All posts for the month November, 2013


Published November 27, 2013 by sarcasmica

After someone close to you has passed, it’s easy to fall into the mentality that everything is a sign. When my dad died, there was a beautiful hawk that circled over all of us at the grave side during the burial. We all took it as a sign from him. A sign that he was ok, that he was watching down on us, etc etc. I imagine it meant a little something different to everyone there. You tend to find what you need when you need it the most. Reassurance, comfort, peace.

Maybe not immediately, but you find it. If you look close enough.

Last night I had multiple dreams about my friend, Crystal, who passed away this past Spring. It’s not unusual to dream about people you miss, but for me it’s unusual to wake up, and go back to sleep, and have a whole different dream about the same person. After two (remembered) dreams, i woke up. When i got back to sleep, I dreamed about her husband.

It’s like I couldn’t escape her memory.

I woke up promising myself to write to her mom and check on her. Something I had been meaning to do for the past two months, but selfishly let my own hectic life get in the way. I woke up and got busy with the kids. I was oddly moody and a little grumpy despite having had a great evening the night before.

I got wrapped up in taking my son to the orthodontist and other morning necessities. On the drive to drop off my son at at school, Depeche Mode came on the radio.

This was one of the driving tapes Crystal and I had on virtual repeat for years. One of many of their tapes.

How often is Depeche Mode played on the radio? Not too often in my opinion. I remembered my promise to myself to write to Crystal’s mom, and remembered that I forgot to follow through on my own promise.

So needless to say, when I got home, I wrote that email right away with the little anecdote that even from beyond, she is still more than willing – and apparently able – to continue to kick my butt to get something done when she wants it.

I don’t know if it was all a coincidence or not. Seems like a lot of coincidae all wrapped into one morning. That seems less than ordinary, so i’m going to go with the more exciting possibility that she wanted me to check in on her mom and let her know someone is thinking of her and the upcoming holiday and wanting her to simply know good thoughts are with her. From here and ‘up there’.

Whether we make something innocent and innocuous into what we need that thing to be, or it’s just a happenstance, take what you need to make your own essence meaningful. In doing this today, i’ve managed to ease my own mind, and hopefully the mind of my dear friend’s mother who i’m sure is going through a hard few days. A two ‘fer!




Published November 20, 2013 by sarcasmica

Every New Year we discuss it and think about it and ponder over it. Resolutions. Losing weight, quitting smoking, not sleeping with your ex, less fast food, cutting out the heroin and/or crack cocaine.  (for the Politicians reading this)

I am determined this time to a-start early and b-follow through with my number one character flaw. Interrupting.

Actually, laziness is probably my number one flaw, but eh… i’ll get to that another time

I was at a friend’s house today and it’s as if i have turrets in the form of interrupting. I know i’m doing it as i’m doing it and i still do it. It’s like i’m mentally deficient in self-control.

I left the play date berating myself for doing it repeatedly … well, for that and my child’s lack of manners. My daughter was too busy crying and having a fit to say thank you and goodbye to our hosts and i just wanted to get her out of there and strapped into her car seat behind the van door so no one else had to hear her crying and screaming for longer than necessary.

So to all my friends and acquaintances who have had to endure my rude and inappropriate habit of interrupting; i am sorry and i am working on it! I am going to stop the habit i correct my own kids from doing on a daily basis, what a concept!!



Published November 19, 2013 by sarcasmica

It’s rare my husband and I get to use our imagination for a date. It’s usually dinner or dinner and a movie, or just a movie.

I’m not complaining. Any reason to get out and remind ourselves that we actually chose each other on purpose and signed on the dotted line for more than citizenship is a welcome distraction. The fact that my mom is so generous with her time and patience and babysits for us very frequently is a blessing and I couldn’t be more thankful.

So last month my husband was given free tickets to a Michael Buble` concert. His question to me the day before the response had to be in to claim it was “Are you at all interested in this?” I didn’t think too long about it. It was an opportunity for us to get out and have an adventure that didn’t include popcorn, nachos, or paper-wrapped dinner. He was not nearly as excited, but wisely went along with it.

So the big night arrives. Last Friday was the day. My son had been home sick from school all day, and despite what the hieroglyphs have told me about such days, the kids both got along great all day long.

We leave the house with three hours to kill before the concert starts. Understanding we had to drive out to Seattle, we wanted to give ourselves lots of time since we’d be in the thick of commuter traffic…across a floating bridge… in the middle of a storm.

We grab some thunda’ from down unda’ in the form of steaks at Outback and then hit the road. There was a pre-show reception we could have attended, so we knew if we got there early, at least we could kill time there.

No worries there!

Traffic was at a craaaaaawl the whole way into the city. An hour and twenty minutes just to get to our offramp, THEN another hour in the crazy nonsensical downtown traffic just to find the parking structure.

We were ready to turn around and head home, but my stubborn hard-headed persevering and determined husband wanted to give it another try.

We made it to the parking lot. We made it to the arena. Then we had to find the right window to get our tickets.

Twenty more minutes go by as we are bustling around the perimeter of the circular arena in the blustery wet weather and we finally make it in just in time for the opening act to finish. My husband got a beer or two, and we found our seats. We had great seats! We find our row and do the ‘excuse me butt shuffle’ to the middle and sit down.

Well, I tried to sit. My apparently ginormous hips prohibited the elegant gesture I had imagined in my head. The cup holders wedged themselves into my hips and i shot straight up. I looked at my husband and tried to laugh to cover the embarrassment. I went in for a second try and had to strategically wedge my girth into the seat to succeed.

Thankfully, there was no one seated beside us because we looked like two line backers in pre-school chairs.

Seating aside, the whole thing was pretty cool. The show was great, Mr. Buble was very funny and entertaining when not singing. He did a bit about making fun of Justin Bieber everyone enjoyed. Who doesn’t love a good baby Bieber joke?!

We hit the 45 minute mark and it was all getting a little long in the tooth. While his voice is smooth and amazing, it seems I can only handle so many similarly timed and tuned alike songs. I even like standards, but i needed a bit more energy to maintain my excitement level given the amount of stress that was involved in getting there. I began looking around and found endless sources of entertainment.

It seems there’s a distinct ‘type’ of Buble` fan. Mostly, they are mid-forties, wine-drinking, perma-grin type of women. Their husbands were equally smitten with the crooner. My husband and I were able to keep our composure until about Elvis time. When he broke out in Hunk o’ Burnin’ Love and the effects screen put of flames behind frame-in-frame live shots, i lost it. I had to start laughing. The good news is I fit in better with the perma-grin women around me… the only difference is my husband and i were actually cracking up.

Then the penultimate hopeless romantic finale.

He broke out in the Beatles “All Ya Need is Love”. The crowd was waving their hands in the air simultaneously and just as we thought we had seen it all, love cannons came alive.

Oh yes, i said it. Love . Cannons.

White and red confetti hearts shot out of various cannons all around the arena. The main stage screen had bright fluffy pictures of rainbows and hot air balloons.

My husband and I could not stop laughing.

Given our shapes, we were dangerously close to rolling out of the aisle.

It was quite a sight. The whole thing.

He ended the show in this fashion. When he came out for his encore with a spotted smoking jacket-type get up, we decided to cut our losses and head out to avoid the mass exit at the end. Given that it took us over two hours in the car to get there, we did not want to spend another two hours just exiting the parking structure – of which we were on the top floor due to our late arrival.

We lucked out and got home in a matter of thirty minutes or less.

Now, you might be thinking to yourself, “STOP STOP! Don’t tell me more! I bet that crazy smooth hopeless romantic crooner set up an amazingly hot seductive evening for the two of you.”

To that i say Pish Posh!

Depending on your definition of romance, it could go either way. My husband did end up in bed together in the end.

In bed and laughing our asses off, cursing the ‘heart cannons’ and anti-sexy evening we had just managed to have.

We were Buble`’d !!

The Perfect Age

Published November 14, 2013 by sarcasmica

“Age is just a number”

It seems the older I get, the more important age becomes. Not just mine. My husband’s, my kids’,  my pets’. Mine is an ever-moving number that i have not yet settled on … i’m considering sticking with 35 from now on. It’s a good solid number. It’s a number that says i’ve survived my 20’s. I even came out of it with a husband! It says i’ve had enough life experience to know a thing or two … but definitely not three. Do not count on me for three absolute wisdom-based experiences.

It says i’m aware time is ticking away, but i don’t feel like i still have to cram everything into a minute like i did in my twenties. Oddly, that’s when you have the most time, but you feel it all has to matter. .. and you do not appreciate sleep as much as you do in your thirties.

So my daughter just turned 3. I’ve been reliving all the wonders and horrors that a three year old puts a parent through. I’ve been able to see preschool. I didn’t see it when she was 2. She was still my little babygirl. One word. Babygirl. She liked needing me still. She was independent, but only if i was there to witness it. I didn’t want to think about preschool for many reasons. I liked being at home with my napping, pleasant toddler. She wasn’t potty trained, so i told myself it was not yet an option.

We are only elbow deep into 3 and i’m ready for preschool. She’s now potty trained, and fighting naps, so preschool is a’callin. Being a stay at home mom has it’s challenges. One of them should not be a non-napping kid home seven days a week.

Along with this fact is the reality we are moving in a few weeks. We are moving to a district that has preschool. HUZZAH!

However, it is not up to the parents at what age this is allowable. It’s up to the calendar. My daughter missed the age cutoff by a week and a half. As September is the most common month for birthdays, i’m sure many other people have this same frustration, but DAMN! So close.

The more i think about sending her to school, the more i think of what it will look like for her. She’s a tall, strong 41lb 3 year old. And that’s today. What is she going to be like when it’s actually time to start school?! She’s going to be the size of a first grader in preschool. I keep picturing her as the Stay Puft Marshmallow man stomping through a class room knocking over blocks and stealing sandwiches. .. with pig tails and a smile.

I really hope she will be one of many who will be starting preschool at 4. She will always be one of the taller girls in her class (like her mommy) so I just hope it all starts on the right path. For some reason I was always drawn to the smaller, frail kids who needed a protector. I don’t want that for “Helga”. I want her to be the tallest and mentally strongest. I want her to call the shots and play the games, and run the playground, diplomatically.

Soon after she began to walk, she decided furniture was just a guideline to where we wanted to keep her in the house. It was not out of the ordinary for her to push and move an ottoman out of her path. Relocate a dining room chair. Push her pack  n play closer to the TV. This earned her the nickname “Helga” and it’s a name I hope will only be called out with love and admiration by her family, and not something the frail girly boys and mean girls call her on the play ground because they are jealous of her size and Super Powers.

I wish the districts could take into account a child’s size, mentality, intelligence, and overall readiness for school rather than just an arbitrary date on a calendar. I suppose my son would have been refused until he was 6, though.


Published November 12, 2013 by sarcasmica

So we are in the midst of trying to buy a house right now. The whole process is overwhelming and terrifying for me. It’s a commitment. A monumental commitment to hand over a whole lot of money every month, just to then turn around and put the rest into the care of the same house.

It seems a perpetual money pit. So why do it? Because i want to paint my own walls without having to think about someday painting over the first job. I want to put nails in my walls, damnit! I am a rebel. I want to be able to unabashedly enjoy my own carpet-covered floors.

Oh yes. I am a carpet fan. I am not longer staying quiet about it, either! I LOVE CARPET!! Plush, soft, supportive, comfy carpet. I’m not sure where the new hardwood floors craze has come from, but i am not a fan. We had hardwood floors in Arizona and I was quite surprised to find it was very hard to make them look shiny and clean. For the amount of discomfort, sore feet, aching back they perpetuate, it was not worth it. I’m a barefoot-at-home type and because of that, i love carpeting.

I know some germophobes are not fans. I don’t care.

Right now we are in the Appraisal mode. This means we are waiting to hear back if the bank is agreeing on the insane amount of money we are willing to commit to pay for this home. If they agree, then we’re all insane.

Needless to say, my mind is on other things. Last night i was making dinner and burned the shit out of my finger.

Not just an ‘oops, got too close’. Nope, it was so far out of the left field, i didn’t see it coming. I’ve purposefully burned myself just being a dumbass in the kitchen. Touching a pan. Touching something IN a pan. Just too lazy to reach the six inches over to grab a fork to do it. This time, I heard the water bubbling in two pots. The rear pot was camouflaged against the white stove. When I reached 1/2 an inch above the pot to turn off the burner, the steam shocked the hell out of me, and my finger that caught the full force of the steam.

How do i know i’m a grown up now? I managed to burn myself worse than i ever have, and i didn’t cuss. Not one single four-letter word was uttered. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even yell. I was so surprised and shocked by it. I almost forgot to put it under cold water. I did a lot of lamaze breathing.

THATS how i know a-it hurt like a motha’, and b- i’m now a grown up

I had to finish dinner and get it all to the table. I did this with a wet soggy paper towel wrapped around it.  I still had to take my kid to yoga. The drive to class was excruciating. I didn’t have anything on it because i thought it would get better. It got worse.

By the time I got home I remembered we had aloe to put on it. Just in time to see the blister begin to form.

Anyway… moral of that lesson. When you are too distracted to pay attention to the pots on the stove, it might be time to order in! Mostly so you don’t have to subject your family to the sight of your scalded flesh.

She’s 3

Published November 5, 2013 by sarcasmica

It’s official. My darling sweet fun and obedient daughter is now a 3 year old

*horror music*

This is an ode to my daughter. I have to write it all down  before the 3 year old sucks the ‘early years’ out of my brain!

She was such a perfect baby, minus the thrush experience we had to deal with when i tried breastfeeding. But at 11 weeks, she began sleeping 8 hours.

An ELEVEN WEEK OLD slept EIGHT HOURS every single night! I knew how golden she was due to my insomniac, colicky first child.

Aside from a cold here and there, and a fever now and then, she was totally healthy.

I don’t know who started the myth that 2 year olds are terrors. Perhaps a mother of multiples. I cannot even imagine that reality. But i’d like to start a movement that declares the true start of mommy hell – the 3 year old.

At 3 selective hearing really sets in. She is one foot from me and I tell her to pick something up, and it’s like i’m a ghost trying to connect to another dimension. I might actually believe she had a hearing problem if I didn’t detect the everoslightest smirk that sometimes shows up on her face at such moments.

No matter how cute the kid, the 3 year old-ness will test your tolerance and sense of humor.

At 3, the little sibling begins to understand just how fun it is to torture their older sibling. It’s a twofer. Not only can they make their brother/sister nuts, but in doing so can also coax all sorts of fun phrases and volume levels out of the nearby parent! Double entertainment value for the price of one!

Neither of my children ever necessarily liked being naked. I see this as a blessing. All the less naked butt trails across my furniture and rugs. The scooting dog has that market cornered. But today, for some inexplicable reason, after going pee pee on the pottty to the bathroom she decided to leave the offensive undies and PJs off.

Freedom looked like it felt pretty good. It took the form of a whirling pale dervish with wild troll doll hair spinning about the room with gleeful cackles shrieking from her face.

“I naked, mommy!!! I naked!”

Who can blame her? She has a flat tummy, and thanks to the miracle of toddling, the rolls on her thighs have finally stretched into impossibly long preschooler legs. I’d be running around naked myself if all my emergency resources didn’t hinder my movement! I silently told her to enjoy it while it lasts.

My 3 year old has gone from being a champ eater, sometimes having two helpings of whatever is on her plate, to now rarely eating. While we endured a whiny complaining moaning and groaning 7 year old, I could always count on my daughter to silently vacuum up whatever was given to her into her mouth with little protests.

Now it’s outright instant refusal. Like the plate itself is the problem. Maybe i should look into toddler troughs?

If it’s not a hot dog or a french fry, she is not interested. This goes over fine with me after the initial coaxing because the reality of all the snacking she does all day long speaks for itself. She isn’t wasting away or starving, so i’m gonna just roll with it.
(i told the pediatrician this very story at my daughter’s 3 year check and she chuckled and said, “If every parent were as easy going and understanding as you, my job would be much easier.”)  = proof the first one is really just practice and training for the subsequent brain snatchers angels.

So to all you first time/new/new again/second etc time parents: strap on your harnesses, fasten your tampons, and tie your boots because this is just the beginning! From here it’s a roller coaster to elementary school. Now it’s all about entertaining and pleasing the little tyrant. It’s about social graces and manners and learning. Before we just had to incubate them, bring them into the world, and then keep them alive.

Who knew that was the easy part?!

Extra Hours

Published November 3, 2013 by sarcasmica

I’d like to give my ‘extra hour’ back today. I’d like even more to cash it in for a do-over or better yet, an hour of sleep. Not the ‘i’m going to go to sleep’ type of sleep, because that consists of 30 minutes of ipading and then fifteen minutes of checking off and making lists in my head, and then maybe ten minutes of actual sleep. I’d like to trade in my one hour gained for a solid 60 minutes of REM sleep.


I feel like we are intentionally set up for disappointment with this time change. I’ve always heard how we gain an hour, we don’t lose it. This just meant the kids were up at 6am because their little internal clocks are still set for 7am. And at 6 it’s 7, because 7 is now 6 and at 8 it’ll be the ‘before 7’ and so on and so forth.

This means i want to hide under the bed at 6 instead of 7.

I love having a smart phone. It DOES make life easier, but it makes all the other technology dumb. I have a smart phone, but a dumb car stereo now. We drove the kids around this morning because , quite frankly, one of us was going to choke someone before noon today (or 11) if we didn’t get the kids strapped into a seat inside a moving vehicle. We had an arbitrary destination that we only spent ten minutes looking in. The walk in the parkinglot was even an adventure. Anything not to be locked at home within the same four walls. I had a time set to have lunch with my mom, and as my husband was driving me back home, i was looking at my car clock, and not my phone. According to the car, i was right on time to meet my mom…. but when I checked my phone and saw the actual time, I now have 40 minutes to kill, but not by sleeping.  So it seems my smart phone has made me dumb as well.

I love my kids and my husband dearly, but damned if this traveling he does doesn’t make it that much more complicated to adjust to a normal life while he’s around. I have my own set routine and ‘way’ with the kids. Yes it drives me crazy and i get overwhelmed without having my cell mate partner, but when he is here, i get pissed he’s not doing it the right way – a.k.a. MY way 🙂

It seems a convergence zone has moved in above my head today and caused all sorts of feelings and emotions and issues and gripes. Yes, please direct me to where i can turn in this hour of craziness in exchange for my regular crazy.



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