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This was her costume last year and it dwarfed her so that I decided to try and shove her in it again. I was right. It still fits. But there are no leg holes, and she's extremely unhappy about that fact.
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El cuarto de baño está allí por el pasillo y a la su derecha.
The bathroom is down the hall and to your right.
¡Favor, paso lejos del escritorio de registro!
Please step away from the registration desk!
Lo siento, usted no puede pedir su cena del día de gracias aquí.
I'm sorry, you cannot order your Thanksgiving dinner here.
Este pulpo esta demasiado grande.
This octopus is much too large.
I don't think that anyone in the office who was there was able to use a single phrase I taught them in an appropriate situation at the conference. However, I do know that every single one of them managed to work in the sentence about the octopus whether it was appropriate or not.
Here's costume number two for the Halloween season:
Awww right? She's so cute, you say? Wouldn't it be cute to get a photo of both girls in their Halloween costumes, you say? Yeah I thought that too for about half a minute. And just so everyone feels my pain, here's what it was like trying to get Hurricane Caterpillar to pose for a picture with her sister Daphne.
I finally got one (only one) of her standing and looking at the camera and where her face wasn't covered by that hood. I told The Dormouse to stand there, stare at the camera and we waited until The Caterpillar walked through the frame.
Este pulpo está demasiado ocupado:
This post was part of a blog blast for Blurb, the coolest make-your-blog-a-book service out there, (which I really want to win, hint, hint, nudge, nudge, knowhaddamean?) coordinated by the Parent Bloggers Network.
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The thing about little projects like this is I really do like to do them. But I have a very short attention span, so while it seems like a cool new hobby, after awhile it becomes tedious to me. So when I start off thinking, "Hey, I've never worked with fondant or gum paste... that'd be kind of fun to learn..." It really will be for me. But once I do the first three cupcakes I'll have gotten what I wanted from the experience and I'm done. The problem is, I've committed myself to twenty-five of these little buggars and now I've got to follow through. Ugh.
Plus I do not enjoy cleaning up the inevitable mess.
And there you go. Treats for the fall harvest party at The Dormouse's elementary school.
There's six hours of my life I'll never get back.
Please someone stop me from agreeing to do Christmas cupcakes a month from now. Please.
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"Wow, this place is much bigger than my pumpkin garden."
"These pumpkin things seemed a lot bigger last year."
Little Miss Won't Wave to Momma.
This goat got more waves than all the humans combined since she's learned how to wave.
The KingofHearts wears his crown.
I told you these mums were big.
Trying to figure out how to fit one in her mouth.
The Dormouse was fascinated by the bales of hay more than any pumpkin. If we replaced the local playground equipment with hay bales instead she'd be thrilled...
but it might not be the best thing for all concerned.
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And I just don't see the reason for this:
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It's not that I don't appreciate the support, really I do. I'm sure there are lots of people out there who wouldn't. But as a parent, I realize I'm not the cat's meow and I could use all the help I can get. So let me be the first to say thank you for all the observations and advice you've offered over the past week since the weather has turned a bit chillier. But here's something to think about before you stop that lady on the street to tell her the baby in the stroller she's pushing is terribly underdressed for the weather and will freeze to death if she doesn't put a hat and socks on the baby as soon as possible:
- perhaps she has tried to put socks on the baby
- perhaps she has tried to put a hat on the baby
- perhaps she has tried to put mittens on the baby
- perhaps the baby is wearing warm clothing and a sweater
- perhaps she is only going down the street a couple of blocks and will be back inside before the baby even notices it is cold out
- perhaps she has three pairs of socks, two hats, a pair of mittens and a pair of shoes in that giant bag she's slung over her shoulder and she is just sick of bending over to pick one of them up from the pavement every five seconds as the baby yanks them off and drops them to the ground
- perhaps she knows that a blanket would suffer the same fate and it's just not worth it
- perhaps she knows it's a tad bit chilly, but she was born in North Dakota and she knows what real cold is and this ain't it
- perhaps it is 60 degrees and the wind is not blowing and there's not a cloud in the sky
- perhaps you are all cold weather wussies who need to mind your own business
Alice
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"Mom, you know how I love you, right?"
"Yes."
"And, you know how I love the world?"
*stifled laughter* "Yes."
"Well, I'm going to go across the street and pick up that trash over there. You know, to help the world."
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Apparently, the joke is on me, however, because The Dormouse brought home a letter from her kindergarten teacher yesterday explaining that they were having a fall/Halloween party at school and they'd asked each parent to choose and bring something from the list which was printed below the letter. The teacher had taken the liberty of checking off "cupcakes" for me and put a smiley face next to the item. The KoH is still laughing at me.
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"All that goes up must come down."
A little nonplused, (because, seriously, they're teaching the Universal Law of Gravitation in kindergarten but on the reading front, she's still learning what a "W" sounds like?) I said, "Did you learn that from your teacher?"
"No."
"In school?"
"No."
"In aftercare?"
"No."
"Well, who taught you about that, then?"
"Scooby Doo."
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"Really? You don't want to be a toothpaste engineer anymore?"
"No."
"A flagpole?"
"No. Now I want to be an inventor when I grow up."
"That sounds great. What are you going to invent?"
"Probably, the world's first robot."
"Mmmm. Yeeeaah, I'm pretty sure there are already robots."
"Oh."
"Maybe you can invent the world's first robot that does something no other robot does."
"That's a good idea."
"Liiiike, maybe, the world's first robot that cooks my dinner?"
"No! That wouldn't be a good invention. Maybe, I'll invent the world's first robot that would be very responsible."
"Well, that would be something new. What would you name it?"
"I don't know. What do you think?"
"How about Hal?"
"No, that's not a very good name for the world's first robot that would be very responsible."
"So science fiction would tell us, I guess."
"Maybe Chad."
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I immediately said, "You too, can purchase this item which will make you look like you belong to a strange cult where people all wear Reebok tennis shoes and wait for the spaceship behind a comet to take them away from the pains and problems of earth life."
The KoH had a different take on it. His new theory is that the guys from this movie:
Weren't just mutant, telepathic humans,
holed up in an underground city,
hiding from the dreaded ape army now out to exterminate mankind...
...they're just poor victims of the recession, bent on decreasing their heating costs.
P.S. Enjoy this take on the commercial: The Cult of Snuggie
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Each year around the third week of October, I find myself getting really irritable for no apparent reason. I yell at my family for stuff that really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, people in general just piss me off (well, more than they do normally), and I start considering self-medication as a form of protection for those around me because I just can't seem to stop. Then one day I'll look up at the calendar like I did this morning and suddenly realize that today's your birthday. I don't know if the two things are really related, but they sure seem to happen together a lot. Or maybe I'm just a bitch the rest of the time too and I only notice it around now.
Earlier this year, I met someone via the Internet who had just found out that the baby she was carrying had tripliody. A friend thought I might be able to help her through this and put us in contact. We exchanged long emails and information through updates and successes as well as the inevitable outcome. I think perhaps she handled the whole thing better than I did, was much more adult about her feelings, and probably cried why me a whole lot less than I did. (A close friend who struggled with cancer in his youth once told me that he determined "why me?" to be the most dangerous question one can ever ask one's self. He said that the answer was always, "why not?" And yet I'm still prone to hand wringing and anger at God when things don't go my way. I wish I wasn't so quick jump on that bandwagon. It's trite and overdone.) I'm not sure how much of a sounding board I was to her or whether I was of any use, but what really happened through that experience was she helped me. It was nice to be able to pull that out of the little protective case I keep it in and talk about it. I vacillate between thinking that I keep all those feelings to myself a little too much - I should talk more about it to more people - and the same old me-type feelings: these are my memories, no one else's... other people aren't entitled to them unless I decide. And so I jealously guard when and with whom I talk about it. It's probably not so healthy, I admit, but it's how I roll. I'm trying to be smarter about that though.
When discussing grief at some women's church event this year, I remember someone announcing to the group that feelings of loss lessen after time. To which I had to respond, "No, you are wrong. Those feelings never go away. They will always be with you, but they do eventually get easier to live with." It was a big step forward for me... bringing up our past in a group of women from this ward. Maybe it shows that I am growing up a bit and letting go of some of my hurt over how we were treated back then.
When people ask me how many children I have, it's always a hard question to answer. Because what they really mean is I see you are a bit old to have a small baby; how many other children do you have living with you at home right now because I'm wondering how you are coping and whether you are just one of those crazies who thinks when the Bible says, "multiply and replenish the earth" it meant you personally? I hate this question because it's small talk and it's supposed to be easy to answer and it's not easy for me. Depending on the situation, I'm either more or less technical about it: if it's just someone in the elevator, I'll often say two and get off on my floor. Sometimes I'll answer two at home with me and one stepson who lives with his mother if I might talk to the person again but they aren't anything more than an brief acquaintance. It's just the easiest way to get the information out when people aren't really asking to know, but just out of politeness and/or small talk. But the truth is I do and will always consider you a part of our family and I have four kids - even if they aren't all living with me right now.
For years, I've used my friend's kid as my litmus test to see where you would be if you'd stuck around. She was born in the same year as you and it's been both painful and gratifying to have a little reminder of what you'd be doing, how you'd be acting, the successes and defeats you'd encounter. This year we were invited to her baptism. It caught me by surprise, I'll admit. My first thought was Good heavens, it's not possible that it's been eight years and then, Not only is it possible, but that's how long it's been, stupid. It's hard for me to believe that that much time has elapsed when the memories of you are still so real and needle sharp. There are definitely things I'm glad you will never experience: mean kids at school, trouble with homework, Internet predators... but oh how I would just love the chance to sit back and watch you at your baptism. Who would you be now? Would you be a budding musician/therapist like I was at eight years old? Would you be a hard scientist/I think I'm going to write a novel today type like your daddy? Would you become your own brand of person entirely just to remind us that there's always something we haven't prepared for or thought through? These are things I can't wait for you to tell me one day.
We've never kept any information about you from your sisters. While The Caterpillar isn't old enough to understand yet, we've been pretty up front with The Dormouse about you and we consider you a current part of the family. When The Dormouse was younger, she used to talk about you and say things like, "We took my baby sister to the hospital. I remember, she was very tiny." I sometimes pressed to see if she'd said those things because they were things we'd told her. But we only ever used the most minimal terms to talk to her about what happened to you and I don't remember ever telling her about the hospital and how you were born. I don't really know what's that supposed to mean. Was she somehow more connected to you? Or do I just want to believe that?
Now that The Dormouse is older she doesn't claim to remember you like she used to do. But she does consider you a part of her family and you show up in drawings, family tree projects she's asked to do in school and listings of names under the title "My family." It's gratifying to see that.
Can you miss someone with whom you spent so little time? I do. I miss you Dear One. I hope one day I'll be able to put my arms around you and hold you close to me. I hope one day you'll tell me about your day and we'll laugh about silly things and just generally all be together. I can't wait for that part.
Love,
Momma
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It's not like any of them didn't have the actual med, it was just that the pediatrician had prescribed it in suspension form and they, I guess, didn't have the form of the medication that would mix in a suspension.
The last pharmacy I went to was Target - which was also the largest. When they didn't have the suspension form in stock, and I could see the box of pills on the shelf behind them, I was exasperated. "Look, can you call the pediatrician and see if it's possible for her take the pill? Since the whole point of taking this med is to get something to stay in her stomach today before we have to go to the ER for IV fluids tonight, I'd really like to not have to wait three days to get it filled." Then the pharmacist there suggested I go to each and every pharmacy I'd already been to:
Pharmacist: "How about CVS?"
Me: "I've been there; they don't have it."
Pharmacist: "Or Rite-Aid."
Me: "They don't have it either."
Pharmacist: "Medicine Shop?"
Me: "Nope."
Pharmacist: "Costco?"
Me: "Yes, I went there too. Like I said, I've been to FIVE pharmacies and no one has it. You're the biggest one in the area and if you don't have it, I'm pretty sure just driving around to other random pharmacies isn't going to yield any success either. She's old enough to take a pill so would you please call the pediatrician and see if he'll allow her to take the pill instead so I don't have to end up in the ER with her when a simple pill might keep her away?"
Pharmacist: *heavy sigh, stomps off to the phone and dials the number*
Woman in line behind me: "They HATE to call the doctors here. You go girl, make them work!"
After another discussion on the phone wherein the doctor asked to speak with me because apparently the pharmacist said "Zoloft" instead of "Zofron" on the phone and he couldn't figure out why the mother was asking for an anti-depressant instead of an anit-nausea med, everything got cleared up and we got sixty (60!!) doses of some sublingual equivalent of Zofron. They didn't have the entire sixty pills, so they filled thirty and told me to come back later and pick up the other half. I got home, stuck one pill in The Dormouse's mouth and fifteen minutes later, she was able to keep down the pedialyte and tylenol we'd been poking into her gob for two days only to watch her throw it back up again. So, needless to say, I didn't really make the effort to go back for the other thirty pills.
/background
Now, fast forward to this week when I hurt my back. Don't know how; I just got out of bed one morning last week feeling fine and then twenty minutes later while walking through the kitchen, I stepped down and pain shot up my leg like an exploding firecracker. The rest of the day, I couldn't stand up straight and I went to work looking like a question mark. My colleagues finally tired of working with Quasimodo and pretty much pushed me out the door to see their chiropractor across the street (we should just pay that woman a bulk fee and have her come to the office). I'm not really a chiropractor person, but I bow to public opinion way too often so I went over there. She got me standing up straight again, which was nice, but the damage to my back muscles had been done and three days later, I still felt like I would rather stick a fork in my eye than bend over.
I finally realized I had a prescription for tylenol+codeine that still had a refill on it hanging around the house leftover from some other purpose, so I asked The KoH to go to a pharmacy to get that filled. He chose Target, got the meds and left them on the kitchen counter when he came home. When I went in a little later to find my precious, precious painkillers, all I found was a filled prescription for The Dormouse.
"Didn't you get my codeine?" I yelled from the kitchen.
"It's right there on the counter," he yelled from the living room.
"No, it's not."
"It's the red and white bag."
"The only thing here is the other half of The Dormouse's prescription."
"I didn't get anything for The Dormouse; it's RIGHT THERE."
"No, this is the other half of The Dormouse's prescription from last week."
"No, it's yours."
This when on in a very Who's on first? style until I finally opened the bag with The Dormouse's name on it and looked closely at the bottle with The Dormouse's name on it. It was my prescription for codeine, but they'd accidentally put her name on it instead of mine.
...!!
This is a huge mistake. If we had not been paying attention, it would have been very easy to accidentally dose our little forty-two pound girl with codeine prescribed for... let's just say a more than forty-two pound adult woman -- especially, if The Dormouse was still taking the other medication. I keep meaning to go back to the pharmacy and show them their mistake, or report them to the American Pharmaceuticals Association, but given that we're all sick in one way or another, I haven't really gotten out of the house to do this. I will though.
I'm not really even sure why I'm writing about this now except for the fact that yesterday the balance of the original prescription was delivered here by UPS -- apparently because I didn't pick it up -- and it reminded me of the whole fiasco.
I just want to offer these words of advice to whomever might be reading: know what your doctor is prescribing and check it once it's filled. Most, if not all, pharmacies include in the printed information that comes with each prescription a written description of what the pill/medication should look like. Make sure it matches what's in the bottle; don't just take the pharmacy's word that what's written on the outside of the bottle is what they put in the bottle. It seems to me that it's very easy to make a small mistake while filling a prescription that could have drastic consequences, just ask Dennis Quaid. Add to that, the problem we have in my neighborhood where 90% of the pharmacists only have the smallest grasp on the English language and it just makes sense to take some responsibility for managing your own health care.
The End
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Distance from Freeway Exit | $ per Gallon | |
Station 1 | 1.5 miles | $2.93 |
Station 2 | 1.25 miles | $2.85 |
Station 3 | 1.25 miles | $2.85 |
Station 4 | 1 mile | $2.69 |
Station 5 | 0.9 mile | $2.87 |
Station 6 | 0.75 mile | $2.85 |
Station 7 | 0.5 mile | $3.59 |
Station 8 | 0.25 mile | $3.25 |
Station 9 | 0.1 mile | $2.87 |
The gas prices in my neighborhood vary $.90 within a mile and a half -- on the same road. Can anyone look at this and tell me with a straight face that gas prices are all market driven and station owners don't price gouge?
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The Dormouse had her yearly checkup yesterday and given the last couple of weeks, I decided to have her get a flu shot so we wouldn’t have to go through that nightmare again. She’s always been pretty good about shots until age four. Four kicked our asses because we weren’t ready for the drama and trauma the four year old shots would cause. She had always been rather blasé about getting a shot in general and if she cried at all, it lasted a minute tops and all was right with the world again. I had no reason to expect anything else. But somewhere between three and four, the memory and anticipation factor increased ten fold. So after the first shot when she realized it hurt and then she could. Not. Bear. Another one. So she kicked, squirmed, yanked her arm back and screamed bloody murder through the next three.
So when I decided she should get a flu shot at this appointment, I prepared her before. I reminded her how awful she felt when she had the flu and explained that this shot might hurt for a minute, but she felt awful for days when she had the flu and it might be worth it to have a little bit of pain that would be over in a second rather than be sick for days again and feel as badly as she did.
Either what I said worked and I’m a great parent, or she just grew a year more mature since the last time. (probably the latter) Whatever, she was a trooper and didn’t even try to kick the doctor in the balls once.
So we finished the visit, told her how brave she was and headed out the door. I got through the waiting room, past the front desk, out the door and half way up the steps when I realized The Dormouse wasn’t by my side. I turned and looked over my shoulder to see her standing in front of the desk. “Cm’on,” I yelled, and turned toward the steps again.
She stood there.
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From the Alfred E. Smith Foundation dinner last night in New York.
(I'm dying to know who wrote their speeches.)
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Edited to add: Here's the before picture for those who are curious.
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I was sitting at my desk, listening to the lingering discussion in the hallway when this email came through on my desktop:
Alice -- *my name is not really Alice; obviously, it had my correct name*
I just finished the last debate before the election.
Now the outcome of this campaign is up to you. I need your help to get our message out -- and to get out the vote. I wouldn't ask for your support if this campaign didn't urgently need it. Your donation of $5 or more today is essential to our unprecedented get out the vote operation in these final days. The most dangerous thing you can do right now is nothing. Your support and hard work are exactly what we need between now and Election Day.
While he didn't mention the middle class, John McCain chose to repeat the false, negative attacks that make up 100% of his advertising these days. The truth is that his choices say more about his campaign than they do about me. But John McCain and his allies are not going to stop fighting -- or attacking -- until the very end.
We're doing this a different way. Tonight I talked about the real problems ordinary people face during this economic crisis and concrete ways that I will create jobs, cut health care costs, build a new energy policy, and get our economy moving. But time is running out. Our strength and our success in these last 20 days depends on you: https://donate.barackobama.com/finaldebate.
Thank you for all you do,
Barack
So face, all you Obama Mommas! Take that Dormouse! I started yelling out my office door, "I just got an email from Barack Obama! Barack Obama knows my name! Not only does he know my name, but we are on a first name basis!" For some reason, my colleagues were unimpressed with my notoriety.
I quickly sent this email back:
Dear Barack - *remember? we are on a first name basis*
Thanks for the personal email. It's been so long since I've heard from you! I have to say, your email took me by surprise, though. I didn't expect to hear from you until after the election when things had calmed down a bit. I still remember fondly that night we spent together in the back seat of that Studebaker. What fun, heady days those were right? Did you ever get the chocolate sauce our of your lapel? I hope the dry cleaning wasn't too expensive. Hey, remember that $20 you owe me? Feel free to consider that a gift to your campaign. Just think of it as "my little tip."
I think of you often and can't wait to hear from you again.
Thanks for all you've done, if yaknowhaddamean,
Alice
P.S. There's a reason The Dormouse loves you so... she's yours.
A couple of hours later, I got another email. This one, from Joe Biden:
Alice --
Anyone who tells you this election is already decided is dead wrong. Let's not forget the 2000 election, when Al Gore was up by double digits in October. The surest way to lose a race is to slow down with the finish line in sight. We're taking no chances. We've planned the biggest get out the vote operation in history, and we need to make sure that every voter has their voice heard. That's why we've set the goal of bringing in 100,000 new donors by Friday at midnight.
If you step up and make your first donation today, it will be matched by a previous donor. Will you make a donation of $5 or more today and double your impact? This campaign has fought for every inch, and now is not the time to take anything for granted.To get out the vote, we need to knock on hundreds of thousands of doors and make even more phone calls.
This campaign has built the largest field operation in history, and we need to mobilize it in these remaining days to get every single voter to the polls on Election Day. Because that's what it comes down to -- counting every last vote. Make a matching donation today to make certain that when everything is on the line, we are stronger than ever: https://donate.barackobama.com/promise. We've come too far to hold back now.
Thank you for everything you're doing,
Joe
Oh puleeze! How gullible does Joe Biden think we are? Anyone could tell that was a form letter.
P. S. Monica got emails from moveone.org and Karl Rove, which is hilarious beyond my wildest dreams and provides me with no end of amusement.
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Because I Haven't Spent Quite Enough Time on the Interweb Lately
Get your own Poll!
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