Ahoy Matee!

Today my daughter had her two-year well visit at the pediatrician. Now the last two times we were there my daughter was sick and a tiny bit cranky. If you want to call an all out tantrum while waiting in the examining room a tiny bit cranky.

So this time I came prepared. I brought the portable DVD player. Yes, I am now that parent.

But by the time we got into the examining room, they quickly took her height and weight and whisked us away into another room where they were going to give her an eye exam. Ok, I thought, this shouldn't be too bad. Famous last words--umm, thoughts.

Who thought up this test?? Put "stickers" onto a two-year old's head that are hooked up to wires and tell them not to touch them? Put an eye patch over their eye and tell them they are a pirate and they can't take it off? Have the parent hold the child's arms down and keep the child still on their lap for "a few minutes"?

This person obviously did not have children.

Needless to say even the DVD player didn't calm her down after this experience. I think she's scarred for life.


Note: I do not pretend to be a doctor, I understand these tests have to be done, but there has got to be a better way.

And no, it didn't work. They could not even finish one eye. And they didn't seem too concerned.

New Look, Same Taste

Yes, I gave my blog a little bit of a makeover.

Next time I say "I think I want to change the look of my blog", someone smack me in the head. I deleted the old template and of course, didn't save it. And I have no clue what I am doing (that may be extremely obvious to some of you).

So, I downloaded a trial of Photoshop, bought a picture from istock and ignored my husband last night and paying job today to play.

If anyone has any suggestions, please feel free to share your creative genius.

Are You Looking At Me?

I dislike confrontation; I really do. I do my best to avoid it. I think it may be because of my inability to think on my feet. I have never been a person who always has that great comeback. I am that person who, like George Costanza, thinks of a great comeback several hours later when the opportunity has passed.

Unlike George Costanza, I will not fly to Akron, Ohio just to deliver my witty response (although I am sure Akron is lovely).

This is why I am a huge fan of the written word. Which could also explain my unhealthy obsession with my computer and email.

I feel it is so much easier to write a person a letter, an email or even a text message. It gives me time to think, re-think, ask someone else what they think and re-write roughly eight or nine times. And if the response makes me cry, they won’t see me.

Am I a wimp? Oh most certainly. I blame my mother. Why? I don’t know, but I am sure she must have done something to make me like this.

So when my boss recently did not pay me for a holiday, I wrote him an email.

When SS#2 left the garage freezer open during a 95 degree day, I sent him a text message (he apologized, which was shocking because he loves to argue with me. Probably because he knows I am a wimp).

When a certain psychiatrist in my office building never gives his patients a bathroom key and they have to ask me CONSTANTLY disrupting me because they don’t want to disrupt him, I wrote him a letter.

Well, you get the point. Coma Girl = Big wimp, cries easily, probably should not be around teenagers.

If my marriage ever comes to an end, I’ll probably just send him an email (he loves his blackberry more than me anyway).

My Husband Has Gas

Last night my husband picked up his son at work 15 miles away from our home and was very excited.

Him: "It's finally going down!!"
Me: "What is?"
Him: "Gas prices!"

You know it has been bad when he's excited over paying only $4.15 a gallon.

Bedtime

Tonight it went something like this:

Husband to 2-year old daughter: "Ok, let's put your pajamas on. Look they have Mickey Mouse on them."
Daughter: "No Nickey Mouse"
Husband: "Then which pajamas do you want to wear?"

2-year old searches her pajama drawer, making a mess.

D: "Princesses"
H: "Ok, let's put on your princess pajamas."
D: "No! Nickey Mouse."
H: "Ok, here" and starts to put on Mickey Mouse pj's.
D: "NO!!!!!!!! PRINCESSES"
H: "I am going to kill you." and attempts to put on Princess pj's as 2-year old squirms.
D, crying: "I want Nickey Mouse!!!!"

Husband then grabs her firmly and starts putting Mickey Mouse pj's on her.

D, crying louder: "NICKEY MOUSE...NICKEY MOUSE...NICKEY MOUSE!!!!"
H: "I am putting Mickey Mouse on you. Hold still!"
D: "NICKEY MOUSE...NICKEY MOUSE...NICKEY MOUSE!!!!"

After pajamas are put on, daughter, still crying, looks down and sees Mickey Mouse.

D: "PRINCESSES!"

Corned Beef with Broccoli?

Dumb thing I said today to a co-worker from Ireland:

"There are Chinese people in Ireland?"

The answer is yes for those of you, like me, who lead a very sheltered life.

Backyardigan

I grew up in Brooklyn. I did not have a backyard. I had a stoop. (I am not even sure that people who live outside the five boroughs of New York know what a stoop is. It's what we called the stairs outside the front of a house, or apartment).

Anyway, we have a pretty big backyard here in good ole suburbia. And this backyard was pretty boring. I've heard people say "I love my backyard" and I didn't love mine. I had backyard envy. But these people usually have a pool. I don't want a pool. When we first moved in, we went shopping around to have an in ground pool put in...we bought a new truck instead.

So this year I decided to make our daughter a play area complete with swing set, see-saw, playhouse and sand/water table. Note: I didn't actually do any of the work, but it was my decision. And the swing set was a hand-me-down that my husband had to take apart, transport and put together again without any instructions.

I think it turned out pretty nice and her not behaving at the park had nothing to do with it.

I swear.

The Wright Stuff

Once upon a time I wanted to be a writer. Like Carrie Bradshaw? Well, not exactly.

I used to have a very vivid imagination. That was before I had so many other things filling my head: like what to make for dinner or how to get my daughter to stop hitting or why Denise Richards allows the camera in her therapy sessions.

For instance if I were driving and I saw a woman walking down the road, for the rest of my ride I would make up a story about her in my head. Like she was walking because she woke up to a flat tire in her car and her husband left her the week before and cleared out the little money left in their bank account. And she tried to call one of her co-workers, but her husband hadn't paid the bills and her electricity, and phones were all turned off. Her husband used to be a mortgage broker and for years they were living rather nicely, but since the sub-prime mortgage mess he hadn't been doing well and started drinking. He left her for some girl he met at the bar and she was stuck with a $4,100 a month mortgage. She was just grateful that, despite the months of trying, she had never gotten pregnant.

What, you don't do that?

The first problem with being a writer is that the best readers make for the best writers. I haven't finished a book in over a year. The second problem is that in order to be a good writer, you have to write every day. The only time I could possibly write anything is after my daughter goes to bed, but here is a list of things I typically do during that time:

- Clean
- Read blogs
- Comment on blogs
- Check email
- Clean
- Do laundry
- Pay bills
- Clean
- Watch Flip that House
- Listen to my husband complain about kids and job
- Talk to friends
- Clean
- Iron clothes for the next day
- Make lists (oh how I love lists!)

Yeah, I like to clean. It's a sickness.

But do you see any time in there to read or write? And while I am doing these things, I will think of a story or blog post in my head, but by the time I finish for the night I am too tired to type anything.

I've read somewhere that you should set a scheduled time each day to write. So I am going to try this. I think I will replace cleaning with writing.

Hey, no one ever seems to appreciate how sparkling white the kitchen sink is anyway.