tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32713474316150001012024-03-14T07:47:33.022-04:00Two Under Two<center> Super Ninja Mommy <br><br>
Saving the world, one dirty diaper at a time.
</center>Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.comBlogger354125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-16012265220329244272010-07-19T22:10:00.002-04:002010-07-19T22:24:13.704-04:00Beastie-isms - Age 35 months + 3 weeksCan you believe Beastie will be three in just a few more days? That's right, just eight days till her birthday. She talks so much now, and she's so funny. Here're a few examples.<br /><br />"Better not try to walk on the water, Mom. You might get died. Use a bridge. Or a boat!"<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><br />"I love you so much. But I don't love when spiders get all over you!"<br /><br />"It would be so bad if a horse came and stomped all over you!!"<br /><br />"I like my room, Mom, but I don't like when the ghost gets in there and rubs his back on my bed."<br /><br />"I don't like beavers, because they eat children."<br /><br />"I hope you never make me eat poop, because it's very, very stinky."<br /><br />"I have a friend named Ella, and her friend Stacy said I could eat all these cookies if I want to." (Note: We don't know anyone named Ella or Stacy.)<br /><br />She's working on becoming passive aggressive too ... today she couldn't open a bag with a toy in it, and she asked for help twice but no one was able to help her. Angry, she threw the toy down and said, "Fine! I guess I'll never be able to play with this toy again!!"<br /><br />And when I say something that makes her cry, such as hollering at her for hitting, she says through her tears, " Thanks a LOT, Mom! Now you made me cry! You ruined my LIFE!"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-2716627405229122822010-07-02T21:34:00.003-04:002010-07-02T22:00:21.669-04:00Superglue can fix everything, even large gaping wounds.Yesterday, The Babe (who needs a new nickname, now that he's almost two) decided it would be grand idea to do some sort of gymnastic stunt under our oval glass coffee table.<br /><br />The problem with this idea is, foreheads and glass coffee tables just don't go too well together.<br /><br />He hit his browbone on the coffee table, right on his eyebrow, splitting it wide open. It was about the size of a nickel, almost perfectly round, and bleeding like a mofo. I held him in my arms and the blood poured into his ear and got stuck all in his hair.<br /><br />He only cried for about five minutes, maybe less, and I got his cut cleaned up. Once it was clean I could see it was only about 3/4 inch long, but it kept opening up really wide and looking all freaky.<br /><br />So, off to Urgent Care we went. The bleeding had mostly stopped when we got in the van, so I was worried that I was doing it for nothing. But when we got there twenty minutes later, I could see that he had been messing with it and it had started bleeding again. He looked horrible. It was all caked around his eye and in his eyelashes so he could hardly open his eye, and it was running down his face. It was gross.<br /><br />They got him right in and had to strap him to a papoose board to keep him still, which he HATED. They got it all cleaned so the doctor could see what we were dealing with. She was surprised by how deep it was, and decided that glue would do the trick, but it was bad enough that she called another doctor in to consult. The consensus? No stitches. Just superglue.<br /><br />So they held his wound together like lips and glued him all up with some purple superglue stuff, and now he's right as rain.<br /><br />Funny, we have had this coffee table for years and years, and none of the kids have ever gotten hurt on it before. Leave it to the first boy. I shudder to think what my life will look like in a year, when I have two toddler boys running around.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-30045409323449057812010-06-17T20:11:00.002-04:002010-06-17T20:17:51.905-04:00Today, my son ......... poured a 5 pound bag of sugar on the kitchen floor<br /><br />..... took of his diaper, pooped on the floor, and played in it (while I was cleaning up the sugar)<br /><br />..... dumped a whole bottle of shampoo in the bathtub (while I was washing the poop off him)<br /><br />..... found my secret potato chip stash and dumped it on my bed (while I was getting his clothes out, post-bath)<br /><br />..... got into the bug spray and effectively removed any trace of mosquito from the kitchen (while I was cleaning up the potato chips)<br /><br />..... put all the dirty dishes on the counter and played in the dirty dish water (while I was cleaning up the bug spray)<br /><br />..... found another bag of sugar, then freaked out when I got it from him before he could open it.<br /><br />It has been a long day.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-88022007341336612552010-06-14T19:52:00.002-04:002010-06-14T20:09:20.266-04:00Gettin' Skinneh!There is less of me now than there was two weeks ago. Seven pounds less, to be exact.<br /><br />I'm not sure where that seven pounds went. Maybe it's in Fat Heaven. Or maybe Teh Fat Gods redistributed it to that skinny bitch who's always making passes at my husband. (If that's the case, I hope it's all in her thighs.)<br /><br />Check this out. Pre-diet, I was eating 3400 to 3900 calories a day. I wasn't gaining weight but I wasn't losing it, which means I have wicked good metabolism. I'm nursing two children so I decided not to cut my calories too much - 2400 a day seems right.<br /><br />A couple days I went over, and a couple days I was under, but for the most part, 2400 is easily achievable. Pair that with a 1-3 mile walk three times a week, and you've got weight loss, baby!<br /><br />This weekend I fell off the wagon and ate french fries, birthday cake, full cal ice cream, and, worst of all, three plates of fried deliciousness at the Chinese buffet. I haven't weighed myself because I don't want to know if I put all the weight back on.... I would cry.<br /><br />Today I was really good and ate salad wraps for lunch (plus a huge diet Coke, but shut up, I deserved it) and a most delicious portobello/red pepper/mozzarella panini. And because I did so good, I was able to enjoy a couple mini Reese's peanut butter cups. I still have 900 calories that I can use up today, and I'm thinking about maybe a tiny sliver of cake. Or actually, I should make those calories count and have a bowl of avocado pudding (which tastes like chocolate).<br /><br />I also walked three miles today. I say that all nonchalant because it wasn't a big deal. Maybe tomorrow we'll do four. We would have gone further but Beastie's legs got tired. Next time I will put her in the Ergo and burn even more calories.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-33773275329828435162010-05-07T22:10:00.002-04:002010-05-07T22:26:59.108-04:00Woo! Update! It's a miracle!What? Has it really been since <span style="font-style: italic;">February</span> since I last blogged? <span style="font-style: italic;">Really?</span> Wow.<br /><br />I can't update you in one post. It would be boring and full of boring day to day things.<br /><br />Instead, I will pretend no hiatus ever happened and that you have been reading about my life each and every day for the last three months.<br /><br />So.<br /><br />Beastie will be three in July. THREE! Can you believe that?<br />And The Babe is 20 months. TWENTY MONTHS!<br />And Monkey is six months old!<br /><br />When I started this blog, Beastie was 13 months old, and The Babe was 11 days old., and I had no idea Monkey would ever come to exist.<br />If that ain't some shit.<br /><br />I've been having some trouble with my brain.<br /><br />I've had ADD for a long time, probably since I was very young, and definitely since I was diagnosed but left untreated at age eleven. It's been really bad lately, and I can't organize my thoughts enough to write a blog post. I have so many started, but I can't get past the first three or four sentences. I forget words. I forget thoughts. I forget how to put them all together in semi-logical sentences.<br /><br />Hence, no blogging.<br /><br />Here are some random things, because according to teh internets, random is almost as good as epic.<br /><br />I am putting dreadlocks in my hair. Sweet!<br /><br />I have twelve half grown chickens living in my yard.<br /><br />A powerline fell on two of the trees in the yard and set them on fire, and the fire department had to come and everything. I took pictures.<br /><br />I bought a rug for my living room.<br /><br />My friend had a baby girl two days ago, and she only weighed 2lbs. 4oz., but she is expected to thrive and grow.<br /><br />I don't drink alcohol or use mind altering substances, so it was kinda ironic that I figured I'd grow some medical marijuana. I didn't have a second thought about it, either. Just thought I'd put it in with my other medicinal herbs. Then I was all like, wait. That's illegal. Bummer.<br /><br />I fell down the stairs while I was hollering at Five. Now whenever she's in trouble she asks me to come downstairs.<br /><br />In nine days, The Hub and I will celebrate our seventh anniversary.<br /><br />I made some new friends, and they think I'm alright, and that's cool with me.<br /><br />I have been listening to Led Zeppelin a lot lately.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-39905728604285216802010-02-22T19:45:00.002-05:002010-02-22T19:49:24.118-05:00To Do ListHere is one of my many To Do lists...<br /><br /><br /><ol><li>Build a large robot</li><li>Plant a vegetable garden</li><li>Make a quilt</li><li>Paint giant circles on my living room wall</li><li>Become a doula</li></ol><p>Sorry there hasn't been much blogging going on.... life's nuts with all these kids. Having five isn't hard, it's just incredibly time consuming. When I get a moment to myself, I just want to rest. I guess I've earned a rest, haven't I?</p>Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-38960877529289433432010-02-10T13:45:00.002-05:002010-02-10T14:00:05.148-05:00Checklist for being old.You're probably old if you ever:<br /><br /><ul><li>Find yourself listening to the Dave Matthews Band and enjoying the musical complexity</li><li>Take more pictures of the birds on your feeder than your own family</li><li>Listen to current music and decide it isn't music at all, just a bunch of noise</li><li>Yell at kids to "turn that shit down!"</li><li>Add metamucil to your breakfast to keep you regular</li><li>Watch Sit and Be Fit on PBS, and actually do the exercises</li><li>Have an overwhelming compulsion to crochet an afghan</li><li>Bring a sweater everywhere, in case it gets chilly</li></ul><p>Unfortunately, I do all of the above.</p><p> </p>Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-62248724771869653402010-02-04T14:08:00.002-05:002010-02-04T15:23:34.349-05:00A New Direction.And now for something completely different....<br /><br />I've never had a plan. The future? That was always impossibly elusive, unplannable, unattainable. I certainly never planned for my own future - in high school, when everyone else was thinking about college or careers, I was thinking about maybe hitting up Taco Bell for lunch. When people asked me what I wanted to do with my life, I could see nothing. I honestly could not see a future for myself; I planned to not plan, I planned to do what it took to survive, but nothing more.<br /><br />I started having babies right after high school, and any plans I would have made, had I made them, would be put on hold indefinitely. I never thought about the future, or if I did, it was in the abstract: <em>Someday, when my kids are grown, I'll go hiking in Northern California, </em>or, <em>Someday, when I'm an old woman, I'll live in a cottage and feed birds. </em><br /><br />I never really sat down and thought about what I could do with my life. I mean, I always told The Hub that when the kids are all in school, I'd like to get me a little job somewhere, maybe working at the gas station or something. It never really occurred to me that I could do anything else.<br /><br />I did go to college, briefly. I don't know why I went. I studied medical assisting, which as it turns out, is a pretty disgusting field to be in, and all the medical assistants out there get my full respect, because I could never do it. I racked up almost twenty grand in student loans before realizing that medical assisting was not the path for me. And so, I quit school and had a bunch more kids and lived my life in the here and now, spinning my wheels, not really getting anywhere.<br /><br />And then, Monkey was born, and my eyes were opened to who I really am, and what I really can be. See, before him, I was just floating along, never really did anything of any import. I had babies, but I didn't really deliver them. They were delivered <em>of</em> me, not <em>by</em> me. I was an idle bystander, one minutes a pregnant woman and the next minute a mom, and never doing anything to bridge the gap.<br /><br />But now I know. Now I know that I am a strong, capable person. I can give birth, which is what my body, being genetically female, was ultimately created to do. I can do it flawlessly and painlessly, just the way nature intended. I am a force to be reckoned with.<br /><br />I thought that I would write a book about how I had a painless birth, and the simple, easy technique I used. I worked on my book. I wrote almost all of it, in bits and pieces, but it still didn't feel right. I felt like I had this great knowledge to share with other mothers - knowledge that many other writers have tried to impart through various books and videos and techniques, but that was somehow lacking.<br /><br />I thought, the only way I can teach this is to get out there and teach people!<br /><br />So that's what I'm going to do. I'm enrolling in an educational program at the Michigan School of Traditional Midwifery, with the ultimate goal of becoming a labor doula.<br /><br />But my idea goes a lot further than helping a mom in labor. I want to help mothers throughout their pregnancies. What if, instead of cramming childbirth education into 6 week classes, we could teach mothers one on one, in their own homes, on a weekly basis? What if we could help mothers prepare for breastfeeding and diapering and all the other things new mothers must learn, alongside preparing them for childbirth? After all, birth is simply the catalyst that turns us into mothers. No one is ever there to teach us about all the other things. And not only that, but at the end of this intensive, 16 (ish) week course, the mother and I would be very well acquainted, which means I can give her even better support during labor.<br /><br />I am also very interested in helping women at lower income levels gain access to the quality care that those at higher income levels enjoy. Not being rich should not be an impediment to achieving the birth you desire. I knew I wanted a doula when I was pregnant with my children, but their services were cost-prohibitive for our budget. Most doulas do offer lower cost or even free services for those who need it, but until Monkey, I didn't know that. And I'm sure there are many other women in the same boat.<br /><br />I can envision myself meeting with clients during the morning, and coming home to care for my children in the afternoon and evening. I can see myself helping mothers with their labor surges, holding their hands and rubbing their backs. I am so excited to get started, I can hardly stand it.<br /><br />I can't believe it, but I think, at nearly thirty years of age, that I've finally made a plan for myself.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-73038946295662595592010-02-01T22:38:00.002-05:002010-02-01T22:41:04.053-05:00Hoo Hoo.Beastie: Momma, say "hoo hoo."<br /><br />Me: What?<br /><br />Beastie: Say "hoo hoo."<br /><br />Me: Hoo hoo?<br /><br />Beastie: No, like "hoooo hoooo."<br /><br />Me: Hoooo hoooo? I don't understand.<br /><br />Beastie: Like "hooooo, hoo hoo, hooooo hooooo, hooo!"<br /><br />Me: Ohhh. You want me to <em>whistle.</em><br /><br />Beastie: Yeah, whistle! Hoo hoo!Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-91976797874930466922010-01-24T21:30:00.003-05:002010-01-27T09:28:59.169-05:00I Suck.I am so, so sorry that I haven't been blogging much. My brain is frazzled. I have two little boys, born a year apart, who think it is their duty to spend every moment getting the Nonnies. In case you aren't in the know, Nonnies is The Babe's word for nursing, and he loves to do it. I mean, he is obsessive about it.<br /><br />So I spend all of my day sitting in one place,with two baby boys on my lap. They eat and eat and eat and eat, and I just sit there, thinking of all the wonderful thing I could be doing instead of sitting there doing nothing.<br /><br />I am trying to cherish these moments. I know that in the blink of an eye, my boys will be teenagers. And I also know that when they are, I am going to tease the hell out of them for all the stupid shit they did as toddlers. For instance, The Babe thought it would be a grand idea to take off all his clothes and pee in the pantry. I am never going to let him forget that, because I am just that evil.<br /><br />So, anyway, I apologize for not having much to say. I can't say when I'll be back to full time blogging. Maybe this week, maybe next week. But sometime, for sure. Thanks for your patience, and not thinking I'm a total douche for being blog-lazy. You rock.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-79171128407079442802010-01-20T17:13:00.002-05:002010-01-20T17:19:54.086-05:00The Babe Speaks!Sixteen months and a half. He doesn't talk as much as his sisters did at this age, but I'm not worried. I'm fairly certain he'll be able to speak full sentences by the time he reaches college.<br /><br /><br />Nonnas, Nonnies : nursing<br />Na Na : banana<br />Boppa : diaper<br />Buppa : brother<br />Gumma : grandma<br />Muh Muh : mama<br />Deedee : chickadee<br />Daaaa: don't<br />But: belt<br /><br /><br />His favorite word is belt. Ask him to say anything else, and he just shakes his head and says "nuh uh!" Ask him to say belt, and he says belt all day long.<br /><br />He also likes to ride his bike down the stairs and jump off the couch. He's a goofball.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-77100865442442279652010-01-14T21:11:00.002-05:002010-01-14T21:20:43.568-05:00A Working Woman.Five got a barbie for Christmas, but Beastie's the one who really likes playing with it. Beastie named her Hannah Montana, but sometimes she calls her Tinkerbell. Today I noticed her putting clothes on Hannah Montana/Tinkerbell, and the following conversation ensued.<br /><br />Beastie: Her has big boobs.<br /><br />Me: Yes, yes she does.<br /><br />Beastie: Her need a shirt on those boobs.<br /><br />Me: Yep.<br /><br /><em>Pause.</em><br /><em></em><br />Me: What do you think she'll use her boobs for? <em>[Expecting an answer like 'Feed her baby' - we're talking about babies a LOT these days.]</em><br /><em></em><br />Beastie: ....<br /><br />Me: Do you remember what we use those for?<br /><br />Beastie: Yeah, for work!<br /><br /><em></em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Something I have suspected about Barbie for years.</em>Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-54455036555898536852010-01-13T12:48:00.003-05:002010-01-13T12:53:39.080-05:00I want....<a href="http://iwantwednesday.blogspot.com/"><img src="http://i34.tinypic.com/2mcvt44.jpg"> </a><br /><br />I want to get photoshop and learn how to use it. I have so many sweet pictures of the kids and nothing to put them in... I would love to do digital scrapbooking.<br /><br />I want an Ergo carrier for Monkey.<br /><br />I want a Radian car seat for Beastie. (That way, Monkey can go in her current seat. I want the Radian because it's narrow enough to fit in the car with four other car seats.)<br /><br />I want to go to Shakedown Street and buy a bunch of hippie clothes.<br /><br />What do YOU want?Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-20106756017062511192010-01-06T21:58:00.003-05:002010-01-06T22:08:46.517-05:00All Beastie's Stuff.It started out with me telling her it was time for bed.<br /><br />"Good news!" I said, cheerily. "It's time for bed!"<br /><br />She eyed me. "No, I think it's time for a party," she answered.<br /><br />"Nope, time for bed! You can sleep with your Mickey blanket!"<br /><br />"Time. For. <em>PARTY!!!</em>" she screamed.<br /><br />And I, being the terrible permissive parent that I am, let her have a party. I wouldn't normally, but the baby was finally sleeping, after being awake and crabby all freakin' day, so I was like, whatever. Fine. Par-tay!<br /><br />First, she handed me an imaginary piece of cake. I crammed it all in my mouth, and that set her off into a tantrum. (Cause, you know, it's <em>bedtime</em>, for crying out loud.) She lay down on her belly on the bedroom floor and cried. "You 'posed to have a 'poon!!" she yelled. "You can't eat it wike a mess! <em>WAAAAAHHHH!"</em><br /><em></em><br />"Fine," I said. "Can I please have a spoon?"<br /><br />She stopped crying, handed me an imaginary spoon, then buried her face in her hands again, crying.<br /><br />I saw where this was going.<br /><br />"Can I please have a napkin?"<br /><br />Crying stops. "Here you go," she says, hands me the invisible napkin, and resumes crying.<br /><br />"Can I please have a glass of milk?"<br /><br />Crying stops. "Here you go," she says, handing me the imaginary milk. Crying ensues.<br /><br />"Can I please have a fork?"<br /><br />Crying stops. "Here you go," she says, hands me the pretend fork, and continues crying.<br /><br />At this point, I can't think of anything else I might need at this "party." So I start naming random stuff.<br /><br />"Can I have a banana?"<br /><br />"Here you go. [sob.]"<br /><br />"Can I have a raincoat?"<br /><br />"Here you go. [sob.]"<br /><br />"Can I have a skateboard?"<br /><br />"Here you go."<br /><br />Suddenly she stopped crying and gave me a dirty look.<br /><br />"Hey! No fair! You're takin' all my stuff!!"Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-58855547730720573572010-01-04T08:46:00.003-05:002010-01-04T09:10:34.534-05:00Quicklies.I'm in a listy mood today, so here's some random crap from my Facebook statuses.<br /><br />The other day, I got an AARP card in the mail with my name on it. I was pretty happy about that, because it means fifty cent coffee from the Stop N Go. I am not saying this to be funny. I am serious. However, since everyone laughed when I said it, I put it in my "When I Become a Stand Up Comedian" notebook. (Not that I ever plan on becoming a stand up comedian. But just in case I decide to, I'll have all my material in one place so I don't have to spend a year planning out what I'll say. I can just be like, "Hey, today I'm going to be a stand up comedian," and then that night I'll be selling out shows at the Apollo. It's good to be prepared, you know.)<br /><br />Five got a cheerleader set for Christmas this year. It has a DVD on how to be a cheerleader, and the big pink pom poms. When she opened it, she got all excited and screamed "CHEERLEADER HANDS!!!" It was hysterical.<br /><br />A few days before Christmas, Beastie made an interesting connection. As I was pouring a glass of milk, she asked, in a horrified voice, "Did this milk come from your BOOBS!?" I explained that, first of all, there's no way I could fill a whole gallon, and secondly, the milk in the refrigerator comes from cows. Cow boobs. Later, EJ asked me if that was true, that milk came from cow boobs. "Not just cow boobs," I told her. "Cow nipples." She got all grossed out and hasn't drunk milk since.<br /><br />The kids are attending a karate class, taught by a friend of mine. When the class was in the planning stages, I asked the kids if they'd like to attend. They said yes, but I had to ruin their excitement with a disclaimer: No doing karate on each other.<br />Five was pretty pissed about that. "What if a big bear comes and eats me, can I do karate on him?" she asked.<br />EJ replied with, "No, a bear's too big. But you could do it on a vampire bat!"<br /><br />Okay, here's a little tiny story about The Babe. Did you know that today is The Babe's birthday? He's sixteen months old today. He makes me laugh all the time, because he doesn't speak English. He speaks... something else. I'm not sure what, but he speaks it fluently. When he gets mad at me, he points his finger at me and curses me out in his own language. "Da ba gada ta ga daba ba ga na ma!" He screams, usually at the top of his lungs.<br /><br />The funniest part is, he hates singing. I mean, he HATES it. Whenever I sing, he comes up and bitches me out until I stop. Then he walks away and I start singing again, and he comes back and yells at me again. If I sing while he's nursing, he either covers my mouth or plugs his ears. And if he happens to have something in his hand, he beats me with it while yelling at me.<br /><br />The girls say he's a cranky old man in a little kid body, and I believe it.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-79207561267061133152010-01-03T20:12:00.002-05:002010-01-03T20:26:27.689-05:00Top Ten Chihuahua NamesIn case I never told you before, I have a chihuahua. He used to be morbidly obese, but he lost six pounds and now he's just overweight - however, according to the BMI charts, he's pretty much dead. His BMI is only 58.6. I think that qualifies him for some sort of stomach stapling procedure, but his job as head of security for the Ninja Household doesn't offer health insurance, so he's SOL on that one.<br /><br />Anyway. My dog's name is Petey Poblano, or just Petey for short. He's got big eyes and he looks like a lemur. He's very cute, and very assholish, because he's always doing horrible things like eating the garbage or puking on the bed.<br /><br />I'm always thinking of good names for chihuahuas. I don't plan to get another chihuahua anytime soon, because I will never adopt an adult dog again. Too many issues. The next dog I get will be a puppy and I don't have the time or patience to deal with a puppy right now. But when I do, it will be a chihuahua, and here is a list of names I love for a chihuahua.<br /><ol><li>Nacho Cheesier (or Nacho for short)</li><li>Guido</li><li>Sergio</li><li>Killer</li><li>Steve (because Steve is a great name for any animal, no matter the species)</li><li>Noodles</li><li>Chaos</li><li>Kissy BooBoo (but only if its a girl)</li><li>Carlito</li><li>Guapo</li></ol><p>Right now I'm digging Sergio. Actually, I need to stop thinking about this, or I might be tempted to go get another pwecious wittle poopy-doopy chihuhaua baby....</p>Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-415485615780274152009-12-31T09:19:00.003-05:002009-12-31T09:59:53.273-05:00Y2K.Y2K.<br /><br />What a dud that turned out to be, eh?<br /><br />I was seventeen on December 31, 1999. Actually, I had been seventeen for many months before that too. It wasn't my birthday or anything. It was my dog's birthday though, he turned eight.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br />Remember how freaked out everyone was about Y2K? Apparently they thought that since the year would be '00, the computers that run the world would think it was <em>1900</em> and revert back to the information they had stored from the year 1900, which was pretty much nothing. This was bad because the same computers that run the cash register at Seven Eleven also happen to run the Russian missiles, and everyone knows that the Russians have always wanted to nuke us. Yes, even in 1900, because the Russians possess evil time travelling capabilities and had atomic weapons before they were invented.<br /><br />My dad was really, really worried about Y2K. I asked him what the big deal was, because I was just a stupid teenager who thought the worst that might happen was some bank accounts would be temporarily messed up. My dad thought I was wrong.<br /><br />In fact, my dad tried to prove that I was wrong by building a large underground bunker and stocking it with a year's worth of supplies.<br /><br />Oh, how I wish I was joking.<br /><br />In his bunker, my dad had:<br /><br /><ul><li>Canned food</li><li>Gallons of bottled water</li><li>Dog food</li><li>A Coleman camp stove, plus several bottles of fuel</li><li>Seventy-two quarts of motor oil</li><li>Fifty gallons of gasoline (in addition to the 500 gallon drum he had outside)</li><li>A gasoline powered generator</li><li>Several large guns, including a hunting rifle and a semi-automatic weapon</li><li>Bullets for the aforementioned guns</li><li>Fishing kits</li><li>Blankets</li><li>Knives</li><li>A variety of warm clothes, in case the nukes blotted out the sun and dropped the Earth's temperature</li><li>Steel toed boots</li><li>A hammer and nails</li><li>A large quantity of 2x4s and 4x4s, to build stuff with, and</li><li>A folding chair.</li></ul><p>I asked him about the folding chair, and he explained that he'd need something to sit on. Made sense to me.</p><p>So, midnight came and went on that fateful day. Then morning came, and my dad woke up and put on his Carhartt coveralls, and went out and fed the cows. The world did not end. The bank accounts didn't even get messed up. You could still pull money from your ATM or buy a crappy cup of coffee at Seven Eleven. The Russians did not nuke us.</p><p>No one mentioned this to my dad, because we didn't want to rub it in. But later in the day, I happened to walk by the family room and found my dad in his recliner, watching Red Dawn and crying silent tears of foibled apocalypse.</p><p>Sorry Dad. Better luck with 2012.</p>Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-37423925789683959612009-12-31T08:49:00.000-05:002009-12-31T08:49:00.262-05:00El Creepo and the Puke.So. You might want to be forewarned that this is a story about puke, but it's the spit-up variety, not the stinky chunky kind, so you should be good on the queasy-front. But, because I am a kind and caring and politically-correct-to-the-point-of-nausea type person, I figured I'd better tell you up front, rather than be barraged with vicious emails from socially deprived people, telling me what a horrible person I am for not warning you about the puke.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br /><br />A long time ago, in the dark ages before I had children, I had a friend that I'll call, for lack of a better nickname, Buttface Billy. Because he was a buttface, and he kind of had a buttface, with his face looking all butt-like.<br /><br /><br /><br />On second thought, maybe Buttface Billy isn't the best nickname. That's what I call Five's stuffed snow leopard, to make her crazy. And she gets all mad and says "No, his name is Spot, Mom! SPOT!" And then she laughs, because Buttface Billy is a ridiculous name. She's a good sport.<br /><br /><br /><br />You know what, let me just start this story over again. I never was much good at telling stories.<br /><br /><br /><br />Okay. So there was this guy I knew a long, long time ago. We were friends, nothing more, but he was kind of crazy and stalkerish. He didn't like it that I had boyfriends and when The Hub and I got married, I had to ditch him because he just couldn't understand that it was slightly inappropriate for a married woman to go hang out at the movie theater with a guy who wanted to get in her pants. (I mean, a guy who wanted to get in her pants that also happened to not be married to her. Important distinction there.)<br /><br /><br /><br />He never gave up hope though. Every month or so, to this very day, he requests me as a friend on Facebook. He sends me crap in email. I bet if he had my phone number, he'd call me just to see if we could hang out.<br /><br />He's a persistent little fucker.<br /><br />Anyway, this dude works at the grocery store where I shop. He never used to, but, oh, I don't know, maybe a year or so ago, he started working there. In the meat department. Which kind of freaked me out, because he's so creepy. Creepy guy + butcher's apron = the makings of most horror films.<br /><br />He never tries to talk to me when I shop, because The Hub is always with me. He does, however, stare and try to make eye contact, which I never return because I am extremely passive aggressive and would rather just pretend he doesn't exist.<br /><br />Today, I forgot all about him working there.<br /><br />We had done all of our shopping and were finishing up in the meat department when I realized I had forgotten chip dip. So I sent The Hub to get some while I hung out by the bacon with two carts, two toddlers, two older kids hitting each other with Polish sausages, and Monkey in my arms, nursing.<br /><br />Monkey started fidgeting around like he needed to burp, so I put him up on my shoulder and burped him. That's when I noticed El Creepo behind the meat counter, staring at us. As soon as I glanced over there, he put his head down and started rearranging bins of bulk ground beef. Gross.<br /><br />So I'm patting Monkey on the back, and I hear and feel him burp, and right away I realize it's a wet one. I quick pulled the "puke over my shoulder" trick, which every parent of a spitter learns within the first few weeks. It's not ideal, but it's a clothes saver, and the less laundry I have to do, the better.<br /><br />Monkey had a huge gut full of milk, at least a half gallon, and it all came pouring out, hitting the tiled meat department floor with an audible splash. Just then, The Hub arrived, and we took off for the frozen food section. (Hot wings, you know.)<br /><br />I cleaned up Monkey's face and hands with a burp cloth, and as I was wiping him off, I happened to look over and see El Creepo <em>cleaning up my baby's puke</em>!<br /><br />I don't know why, but I found this hysterical. I laughed so hard I peed my pants, which isn't to say I was laughing all that hard, because after five kids, I pretty much pee my pants every time I exhale, but, regardless of all that, I laughed. A lot. Loudly, and with gusto.<br /><br />That creepy dude looked up and gave me the most disgusted look I have ever seen.<br /><br />And somehow, I have a feeling I have finally gotten rid of the little pest forever.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-62305298854471878072009-12-30T14:29:00.005-05:002009-12-30T15:33:41.167-05:00The greatest gift of all.I know, I know. The holidays aren't supposed to be about gifts. They aren't about giving gifts, receiving gifts, or anything else to do with gifts. The holidays are about a lady having an unassisted <s>home</s> stable birth, or, if you're not of that persuasion, celebrating the rededication of some temple way back in the day. (Yeah, I had to look that one up.) Or, for an entirely different perspective, the holiday is more of a "shortest day of the year" type thingy. If you aren't afraid to practice Islam in our fear-based, religiously prejudiced society, the winter holiday is about celebrating the Islamic New Year.<br /><br />But really, all anyone cares about are the gifts.<br /><br />I don't like receiving gifts, but I do like giving them. When I ask for gifts, I always ask for something practical, like underwear or measuring spoons or laundry soap. I always give practical gifts too. If you're on my gift list, don't be surprised to find razor cartridges or cleaning products in your stocking -- and I'm not kidding. Last year, I gave my mom some Arm 'n' Hammer degreaser, a two-pack of clinical strength deodorant, and some anti-wrinkle cream. Just for good measure, I threw in some nail strengthening orange nail polish, which, if I'm remembering correctly, I haven't seen her wear in quite awhile. I'll have to remind her of that.<br /><br />Anyway. The point is, you'll never see me on here, or anywhere, bragging about what I got for Christmas. It's just not the way I roll. I love to talk about myself (hence, the blog) but I don't like to talk about things. Things are just blobs of atoms all stuck together in the shape of something you think you need. You can't take it with you, so it's not important.<br /><br />This year, however, I was given The Greatest Gift of All.<br /><br />No, no. Not the gift of love, or of higher understanding, or, for my Christian readers, everlastin' salvation. No sirree bub. This year, I got<br /><br /><strong>An XM Radio.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />Oh sure. This may seem like no big deal to you. You've probably already got one. And I'm betting that if you don't already have one, it's because you didn't realize that there are <strong>nearly twenty</strong> talk radio stations on Sirius XM - four of which are public radio.<br /><br />Do you have any idea what this means?<br /><br />This means that now I can feed my inner Rainman 24/7 and not even feel guilty about it. This means that if you call my house, and I'm not there, and you keep calling me for like seventeen hours during the day, and I'm still not there, I'm out in my van listening to all the talk that's worth listening to (and a lot that isn't.)<br /><br />One time, on public radio, I heard a story about a parrot who could add. Another time, I heard an unbelievably good interview with a doctor who performs abortions. (You should have heard it. It may change your mind on the abortion debate, either way you currently stand.) Oh, and don't forget all the political news, and news from around the world. I have never heard of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liberation_Tigers_of_Tamil_Eelam">Tamil Tigers</a> until I started listening to talk radio. Have you? Do you have any idea who the Tamil Tigers are? (Hint: It's not a sports team.) You think al Qaeda is bad? Hooee boy, you haven't been keeping up with the Tamil Tigers. Those fellas are bad news.<br /><br />So this year, The Hub wins the award for Greatest Gift of All. The best part is, he didn't even make fun of me when I jumped up and down and screamed "Gay Radio! Gay Radio! They have OUT Gay Radio!!"Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-49761288286357586222009-12-29T18:06:00.002-05:002009-12-29T18:13:56.402-05:002010 New Year's ResolutionsI have been thinking about my New Year's resolutions, and I have quite a few of them.<br /><br />In 2010, I resolve to:<br /><br />Not take up drinking and driving;<br /><br />Not begin manufacturing methamphetamine;<br /><br />Not have another baby;<br /><br />Not start allowing my kids to play with matches;<br /><br />Not get in the habit of eating lard straight from the container;<br /><br />Not start bathing in hydrochloric acid;<br /><br />Not purposely crash my van into a barn or pond;<br /><br />And<br /><br />Lose weight.<br /><br /><br />Of these eight resolutions, I can guarantee you that I will keep seven. That's an 87.5% success rate, which is, I'm betting, better than most people can celebrate (resolutionarily speaking, that is.)Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-48344834521484538102009-12-21T21:47:00.002-05:002009-12-21T22:14:07.144-05:00Old Wounds.I hate Christmas. Here is why.<br /><br />Most of us - well, all of us, probably - have things in our past that hurt. Sometimes these things seem meaningless at the time, or maybe sting a little, and it isn't until years and years - decades, even - go by that we realize the damage that was done.<br /><br />For me, that damage centers around Christmas.<br /><br />The damage didn't occur during Christmas though. See, when I was a little kid, my aunt would come over nearly every evening and play cribbage with my mom. I was not allowed to be around them. In fact, every memory of my childhood is of being alone, because my brothers were too young to be any fun and my parents just wanted me out of their hair. Every time I approached my mom with a need, I was told to go away. Often, the need was just for human companionship. I don't remember many hugs as a child. There were certainly no cuddles or hair tousles or even high fives.<br /><br />This was especially true, however, in the evening, when my aunt and my mom played cribbage. My brothers, who are five and ten years younger than me, would go off and play with my cousin, who is two years younger than me. All three boys would hide out in my brothers' room, and I would have to amuse myself.<br /><br />I don't remember the particular event that started the thing that wounded me, but I know it probably went something like this: I was in my room alone, because I was not allowed out with the adults. I was feeling sad. I went to my mom to relieve the loneliness, and I was shunned. I cried. I was mocked. (Mockery was big in my family.) I got mad. I yelled.<br /><br />And then, they started The Song.<br /><br />The Song haunts me. The Song hurts my soul to this very day, each time I think of it, and Lordy be, wouldn't you know it's a Christmas song.<br /><br />They did it in jest, but it was cruel. I can't understand why they did it - why they did any of the things they did, really - because, as a mother, I would never do it my own children. I might holler at my children, and curse at something they did ("Cat food in my fucking shoes? Again? <em>Really!?")</em> but I would never, ever, as long as I live, do to them what was done to me.<br /><br />The Song is sung to the tune of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch." And it goes like this:<br /><br />"You're a mean one, you're a bitch<br />An awful, wretched child!<br />You're as nasty as a polecat,<br />You're wicked, mean, and vile<br />You're a bitch!"<br /><br />My maiden name rhymes with "click" and they'd work that in there too, and then say something about me behaving just like my piece of shit father.<br /><br />Every time I approached them, it was the same thing. They'd look at each other and pause, and then laugh this horrible, cruel laugh, and sing The Song. And I would get mad and cry, and they'd sing it louder. "See! She really is a bitch!" [Never mind that I was nine years old...]<br /><br />It wasn't just a yuletide thing; they'd sing it every time I came out of my room. And it went on for years and years, until, a month after I turned eighteen, I moved out.<br /><br />And I'll never forget that day. It was raining, and my mom had a trailer with all my stuff on it, parked in front of my building. But there had been a mix-up, and I couldn't get the key for several more hours. It was entirely out of my hands, but she blamed it on me, and as I stood there crying in the pouring rain, she dumped all my things on the front lawn of the apartment complex and drove away.<br /><br />Anyway.<br /><br />"The Grinch" seems like it's such a great thing for so many people. It seems like everyone is so eager for ABC to air it each year, alongside Charlie Brown and that stop-motion Rudolph film, to pass the tradition to the next generation.<br /><br />My kids watched it this year, and I tried to watch it with them, but I couldn't. It hurt too much, brought back those lonely memories of nights spent alone, in confinement. Reminded me of being hurt by the ones who should have loved me the most.<br /><br />My mom says she doesn't remember it. But I think she does. I hope she does. Her convenient amnesia only makes it hurt worse, like I don't even deserve an apology for all of that.<br /><br />I'm not even worth an apology.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-83296977551089914132009-12-17T15:10:00.003-05:002009-12-19T08:48:25.056-05:00SlackaliciousIt's not that I'm slacking on purpose. It's just that... well, have <em>you</em> ever tried to sit down and write something with a screaming baby, a stinky toddler, a sick two year old, a mouthy five year old, and flippant tween?<br /><br />Here's the rundown:<br /><br />Monkey - Cries. A lot. Spits up. A lot. I am going to try eliminating all dairy from my diet and see if that helps him. If not, we eliminate soy. If that doesn't work, we keep going down the list. Maybe he isn't allergic to anything. Maybe he's just a weenie-head. Given his older siblings, that is entirely possible.<br /><br />The Babe - Clingy. He just wants to nurse and chill out with me all day long, which I wouldn't mind one bit if he was my only child. When I try to make dinner or do laundry, he pulls my pants off trying to get me to hold him. He cries and cries because he wants to be held. I hold him as much as I possibly can, but I kind of wish I had eight extra arms. I tell myself that he'll grow out of this soon, but the next thought is "<em>not soon enough</em>!"<br /><br />Beastie - Has been sick. It was like the worst cold ever, and it wouldn't go away. She sleeps alot and cries a lot and tells me "My body hurts." A trip to the doctor revealed an upper respiratory infection and sinus infection. She's on antibiotics now and does seem to be on the med, at least a little bit. She'll play now, which is good. She's spent the last week crashed out on my bed watching Nick Jr., and I didn't even mind because at least she was resting. Now that she's up and around, she thinks she needs to watch tv all day. But at least she's feeling a little better.<br /><br />Five - Keeps drawing pictures of gravestones with her name on it. "Why did you draw this?" I ask, and each time she tells me "So when I die, you can find my grave to put flowers on it." I was so concerned about this. It has been bothering me for days. Then today I found out that a couple weeks ago, she went with my Aunt to put flowers on a friend's grave, and they couldn't find the marker. So it makes sense.<br /><br />EJ - Mouthy. Talks back, and then cant' understand why she keeps getting time outs and losing privileges. If this is how she acts at eight, I fear fourteen.Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-65251096033231373852009-12-13T19:54:00.002-05:002009-12-13T20:13:29.941-05:00Secrets.If you're anything like me, you can't wait for Sunday morning so you can read the new <a href="http://www.blogger.com/postsecret.blogspot.com">Post Secret.</a> Every Sunday, I try to think what secret I might send in - usually fruitlessly, because I really don't have any secrets. I mean, there are things about me that not a lot of people know, like the fact that I love Hershey's Kisses and I pick my fingernails till they bleed, but those aren't secrets. They're just things I don't really talk about, because that would be stupid. Plus, there really isn't any way I could fill an entire blog post talking about picking my fingernails. (I could point you <a href="http://www.aamft.org/families/Consumer_Updates/Body-focusedRepetitiveDisorders.asp">here</a> though, which pretty much explains this compulsion.)<br /><br />This week, though, I figured out my secret. And I'm a little ashamed of it, to be honest, because it's the kind of thing that's uncomfortable to think about.<br /><br />My secret is this:<br /><br />Whenever someone tells me I am pretty, I think they are only saying that because they feel bad that I'm so ugly.<br /><br />You can understand why this is hard to think about. I know I am not a physically attractive person, but I thought I was okay with that. I really don't mind being chubby and having the face I have. I never wear makeup and I wear the clothes I like - I don't try to find clothes that make me look thinner, for example.<br /><br />I don't think I'm okay with it though.<br /><br />Yesterday, the kids saw <a href="http://www.nwfdailynews.com/sections/article/gallery/?pic=1&id=23712">this picture</a>, and insisted it was me. They were so insistent that I had to ask them to walk away, because it hurt my feelings. Now, I'm not saying this woman is ugly. She's in jail, so I bet she's having a very bad day, which would explain the scowl. Probably when she smiles, it lights her whole face up and she's just a ray of sunshine.<br /><br />But what I am saying is, it kind of sucks for your children to confuse you with a 50-something obese redneck woman who went to jail for hitting a guy with raw steak.<br /><br />I think what makes me most uncomfortable is not the fact that I'm ugly. It's the fact that it <em>bothers</em> me that I'm ugly. I'm always thinking how awesome I am because I know my own self worth and I'm comfortable with who I am. I'm always thinking how much better I am than everyone else, simply because I am in a place where looks don't matter. That has to be like, one thousandth of the way to Nibbana. And it makes me feel weird to know that it's not really true.<br /><br />The only people who ever really say anything to me about my looks are people on the internet. They'll say things like, "Oh, you're so cute with your baby," or, you know, random crap like that. I don't get hit on much online, because everyone knows I'm happily married. No one in real life ever tells me I look nice, not even my kids.<br /><br />I guess that's all I want for the holiday - to feel pretty. For just one person to tell me how pretty I am, and really mean it.<br /><br />(Oh, and a canister set. I really want a canister set.)Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-63166709845400014122009-12-09T13:30:00.003-05:002009-12-09T20:55:42.373-05:00Gender Bending.We went to the grocery store today. Both boys needed to nurse, so I sat on the bench with them while The Hub used the self checkout. After a little while, the girls came to sit with me too.<br /><br />There was a person in the checkout next to The Hub. We were only thirty feet or so away - definitely in earshot - when Five suddenly exclaims, "Look! That man has a pony tail!"<br /><br />EJ, being the ever-knowledgeable older sister, gives her a disapproving look and says, in her most knowing voice, "That's not a man with a pony tail. It's a woman with a beard."<br /><br />"Not it's not!" Five yells. "That is a man! See his boots?"<br /><br />"Those aren't boots!" EJ screams. "Those are hiking shoes like Mom's, and that is a woman!"<br /><br />"Then why does she have a beard?"<br /><br />I was busy shushing them, figuring we could talk about this in the car, when the person picked up the bags and started the leave the store. That's when Five saw what was in one of the bags.<br /><br />"I TOLD you that was a man! He bought chili!"Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3271347431615000101.post-28306766404629234172009-12-07T18:49:00.000-05:002009-12-07T18:49:51.186-05:00Holiday To DoHere's my "To Make" list.... it's really quite depressing to me that I haven't gotten much done yet. I guess I just haven't been in the holiday spirit. You can go ahead and call me Scrooge.<br /><br /><br /><br />I Spy bags - finished 1 of 6<br />(EJ, Five, Beastie, The Babe, and my nephews, Spidey & The Buddha)<br /><br /><br /><br />Fabric Ball<br />(The Babe)<br /><br /><br /><br />Fleece baby blocks - finished 2 of 3<br />(Monkey)<br /><br /><br />Felt Board<br />(EJ, Five, Beastie)<br /><br /><br />Fleece Mouse<br />(Five)<br /><br /><br />Hooded Capelet<br />(My mom)<br /><br /><br />Popsicle stick Sewing Basket<br />(My grandma)<br /><br /><br /><br /><p>Papier Mache Faux Bois<br />(My dad and stepmom)<br /></p><p>And then I need to come up with something for MIL, FIL, my grandpa, and my stepdad. The next couple weeks look insanely busy.....<br /></p>Super Ninja Mommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06808891551387047619noreply@blogger.com0