There are so many things to explore down here and I feel like I have no time to explore anything. With Matt being off for so many days and now the kids are out of school for a few weeks and after they trashed the house yesterday, I couldn't stand being in the house for another day with them so I looked into going on an outing today. I kind of let the boys decide. Their choices were:
1. Go to the San Antonio Zoo
2. Go to the Natural Bridge Caverns
3. Go to MacCallister Park for a bike ride
One boy decided the Zoo sounded great and the other boy thought a bike ride would be perfect. I was really hoping they would pick the Caverns. So I sort of helped them agree on the Caverns. I told them that we were going to walk to the center of the earth and we would most definitely see dinosaur bones. That did it. That was their decision. We piled in the car and off we drove 19 miles away from our cozy little apartment. Here are a few highlights on our little outing.
Our youngest child, known as Moe to a lot of his friends and family has taken up a nasty new habit of licking and sucking on his fingers. Oh Ok... not just his fingers. I have caught him with his whole hand in his mouth and an occasional toe. He loves to slurp and he will slurp your arm, leg, face... what ever he finds convenient to slurp. So today, when were driving down interstate 35 towards our destination, I could no longer ignore the screaming in the backseat of my sporty new Buick. It was the oldest child having a freak attack because Moe had his fingers in his mouth and he was getting them all "slobbery" and putting them on the seat and the seat was now wet. We are at a loss trying to get him to keep his fingers out of his mouth. I have showed him pictures of disgusting bugs that could live on your fingers (most of the pictures are of filled up ticks and heart worms) and it doesn't matter. It doesn't even make him blink. Next, I have actually showed him pictures of warts... big disgusting warts. Nothing. So today, while driving he shrieks from the back seat that he is just trying to keep his tongue from falling out of his mouth. So we get it. We realize that is his fear. It isn't of bugs or worms or warts... he is seriously afraid if he doesn't hold his tongue in his mouth, it will fall out. This is good. Now I can work with him. Now I can explain how our tongues work. This will be easy now.
I'm going to give a shout out to the good Lord above and be thankful he was listening to me when I told the boys that we may see dinosaur bones at the Caverns. I know he was listening to me because when we pulled up to the parking lot, there were 3 awesome fun dinosaurs in the little park. A big "Mama" dinosaur, a middle dinosaur and a dinosaur egg with a little baby Dino's head poking out. This was awesome. Now I knew I wouldn't have to hope and pray we see a dinosaur bone... we had dinosaurs. YES!!!!!
We get to the tour spot to meet our tour guide. Moe is walking around getting in every one's pictures and we start walking down the little path to the entrance of the caverns. He kinda starts to freak out a little bit because he decides he doesn't want to go down that path. He doesn't want to go in the caverns at all. He starts getting a little freaked out when we decide there is no turning back. So, we get going in the caverns and as you all know, being in caverns has it pros and cons. The pros.... well we weren't going to lose the child because it is dark and he isn't going to step too far away from our side. The cons... well.... it is a THIRD DEGREE FELONY to touch anything in the caverns in the State of Texas. Because if the oils on your skin it will make the formations die and not ever grow again and basically throw off the balance of the cave. So... we are with Moe, in a dark cave and remember... he likes to slurp. I was waiting for him to slurp a big ole limestone formation and I was waiting to be hauled of to a Texas Jail. That would have been the highlight of the trip.
Moe has a very vivid imagination. He likes to tell stories. Some of his stories are very true. Some of his stories are a play off the truth and the rest are plain old stories. Today when we were in the caverns, 180 feet below the earth, in a rather dark part of the cavern, he decides he is going to ask his all time favorite question. I really think he asks this question when he knows he may get a rise out of the group of people standing around him. His question? It goes something along the lines of this:
"Mom, when are we going to see the dragons?" Yes. He asks that in places that only a 4 year old would think there would be dragons. A few months back, we went to the Portland Zoo, and when we were at an exhibit (and there were a ton of little kids standing an ear shot away from him) he asks if we can go see the baby dragons now? Of course most of the little kids heard him and either they are scared for life and are never going to another Zoo, or their parents think I am the crappiest mom that has ever walked the earth. A lot of the little kids that day really wanted to see the baby dragons. A few actually cried and threw a little fit when their parents said no. Of course, because I think it is wonderful for children to have a fabulous imagination, I said that we would see if the baby dragon exhibit was open. Thank the lord once again, it was. Those little tiny bats flying around in their little glass cage worked wonders for me that day. To bad some of the other parents didn't have the same intellect as me and march their kids to see the bats. So.... Because the "dragons" left the caves about 5000 years ago, we didnt get to see them... just what they left behind.
The Caverns went well today. It amazes me that I can tell my children that we are going to walk to the center of the earth and they are not bothered by that. I will tell you that if my parents would have done that to me, I would have needed extensive therapy years before I ever decided I needed therapy. I am waiting for the day when these children wake up and decide they may need to see a shrink. I will gladly dole out the money for it and let them know I told them the stories I did because it kept mommy sane. I figured it would be better to give them the money for therapy then to admit myself and have them grow up with out a mom.
I have another issue I need to tackle and that is figuring out how to tell Moe that he cant see a doctor to have his nose made like Mickey Mouse's. That is going to cause a complete breakdown. He is going to be broken hearted and I am sure a Therapist is going to charge me extra for that one.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
My name is Cheri and I am a Hoarderphobic
I am surrounded by hoarders. How has my life become this? I am not a hoarder. As a matter of fact, I had a therapist tell me once that I had "Hoarding Tendencies" and I actually fired her from being my therapist. I am afraid of ever becoming a hoarder. I am afraid of all things hoarding. If I walked into your house even after knowing you for 1 hour, I would automatically start thinking in my little brain of what I would do to make your home more "Feng Shui". I have actually went into people houses and just started organizing their stuff, just in case they were thinking of becoming a hoarder.
I just was loading the dishwasher and decided to take a walk around the house to pick up any spare plates that may have run away with a spoon in the last 12 hours. I didn't find any plates, forks or spoons. What I found was much, much worse. There were THREE, count them, THREE glasses in my bathroom on the counter. Now, my belief is that counters are not made for "things". Counters were made so things looked pretty and put together. Things do not belong on counters. The glasses on the counter were not mine. I don't usually drink from anything that has been sitting in a bathroom. Especially a bathroom where anything thing from the male species has likely been. The glasses were "His". He likes to brush his teeth at night and then have a quick drink of water before bed. Weird, I know. I drives me crazy. Three glasses on the bathroom counter. What would Miss Manners think? I can tell you that Miss Manners would loose her mind. Miss Manners doesn't have glasses in the bathroom. She doesn't even have a water spot on the mirror. I am sure of this. How can you deem yourself Miss Manners and then have water spots?
After seeing the bathroom that I have to share with "Him", I asked him about it. He said nothing. Is this because he knows better and is afraid to answer me during one of my "No Hoarding on my watch" rages? Who knows. Well, He knows. I am sure of it. Maybe He is just smart. I mean, seriously, who talks back to someone on a rampage? (It wasn't really a rampage, just a small discussion, completely done by me.)
I proceeded to walk to the boys' bedroom and I just stood there in disbelief and shook my head. The oldest "J" likes to save things. Most of the things he likes to save are of no importance. They will mean nothing to him when he is older. I really try to save everything of his... but really, do I have to save the wrapper the tootsie pop can in? What about the box the Lego's came in? What? What is this? The plastic cap that came on the nose of the Styrofoam airplane that has no wings left because it crashed 30 seconds after you put it together and your brother ate the wings? Ya. We don't need to keep that. What about the dryer sheet that was found in the laundry basket after laundry was folded? It is currently covering up Mun chichi and Baby Puffer pants because they were cold. You cant just throw away Mun chichi and Baby Pufferpants' blanket. No you cant. Next stop...their bathroom. I walked out as quickly as I walked in. I walked in the living room and what do I see? I see the dog. He is a hoarder also. He has ripped the stuffing out of his lovable, ever so annoying squeaky toy and was actually sleeping on and in the pile of fluff he has just un-stuffed. That has to go into the garbage because I am sure when any of the boys get home from school they would find some way to use the fluff that came unstuffed from the squeaky toy.
Hoarders. Hoarders scare me. I am a Hoarderphobic. I am prejudice to all things that have the ability to be hoarded. There needs to be an end to hoarding, especially in my house.
I just was loading the dishwasher and decided to take a walk around the house to pick up any spare plates that may have run away with a spoon in the last 12 hours. I didn't find any plates, forks or spoons. What I found was much, much worse. There were THREE, count them, THREE glasses in my bathroom on the counter. Now, my belief is that counters are not made for "things". Counters were made so things looked pretty and put together. Things do not belong on counters. The glasses on the counter were not mine. I don't usually drink from anything that has been sitting in a bathroom. Especially a bathroom where anything thing from the male species has likely been. The glasses were "His". He likes to brush his teeth at night and then have a quick drink of water before bed. Weird, I know. I drives me crazy. Three glasses on the bathroom counter. What would Miss Manners think? I can tell you that Miss Manners would loose her mind. Miss Manners doesn't have glasses in the bathroom. She doesn't even have a water spot on the mirror. I am sure of this. How can you deem yourself Miss Manners and then have water spots?
After seeing the bathroom that I have to share with "Him", I asked him about it. He said nothing. Is this because he knows better and is afraid to answer me during one of my "No Hoarding on my watch" rages? Who knows. Well, He knows. I am sure of it. Maybe He is just smart. I mean, seriously, who talks back to someone on a rampage? (It wasn't really a rampage, just a small discussion, completely done by me.)
I proceeded to walk to the boys' bedroom and I just stood there in disbelief and shook my head. The oldest "J" likes to save things. Most of the things he likes to save are of no importance. They will mean nothing to him when he is older. I really try to save everything of his... but really, do I have to save the wrapper the tootsie pop can in? What about the box the Lego's came in? What? What is this? The plastic cap that came on the nose of the Styrofoam airplane that has no wings left because it crashed 30 seconds after you put it together and your brother ate the wings? Ya. We don't need to keep that. What about the dryer sheet that was found in the laundry basket after laundry was folded? It is currently covering up Mun chichi and Baby Puffer pants because they were cold. You cant just throw away Mun chichi and Baby Pufferpants' blanket. No you cant. Next stop...their bathroom. I walked out as quickly as I walked in. I walked in the living room and what do I see? I see the dog. He is a hoarder also. He has ripped the stuffing out of his lovable, ever so annoying squeaky toy and was actually sleeping on and in the pile of fluff he has just un-stuffed. That has to go into the garbage because I am sure when any of the boys get home from school they would find some way to use the fluff that came unstuffed from the squeaky toy.
Hoarders. Hoarders scare me. I am a Hoarderphobic. I am prejudice to all things that have the ability to be hoarded. There needs to be an end to hoarding, especially in my house.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
I just had an Epiphany. I haven't been able to pin point what my problems were lately. I have been down. I have been sad. I have felt lost. Then it came to me while microwaving the left over chow mien I found in the fridge. I LOVE PRETTY FOOD. I love making pretty food. I love making pretty plates of food. I love making pretty plates of food for my friends and family. I love everything about pretty food. I love making food that looks just like the picture. If it doesn't turn out just like the picture, I am usually really sad and I state in my head that I will do better next time. Usually the food I cook tastes good, I just like it to look picture perfect.
This epiphany comes at a time when I have no kitchen. Don't get me wrong. I have a place to cook meals for my family, but I don't have "kitchen". You know what I am talking about. Like the ones in the movies that sparkle and shine and seem big enough to land your private jet in. I don't have that kind of kitchen. I want one. I want to be able to pop a turkey in one of the ovens and let it roast for its 5 hours and have room to make a 7 tier wedding cake. Is that asking too much? Is it?
I want to decorate cakes with pearls and flowers and I want to make fun monster faces on big cookies. I want to drizzle salmon perfectly with home made hollandaise sauce and rosemary sprigs, stuffed pork chops with fluffy goodness. I want to make lasagna so when you serve it, it stays in one piece like in the Olive Garden commercials, perfectly basted ribs. I want to pour a cup of coffee and add the cream in a way that makes that perfect frothy circle. This is what I want. This is what I NEED.
There is only one problem. I have a picky family. I have a family of boys. Boys don't understand the meaning of pretty. The husband... well he eats about anything unless it is laced with olives of any color (he isn't prejudice) or mushrooms and he is pretty adamant about not eating anything unless it involves meat. The four year old... well, nothing he does is pretty. No matter what. Everything that comes in a 5 foot radius of him is a hot mess. He eats anything. He eats anything in epic quantities. He reminds me of a little chipmunk that is storing nuts for the winter. I have to remind him he is in fact a human and not a dinosaur and his bites should be somewhat smaller. Then there is the six year old. My perfect child. My perfect everything. Perfect in everything but eating... especially pretty food. His stance is "I don't like it. You know how I know? Because I have never had it.". He will eat pretty much anything out of box; Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (and he knows his Macs), Chicken Nuggets (preferably dinosaur chickens from Costco, even though since our move to Texas I have convinced him that Texas makes different chickens then Montana), Ball Park hot dogs (I know, right?) and the occasional fast food. One day he said he wanted Meatballs for dinner. You can imagine how happy I was that I was finally getting to make him something in my kitchen. I was so excited. I got all the stuff out to make meatballs and I got on it. I formed the balls and added spices with perfection. I placed them on a baking sheet and placed them in the oven. I then served them on his plate, in perfect order and he looked at me and asked what they were. I told him they were meatballs. He looked as if I had lost my mind. That was the day I realized meat balls in his mind were actually just browned hamburger. Who would have thought?
Needless to say, I have quit trying to impress my family with my cooking skills. I am hoping one day my children come home and want me to make them something on a plate that looks pretty. In the meantime I will just dream some more about making pretty food on pretty plates in my pretty kitchen. I can dream, right?
On a different note; who knew the "Hot Dog" Dance was actually sung by The Might Be Giants?
This epiphany comes at a time when I have no kitchen. Don't get me wrong. I have a place to cook meals for my family, but I don't have "kitchen". You know what I am talking about. Like the ones in the movies that sparkle and shine and seem big enough to land your private jet in. I don't have that kind of kitchen. I want one. I want to be able to pop a turkey in one of the ovens and let it roast for its 5 hours and have room to make a 7 tier wedding cake. Is that asking too much? Is it?
I want to decorate cakes with pearls and flowers and I want to make fun monster faces on big cookies. I want to drizzle salmon perfectly with home made hollandaise sauce and rosemary sprigs, stuffed pork chops with fluffy goodness. I want to make lasagna so when you serve it, it stays in one piece like in the Olive Garden commercials, perfectly basted ribs. I want to pour a cup of coffee and add the cream in a way that makes that perfect frothy circle. This is what I want. This is what I NEED.
There is only one problem. I have a picky family. I have a family of boys. Boys don't understand the meaning of pretty. The husband... well he eats about anything unless it is laced with olives of any color (he isn't prejudice) or mushrooms and he is pretty adamant about not eating anything unless it involves meat. The four year old... well, nothing he does is pretty. No matter what. Everything that comes in a 5 foot radius of him is a hot mess. He eats anything. He eats anything in epic quantities. He reminds me of a little chipmunk that is storing nuts for the winter. I have to remind him he is in fact a human and not a dinosaur and his bites should be somewhat smaller. Then there is the six year old. My perfect child. My perfect everything. Perfect in everything but eating... especially pretty food. His stance is "I don't like it. You know how I know? Because I have never had it.". He will eat pretty much anything out of box; Kraft Macaroni and Cheese (and he knows his Macs), Chicken Nuggets (preferably dinosaur chickens from Costco, even though since our move to Texas I have convinced him that Texas makes different chickens then Montana), Ball Park hot dogs (I know, right?) and the occasional fast food. One day he said he wanted Meatballs for dinner. You can imagine how happy I was that I was finally getting to make him something in my kitchen. I was so excited. I got all the stuff out to make meatballs and I got on it. I formed the balls and added spices with perfection. I placed them on a baking sheet and placed them in the oven. I then served them on his plate, in perfect order and he looked at me and asked what they were. I told him they were meatballs. He looked as if I had lost my mind. That was the day I realized meat balls in his mind were actually just browned hamburger. Who would have thought?
Needless to say, I have quit trying to impress my family with my cooking skills. I am hoping one day my children come home and want me to make them something on a plate that looks pretty. In the meantime I will just dream some more about making pretty food on pretty plates in my pretty kitchen. I can dream, right?
On a different note; who knew the "Hot Dog" Dance was actually sung by The Might Be Giants?
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