

Yeah, Size DOES Matter...

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Thu, 09 Jul 2009 21:46:00 +0000

The following a text conversation that I had a couple of days ago with my friend Ann. I had emailed her a link to a supplement called 7-Keto. It’s good for your immune function, weight loss, etc.

Ann- What is that 7 Keto stuff and r u calling me fat?

Me- No dummy. I started taking it because it is good for immune function and anti aging. It can just also cause weight loss.

Ann- Cool fatso.

Me- I’m taking it so I can keep lying about my age since it’s for anti aging.

Ann- Where did you get it old hag?

Me- Health food store.

Ann- I am going to get some so I am a skinny 23 year old.

Me- You can always try. I think at this point I’d settle for DOING a 23 year old.

Ann- U lie like a rug. An old rug.

Ann- So what’s that stuff called again?

Me- 7 keto.

Me- It has given me more energy. You know, for that 23 year old…

Ann- Right

Me- I know. The 23 year olds are practically lining up. Wait. That didn’t sound right..

Ann- I want to see that.

Me- Perv

The last time I wrote about texting I was talking about how some of my texts look like they are from someone crazy or at the very least, illiterate. That’s because I should always have my glasses on when attempting to use a phone. Which brings me to my current complaint. Why is it that cell phone are getting so tiny?

Mine came with a little stylus, which is just about the right size for a very small person. And by small what I really mean is a dwarf. Or a midget. I get confused about which ones have the proportionate extremities. Although I think that we are supposed to call all of them little people now. Which brings me back to very small people again and that is a little ambiguous if you ask me.

I don’t have an unusually small cell phone and I do have fairly small hands for someone of a normal stature. My friend Dave, on the other hand, (pardon the pun) has hands the size of a baseball mitt and fingers that mostly resemble bratwurst. I would think that he could accidentally be calling Finland on occasion.

Other than the size of the tiny little keyboard I also object to the tiny little screen, with it’s tiny little fonts. I have been wondering if it is possible to enlarge the font so I can read it more easily. Then I realized that is exactly why they make those Jitterbug phones for old people. According to the web site:

The powerful speaker has a familiar dial tone just like your phone at home

Notice that 'powerful speaker' is code for this phone is not only great if you have trouble seeing but it'll work if you're deaf, too!

I had to look it up to find a picture to post here and had some trouble finding it initially. Because I thought it was called a June bug. Then I realized that no one would want to buy something that buzzed and was called a June bug. At least I wouldn’t.

Anyway the Jitterbug has great big toddler-friendly (or old people-friendly) buttons and a large display. The only real problem that I can see is having to lug around a phone the size of a shoebox.

Crazy Neighbors and I Mean REALLY Crazy

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 20:15:00 +0000

Last night I was entertaining Andrea with stories about the neighborhood EH (ex-husband) and I used to live in.

Back when we were both graduate students, we rented a house that was pretty nice and in a fairly decent neighborhood. One block further east it got a little dicey. Then another block east after that one and it was getting into really scary stuff.

But back to our block in our not-so-scary neighborhood. It was a large Spanish-style house with the tile roof. The house to our left was brick and so large that it was pretty close to being considered a mansion. That was where Crazy Freddy lived. Of course we didn’t know that he was crazy until he came over for a visit.

I remember one evening standing in the back yard pruning the roses growing on the fence. The fence was close to Freddy’s driveway and he came over to introduce himself. He was probably in his fifties at the time but since I was so young it seemed like he was pretty old. He seemed all right at first but it wasn’t long before he was telling me about his upcoming trip on the Concord. It was still flying back then so I was buying the story because clearly the guy had some money. Then he mentioned that the purpose of his trip was to go to London and meet the queen. I decided to quit my pruning early because I could not wait to get in the house and tell EH. I had already made a diagnosis of bi-polar disorder but really, going to meet the queen? I still can’t believe that I didn’t laugh.

Freddy kept to himself for the most part and we didn’t see much of him. Then one day after getting out of the shower EH mentioned seeing Freddy

EH- “Well, you missed it.”

Me- “Missed what?”

EH- “Freddy just walked across the street, picked up seed pods and threw them up in the air.”

Me- “What’s so interesting about that?”

EH- “Well, he was completely naked at the time. Then the ambulance came to get him.”

I was sorry to have missed that.

Freddy was gone for a while but eventually returned. A few months later, as expected, Freddy went nuts again. He went crazy in the house he shared with his mother, breaking things, etc. He ended up in our driveway at some point and was arrested, naked again. I missed the whole thing but the nanny filled me in when I got home. Veronique was French and when she got excited she would speak rapidly in a mixture of French and English. She was pretty excited that day and all I caught at first was ‘Freddy’ and ‘naked’. I had to ask her to slow down and repeat things before I had any clue what she was saying. Then she said something about fish since Freddy’s son came over and gave her the fish that were rescued from their shattered tank. We had no choice but to take in the now homeless fish. Freddy was arrested because he had tried to strangle his mother that he shared the house with. I didn’t even know that she had lived there. I don’t remember seeing Freddy after that. Maybe ho went to see the queen after all.

The neighbor on the other side, Susan, lived in a big two-story house and seemed normal. She was in her thirties and a flight attendant for Southwest Airlines. She seemed nice and we would chat when I was out watering the tomatoes. Then as the season changed from summer to fall, I noticed that there was something a little unusual about Susan.

I remember being in the back sun porch room facing her house one night and seeing her walking around topless with all of her lights on and blinds open. I called EH, saying, “You’re not going to believe this. We’ve got another naked neighbor.” She was rather buxom and evidently proud of her hooters.

The nudity continued on a fairly regular basis and I continued alerting EH when she was naked. It wasn’t much later that her teenaged nephew and his girlfriend moved in with Susan. She stopped walking around naked and her nephew’s girlfriend started babysitting for the boys on occasion. She was a nice girl and started sharing information on just how nutty Susan was. There was a lot of drinking and crying. One of the other things she shared is that Susan talked about EH and how she thought he was hot. I had no clue that she was putting on a show intended for him. The ironic things is that the only reason he even saw anything is because I would yell for him to come look, just thinking it was funny.

Before we moved out of that house there was a man carjacked and killed just one block over. We also got a new mailman because ours went nuts and hit his mother over the head with a VCR, killing her. Shortly thereafter, the landlord put up our house for sale and we were forced to move. This time is was to an even better house in a better neighborhood with a couple more crazy neighbors. Part two next time. Or maybe I should call it Colleen and that old goat Walter.

Tornado Season and the Naked baby

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 18:34:00 +0000

Katie- “Mommy, I know what comes after July.”

Me, fully anticipating her saying August- “What?”

Katie- “Halloween!”

The girls enjoyed the holiday weekend. Well, except for Friday night when the tornado sirens went off. The last time the sirens went off it was last year and a tornado hit a small town not too far from Pleasantville. When the sirens go off, we take it seriously and head for the basement. Last year C. was asleep when they went off and William and I grabbed the girls and headed for the basement. He woke up a little later, a little put out that no one thought to wake him.

This time C. was awake and I sent Claire and Katie down first while I prepared a cup of milk for Marin. C. ran upstairs and was in the basement with Marin pretty quickly. He had scooped her out of her crib along with her quilt. Unfortunately she was missing her pants. As you all know, since I have been known to complain about it in the past, Marin likes to remove her pants and toss them over the side of the crib. So poor Marin was awakened to find herself half naked in our creepy, horror movie set basement. I have never seen her so scared. Marin was shaking so bad that I thought she was going to literally pass out.

Claire was crying as well. Marin was still the biggest concern because she was a baby version of hysterical. I covered her with her quilt and tried to reassure her but it wasn’t helping. She wouldn’t even take her cup, which is really unusual. She alternated between wanting Mommy, then Daddy and back again. I realized that we were playing a type of baby roulette what with all the passing back and forth of the naked baby. Then the moment came while her dad was holding her. She peed everywhere. Claire, Katie and I all cracked up laughing. We were laughing so hard that even Marin laughed. That was the high point of our unplanned trip to the basement.

The rest of the weekend wasn’t as exciting, fortunately.

My Girls

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Sun, 05 Jul 2009 22:09:00 +0000

Babies and Bugs

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 20:31:00 +0000

Katie, yelling- “Mommy! Marin ate a little piece of gum with an ant on it!”

N- “It’s ok. It’s protein. It’s good for babies.”

Katie- “Marin, want another one?”

N- “Katie!”

Claire turned eight a few days ago and Marin is now two. I think that means that I should try to stop calling her ‘the baby’. She is talking more and more every day. She tries to sing the birthday song but it sounds a lot like “bird day to you” but beyond that becomes unrecognizable.

Marin is still thrilled with the potty. Just a few days ago I had to fish both a Pull-Up and an entire roll of toilet paper out of the ‘big potty’. I had kind of forgotten how wild two year old’s could be.

I was planning a longer post but a new alert came in from Claire on the ants. Marin just ate some more. Not a first for her.

I just overheard Claire talking to Marin and referring to her as "my little anteater".

Potty Training and Mountain Lions

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 21:03:00 +0000

After our return from Colorado, Claire and Marin were still sick. Claire was having trouble with asthma and Marin had cold symptoms along with a fever. They went to the pediatrician and Claire was diagnosed with bronchitis and Marin with pneumonia.

Poor Marin had to get an antibiotic shot. I made her dad hold her for that and left the room. I went back in right afterwards and Marin climbed up in my lap saying, “Owie, owie!” They both did a course of oral antibiotics as well which then led to the baby having terrible diarrhea. Which then led to a terrible diaper rash as tends to happen. I hid acidophilus pearls in her yogurt and that cleared up the diarrhea remarkably fast.

Everyone is pretty healthy again and we are trying to adjust to the new summer schedule. One of the difficulties is that the girls like to stay up later. It’s light out longer and they are almost impossible to put to bed. Claire has always been somewhat of a night owl, at least on the weekend nights that she was permitted to stay up late. She is usually very pleasant and well- behaved and keeps herself occupied with art projects or a movie. Katie staying up later throws that all off. It just extends the hours of fighting in the day. I have been working on getting them to bed earlier but it’s a battle. The only one that is on a normal schedule is Marin.

The girls have been spending a lot of time playing outside. Marin would really like to go out with them. Marin is a maniac outside and requires chasing. My right knee is still not up to actual running so this presents an obvious problem. Since I hate the idea of a toddler on a leash, I usually keep Marin inside with me while her sisters play. Like everything around here, that leads to more problems. Marin has learned how to remove the main obstacle in her quest for freedom, the doorknob covers.

She has learned that if she hits the covers repeatedly they will spin and eventually separate. Then she tosses the two separate parts under a piece of furniture and simply opens the door and walks out. I think she is trying to discourage me from putting the covers back on since it slows her down.

I now have to lock the door after the girls go out. Initially I thought that locking it would keep her in even though the covers clearly wouldn’t. She promptly learned how to unlock the front door. Now I use a second lock that is up high on the door. The height of the lock isn’t really a factor since she is a tall baby and she stands on things to reach the object of her desire. So far the only thing that stops her is the little hook and eye latch that has a little spring loaded part that she can’t manage with her chubby baby fingers.

The girls showed her how to climb over the gate that blocks off the upstairs of the house. They thought it was funny. I don’t find it nearly so amusing since I now spend much of my day looking for the baby. She likes to hide and then pop out smiling and laughing.

To make things even more difficult, Marin has decided that she wants to use the potty. As everyone that has been reading already knows, she is not a big fan of pants. I explained to her over the weekend that if she was going to take her pants off then she had to sit on the potty. Much to my surprise she ran to the bathroom demanding help climbing onto the toilet. She proceeded to pee on the toilet which meant that I had to run out and buy her an actual potty chair.

That led to further trouble. She loved it so much that she didn’t want to get off the potty, let alone bother with pants. I have tried to convince her that the kitchen is the best place for her potty but she keeps picking it up and carrying it to the bathroom demanding that someone open the door so the potty can go where it belongs. I have given up and now keep the potty in the downstairs bathroom. That means that Marin has a legitimate reason to be in there, unrolling toilet paper, repeatedly flushing the toilet and standing on her potty in order to play in the water in the sink. I have had to retrieve Katie’s favorite stuffed dog from the toilet and run it through the washer twice already in less than a week. Katie claims that it still doesn’t smell right.

I have come to the conclusion that I just can’t get anything done without help. I have been giving the girls jobs for money and the best paying job in the house is that of “bathroom buddy”. The bathroom buddy is responsible for staying with Marin while she uses the potty and keeping her out of trouble. Katie had the job today and somehow Claire’s toothbrush still ended up in the toilet. At least Marin now has some indoor activities to keep her occupied.

The outside business isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be anyway. Just last week Claire stepped on a snake and was stung by a bee all in the same day. I had my own wild life encounter. I was sitting in a lawn chair and heard a rustling sound behind me.*

So, I looked behind me and didn’t see anything. Then I felt something bump the back of my bare leg. I jumped up, shining my cell phone light and discovered an large opossum looking back at me. I suppose it wasn’t as scary as a mountain lion but yucky nonetheless.

*I have an irrational fear of mountain lions, which may or may not be in our area. I saw one in our area despite the fact that they shouldn’t be here and know of other sightings as well Even though I am rationalizing this fear, I do realize that it’s not likely for a mountain lion to wander into my yard and stalk me in my lawn chair.

Who Knew That Summer was the Time for Xanax and Holy Water?

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 18:30:00 +0000

Marin has been learning a lot of new words lately. Today she started saying “nap”. Yesterday she said “right back” and “help me”. Help me was due to the fact that she had climbed into the toy box without considering how she was going to get back out. Honestly, it seems like “help me” is probably the most useful phrase given the fact that she has siblings that are six and seven.

I watched a movie with the girls and their big brother yesterday. N had already seen it so he knew that there was a part that the girls shouldn’t see. We herded them out for the bad part but then a little later there was a questionable scene. A guy bumped fists with another guy. Then the third guy tried to participate but missed his chance. He said, “Hey, I was going to fist you, too!” N and I both laughed and the girls wanted to know what was so funny.

Claire- “What does that mean?”

N- “You don’t need to know that. In fact, I find it a little disturbing that Mommy knows what it means.”

It reminded me of when N was about nine and was telling an off-color joke. C took him out of the room to try and explain that it wasn’t appropriate.

C- “You shouldn’t tell jokes like that in front of girls, especially your mom.”

N- “Why? She doesn’t even know what a woody is!”

As amusing as kids can be, I am getting sick of the girls being out of school. Claire is the kid that never sleeps. She stays up late while Katie goes to sleep early. The absence of kid-free time is putting me on edge. I was complaining to Andrea last night while cooking dinner.

Me- “The girls are driving me nuts. I’m thinking of sending them to bible school just to get them out of the house.”

Andrea- “You know it only lasts for a week, don’t you?

Me- “What if they include an exorcism?”

I'm hating summer.

Acting Up

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 21:40:00 +0000

My sister has been acting up again. If you have been reading my blog for a while, then you know “acting up” is my family’s code for crazy. She started acting crazy last summer and since then it has been intermittent but never gone away. Some weeks are worse than others. This week is already starting off as a bad one.

Lynne has had the idea now for a while that she is being poisoned. First it was arsen*ic poisoning (Sorry about the asterisk but I can’t risk her finding my blog). She claimed that a blood screen for mercury detected the arsen*ic and her levels were elevated. Since then she has been talking about it non-stop, including accusations that her family is poisoning her. She even accused me despite the fact that I haven’t even seen her in over a year. She thought that I might be involved because I don’t show enough interest in helping her get to the bottom of her nonsensical issues. It is beyond me how to act interested in an imaginary illness and therefore I am aloof and disinterested. My nephew says,”Arsen*ic, arsen*ic, arsen*ic, that’s all I ever hear.”

Lynne has also developed a preoccupation with lawn chemicals. She has decided that the neighbors are trying to kill her by spraying their yards. She has been making numerous phone calls trying to get them to stop. She has called the county prosecutor to try to have them charged with assault. When that didn’t work she then moved on to the police, the CDC and the FBI and probably others.

Here is the ironic part. Last week police officers were visiting her neighbors about the spraying incident. It wasn’t because the police were concerned about the spraying but it was because the FBI had called them. The FBI had requested that they talk to the neighbors about Lynne to determine if she was a danger. I can’t help but find it mildly amusing that after all the times that she has thought that the FBI was watching her, now they kind of are.

My Son Got Married!

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Fri, 05 Jun 2009 18:34:00 +0000

Shouldn't Every Vacation Include a Stop at the Hospital for the Criminally Insane?

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 18:59:00 +0000

We’re back. We spent so much time in the car that I actually felt like my muscles were becoming atrophied. I was starting to feel like veal. Veal with access to Chex Mix. It was definitely time to be done with the road trip. We were all pretty sick of each other.

The last night of the trip, C and I were having a difference of opinion on where to stay. There were storms moving in and we were in a nasty industrial sort of town. It is basically a shit-hole that has survived because of a beef packing plant.

C spotted a decent chain motel and pulled into the parking lot.

C- “It’s a Best Western. That should be ok.”
Me- “Uh, it has exterior doors to the rooms.”
C-“So?”
Me- “It has exterior doors and it has a beef packing plant across the street. Not to mention the trailer park next door.”

C was irritated that I was so picky about little things like Mexican gang graffiti on the walls. We got back on the highway and drove an hour to a more acceptable and better smelling town. The girls were just happy that the next hotel had a swimming pool.

The last day of travel wasn’t terrible. We did some touristy type things that the kids enjoyed and then got back on the road to head for home. I noticed signs for an upcoming town that is the home for the state hospital for the criminally insane. I wanted to drive by and see what it looked like. C pointed out a sign warning motorists to not pick up hitchhikers.

Katie- “What’s a hitchhiker?”

Me- “That is someone that doesn’t have a car and needs a ride.”

Katie- “Well, shouldn’t we give them a ride then?”

Me- “No. We are right by a hospital for dangerous people. The criminally insane. Do you think we should pick up a dangerous crazy person?”

Katie- “Sure.”

Me- “Well sometimes you guys act crazy when you fight. Maybe we should just drop you off.”

A little bit later we stopped at a gas station so the girls could use the restroom. Katie was acting up and threatening to open the door while Claire had her pants down. Claire was acting goofy due to cough medicine with a narcotic and cracking up laughing while trying to get her pants up. After we finally managed to exit the bathroom I stopped at the counter to ask directions to the state hospital. I had forgotten our earlier joke on the way. As we walked out Katie turned to me with a nervous look and said, “You’re not really taking us there, are you?”

The other high point of the day was seeing an armadillo on the side of the road. It was a dead armadillo but still… Not something you see everyday.

Car Trip with Kids, cont.

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Tue, 26 May 2009 05:02:00 +0000

Vacation update- I’m done with these people. I've had enough and I want my life back. I am SO over it I can’t even tell you.

The baby doesn’t understand bedtime in hotels since she is trapped in a playpen, which is the new version of the hotel crib. She has also discovered that the Capri Sun stash in the cooler is far better than her standard fare of milk in a tippy cup. The cooler is located in the second row seat right next to her so now she paws at the cooler saying, “ba-ba, ba-ba” which is baby talk for give me a damn Capri Sun before I freak. So, she had like twenty today.

C, (previously known as DH) is getting on my nerves and I am quite sure that the reverse is true as well. He has a bad nail biting habit that is driving me fucking nuts. Every time I look over he has his hands in his mouth. Today I was so disgusted I finally said, “Jesus Christ, you’ve got your hands in your mouth more than that baby does.”
Yes, it’s going well.

The drive today was no fun at all. C picked the route and we were all surprised to find that there was nothing along the drive more exciting than people with gang tattoos when we got lost in Pueblo. Well, I shouldn’t say lost. C just missed a turn and according to him, my map reading skills are lacking. My version is a little different. More like, maybe you should have told me if I was supposed to know where we were going, because I was just planning on looking out the fucking window waiting for it to be over with.

The girls are enjoying beating the hell out of each other at different hotels each night. They like staying up late and dominate the tv. Tonight I was surprised to find them watching ‘Sex and the City’. I thought it was a nice break from ‘Hannah Montana’ but their father wasn’t quite as excited.

The girls are also enjoying swimming and the complimentary continental breakfast. The first night we stayed at a place with a fairly nice breakfast that included fresh waffles. It has gone a bit downhill for a few of the hotels with the breakfast being comprised of dried up muffins and generic Fruit Loops. Tomorrow is a big day, though. The desk clerk didn’t have any prison tattoos and I think they might have scrambled eggs.

Vacation and the Stupid Bridge

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Mon, 25 May 2009 04:12:00 +0000

After hours in the car with small children I have to say that the car DVD player is a wonderful invention. That combined with a little bit of Xanax makes for a far more tolerable travel experience. We are in Colorado currently, specifically The Royal Gorge. I could not care less about the suspension bridge that brings visitors from all over the world. You couldn’t pay me to get on that thing. But for whatever reason C and the girls wanted to see the world's largest suspension bridge so I tried to be a good sport.

Many of you have probably visited the Canon City area. Canon City is a beautiful little town. The ride up the mountain was less spectacular in my mind. I like looking at the mountains, not driving on them.

C, (usually referred to as DH, but I got tired of explaining that DH does NOT stand for darling husband) normally is a very grandpa-like driver. Today, however, on the rainy mountain road, he decided to speed it up. Typically he drives five miles under the speed limit while I do five over. The mountain road speed limit changed to 15 mph once we got close to the top. I looked out my window nervously, glanced at the speedometer and saw that he was going thirty.

Me- “For God’s sake, for once in your life you’re speeding and we’re on the edge of a mountain. What is up with that? Do you mind?”

C- “Oh, Lisa, there are plenty of trees. It’s not like we’d drop eight thousand feet!”

Me, muttering- “Stupid bridge.”

Still not reassured and clutching my door handle with white knuckles, I was somewhat less than enthusiastic upon reaching our destination. Then I found out that you had to pay to see the stupid bridge. C parted with sixty bucks and I’m in the car with the baby as we speak. More updates to follow.

Summer Vacation, Xanax?- Check

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Fri, 22 May 2009 18:47:00 +0000

Things have been crazy busy here. I have gotten behind on everything due to planning on taking the girls on the old-style family road trip. We were originally planning on flying to Chicago but the idea of doing that with a toddler became too overwhelming. Traveling with children is something I find overwhelming without adding in airports and rental cars.

We bought the dual-screen DVD player for the car and installed it in the third row seat. That provides at least a small buffer between us and them. After extensive packing and some planning, we are just about ready to get on the road. Wish me luck.

In other news, my oldest son, Noah, is getting married. It’s a spur of the moment kind of deal. The wedding is in one week and I just heard about it a week ago. Our vacation will be shortened as a result but there is no way I would miss it. I must admit that a little tiny part of me wishes that they had given more notice or just eloped. I bought the girls dresses already but they don’t fit which means starting all over. I have yet to even start looking for something to wear and think that there is a very real possibility that I might show up in my vacation attire, capri’s and my old Rocket Dog shoes.

I have lots more to share but little time. I’m taking my laptop and will be updating from the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, provided they have WiFi of course.

Thankfully it was a Short Visit...

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Mon, 18 May 2009 16:05:00 +0000

Thursday night I found out that my dad was on his way to my house. He lives about eight hours away so I don’t see him much. He called me around 11PM to let me know that he was already two hours closer to my house. This was the first I had heard of a visit. While my actual verbal response to the news was, “That’s nice” I was totally saying “fuck!” on the inside. My dad is fairly high maintenance, to put it mildly.

He drove most of the night but pulled over to sleep for a couple of hours in the car. He never commits to a specific arrival time so it’s always a surprise but not always a good one. He arrived early in the morning, which is my least favorite time of day. My dad thinks that if he’s awake then everyone should be awake. So when he discovered that the baby and I were still asleep, he took it upon himself to march upstairs and wake us up. Of course I wasn’t terribly happy that he woke the baby since I would have liked to have slept for another thirty minutes given the option.

One of the things that makes my dad a challenging guest is that he is an incredibly picky eater. It’s difficult to think of things to cook that he won’t complain about. I bought a Chef Boyardee pizza mix and hamburger to cook for dinner. He likes that but he has to make it himself. He hates it if anyone else makes it because he barely uses any sauce and says that the sauce “ruins it”. The rest of us all refer to it as Grandpa’s Cheesy Hamburger Bread. It could use some sauce to actually qualify as being pizza.

Just like the last visit, my dad was driving a little convertible. The last time I rode with him I was subjected to “The Yellow Rose of Texas” blaring full blast on the radio, with the top down during the day so hiding was difficult. This time Andrea was along for the ride to share the thrills. We changed the station on the satellite radio to current hits and this is what came on.

Normally my dad would complain and say “that’s just noise”, etc. This time however, when Andrea commented on how she loved the song, he turned it up really loud. I was sitting by a speaker and could feel the vibration. Andrea did what any white attorney pushing forty would do. She started singing and dancing in the car with her arms sticking straight up where the roof would be in a normal car. As you might imagine, people stared.

More Kid Talk

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Sun, 10 May 2009 22:43:00 +0000

I was telling Claire and Katie a story about their brother taking care of orphaned baby rabbits. Claire was suggesting that he bring them here and that she would take care of them. I reminded her about the time we had a baby rabbit to care for.

Me- “Do you remember that time that we had the baby bunny?”

Claire- “Oh, yeah!”

Katie- “We didn’t have a bunny!”

Me- “Yes, we did. It was a couple of years ago and the cats kept getting them and we had to rescue the last one.”

Katie then starts yelling and acting crazy.

Katie- “We didn’t have a cat or a bunny!”

Me- “Katie, would you quit being a spaz?”

Katie- “Well, listen to me and I’ll stop spazzing!”

Happy Mother's Day

May Day

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Mon, 04 May 2009 04:52:00 +0000

The following is a conversation with a guy friend and some others about May Day:

Other person- "So, do you remember May Day and being a kid? Ringing the door bell, leaving the basket and then running?"

GF- "Oh, we were supposed to leave a basket?"

All Kinds of Nuts

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Fri, 01 May 2009 01:51:00 +0000

Yesterday I almost ran over a squirrel. I make a point to slow down when I see one close to the street and have successfully avoided any squirrel fatalities over the years. This particular squirrel had a brush with death due to his indecisive nature. He was in front of my car, darted back to the curb and abruptly changed direction as I started to accelerate again. He wouldn’t have stood a change against my large SUV so I think we were both relieved when he finally ran for his life, finally reaching the safety of the curb.

My mom ran over a squirrel when I was little and came home and cried. The only road-kill that I have been personally responsible for was a raccoon. He ran onto the dark rainy highway and I had no choice but to hit him. I had a baby in the car and couldn’t risk slamming on the brakes. It felt horrible when I drove over him but I didn’t have a choice.

I am happy that the squirrel survived. I have always liked squirrels and even have a squirrel feeder on one of my trees. They are so cute and amusing to watch as they run through the yard. I remember watching the squirrels last fall busying themselves preparing for winter. They were scurrying around hiding nuts and whatever else they eat in the yard. They would get into fights and chase each other through the trees. It looked like a lot of work to get ready for winter. I think that if I was a squirrel, I might not spend so much time on the nut-hiding deal. I would be much more interested in the nut finding aspect of the squirrel business. I would probably just try to keep track of where all the other squirrels stashed their nuts. I don’t think I would be up for any squirrel good citizenship awards but I would be a fairly efficient squirrel.

On a different, non-animal subject, I saw something bad yesterday. I saw a woman abusing a little girl. This was at a dance studio that was not here in Pleasantville. The woman was screaming and spanking a little girl that looked like she was about three. I say spanking but it was really not what you would think. It was more like hitting her butt with as much force as she could muster.

I also saw her pick the little girl up by the wrist and ankle and throw her on a couch. I was in the room with another mom that confided that she had seen the same abuse on different occasions. A while later, the little girl again ran into the same room I was in. The mother was screaming and running after her daughter. The little girl clearly wanted to play and be chased. She just seemed like she didn’t quite understand that she was being chased by an actual monster. She ran into a corner of the room and stopped laughing when she saw the hateful look on the monster’s face. She then cowered in the corner as if that would offer her some protection. As you might imagine, it didn’t help.

So imagine a dance studio filled with five and six year-old girls, all dressed up and practicing their dance moves in their recital costumes. Other parents waiting in various areas of the studio, many with their own rambunctious toddlers. Another three year old continues to climb up on a couch and bounce while his mother gently reprimands him, telling him that he isn’t making good choices. The guy that looks like a Mexican gangster was carefully placing his daughter’s long hair in a ponytail. Toddlers and babies were tickled and admired as they were passed from one lap to another. And then we have the crazy screaming woman. The contrast was startling, to say the least.

Most everyone seemed aware of what was going on but would make a point to not look. I spoke with the owner of the dance studio following the class. I told her what I had witnessed and that I was not comfortable with ignoring it. She agreed that it was time for someone to turn this over to the authorities and quickly supplied all the required information. I called the police and followed up with a trip to the police station to make a formal statement. Most people are reluctant to become involved, which is understandable in my opinion. I don’t want to have to testify and I certainly don’t want her to know where I live. She looks like she is one of the tougher broads in her trailer park. If she came after me I would have no choice but to run. With my recent knee surgeries, it is likely that she might outrun me and beat me to a bloody pulp. I had to ask myself, who is supposed to speak up for such children?

My Friends are a Class Act all the Way

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 17:52:00 +0000

Andrea- “ So, I went to court this morning and I brought jeans and a t-shirt to change into after. Then I went back to my office and closed the door to change. I slid on the jeans that I’d worn a few days before and realized that there was something inside of them. A soft bulge along the back of my thigh. So I shook my pant leg until it fell out and I saw that it was the dirty underwear that I’d worn a few days before.”

Another Kid Conversation

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 17:27:00 +0000

Katie- “I have Daddy’s nose.”

Me- “No, you don’t. You have a perfect little nose.”

Katie- “Ok, I have your nose. And Daddy’s eyes, and your teeth. And your ears. And Daddy’s underwear."

Texting Gone Bad

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Sat, 18 Apr 2009 02:19:00 +0000

I have joined the rest of the world and started texting. It is convenient but I had to share a recent text I sent to William from my bed, without my glasses and half asleep. The text was sent in response to William making way to much noise early in the morning, crashing around and talking on his cell phone.

“Shyt up babbt sleepung”

In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t text first thing in the morning.

Naked Babies are Trouble

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 01:08:00 +0000

I have been a bad blogger. I’m not telling you anything that you don’t already know, but if it makes you feel any better just be assured that I do feel guilty about it. It’s kind of like when Grandma is in the nursing home and you don’t visit for a while. Then you feel guilty for not visiting and stay away even longer. And then Grandm's dead and you're pretty much off the hook for visiting anyway.

Marin has been a handful lately; which is one of my excuses, I mean reasons, for not updating more regularly. She has learned to take her clothes off and practices this skill daily. When I put her down for a nap, she immediately busies herself in the task of throwing every stitch of clothing over the side of her crib. I am almost always greeted by a naked baby after her nap-time.

As you might imagine, this is less than ideal for the obvious reason that babies are not potty trained. There are many days that this behavior necessitates multiple bedding changes. Sometimes she is thoughtful enough to strip her bedding and toss that over the side as well, it’s just not always prior to an offensive incident.

I have tried everything I can think of to keep her from getting her clothes and bedding off. She is just determined and nothing less than constant supervision seems to work. I have resigned myself to extra laundry and just possibly lost some of my will to live. Anyone that has had a baby knows about the nightmare of changing the crib bedding.

I have a lot of crib sheets from Target since they have cute stuff from Amy Coe. I found some stretchy flannel sheets years ago that are the easiest sheets ever to fit on a crib mattress. I have never seen them since. The stretchy sheets are wearing out but I use them anyway. I have devised a system of putting a regular crib sheet on first, then the mattress pad followed by the flannel sheet. This way Marin has so many layers that there is at least a possibility she won’t wake up naked on a bare mattress, crack house style.

The regular crib sheet has proven to be an almost impenetrable layer between the baby and the mattress. The problem is when it requires changing. I think the only mother that could quickly and easily replace a regular crib sheet would be a female body builder. And I don’t think they even ovulate, let alone baby-sit. So I find myself sweating and swearing while struggling to provide the baby with fresh bedding, mentally composing a letter to Amy Coe.

Dear Amy Coe,

I love your baby bedding with all the cute patterns and flowers. I continue to peruse the aisles at Target and get lured into making a purchase. You hooked me that one time that I got home and discovered the stretchy crib sheets. I keep thinking that it’s going to be like that again but it’s just not. My one suggestion is that if you are going to branch out of stretchy into non-stretchy (and less forgiving) fabrics you just might need to measure a fucking crib because they don’t fucking fit.

The fact that I can remember the almost impossible task of changing crib sheets for Claire when I was nine months pregnant with Katie doesn’t do anything to improve my attitude towards Amy Coe. It’s a miracle that kid ever got clean sheets.

Current Photos

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 01:01:00 +0000

Hearts are for Smart People and Livers for Famous Alcoholics

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Wed, 01 Apr 2009 18:13:00 +0000

The Special Olympics launched a campaign Tuesday to banish the word "retard." Evidently they want the phrase “mentally retarded” eliminated from state and federal laws that still use that terminology. I understand the rationale behind changing “retarded” to something a bit more benign sounding such as “developmentally challenged” but honestly, it becomes difficult to keep up. I find myself struggling to find the politically correct way to say what we used to just call “slow”.

I am a believer in equal rights for everyone. I remember reading a few years ago that babies with Down Syndrome were not eligible to be placed on the transplant list for a new heart. At first I thought that such blatant discrimination could not be happening. I did a little more research and confirmed that it is true and they are denied new hearts. Up to fifty percent of Down Syndrome babies are born with a congenital heart defect. Of the fifty percent, there will be some that simply will not survive without a new heart.

The thinking in the medical community is that someone with DS will have difficulty keeping up the strict medication regimen required for a transplant patient. The obvious problem with that logic is that we are discussing babies. No baby, regardless of IQ, is responsible for their own medication or changing their own diaper for that matter. It seems to come down to placing more value on the life of one over the other, contingent upon intellect.

Families with Down Syndrome children do not love their babies any less than any other family. How can this be acceptable? In light of this information, is it possible that the battle on terminology is the wrong one to fight?

When I was doing some reading on the subject, I came across this story. This baby, Laith, is not a DS baby but is in need of a transplant. If you believe that we don't have any problems with our health care system this will change your mind. The family's health insurance would not pay for a transplant. They were given the choice of coming up with 1.5 million up front or letting their baby die.

The Snow Storm I Could Have Done Without or Sometimes Old People Can be Useful

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 01:19:00 +0000

The last couple of days the weather forecast for my area included a winter storm. I didn’t really believe that, given that the spring flowers are up. I thought for sure that as it got closer, the forecast would change because it doesn’t snow this time of year. It turns out that it actually does snow here this time of year.

It started last night and it was close to being a blizzard. We had freezing rain, sleet and snow. Although I have to admit that I still don’t really know the difference between freezing rain and sleet.

I decided this morning that I was going to run some errands. DH* was disapproving but I didn’t think much about it since he is always disapproving of something at any given moment. He made a comment about there being a foot of snow outside and I assumed that he was exaggerating. He’s known around here as a disapproving exaggerator, therefore I never actually believe anything that he says.

I continued with the business of getting my parka, purse and hat for the dangerous trip to the store. I didn’t look out the window and was somewhat surprised to see that everything was completely covered in snow. Never being one to give up easily or exhibit too much common sense, I continued my journey to my snow-covered car. Once I got in the car I realized that the first issue was that I didn’t have a scraper. I have no idea why there isn’t a scraper in my car but apparently there never has been. I started the car and cranked up the heat hoping that the ice would start to melt and I could see to drive. But I still had the problem of my windshield covered in close to a foot of snow.

I toyed with the idea of going back in the house to find a scraper but it was really hard to walk through the deep snow. Not to mention that there was no guarantee that I would even find a scraper in the house. I saw the snow shovel leaning by the side of the house and decided that would work. In fact it worked pretty well until I noticed a bad scraping sound coming from the shovel scratching the hood of the car. Fortunately I was about done by then anyway so I just used my arm to get the rest. I’m afraid to see what the paint looks like once the snow is gone. I’m going to feign ignorance if anyone asks.

I managed to get my now warm and snow-cleared car turned around in the driveway and was on my way out when I lost traction. I did the stuff you are supposed to do, backing a little and going forward without spinning the wheels and making it worse. It still didn’t budge. Since I managed to get one vehicle firmly entrenched in the snow, I did the logical thing. I abandoned it and moved on to the next car. N drives my dad’s old Buick and since it is big and heavy, it seemed like the logical choice for my next attempt at leaving the house. Plus, it was parked in front of the house, which made it an attractive option for a backup plan.

I called N. hoping that he would bring me the keys. He wasn’t interested in leaving the house and had Katie throw them out on the front porch. I lurched through the deep snow, up the porch stairs and picked up the keys. I was trying to carefully navigate the stairs and instead fell down them. I got back up and successfully completed the trek to N.’s snow-covered car. I started it, got the heat going and began my search for a scraper. I didn’t find a scraper but I did score a great big table saw blade that was still in the plastic packaging.

I had most of the snow removed before the plastic opened up leaving me standing there holding an extremely sharp saw blade, probably with a dumb look on my face. I'm just lucky that much of the paint had already peeled off N.'s car.

I finally got in the car, miraculously with all my digits still attached and made my way down the street. I was several blocks from home when I noticed that the car was making a strange clunking noise. I knew the car was low on gas since N. had mentioned that I would need to put some in. I just didn’t know that it was completely empty. I headed for the gas station praying that I would make it on roughly threes drops left in the tank. I pulled in right after a truck that proceeded to stop at the first tank instead of pulling forward. I had to do something like an eight point turn to get around to the other side of the gas pumps, while my dad’s old Buick continued clanking in protest. I was not happy with the other driver.

I paid for the gas and went on my way to my next stop, the drive-thru ATM. I pulled up to the machine and then remembered that I was in a ghetto cruiser that had the driver’s side window duct-taped shut. I backed up and walked to the ATM, did my transaction and got back in the car. Instead of just going forward, the back end went sideways coming dangerously close to hitting both a yellow post and the stupid little building. I stopped and tried to straighten the car out on the slush and packed snow. It was just like the driveway all over again. Since it wasn’t my house, I didn’t have the luxury of just abandoning the vehicle and taking another. Well, at least not without a risking a felony record.

I got out and looked at the tires as if that was going to solve the problem. Just then an old couple driving by stopped and offered to help. The man looked about seventy-five or so. This is about when I remembered to be embarrassed about what I was driving. He wanted to give me instructions through the window, which was of course, duct-taped shut. I rolled down the back window while explaining that it was my teenage son’s car. I tried to turn the steering wheel the way I was told while the guy pushed. I was scared to death that I would accidentally run over him. The car still wasn’t working despite my expert maneuvering so the old man told me to get out and just let him do it. Maybe he was a little afraid as well. I exited the vehicle with thoughts of the ghetto cruiser being permanently marred by the yellow paint on the post, thinking, “Oh my God, it only has liability insurance but at least I won’t kill anyone”

The guy moved it forward a bit and then backed it right out. It was nothing short of amazing.

Me- “Thank you so much! I don’t think I would have ever gotten it out of there.”
Old Guy- “You’re welcome. Now go home and behave.”

*If you’re new here, DH does not stand for darling husbands the way it does on the blogs with kittens and unicorns. Or rainbows. We won’t be having any of that business around here.

Knee Surgery and the Kicking Baby

loonybinblog@gmail.com (Lisa) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 20:15:00 +0000

I had my second knee surgery last week. It went a lot better than the first. My biggest complaint was probably the horrible dry mouth I woke up with in recovery. I remember complaining about that to the recovery room nurse and she told me that it was from the KY jelly they use for the airway. I would have sworn they used Elmer’s glue to secure it in my mouth. To make matters worse, they gave me toast. I was so hungry but the toast mixed with the glue was just a bad deal. Beyond that, I had to use crutches for just a few days but now no longer have a limp and I can walk up and down stairs. Last time I was lurching around like Frankenstein for at least a month.

The baby was thrilled with the crutches, again. It is great fun for her to grab one, laugh and run, fully expecting that the chase is on. Try talking a 20 month-old baby into returning a crutch. Yeah. Doesn’t work.

It is also a challenge to change a diaper on a not always cooperative toddler. 20 months is not exactly known as an age of reason, to put it mildly. I have to be very careful with the diaper changes since Marin is likely to kick.

I told Marin that I had an owie and showed her the bandages. Now she looks at my knee, points and says, “Owie” right before she kicks me.