It's the beginning of summer vacation, and surprisingly, I've already been inflicted with the most serious of seasonal maladies: Public Pool Phobia. In Houston, when the weather turns from spring to summer, your hair becomes so frizzy you look like Beaker from the Muppet Show, your body begins to sweat if you even think of venturing outside, and the local pools become your only source of refuge. I went swimming five times last week folks, and that does not count two rounds of swimming lessons. I am already tired of packing picnic lunches, and my pool bag is already at a mid-August level of dishevelment.
I think public pools are gross. As my kids frolic about, I scan the other swimmers- and take silent bets as to who is peeing in the pool first. I wonder who was freshly showered before they jumped in, or who will be the first to close the pool for a "biohazard." (i.e. literally "dropping some kids off at the pool"). Two weeks ago, we were swimming at the local YMCA, and I noticed the lifeguards scouring the pool deck with round after round of Clorox Bleach. I started chatting it up with the 15 year old lifeguard, and congratulated him on his thoroughness. "Wow! This pool deck is cleaner than my kitchen floor!" I gleefully stated- suddenly feeling confident that this level of cleanliness will surely prevent me from having a bout of Pool Phobia this year.
"Hey lady, you've got to be kidding. You should have seen what happened here yesterday." He calmly replies as his eyes burn from the fumes of the bleach.
WARNING! If you happen to be noshing on something right now, avert your eyes away from your monitor.
Some eight year old kid was frolicking in the pool with his parents, when he suddenly became the victim of a gastrointestinal nightmare. He jumped out of the pool, screaming his head off, and pulled his pants down about 20 feet from the bathroom door. As the entire pool deck watched in horror, he left a poop trail of sickly evidence as he made his way to the bathroom. The parents, completely humiliated, kept offering to clean up the mess as the lifeguards played "rock, paper, scissors" to divide up the task.
"This happened YESTERDAY?" I screamed as I suddenly realized I was standing on the now infamous poop deck without wearing any shoes.
"Um yeah." pimply faced Lifeguard says. "I just remembered that my supervisor told me not to tell anybody today, so don't blow my cover, ok?"
Public Pool Phobia 2008 is now in full force. It doesn't help that I witnessed a friend's kid puking in a different pool last Friday. I think I need to go lay down now.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Everyone Was Kung Fu Fighting
Just got back from seeing the new "Kung Fu Panda" movie. It was hilarious. I laughed out loud, and Matt certainly laughed out loud and the kids laughed because we were laughing. A good time had by all. Matt is making his famous stir fry tonight for dinner, and I may wow the dinner table with a few kung fu moves. I'm good at impersonating fat panda bears.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Moving On
The roaches are throwing me a farewell party. For the last 3 nights, they have been waiting for me in my bathroom. This morning, one was sitting in Lucy's Pottery Barn Kids chair, drinking some chocolate milk out of a Cinderella sippy cup and he waved to me and wished me a "Good morning.". I promise to take a picture of one before I leave- just so those of you that have never personally experienced the joy of a Texas Tree Roach can see that this is not a typical Kristen exaggeration.
We are getting ready. I have sold a bunch of baby stuff, thrown out more than my fair share of a landfill and even have my junk drawer organized into neat little ziplocs. We are going to put our stuff in storage, and stay at my more-than-generous mother-in-law's fancy digs in Laguna Beach while she is out of town for the summer. This will give us time to get our bearings and take advantage of the ever-decreasing housing market in Orange County.
We are also fighting. This is typical of any move, and really, I was just waiting for the action to start. Matt and I finally stayed up late last night and talked it through- after five days of living in the land of Passive Aggressivia. His basic complaint is that I ignore him- which has been true, but in my defense, my biggest complaint is that when he comes home from work he acts like a Grand Pooba, and really, who wants to hang with a Grand Pooba? It's a vicious cycle, my friends. That vicious cycle of the stay-at-home-mom that feels unappreciated and the working husband who slaves away and believes no one recognizes his efforts.
So last night we packed up our boxes and hightailed it out of the land of Passive Aggressivia. I feel much better this morning. If our next move could only go so well.
We are getting ready. I have sold a bunch of baby stuff, thrown out more than my fair share of a landfill and even have my junk drawer organized into neat little ziplocs. We are going to put our stuff in storage, and stay at my more-than-generous mother-in-law's fancy digs in Laguna Beach while she is out of town for the summer. This will give us time to get our bearings and take advantage of the ever-decreasing housing market in Orange County.
We are also fighting. This is typical of any move, and really, I was just waiting for the action to start. Matt and I finally stayed up late last night and talked it through- after five days of living in the land of Passive Aggressivia. His basic complaint is that I ignore him- which has been true, but in my defense, my biggest complaint is that when he comes home from work he acts like a Grand Pooba, and really, who wants to hang with a Grand Pooba? It's a vicious cycle, my friends. That vicious cycle of the stay-at-home-mom that feels unappreciated and the working husband who slaves away and believes no one recognizes his efforts.
So last night we packed up our boxes and hightailed it out of the land of Passive Aggressivia. I feel much better this morning. If our next move could only go so well.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Random Musings
Totally disconnected thoughts about stuff that has happened lately.
Went to Annie's dance recital last week. If you remember, she totally hates dance. The only reason she continued to go every week was because 1). I bribed her with a ridiculously cute leotard that has a poofy tutu attatched. 2.) She knows she gets to dance in a recital on a REAL stage! With an audience full of people that CLAP! For HER! She's such a sucker.
Not to get all Mama Rose on your Gypsy ass or anything, but Annie was surprisingly, a pretty good dancer for the five and under set. Despite her placement in the far back corner (for attitude adjustments, she tells me) she did a great job of once again amending the approved dance moves with her own versions of hip shakes and jazz hands.
We finally got tired of listening to Lucy complain every night at bed time and bought her a big girl bed this weekend. (Really, bed times had become tiresome, and mornings, even worse. She would, upon awakening, scream out in her best demonic voice "MOMMY. I want to get up NOW." Seriously unpleasant at any time of the day, but pre-coffee banshee wailings seriously dampen my mornings). We splurged on a "real" mattress, as opposed to the particle board ones they feature in the kids furniture areas- but then we had to cheapen out on our delivery options. Instead of paying $80 to have them come in and set it up, we opted for the $40 and leave-it-at-the-door-while-I-pray-that-my-husband-is-home-to-deal-with-this.
The truck shows up, and the girls cheer as the two burly delivery guys start sweating all over my driveway. They were a little surprised at their greeting- being, after all, delivery guys and not Aerosmith astronauts off to save the world or something, but Lucy and Annie were seriously excited to see this bed come in that door. The guys were either so charmed by my anklebiters, or my peace offering (bribe) of a cold Sprite must have worked- because they carried the whole dang thing and set it up in 10 minutes flat.
We went to a barbecue at a friend's apartment complex yesterday. She works with Matt, and has been over to our house something like 58 times in the last two years. It was very nice of her to have us over to swim in her complex pool, and my kids stored up 58 times worth of annoying behavior to fully convince this woman not to ever have kids. Matt did not feel up to swimming, so he lounged on a lounge chair and had to suffer amongst all of the co-ed, nubile eye candy frolicking about while I sweated, sweated some more and toted two kids around the pool. Annie did pick this particular afternoon to put her head underneath the water and start doing this whole underwater doggie paddle thing. I was so excited, I started screaming, and one of the college guys almost swallowed his cigarette as he put down his Zima and cheered her on.
Went to Annie's dance recital last week. If you remember, she totally hates dance. The only reason she continued to go every week was because 1). I bribed her with a ridiculously cute leotard that has a poofy tutu attatched. 2.) She knows she gets to dance in a recital on a REAL stage! With an audience full of people that CLAP! For HER! She's such a sucker.
Not to get all Mama Rose on your Gypsy ass or anything, but Annie was surprisingly, a pretty good dancer for the five and under set. Despite her placement in the far back corner (for attitude adjustments, she tells me) she did a great job of once again amending the approved dance moves with her own versions of hip shakes and jazz hands.
We finally got tired of listening to Lucy complain every night at bed time and bought her a big girl bed this weekend. (Really, bed times had become tiresome, and mornings, even worse. She would, upon awakening, scream out in her best demonic voice "MOMMY. I want to get up NOW." Seriously unpleasant at any time of the day, but pre-coffee banshee wailings seriously dampen my mornings). We splurged on a "real" mattress, as opposed to the particle board ones they feature in the kids furniture areas- but then we had to cheapen out on our delivery options. Instead of paying $80 to have them come in and set it up, we opted for the $40 and leave-it-at-the-door-while-I-pray-that-my-husband-is-home-to-deal-with-this.
The truck shows up, and the girls cheer as the two burly delivery guys start sweating all over my driveway. They were a little surprised at their greeting- being, after all, delivery guys and not Aerosmith astronauts off to save the world or something, but Lucy and Annie were seriously excited to see this bed come in that door. The guys were either so charmed by my anklebiters, or my peace offering (bribe) of a cold Sprite must have worked- because they carried the whole dang thing and set it up in 10 minutes flat.
We went to a barbecue at a friend's apartment complex yesterday. She works with Matt, and has been over to our house something like 58 times in the last two years. It was very nice of her to have us over to swim in her complex pool, and my kids stored up 58 times worth of annoying behavior to fully convince this woman not to ever have kids. Matt did not feel up to swimming, so he lounged on a lounge chair and had to suffer amongst all of the co-ed, nubile eye candy frolicking about while I sweated, sweated some more and toted two kids around the pool. Annie did pick this particular afternoon to put her head underneath the water and start doing this whole underwater doggie paddle thing. I was so excited, I started screaming, and one of the college guys almost swallowed his cigarette as he put down his Zima and cheered her on.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Cheap Tricks
My new obsession is looking at foreclosed homes. I've always been a bargain Betty, so why not shop for a bargain house? Last night I found a listing that originally was going for $1.7 million. They tried to short-sell it, and sadly, the bank eventually wound up taking possession. The bank listed it at $1.3 million, and it sold for last week for just over a million. That's CRAZY. Sure, a couple of kitchen cabinets were off their hinges, and the toilets were probably filled with unseemly things, but still! Crazy.
It makes me sad to see pictures of foreclosed or short-sell homes that feature the kids rooms. These poor families got in way over their heads, and I wonder where they are all moving to? Would the house have bad mojo- like it knew it was a bargain and therefore would burn out all of your lightbulbs and the heat would never turn on right? But sheesh. With bargains like that, I'll flush some pottties and hang some cabinet doors. My husband disagrees- he thinks this is a waste of my time, that I'm living in lala land and he doesn't want to hear about it anymore. So stay tuned, this could get interesting.
It makes me sad to see pictures of foreclosed or short-sell homes that feature the kids rooms. These poor families got in way over their heads, and I wonder where they are all moving to? Would the house have bad mojo- like it knew it was a bargain and therefore would burn out all of your lightbulbs and the heat would never turn on right? But sheesh. With bargains like that, I'll flush some pottties and hang some cabinet doors. My husband disagrees- he thinks this is a waste of my time, that I'm living in lala land and he doesn't want to hear about it anymore. So stay tuned, this could get interesting.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Pride Cometh Before A Puke
So I'm trying to rally up some girlfriends to go see the new Sex In the City movie next week. I thought it would be fun if we wore cocktail dresses, and then went out for some libations afterwards. My girlfriend invited me to tag along to an already existing SITC event- where they are all wearing their sassiest shoes. This reminded me of a funny story...
Back in college- Matt and I went to different schools. I was at UCLA, he was at Cal. He got a job for the sole purpose of buying me plane tickets so I could come up and visit him. He invited me to a fraternity formal, and realizing I had nothing to wear, I decided to go shopping. I fell in love with this black Karen Kane outfit. It was totally out of my price range. I had no money, and really did not deserve the Bullocks chargecard they so graciously bestowed upon me. I maxed the sucker out with the outfit, and some new shoes- and thinking I was brilliant, I tucked the tag up in the sleeve and fully intended to return it when I got back from San Francisco.
Unfortunately, I did not account for the magical destructive power of Fred's Fondue. It was this nasty fondue joint in Berkeley that we all went to for a pre-party dinner. We gorged on a disgusting Velveeta concoction that could only be made bearable by washing it down with the 1993 equivalent of Trader Joes' Two Buck Chuck. Everybody got disgustingly full, and even drunker. I celebrated by jigging around the table, and showing my class by proudly displaying my price tag and bragging about how tricky I was.
By the time we made it to the formal, I was sitting across a table from a friend who is now a serious chemist at an Ivy League institution. He played rugby, prided himself on ingesting large quantities of pork products, and mistakenly thought his iron stomach would protect him from the ravages of Fred's Fondue.
He was wrong. Really, really wrong. He propped his head in his hands, and proceeded to puke underneath the table. The splashes completely ruined my chances of a retail return, and I was suddenly sober. Stone cold sober, suddenly tragically broke, and clutching the vestiges of a fondue-laced price tag in my hand.
Back in college- Matt and I went to different schools. I was at UCLA, he was at Cal. He got a job for the sole purpose of buying me plane tickets so I could come up and visit him. He invited me to a fraternity formal, and realizing I had nothing to wear, I decided to go shopping. I fell in love with this black Karen Kane outfit. It was totally out of my price range. I had no money, and really did not deserve the Bullocks chargecard they so graciously bestowed upon me. I maxed the sucker out with the outfit, and some new shoes- and thinking I was brilliant, I tucked the tag up in the sleeve and fully intended to return it when I got back from San Francisco.
Unfortunately, I did not account for the magical destructive power of Fred's Fondue. It was this nasty fondue joint in Berkeley that we all went to for a pre-party dinner. We gorged on a disgusting Velveeta concoction that could only be made bearable by washing it down with the 1993 equivalent of Trader Joes' Two Buck Chuck. Everybody got disgustingly full, and even drunker. I celebrated by jigging around the table, and showing my class by proudly displaying my price tag and bragging about how tricky I was.
By the time we made it to the formal, I was sitting across a table from a friend who is now a serious chemist at an Ivy League institution. He played rugby, prided himself on ingesting large quantities of pork products, and mistakenly thought his iron stomach would protect him from the ravages of Fred's Fondue.
He was wrong. Really, really wrong. He propped his head in his hands, and proceeded to puke underneath the table. The splashes completely ruined my chances of a retail return, and I was suddenly sober. Stone cold sober, suddenly tragically broke, and clutching the vestiges of a fondue-laced price tag in my hand.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Make New Friends But Ditch the Old
Tonight- I got this email from a new friend of mine. He's a busy guy, but surprisingly, he finds the time to email me pretty regularly. I only sent him $25, but I guess that's enough to make him a pen pal. I want to thank my friend. Thank him for making me feel like all is not lost, that my brother will return home from war and that everyone in this country can go to the doctor for an asthma attack and find out they are not having a heart attack. I want to thank my friend for insisting on flying commercial- so he can have a chance to talk to constituents. I want to thank my friend for making me feel like a John F. Kennedy groupie. I want to thank him for making me second guess whether all politicians are jaded, shady, greedy (Have you seen how much Cheney has profited privately from his investments in Iraq?). For any random person outside the United States that has stumbled across this blog in search of new Colin Firth pictures, I hope my new friend can show you that America is not filled with selfish bullies that specialize in bungling foreign policy. My new friend can be your friend too. I promise.
Kristen --
The polls are closed in Kentucky and votes are being counted in Oregon, and it's clear that tonight we have reached a major milestone on this journey.
We have won an absolute majority of all the delegates chosen by the people in this Democratic primary process.
From the beginning, this journey wasn't about me or the other candidates. It was about a simple choice -- will we continue down the same road with the same leadership that has failed us for so long, or will we take a different path?
Too many of us have been disappointed by politics and politicians more times than you can count. We've seen promises broken and good ideas drowned in a sea of influence, point-scoring, and petty bickering that has consumed Washington.
Yet, in spite of all the doubt and disappointment -- or perhaps because of it -- people have stood for change.
Unfortunately, our opponents in the other party continue to embrace yesterday's policies and they will continue to employ yesterday's tactics -- they will try to change the subject, and they will play on fears and divisions to distract us from what matters to you and your future.
But those tactics will not work in this election.
They won't work because you won't let them.
Not this time. Not this year.
We still have work to do to in the remaining states, where we will compete for every delegate available.
But tonight, I want to thank you for everything you have done to take us this far -- farther than anyone predicted, expected, or even believed possible.
And I want to remind you that you will make all the difference in the epic challenge ahead.
Thank you,
Barack Obama
Kristen --
The polls are closed in Kentucky and votes are being counted in Oregon, and it's clear that tonight we have reached a major milestone on this journey.
We have won an absolute majority of all the delegates chosen by the people in this Democratic primary process.
From the beginning, this journey wasn't about me or the other candidates. It was about a simple choice -- will we continue down the same road with the same leadership that has failed us for so long, or will we take a different path?
Too many of us have been disappointed by politics and politicians more times than you can count. We've seen promises broken and good ideas drowned in a sea of influence, point-scoring, and petty bickering that has consumed Washington.
Yet, in spite of all the doubt and disappointment -- or perhaps because of it -- people have stood for change.
Unfortunately, our opponents in the other party continue to embrace yesterday's policies and they will continue to employ yesterday's tactics -- they will try to change the subject, and they will play on fears and divisions to distract us from what matters to you and your future.
But those tactics will not work in this election.
They won't work because you won't let them.
Not this time. Not this year.
We still have work to do to in the remaining states, where we will compete for every delegate available.
But tonight, I want to thank you for everything you have done to take us this far -- farther than anyone predicted, expected, or even believed possible.
And I want to remind you that you will make all the difference in the epic challenge ahead.
Thank you,
Barack Obama
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