It's another photo post!

I bought a digital camera a few weeks ago (months ago? It was February-ish, I think), and I have played with it some but not really taken the time to sit down and really work with it and see what's what. Here are a few pics I've taken with it over the past few weeks.

This is one of Shelby jumping on my bed.



I love the way her hair is all around her face!  And her smile! That girl is melting the ice caps!

This is one Zeb took...



I think he's a little young for those myspace angles, but they work for him. Also, I am soul-crushingly awkward.

This is one I took in the backyard as it was coming up a cloud.



A few minutes later, the sky opened up and soaked us!

This is one of CC. I find it very difficult to get a picture of her smiling. It's not that she doesn't smile, it's just that she won't hold the face long enough for the picture to take.



It's worth it when you get it, though, isn't it?

And last, but not least, here is one I took of Zeb.



That kid gets mad air, right?

It's a photo post!

Zeb is totally obsessed with playing brickbreaker on my BlackBerry. He loves this game. If I am not using my phone or taking a nap or something, I will let him play with it. Today, I was going through the pictures on my phone and I found these:













Good GRACIOUS! I love those kids.

Christmas, three weeks later.

It's not that I really needed to talk about Christmas. It's not like it was super amazing or anything. I just wanted to bring it up because I don't get it anymore. People make SUCH a big deal about Christmas...about the holidays in general, and I find it so confusing...and obnoxious, now that I really think about it. My mom was in a panic about what presents they were going to get for Zeb (as usual, my parents were strapped for money), about how they were going to afford presents for him and for the girls. I explained to her, repeatedly, that it is not that big a deal to young kids. They just like presents. And it's not like Zeb was particularly deserving of any expensive gifts ($3K 46 in LCD television, anyone?). I mean, what is the point of making a big deal out of bribing kids to behave so that Santa won't leave them a lump of coal (or a bundle of switches and a rotten potato, so the saying goes in my family), if you are just going to go all out and blow a fuck ton of money on presents for them? What Zeb NEEDED from my parents for Christmas was clothes, and thank god Samantha, Liz, and I went with her Christmas shopping to make sure she got him some. But she still wanted to get him presents. The boy is NINE. It's not like he needed a car, or a computer. He likes toys...he is just a kid! It's not like my mom needed to go all out for him. He's got PARENTS for god's sake.

I guess the point I want to make comes down to this: one year for Christmas, all Samantha and I got were matching Tinkerbell caboodle boxes with lipgloss and nailpolish. One present each from Santa, plus whatever our Grandma sent us (I think that was the year she sent arts&crafts stuff, but my memory is pretty foggy), and we were totally okay with that. There was fruit and candy all around the tree, and it looked magical, and we were happy. And it's not like we were BAD, we were just POOR. It didn't ruin Christmas for us, we still believed in Santa, and life went on.

You can't BUY love. So, pay for what you can afford, get the kids what they actually deserve, and chill the FUCK OUT!!!!!

Keepin' it real.....real awkward.

I went away to camp for three months this past summer. While I was gone my parents found Jesus. I thought Samantha was kidding when she told me, but she was completely serious. I flew home on a Saturday. The next morning my mom woke me up to ask me if I wanted to go to church with them. Me. In a church. Can you imagine? I laughed because I thought she was kidding, but the look in her eyes stopped me mid-chuckle...she was honestly inviting me. I declined as politely as I could.

Now, I have the advantage of having a sister who is just like me. We are a pair of liberal, pagan heathens (it is possible that is redundant, but we had a neighbor growing up who referred to children as "heathens" so I associate that word more often with wild children rather than godless hellions). I have a partner in staying home Sunday mornings, even though I am usually the one staying home and she is usually the one going to work what with my current state of unemployment and her current state of employment.

Now, let me be clear, I don't actually care if my parents go to church. I wouldn't even care if Samantha started going to church. If that makes them happy (and please allow me to assure you, it makes them VERY happy) then I am all for them going. I am just not going. And it kills my mom. It just eats at her that we are not interested in going to church. I am sorry, I have never been to church with you before in my life...I am 24 years old, don't try to help me find Jesus now.

For Thanksgiving the church had a lunch/dinner party thing after the service. Both of our parents wanted us to go, and Samantha was on board, but they didn't wake her up beforehand, so she didn't get the chance to go. Sweet. I was not so lucky this time around. Samantha made it a point to let our parents know she wanted to come to the Christmas program and dinner, and if she was going to go that meant I had to go. Not only because I couldn't send her alone, but because I would NEVER hear the end of it.

So, this morning we got up bright and early (you know, at like 9:30 am!) and got ready for the program. We elected to skip the service and show up, instead, for just the Christmas play...you know...Joseph&Mary and the angels and the shepherds and the wise men and Jesus and all that. Samantha had drove across town to pick Cheri up since her daughters were both IN the play and everyone agreed it'd be sweet for her to get to see them, so we showed up a little after the play started. Once we found the door, we realized we had to wander through the ENTIRE cast waiting for the cue to start their way down the aisle to the front of the church.

Awesome.

We interrupted the entire thing and managed to make it to an empty pew IN THE FRONT of the church (since, for some reason, everyone was sitting in the back). Cheri went in first with Samantha right behind her, and they both sat down without leaving me any room, so I had to make them move down further. At this point, I would say I was definitely wishing for an anonymous death. There were 30 people trying to figure out who the fuck we were and what we were doing there...of course, it became all too clear when CC came tearing out of the back squealing "MOMMY!" at the top of her lungs. We sat and enjoyed the show (my dad was a wise man, Shelby was an angel, and Zeb was a shepherd).

After the play (and after "Joseph" knocked an ENTIRE pew over), everyone wandered into the back to eat. Because what is a Christmas play w/o tons of food, amirite? Samantha and I are obviously very uncomfortable, but she was willing to wait it out, so I sucked it up and kept my mouth shut. My dad introduced us to the pastor, which was painful, and then we, too, made it to the back corner and took up shop at what I referred to as the pagan table with the structurally questionable chairs. I mean, these chairs looked like they were being held together by rust and miracles, so yeah, I did not sit down because I was seriously terrified that the chair would not hold me. Being fat rules.

Our mom came back to say hi and introduce us to some more people. We mumbled hello uncomfortably, and then were offered food by several passersby, our parents included. My mom asked me 5 or 6 different times if I wanted a plate. Even Samantha asked me. I said no every time. I was not hungry, and I couldn't focus on eating, I was too busy trying to keep from throwing up, crying, or both with my fantastic luck. As the other tables filled, patrons wandered down to our table and began taking seats there. Again I was told "you can eat, if you want to," to which I politely replied "no thank you, I am not hungry." I KNOW I AM ALLOWED TO EAT. I COOKED HALF THAT SHIT. IF I WERE HUNGRY, I'D EAT. BUT I'M NOT HUNGRY.

At around this point, Samantha had managed to fix herself a plate of food and to bring us both glasses of tea, but neither of us was comfortable. At all. My mom asked me AGAIN if I wanted a plate, and I told her to stop asking me because she was going to give me a panic attack. I think it hurt her feelings, but what was I supposed to tell her? No was not cutting it, and I wasn't going to say yes because I have better things to do than lie about wanting a plate of food. Yeesh.

After a bout of child wrangling (our three were absolutely horrid, but that's par for the course) that resulted in me standing in the kid's area watching over Zeb and CC plus two other kids I didn't know to make sure they cleaned their plates and watching Shelby stand in the corner for a timeout because she kept playing with her food, we traded keys with my dad and got.the.fuck.out of there.

I came home, changed back into my pajamas, and went back to bed in the hope that I would be able to mentally lower my blood pressure.

Never. ever. ever. again. I hope they know that.

The Chaos

When I was younger I used to call it my "nervous condition." I think I got it from a book, and I thought it was a clever way to describe my response to everything. Now that this internet thing has taken off, I've been able to research my "nervous condition" and, while the internet is not a doctor, I have half the symptoms of, like, every anxiety disorder ever.

My Thanksgiving was wonderful. I went to my brother's apt and spent it with him, Liz, Hector*, Maya*, Zoe*, and Ally*. It was so peaceful! We watched movies (Role Models, Music Within,) ate all the fuds we could stand, and just relaxed and enjoyed the company. That night, I stayed up late, as usual, crocheting, listening to Christmas music, and cuddling with Ally. I woke up early (when they got up to take the girls out) and wasn't even bothered by it! Jason and I watched another movie, Manic, while we had breakfast (leftovers, haha), and then we all went to see New Moon.

There was no fighting, nothing broke, there was no mess. It was the best Thanksgiving ever.

Then I had to come home. I wasn't on the HIGHWAY before my nervous condition flared up. I got mild chest pains, the shakes, and just generally didn't feel well. By the time I got to the house, an hour and a half later, I was in a rage. I had already been informed that Zeb had punched my parents $3K 46in  LCD flat screen television, breaking it, natch. And he wasn't in trouble. I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN THE SHIT BEAT OUT OF ME, AND HE DIDN'T EVEN GET HIS FRIEND TAKEN HOME!!!!!! The injustice and double standards infuriate me. And I know it is selfish, but these are the things that trigger my nerves!

I came in and all three kids were in the house, running amok, as per usual, and I immediately started crowd control. I don't understand why my mom let's them come over. She doesn't like having them around. Don't get me wrong, she loves them, and she loves being needed, but she doesn't want to fucking watch them. Which is why whenever I am there I am the one who does all the damn watching of them. And the putting in timeouts. And the "WHY ARE YOU DOING THATs?!"

CC is currently being potty-trained. Which means she is wearing panties and peeing in them because she won't say if she has to go to the bathroom or not, even if you ask her. This resulted in her sitting on my bed, and then peeing on my comforter that will not fit in our backup washer that we have been using since the main washer broke. We don't use the heat in our house, so now I am stuck using two thin blankets and hoping I don't freeze to death because god only knows how long it will be before I can get my comforter washed.

This was just today. Is it ANY wonder I freak out all the time?

*cat, cat, dog, dog

On being raised by children.

We babysit these two little girls pretty regularly. To save time and explanation, let's call them my nieces. This story is specifically about the youngest one, CC, and how sassy and hilarious and smart she is. CC is two and a half. Before I left for camp at the end of May, she barely spoke. We are talking "mommy," "daddy," "cup," "Sam," and "Shelby" barely spoke. Apparently, halfway through the summer, she decided to USE HER WORDS to get her point across, and now...and now we have a little sassy talking monster on our hands!

Now, for background it is important that you know I have taken to giving the kids (Zeb, Shelby, and CC) time outs in the corner when they misbehave (usually in the form of running through the house, jumping on the furniture, screaming at each other, and sitting on the end table that can barely hold a cup and remote, much less a child). At the first offense, I ask if the offender would like a time out. The answer, invariably, is "NO!" to which I explain that he or she will receive a time out if they keep up the behavior. When it is done the second time, I simply point at the corner in the living room and say "GO!" With feet dragging, the victim of my horrible and cruel punishment slowly complies. It is always the same. I say "GO!" and point my arm straight out, index finger extended, and the culprit's face always falls as they make their way to the torture chamber. Once in position, I announce the length of the time out (2, 5, or 10 minutes) and he or she is to stand there quietly and use the time to discover what could've been done differently to avoid such an outcome.

Sunday, the day after Halloween, the kids were all at the house. The sugar highs were in full force and they were all bouncing off the walls. I ended up putting all the candy out of reach, including the container of orange slices that was on the kitchen table. I was sitting at the kitchen table with CC when she told me that if I did not put the orange slices back on the table, she was going to put me in a time out. "Do you need a time out?" she asked me. I could not help but be amused by this sudden turn of the tables, but managed to keep a straight face while I explained that not only was I not giving her the candy, since she was going to make herself sick on it, but that also she was not in the position to put me in the corner.

It was at this point, blog, that she looked me straight in the eye, extended her arm straight out with her index finger pointed directly at the corner, and she said to me in all seriousness, "GO!"