Wednesday, April 27, 2005

Oh Happy Day

Was just trying to uncover the history of this new movie, Kingdom of Heaven, which stars the Elf-a-licious Orlando Bloom, and discovered that he's signed on for the second and third installment of Pirates of the Caribbean.

And upon uncovering that, I see that Johnny Depp will also be in attendance.

It's funny. I was never a big Johnny Depp fan. Saw him mostly as Tim Burton's monkey boy, until I saw POTC. I went to the movie, expecting to have some Orlando Bloom fantasy material, and walked away a Depp believer. The man can act. And he's HOT. Moreso in eyeliner. But that's the drama fag in me speaking.

So anyway...prepare for a few more movies with the lovely Captain Jack Sparrow. Yummy.

Oh, and that Kingdom of Heaven movie...Ridley Scott (of Alien and Gladiator) says it will be bigger than Gladiator. When you hype your own shit like that, it's bound to bomb. Like the 4th Alien. But Joss penned that one, so we forgive.

Monday, April 25, 2005

It's the little things

that you thank God for...

This week that little thing is a letter from MSD Pike Township, stating that The DQP got into all day kindergarten.

And the world rejoiced.

Friday, April 22, 2005

Under here...scroll down...

It's the only way I could figure out how to get a few pics on here from the DQP's party last weekend. Three seperate entries. I'm sure you'll deal. :)

The castle cake

The castle cake
Originally uploaded by aksteele13.

Oh yeah, who's bad?

Pin the Kiss on the Frog Prince (and blinded children)

Pin the Kiss on the Frog Prince (and blinded children)
Originally uploaded by aksteele13.

Here are our guests in front of the game.

The DQM accepts a kiss from her loyalest of subjects

The DQM accepts a kiss from her loyalest of subjects
Originally uploaded by aksteele13.

Can't figure out how to get all the photos under one heading, so four entries it is. This is from the DQP's Knights and Ladies Party just a week ago.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

My trip to the doctor

I am not sure when I will ever learn you just don't take kids on your doctor appointments, but what else are ya gonna do? My "what should have been 20 minute" doctor visit this morning took more than an hour. Here's the short list of why it was no good:

Get there on time. Check in. Good. Go to the room. Still doing well. Then, "Mommy, I hafta go potty". Which isn't just down the hall. It's out the main door in the lobby, so I hafta go too, apparently. On the way out, I bump into the doctor, who says "Where are you going? It's your turn". "Potty," I say. "Oh, that's fine. I'll just go in here and see this patient first." OKAY. Let's add about 20 minutes to my time here.

Better yet: FALSE ALARM on that pee problem.

Back to the office. Which is no longer fun for anyone.

WeeMan doesn't sit still. Ever. Not in a lap, not on the floor, not with toys. Always moving. Not good when the the doctor comes barreling in and just about takes out the boy with the door.

Now the doctor gives me grief about him being in front of the door. "You really need to watch him. I could have taken him out with that door". Well no shit, there, buddy. Maybe a quick knock would have been good so I could clear a path for Your Majesty.

Then the screaming began. Boy wants up NOW. Pick him up, and screaming continues in my left ear. Then Girl climbs into my lap and starts humming in my right ear.

Now Doc is really pissed that I can't understand what instructions he's giving me in my 2.5 minutes allowed by HMO healthcare with him.

Next to the lab. Have you ever tried having a big needle rammed into your arm while holding a demon? That's pretty much what it was like.

Checkout, fine. Go down in the elevator, get all the way out to the car.

"Mommy? I left my sippy cup under the chair in the waiting room".

Friday, April 15, 2005

Almost six years ago...

I found out I was having a baby. Suprised, as we'd only tried *one* day, but elated and excited at the prospect of sharing our lives with a new little person. We'd only been married six weeks. We'd just moved into our new home, bought a puppy, and were settling into our new life. But we were nonetheless overjoyed. Here would be a new life, a little bit of me, a little bit of him. Something that would live beyond us, and go on in the world to remind it that we once were here.

Joy was soon thwarted by fear. My little one had to share her space with an intruder. An "evil twin", which wanted to take her lifeblood, move into her space, and crowd her into oblivion. Doctors didn't know what to do but sit and wait. We were told that our precious baby may not live. And if she did, she very well could be deformed, have serious respiratory or pulmonary problems, be born way too soon. In fact, at week 16, I was still given the option to terminate, if I wanted to. I knew that was not an option. If she were anything like her mother, she'd hang in there and prove everyone wrong, even if just to be stubborn.

And she did hold on. She was tenacious. She beat the bad guy, and surpassed expectations. Not only was she not born prematurely, she showed up three days late. She wasn't the tiny preemie we'd prepared for, she was a beautiful 8 pounds, three ounces. The few clothes and diapers we had purchased wouldn't fit her. We hadn't had a baby shower for her, for fear it would all have to be returned.

After almost 24 hours of labor, so much worry and panic, we were ready to meet our little girl. She came into this world peacefully, quietly, at almost 10pm. After so much struggle, it was most amazing to me how quietly the world can change. How darkness can be replaced by light in a small baby's cry. "My Angel", I called her, as they brought the little red-faced bundle to me. My little miracle. We quietly sang happy birthday, while I drank in every feature, from her tiny fingernails to her pouty mouth. She was meant to be here. She was meant to show me that my life meant so much more than just "being". She was given to me, a blessing from God, to enrich my life, show me true sacrifice, and teach me more about who I am than I'd have ever figured out alone.

She was to show me that to have life is not the gift. The gift is to give life.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

They say it's your birthday...well, whoop-e-dee-do...

Huge whine ahead. HUGE. Stop now if you don't like pity parties.

Today started out actually worse than most days. The only thing I asked for on my birthday was to sleep in...just until 7:30. The man sleeps in every day and is late to work every other day, so what's one more day, right?

The Wee Prince decided that 6:30 was wake up time. Screaming, as per usual. I don't remember when they start waking up babbling and happy, but he just doesn't. I listened for a few minutes, even kicked Jer's leg in "turning over" to see if he'd go do the bottle and give me even fifteen extra minutes of sleep. NOpe.

So I'm up. And sore. And puffy. See, I had an hour long crying episode last night at eleven while getting out of the tub. Too much fat, getting too old, hating looking like I do and even whilst doing something about it, seeing NO results. And quitting nursing does NOT make you lose weight. NOT ONE BIT. Anyway, I threw something and the mirror and sobbed for awhile. Pity Me Party....Table for One, please.

Whatever. I'm up, it's the asscrack of dawn and I can hardly see through these puffy slits that used to be my eyes. But I got him a bottle. And upon finishing it, and having a diaper change, he just.kept.screaming. So, mean mommy that I am, I rocked him a bit, threw him back in the crib, and tried to stuff pillows in my ears while he cried it out back to sleep. And he did finally sleep, till nine, so I guess he was tired. Man, so am I.

It's now 10:48. I've cleaned the upstairs bathroom of a pee accident (yes, ANOTHER ONE) that the DP left me and neglected to tell me about, I've done dishes, washed the livingroom windows, made breakfast, and made a cake for the DP's birthday party at school tomorrow. I've replaced a full shelf of scripts from the office bookshelf that The Prince decided needed to be on the floor, done a load of laundry, and fielded two birthday phonecalls that just made me want to cry, not rejoice.

I understand that when you're a grownup, your birthday is just like any other day. No big. But did it have to suck THIS BAD?

End whine. DP's birthday is in two days. I'll come up with something nice to say then.

Friday, April 08, 2005

Spiritual Schoolin'

As I put the Drama Princess to bed the other night, she began to cry. Big heaving sobs. She was sad that Littlefoot had to leave his father and brother behind to go back to the meadow where he lives (some Land Before Time Nineteen or something that we watched on Cartoon Network earlier that day). She was very sad that he had to be away from his dad. I get that. This is the same kid that cried watching Dumbo at age two because "Dumbo can't be wif her mommy"...she's pretty empathetic, that one.

So, somehow, this seques into "I'm very sad that Jesus had to go back and live with his father, too". With Easter just passed, my husband apparently tried to give her the cliff notes version of why it's about more than a bunny and Cadbury Eggs. (Although with our church non-attendance the last five years, you could have fooled me, but whatever.) We rolled out sugar cookies at Easter, and used many cutters: bunnies, eggs, flowers, and a cross. I can see where the cross really doesn't fit in to a five year old. So, Jer gave the shortened version. Basically "Jesus was a good man and a teacher. He wanted peace and love, and he wanted to teach people about his Dad, who we all came from originally." Then, the Easter story in two sentences: "he died, but came back after three days to bring a message to the people about his father. After he gave the message, he went back to Heaven to be with his Dad. The Cross represents his death and his coming back as a miracle on Easter Sunday".

There you go. Not too shabby, for an out of practice, freethinking, Liberal Christian. As an aside, try explaining how someone comes back from the dead without fangs to a kid who watches "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" regularly.

So back to the other night. DP asks me "So, how did he die, mommy?"

Oh boy.

Where would you go with this? I went for the cop out, neglecting the whole nails and thorny crown details. "Some bad men who were in charge didn't like what he was teaching people. More and more people were following Jesus, and not following the current government. Jesus was a threat. So the government had him killed." It took everything in my power to make no allusions to Dubya.

She doesn't care about Pontius Pilate being conflicted, nor about the fact that it actually came down to the people, who chose to release a murderer instead. Nor does she need to. I'm not even sure I know the story that well, to tell the truth.

I'm a Christian, but more in a vague, "Jesus had some good things to teach the people" way than in a "Read My Bible and live it to the letter, or you will burn in the firey pits of Hell" way.

I don't believe you must even be a Christian to share time with God after you die. I think Buddah, Allah, and Yahweh are just other names for the same God.
I think that all religions want to teach the same basic spirituality and that different messengers were sent to different people to get the message across.

But I do believe that Jesus was God's actual son, so therefore I take on the "Christian" monniker. But beyond that, I am just not sure. And those that are *just that sure* kinda scare me. And the fact that many of those people think that I am *not* a Christian for the very explanations I gave above, have kept me from Church these many years. I just can't fathom going somewhere that preaches exclusiveness, isolation, and intolerance. I felt more hatred and exclusion whilst sitting in some contemporary Christian Churches than I ever felt before. I grew up Catholic. At least I could pass the time looking at statues while the priest droned on and on...but at the most recent of the churches we attended, I just felt angry. Angry that intolerance was cloaked in being able to wear jeans and listen to a rock band instead of a pipe organ.

We stopped going to that church after some of the members, my "friends"
hesitated to allow us to host the weekly bible study in our new home, because we were not married, and therefore they might be "condoning our sins" if they came to our home to learn more about God. This was such an issue that it was run through the pastor himself before we were "allowed" to host the group in our home. After that incident, I reoved myself from those "friendships" and that church entirely.

But I think the basics are important: love thy neighbor, the ten commandments, etc. A moral base never harmed anyone, right? And her questions are beginning to warrant more complicated answers that I'm just not qualified to answer anymore.

So where, exactly am I going to send this child of so many questions to go to Sunday school? I don't want to spend my Sunday afternoons Deprogramming what was learned that morning. The church shopping begins in June, upon our return from vacation.

Wish me luck.

Monday, April 04, 2005

Things you must love so we can get along

1. Lofthouse cookies. You know, the cake-like sugar cookies that are buried under all the thick frosting-y goodness, then sprinkled with something festive to match the holidays? Buy me some of these and be my friend. Point me towards the Kroger after easter sale where a 24 pack was marked down to 99 cents from eight bucks. I will then proceed to the Kroger, purchase three packages, wrap and freeze two and eat the other. All. By. Myself. Not that anyone has recently bought my friendship this way...purely hypothetical, you see.

2. Joss Whedon. And any spawn of his genius. Buffy, Angel, how I love you so. I just finished the DVD set of the too-soon-cancelled Firefly TV series. If you too want me to send you a coconut cream pie for sharing all the JossLove, you will loan me your copy, as did my neighbors, who I now LOVE. And who are they themselves thanking me for being a friend, while stuffing themselves silly with the fruit of my oven.

3. A big, fat filet mignon, smothered in portobello and brandy cream sauce. Take me to the place there out in Danville that serves that alongside some grilled asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes and I will love you forever. I will also have sex with you. Oh wait, that part of the offer was just for my husband, who lucked out and found said restaurant and the fantastic meat dish that awaited me just inside it's doors.

4. Big fat, jammie pants. It's an addiction. I buy and I buy, and I continue to need more jammie pants. If you find a giant pair of Old Navy men's jammie pants with screen printing of the Devil on them at Goodwill, then tell me they cost all of a dollar, I will forever be indebted to you. My daughter, for instance. Good eye for whimsical prints, that one. And for her astute good taste, she was rewarded with the item she most desired from the Goodwill that day. That chipped porcelain snowman hot chocolate pot will be just the ticket this winter.

While I settle in with my Lofthouse cookies, wearing my fat jammie pants with the potbellied devil print, and watching Season Six of Buffy. Again.

So you wanna be my friend? It's just that easy. I'm just saying....

Friday, April 01, 2005

She fought the bug, and the bug won

I have absolutely nothing interesting going on in my life, so I thought I'd blog about my friend. She's 21 and has new drama every other day. Ah to be young. :)

The latest? She broke her wrist. That sucks, really, but it's so funny how it happened that I thought I'd share. The following story is how it was related to me:

"There was this bug on my ceiling. A big ugly bug. So I got a magazine, right? And climbed on my kitchen counter to kill it. I swung and missed, and the damn thing flew at me!! Right at my face! So I twisted, my foot slipped and I fell off the counter. I broke my damn wrist because of a bug!"

Of course, through tears of laughter, I first told her that the best part was that the bug still lives in her apartment, mocking her pain. Then I asked what kind of bug it was...I mean, most nasties can't fly, but there are some nasty looking stink bugs or spiders or centipedes that could fall off a ceiling and freak your shit if they land on you.

The killer insect that has put my friend in a cast for six weeks?

The common housefly. Yes, dear friends, my best friend was bested by a fly. And with the 24 lifespan of said bug, it's already lying dead, somewhere in the apartment.

I will be buying her a flyswatter for her birthday on Sunday.