Drops of Awesome

So says Magoo.

Not in so many words.

He hinted at it by gasping and squealing loudly every time we opened the green book of joy throughout church today.

Close the book. Silence. Open the book. Shaking, flailing, laughing and gasping for breath. He then proceeded to zerb the book……repeatedly.

If the people in front of us weren’t feeling the Holy Spirit, at least they were feelin’ something. It was my son’s spit. Sorry.

We are pretty much always late for church, but lately we’ve had this goal to go to bed early and get up early, even on weekends, so our body clocks will become more regular. I’m not exactly sure where they’re kept but after 10pm, my stomach starts to tick if I don’t eat some ice cream or nachos, so…….

This morning we got up at 7 and church doesn’t start until 11:30. (Okay! Dan got up at seven and I pretended to cuddle him the way my second dead fish is currently cuddling the plant at the bottom of his bowl. I curled limply around his arm and fell back asleep for 20 minutes.)

That’s 4 hours to get ready, people, and even with the de-mulletization I feel is necessary on the Sabbath, that still leaves at least 30 minutes to get the rest of the family decked out. We were SO going to be on time this morning.

My fatal flaw is this – I always forget to allow extra time for the weird last minute things that come up, right as it’s time to get in the car. This morning they included:

-I had to reassemble Laylee’s car seat from the laundry, due to a big-girl sized accident she had in it last night
-I have a second child
-I’m supposed to wear clothes to church. A slip and knee-highs (yes I said knee-highs) just don’t fit the “dress code.”

With things like this coming up at the last minute, I don’t know how I’m expected to be on time, especially since DYD was driving and let’s just say that HIS special powers are of no use to us when it comes to getting somewhere in a hurry.

For our secret plan today, we decided we HAD TO LEAVE by 11:00, even though it only takes 10 minutes to get there. So when we left at 11:17, fully car-seated, dressed, and dos-childed, we arrived on time, even though we left “late”. Ha HA!

I had second thoughts today about giving out my web address to people I know in real life when I walked in and was greeted with, “Hey. Nice Mullet!” (that is, assuming the person who said that reads my blog and didn’t just see my hair and think it looked like a mullet….)

Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.

Somehow it came up in conversation the other day that Dan can eat more Whoppers than any of his fellow GEEKS (Genius Extraordinary Engineering Kick-butt Superstars) at MegaCorp.

This became the topic of much conversation and it was decided that if he were an X-Man, that would be his special power.

It’s raining malted milk balls in your town. Men, women and children are running for their lives. Who do you call? Why, Daring Young Dad, of course.

I too have a special power which I have mentioned previously on this weblog. Call it a gift, a talent, or a freakish genetic mutation. Lately I have an absolutely uncanny ability to get the best possible parking spot at all times.

Today at Tar-zhay:

Hate me, if you will. I only intend to use these powers for good, striving for a world where humans and brilliant-mutant-parking-spot-goddesses can peacefully co-exist.

I have decided that from now on, parking spots will be the theme of this blog.

Some girlfriends and I took our kids out to a slightly too fancy restaurant for lunch. It was a restaurant where, if you’re lucky, a large sea lion will squash your car while you eat.

Picture a classy restaurant overlooking the Puget Sound, full of business women and men and one table that had been accidentally transported in from Chuck-E-Cheese.

3 moms, six kids aged 3 and under, a combined bill of over $70. The kids were boiling over onto the other tables, asking why they couldn’t have sippy cups and why the napkins weren’t made of paper. Crackers and grapes were strewn everywhere and they just wanted to get out and touch the water. I think everyone in the restaurant wanted to grant them that wish.

After the meal, we took a short drive and a little walk out onto the cement boardwalk. One friend had spent a dollar on a bag of bread so we could feed the seagulls. Not only was this the highlight of our day, but possibly the highlight of Laylee’s life (she has a very short memory).

The greatest things in life truly are free, or at least cost less than $70.

They gather.

Out comes the bread.

Hold on to your hats and let the good times begin.

Mine…mine….mine. Those Nemo filmmakers really did their seagull research. Holy crazy-attack-birds batman!

Laylee seems unfazed, an angel with wings.

Jumping for joy.

Birds, shmirds. Dude, where’s my nap?

10 points if you can see the Space Needle. Go Seahawks!

She feeds them in a strange bowling motion…

…..then laughs uncontrollably.

And the kick is GOOD!

All gone bread. It’s okay. The seagulls are about to explode and we really don’t want to witness that….

…so let’s turn our attention to the….. monolith. This is apparently the birthplace of Seattle. From what I hear, it was a messy experience, no epidural, and no indoor plumbing.

Real estate along the water is sold at a premium. Several brand new condo and apartment complexes rise into the sky. Amazingly, in between them are sprinkled smallish houses, some much more rundown and tinier than this one. I wonder who held out to keep their property when I’m sure the offers ran in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions.

If this were my grandma’s house, would I keep it for the memories after her passing or sell it to the highest bidder? I’m really not sure.

Things I’ve Learned Today:

1. When the sun is shining in The Seattle – in winter – after it’s been raining for 30 days, you’d better run outside and enjoy it.
It ain’t gonna last.

2. I was born to achieve grocery store parking spot super-stardom.
It is my DEN-SITY.

3. I believe in euthanasia for fish…..if Karli performs it.
Karli was over today when I noticed the mamma guppie all a-float. Her lifeless body was freaking me out so I asked Karli to flush it. She performed a tasteful funeral followed by the flushing.

I then surprised myself by begging her to flush the other one too. He’s still alive but he just lost his true love, who was probably bearing his love-children, he hasn’t eaten in days and I don’t want to watch him suffer. (Besides, what if he dies when Karli isn’t over? I am not strong enough to flush another one. I’m definitely not strong enough to save the corpse and take it in for a rebate. That is just too sick.)

Hennison will be sorely missed. Please keep Jack in your prayers. Karli refused to grant his pathetic plea for help.

4. It is patently hilarious when I hold my laptop over my head, whilst screaming like a girl, to keep fat-boy Magoo from smashing it to pieces.

5. If the power lines are on fire, call 9-1-1.
My first instinct was to call Dan and ask him who to call. His first instinct was to say, “Hang up now and dial 9-1-1.” Their first instinct was to say that I had made the right decision, especially considering the power lines were running through a forest… next to a residential neighborhood.

6. Snow White’s princess powers and identity crumble when the gown is in the wash.
My mom called today and said, “Hello Snow White.”

Laylee hung her head and admitted sadly, “No. I’m just a girl.” She was wearing a super-lame t-shirt and pants ensemble at the time. Preschoolers everywhere, ring out your derision.

By meal-time the Snow was back on and she remembered to thank the Giver of all good gifts in her dinner prayer:

Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank you for our chili beans and table and paper towels and books and Daddy and Mommy and Magoo and a girl, um…. I mean SNOW WHITE, and our chili beans and mashed potatoes and white sauce and cheese. Jesus Christ Amen.

Four jobs I’ve had:
1. Selling things made of horse-shoes…in a booth…at “the mall”
2. Piano Teacher
3. Associate Librarian over a massive media department at a public library
4. Marketing and Sales Coordinator for a digital library company

Four movies I would watch over and over (today’s choices):
1. Not One Less
2. Anne of Green Gables
3. Singin’ in the Rain
4. Gates of Heaven – a doc about a pet cemetary

Four places I’ve lived:
1. Calgary, Alberta
2. Florida Keys
3. Provo, Utah – Go Cougs!
4. Houston, TX

Four websites I visit daily:
1. Les Blogs – probably yours
2. Frugal Reader
3. Gmail
4. IMDB

Four of my favorite fattening foods:
1. Spinach/Artichoke dip
2. Two cheeseburgers at McD’s (yes, I’ve seen Super-Size Me and yes, I always order 2)
3. Nachos & Guac
4. Breast milk – but not for me. This is for fattening up other people.

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. In bed.
2. Cape May, NJ
3. With my mom in her time of need, you heartless rodent hater!
4. On a boat.

Four bloggers I’m tagging (optional, but more fun if you do it!):
Most all of my old-time blogging friends have done this, I think…….

Anyone who has been reading my blog for less than a month, please do the meme thing, tell me you’ve done it and I’ll come check out your site.

Literally. Today I post a poem I wrote as a sophomore in college.

I was always “one of the guys.” Periodically I got sick of “the guys” confiding in me, taking me out on non-dates when actual “girls” had ditched them. Sometimes I developed feelings for these “guys” and then I got dramatic and went through stages of moping.

Stage1: Write a poem.
Stage2: Write a song (actually a line, sometimes only a couple of mournful words, strung together by a chord).
Stage3. Paint an abstract depiction of my feelings.
Stage4. (this stage equals total heartbreak and only happened once) Burn abstract painting in kitchen sink, asphyxiating roomates and leaving black marks on the cabinets.

So the DYM has a whiney, self-pitying, destructive side? Umm…ye-ah!

The touch of a Fool

I know
A fool in love
With a woman
I know

Apologetic, whispering fingers
Reach
To brush my shoulder
A quivering knee creeps to meet mine

He craves the touch,
The truth of me
To remind him of

The woman
I know
He loves

Lunches are tricky for me.

There are a few staple breakfast foods that I feel can be recycled every day – cereal, waffles, pancakes, Raisin Bran, French toast, eggs, cereal with milk, oatmeal, cheerios, grits, shredded wheat, cereal, muffins, and oh – did I mention cereal?

Dinner is wide open, with choices ranging from family favorites to international cuisine (although we all know Indian food is best).

Lunch eludes me. Lunch I cannot get a handle on.

What makes a good sack lunch besides leftovers or a sandwich with carrot sticks?

If you’re dining in, what do you make for kids of all ages and for yourself? How do you present it?

Right now Laylee will only eat one food per day willingly. This item is decided at breakfast time and will be requested for all snacks and meals throughout the day. Even as she is “eating” her actual meal, she continues to ask for the chosen item. I usually give her what she wants once per day. What she wants are waffles, cereal, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and pizza. All fruits and vegetables must be forced or concealed.

I have a dream that one day she will eat like a normal person, Dan and I will actually start packing him a lunch, and I will gain the willpower to stop eating large amounts of pasta every single day for lunch. When that day comes, I will go back to this post and use your suggestions.

Just yesterday morning, a friend told me she was making soup to eat for the rest of the week every day for lunch. She said she was fed up and unable to come up with creative things to make for the mid-day meal.

I figure that if each of us gives at least one original suggestion, we’ll all have a lot to work with.

I like my mom’s idea of choosing a color for the entire meal. I remember orange days where we ate Mac&Cheese, carrots, oranges, and drank OJ. Very fun.

For sack lunches, it’s fun to do a bunch of snack foods – cheese cubes, hummus, veggies, crackers, ham cubes and a cup of yogurt.

For me, I may steal the soup idea, making one of my favorite low-fat soups and eating some each day for the week.

What have you got for me? What’s for lunch at your place?

White, that is.

Who knew that with advanced age, your kids would also advance in funniness? And, okay, maybe weirdness.
Laylee has been bedecked in Snow White attire for the past 2 weeks. All day, every day. Nighttimes too. I see no problem with this as long as she’s willing to wear pants under her gown when it’s cold and as long as I can launder it from time to time.

When the shell of her alter-ego is spinning in the evil torture chamber of cleanly death, she frequently checks on it and asks me if it’s done yet.

Me: Go put your hand on the washer and see if it’s still going “Rrrrrrrrrrr.” If it is, Snow White isn’t done yet.
Laylee (leaving and returning a minute later): I think it’s done.
Me: I can hear it going from here. It’s not done.

Laylee then flops to the ground, pretending to sob. I flip the page of my magazine and eat another bon-bon.

Friday night, DYD comes home from work.

DYD: Laylee! Can I have a big hug?
Laylee (turning away with a snooty expression): NO!
DYD: Oh, that’s too bad.
Laylee (turning back with a sly grin): My NAME is Snow White!
DYD: Can I have a big squeezy hug, Snow White?
Laylee: YES!

At the dentist yesterday, we enter the office and the dentist says, “Hello Snow White.”

Laylee turns back to me with her mouth and eyes open HUGE and gives me an astonished look that says, “He knows my NAME!”

We then go out for burgers and stop by the “mini-zoo” (read this – PETCO). Here we pick out new fish, guppies this time. We pick a boy and a girl, thinking it will be a riot to watch them reproduce and have little fishy babies.

Laylee names the daddy fish Jack (of course!) and the mommy fish Hennison (Don’t ask. I have no idea.). She keeps asking when the baby fish will come out. When we get home, she watches a movie with the fishies in close proximity.

We see no action. In fact, they aren’t even eating their food so we may end up taking PETCO up on their Tropical Fish Guarantee. That’s right””if your new pet bites the big one in it’s first 15 days with your family, you can bring the corpse in for a new, live one.

Dan wonders aloud if this guarantee works with the other pets they sell. You walk in, carrying your cat by the tail. “Our new kitty Buster Aloisius McFrick became roadkill last night. Can we please have a replacement?”

Snow White has been cracking jokes left and right. My current favorite is her use of a quote from the movie Cinderella this afternoon.

I was leaving for choir when she came up and asked, “Is that your dress?” flicking my wrap-around skirt open.

Me: Yes it is.
Laylee (with a twinkle in her eye): It looks like a blanket! Would you please hold my BROOM?! (breaking into hysterical laugher) That’s what the stepsister says. It’s so mean! (more laughter)

I don’t mind taking this kind of derision from Snow Laylee because:

A. She’s just experimenting with her sense of humor and comic timing.
B. She is hilarious.
C. She is barely 3.
D. Earlier today we had this conversation:

Laylee: You’re doing a good job coloring Mommy!
Me: Thanks. I like Care Bears.
Laylee: I said ‘You’re doing a good job’ and that was really nice. That’s called encourgent!
Me: Do you mean ‘encouragement’?
Laylee: Yes. I said something nice to you and you’re doing a good job. That’s called encouragement.

One last random bit of dialogue:

Laylee and I are coloring on the floor, concentrating hard on our masterpieces. A Raffi CD is playing quietly in the background.

Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin’ for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Comin’ for to carry me home

Laylee (laughing but not looking up): He’s TOO BIG!
Me: Who?
Laylee: Raffi. He’s TOO BIG!
Me: Too big for what?
Laylee: He says, “carry me home,” but THEY CAN’T! He’s TOO BIG! I’m little. You can carry me home. SOMEtimes. (shakes her head and laughs, never looking up from her coloring book)

And, finally – Here it is, unstyled and un-product-ed:

Let’s call a truce and dub it a “shag.”

May I direct your attention to – the new girl.

“Why?” you ask.

Okay. I will tell you.

I’m not sure how she found my site but she emailed me with Blogger questions.

When I asked her to send me her URL, she responded that it was www.shutupnoway.blogspot.com .

That was not a joke.

She calls her kids “Thing 1” and “Thing 2.”

She frequently wears a mountian climber’s light, mounted to her forehead.

She has been blogging for approximately 10 minutes.

Check her out.

Enough of the serious stuff. Let’s get down to what you really come here to read about – my hair.

Karen and my hair dresser and a bunch of other people have suggested using a blow dryer and round brush to transform the mullet-ness of the layers. I cackle.

Me wielding a round brush and blow dryer to shape my hair would be as effectual as someone handing me a sword and asking me to defend my family from the invading Visigoths. My hairs, like my family members, would all lie down in a pathetic, defeated lump. Dead. All dead. No life remaining.

However, thanks to the help of Karli (a real, outfit-wearing, hair-fixing, girl-type person), loads of styling ‘product’ and a lady I don’t know who works at the local self-storage/shipping place, I think we have the mullet under control. It doesn’t even look that bad.

Walking into her little store, I asked the lady, “You are a stranger so you don’t have to be nice. Tell me honestly, does my hair look like a mullet to you?” She laughed and said, “No.”

“Seriously,” I said. “I know it’s not a full-blown mullet, but don’t you think it’s a little bit over the edge towards the mullet side of the hair spectrum? I promise I won’t get mad.”

She examined my hair and concluded that all I needed to do was to curl it with a big-barreled curling iron. Sounded easy enough.

Karli was more ambitious. She came over with root lifter, spray gel, a round brush and blow dryer. When she was done, it looked pretty good.

I did not wash said hair for fully 48 hours, afraid that it would combust into an incendiary display of mulletude upon air-drying.

Yesterday morning I got brave and decided to try it myself, take an actual shower, and do a cross between Karli’s wizardry and shop-lady’s suggestion. I applied the product to my roots. I blew it dry with my head hanging upside down.

Then came the part where I was going to curl it. This was easier said than done since every piece of hair on my head is now a different length than the ones next to it.

Laylee: What are you doing?
Me: Curling my hair.
Laylee: Are you curling your hair?
Me: Yep. Not very well.
Laylee: You’re curling your hair?
Me: Yep.
Laylee: You’re not doing a very good job.
Me: Thanks.

But it ended up looking good and now I’m embarrassed to post the pictures because they don’t look like a mullet at all.

The front view:

The back:

The side:

The highlights:

The good news for you mullet-hungry readers out there is that I will not be willing to spend 40 MINUTES EVERY DAY to achieve this look, so next time I get out of the shower and let it air dry, I will take a picture for you too.

After a windy trip to the park, the giant natural blow-dryer had transformed it a bit and I liked it even more. I’m now considering installing a wind-tunnel in the master bathroom.

If I pulled it up, I looked a bit like that weird hair lady from Cold Case (never seen the show due to irrational fear of weird hair).

So what is my point exactly, besides none whatsoever?

There is a Mullet-O-Spectral Scale against which all hair can be judged. My hair cannot truly be defined as a mullet but it definitely falls closer to the Mullatial end of the spectrum than I am comfortable with. Here’s a rough sketch of the scale as I see it:

I hope that clears things up for you. Basically, as my hair gets shorter or less uniform in length, I freak.

And, if all else fails, I wear a hat!

I promise never to post that many pictures of myself ever ever again.