Posts Tagged ‘pictures’

Just a few quick updates, since I haven’t had time to come in and ramble on about life in a while…

Not that I didn’t want to, and not that I didn’t come in here and actually start typing a few times. The problem was that it was usually in those dreamlike states that happens somewhere between 3am and the time the Climber scales the side of my bed. Apparently my creativity goes to sleep before I do.

 

So anyway…

We went crazy at the after-Halloween sale…

Costumes and accessories between a quarter and a couple of bucks resulted in the kids’ dress-up trunk overflowing with new goodies…and a lot of hilarious photos.

Poor little man was ashamed of Sister's fashion choices for him.

The only real trouble we ran into was when the Climber realized that he was “gasp” wearing a tutu in front of people.

He actually turned bright red and hid his little face in shame.

I wasn’t even aware a 2-year-old could be embarrassed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Diva is having a ball with all her new stuff.

She’s even dressed for a ball.

Look out Madonna!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And a rock show.

And the red carpet.

And probably even a questionable strip club…bad momma.

Good thing she's not older..I would have to burn this outfit...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But hey…the dress-up trunk is kick-ass…

He has more to choose from than just the tutu.

And even has a few boy-clothes now!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Climber has added a few new words and phrases to his vocabulary…

  • “Bye-Bye” (must apparently be yelled for optimal effectiveness)
  • “Nigh-Nigh” (also must be yelled)
  • “Drink”
  • “No”
  • A variation of “Kitty”
  • “Damn” (bad momma)
  • “Awwww Man!” (every time something goes bump)

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The Diva is becoming more and more of a diva. She got pushed down at school the other day…hit something sharpish (a stick, we think), and got a small owie on her tummy. Nothing some Neo-Goop and a Pixar Band-Aid can’t fix, but the story was…

“Momma!! I got pushed today…PUSHED DOWN!! It was bad. And my friend had to rescue me…she SAVED ME! Because…because…I have a HOLE IN ME!!! A HOLE! You wanna see it?”

Her friend in this story is a fellow mom who works at the school, is an EMT, is one of the sweetest moms I know, and my daughter LOVES her. I have got to remember to send that girl something baked for Christmas.

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Speaking of Christmas…is it wrong that it’s mid-November and I’m already annoyed by the already constant attacks of cheery carols and Santa movies and cinnamon EVERYTHING?

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True story…the powers-that-be at the Wal-Mart we cannot live without has apparently decided that hiding automatic air-freshener puffers in the shelves is a bang-up idea. These same idiots stocked them all with Old-Lady-Cinnamon-Baked-Crap scent.

Even better? They chose the motion-sensing scent-puffers.

So, you’re walking along the aisles, minding your own business, and every fifteen feet or so you get sprayed in the face with a nose-clogging, headache inducing fog of Cinnamon-Apple flavored chemical warfare.

Twenty minutes in there and I had a migraine, the Guru’s mood had plummeted into Just-Woken-Grizzly mode, and we’d forgotten half of what we went in there for.

Did I mention that I am allergic to anything made by Air-Wick?

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On a better note, later that night the Guru and I (having cleared the headaches in the cold West Texas wind) indulged in a movie minus the munchkins.

No kids, no curfew, adults-only DATE NIGHT…what did we go see?

Puss in Boots, of course! In 3-D.

BTW…it is an awesome movie…if you get a chance to go watch it, GO!

Ha!

I realized something terrible today…

I didn’t have enough to do on The List. At least, not enough that captured my interest, was vital to my (or my kids’) existence, or that was random enough to keep me amused for more than two minutes.

So I added a photoblog to The List.

I have actually been considering one for a few months now, and decided to go for it. So if you are interested in pictures as well as the random rants and ramblings you find here…enjoy!

Snap Happy Hippie

 

A while back I listed the reasons writers are…um…difficult people to deal with in many cases. I feel that, as a photographer as well, I should make a list for them, too.

See? I am truly a pain in the ass for soooo many reasons! 😉

So, photographers are a pain in the ass because…

  • They see the world in little rectangles, as they would appear in a photograph.
  • They will often “frame” these things with their hands to size up an imaginary shot…quite distracting to be in the middle of a conversation when suddenly the person you’re talking to “frames” you, squinting with one closed eye. Do you continue talking, or strike a pose? Depends on the photographer…
  • Even in the most casual of situations where most people would happily snap a quick photo and move on, a photographer has to stop everything to fuss with someone’s hair or clothing, shift everyone over a half inch, and complain about the light (or lack thereof).
  • “You would look so great in sepia!”  Seriously? Is that a compliment, or are you telling me my color is all wrong and should just be removed from the equation??
  • You are NEVER allowed to touch the camera. There could be a rabid dog scaling the wall outside about to come in the window and the only escape you have is through a door that has “the camera” sitting nearby on an unstable table. You must navigate that door WITHOUT TOUCHING THE CAMERA…or the consequences would make you wish for the return of Cujo.
  • The camera is named, and referred to in casual conversation much the way a beloved sibling is mentioned. Pretending to be confused as you ask again “Who is Lucy?” causes hilarious drama.
  • For a simple photo of you and your lover, you get to watch the photographer talk in baby talk, squeal and laugh, fix your hair, crawl around on the ground, climb trees, fix your hair again, and suddenly exclaim “There it is!!!” as the camera goes off on a series of rapid-fire clicks.
  • EVERYTHING is a prop. “There, hold that grilled cheese just like that and SMILE!!”
  • “Say CHEESE!!”  Or fuzzy pickles, or happy!!
  • If there is a lightning storm within a twenty mile radius, you will find the photographer happily sitting out in the rain under a cardboard box, snapping six hundred photos of a section of sky.
  • If you manage to get a photographer to go on a trip of any kind without THE CAMERA, prepare yourself for whining that rivals a four year old with pneumonia…or a teenager deprived of their phone and music.
  • You might as well just resign yourself to the fact that a photographer in the family means hundreds or thousands of photos of yourself in the most awkward situations. There is no stopping them, and “I don’t photograph well,” is taken as a direct challenge.

Today was one long series of unfortunate events of the sort that Jim Carrey would never survive. It began with last night’s craft project and concludes with the character Band-Aid on my ass…

Last night I took some old photo frames that were the same size and color, sanded down the sides until they all matched perfectly, and fitted them together into a frame collage. It was gorgeous, if I may say so myself, each frame was black with gold trim so together it looked pretty fancy.

In this new set of frames I placed some black and white prints of kittens in costumes that I had been saving for years that came from a calendar…many many years ago. I have not seen a calendar similar to this, ever. I was saving the prints for something special.

I proudly hung the completed piece of art in my bathroom on a blank wall that has been bugging me. As a freelance writer with two kids out on the Back 40 of Hell’s Half Acre, I don’t exactly have much money. Extra things like home decorating items and wall art are luxuries that we just can’t buy. So anytime something can be made cheap and still looks classy, we are quite delighted with it.

This morning, things went pretty much as usual, my son woke me up at the crack of dawn to dance to CMT (his favorite early-am activity). I drank coffee that took an hour to brew (Hard water = a coffee pot that drips water at the rate of a slowly leaking faucet). I fixed us all bowls of our favorite cereal (none of the three of us like the same kind on the same morning…it is apparently against some cosmic rule).

I subsequently dumped out a bowl each of Cookie Crisp, Cinnabon-Something-or-Other, and Fruity Pebbles when I discovered the milk was a little…sharp. Eggs were rejected for the fact that I had exactly two eggs, and three hungry people. The kids got Pop-Tarts, I got another cup of coffee.

After that it was back to CMT and Legos for the munchkins, and I went into the bathroom to put on makeup and do something with my hair. My son gave me two minutes to get good and into the application of my eyeliner (very black, btw), then came marching up behind me with a TV remote in hand, headed for the toilet.

I leapt across the room, screeching “Nooooo!” and saved the remote in the nick of time, while apparently drawing an impressive black stripe across my face. Unfortunately either the high-pitched noise, the sudden shudder of the room from me jumping, or karma from the last bug I squished, something managed to dislodge the nail holding up my pretty creation from last night.

The entire thing came crashing down into the bathtub, shattering into dozens of splinters of glass and wood (insult to injury: the places I glued were mostly intact). Even the photos tore just enough to render them mostly useless in the future.

My saving grace in that moment was that the entire mess was limited to the interior of the bathtub, so it was fairly easy to scoop it all out, then shake out the bath mat and rinse the tiny shards down the drain. Plus, I could do all this with the munchkins and their curious little fingers locked safely out of the room until the glass was cleared.

It also gave me a few minutes to bawl like a baby and mourn the loss of the cool wall art that I would have dragged all house-guests into the bathroom to look at for the next month.

Once all of that was done, and the rest of the morning passed without any bloodshed or major malfukulations (yea…….sound it out…..there ya go), we all trooped out to Plainview to pay a bill that was due today.

I took with me all the money I had, which was enough to pay the bill and buy the gas to get back home. I did not consider that we would be passing roughly 137 snow-cone stands and a dozen ice cream trucks on this journey in 103 degree heat (but it’s a DRY heat…ha). I couldn’t buy the treats; couldn’t even stop for my gimongous iced tea from Sonic as I had hoped. We got the bill paid and the truck back up to a quarter tank with about 17 cents to spare.

By this time, the kids were sweaty and mutinous…

The bribe I got them out of Plainview on was that it’s Tuesday…and Meemaw (my grandmother) ALWAYS goes to the pizza buffet night in Lockney, and we have a standing invitation to go eat with her each and every Tuesday. We have been doing this for over a year at least a couple times a month, and not once has she allowed us to pay for our meal. Therefore I felt fairly safe in the drive to Lockney.

Nope. This turned out to be the one Tuesday that she wasn’t home, wasn’t in town, wasn’t anywhere to be found. If looks could kill, the tiny lightning bolts flying at the back of my head from the backseat would have taken me out right there on Main Street, crashing the truck into the newly remodeled pizza place.

I pacified the kids with a trip to visit my parents (they LOVE Grandma and Papaw), and got lucky. Mom had some money she was saving for me from some of my storage stuff she’d sold for me.

Therefore, I got to feed the angry, hungry minions!

It wasn’t pizza, but Dairy Queen fries and chicken saved me from a sure overthrow of the throne tonight.

Getting back home was uneventful, as was most of the rest of the evening. The kids watched iCarly and George Lopez while I got a few things written for “work.”

My son drowned my favorite makeup brush in the bathtub and my daughter had a hissy fit because I wouldn’t let her wear a pageant dress and boots to bed. The cat scratched the smallest one for dragging him around by the tail, and the screeches that ensued scared the loopy cowdog outside. The dog howled for half an hour, and the kids went to bed mad at me…for some reason, it was all Momma’s fault, as always.

Finally…

Finally, the kids were in bed and I was alone (well, reasonably so, the kitten in the house doesn’t count). I poured a glass of bourbon and diet coke because I am NOT a glass of wine kind of girl, and I ran the bathtub full of bubbles and bath salts.

I sank into the tub and slid down…and immediately jumped back out, splashing water and bubbles all over the bathroom.

Yeah, there was a piece of glass in the bath mat that had evidently survived the cleanup efforts of the morning.

Yeah, I cut my ass cheek.

And yeah, considering that I am really not a Band-Aid kind of person, it is quite an admission for me to tell you that since the location of the cut was just so that shorts were uncomfortable, I decided to put a bandage on it.

There are dozens of bandages in my house, in every shape and size, in Tinkerbell, Hannah Montana, Cars, Toy Story, and more…lots to choose from.

I put SpongeBob on my buttcheek just for spite.

People always chuckle and shake their heads at me when I compare my children (especially my son) to little monkeys. They seem to think I say it from nothing but a humorous standpoint, and that the little angels these two present to the public world couldn’t possibly be anything like a wild animal, much less an uncouth primate with climbing skills.

Peekaboo!

Boy are they wrong! These two have the wool pulled over everyone’s eyes with those innocent little smiles and puppy-dog eyes.

Why monkeys? Well, they do have opposable thumbs. Wait, that IS a word! Apparently not, according to my spell checker…maybe I made that one up.

Anyway, the little creatures cling to my neck with skinny arms and sticky fingers, one often wears nothing but a diaper, and their hair is always unruly (although they are flea-free). They also climb anything that stays still long enough, and swing from things by hands or feet.

All they need is a tail.

My son achieved his first climbing coup very soon after his first string of more than three walking steps without holding onto a coffee table. Somewhere between stringing together three steps and walking into another room, he mastered climbing on top of the coffee table…followed shortly by “falling” onto the couch across the small gap between the two.

This acrobatic trick was always followed by a burst of giggles that made any form of discipline nearly impossible. You just cannot make “No!” sound forceful enough when you’re giggling yourself (and trying not to shake the video camera-phone)!

That wasn’t the trick that earned him his Monkey Status, though. My little guy became an official Chimp-Kid the other day…

My daughter’s bedroom has a bunk-bed in it; a currently ladder-less bunk-bed. It is for company, relatives, slumber parties, etc. Meaning for a normal day or night, the top bunk is forbidden territory (yes, I know this is just asking for trouble, but I haven’t gotten around to chopping the bed in half yet, ok??). Hence, NO ladder.

My daughter earned her monkey badge a while back by climbing onto that bed, but it was expected. She was four, and very tall for her age…and had actually been allowed up there on occasion when we had extra people staying over. No problem.

Last week though, I was bopping around the house to some music, when I entered her room (she was at Grandma’s) and saw something unusual. Actually, the rarity was in what I DIDN’T see. Tiny Man had just went into that room, I was right there…and he wasn’t in there! I glanced around wondering where in the heck he could possibly hide when I heard the giggle.

The giggle from ABOVE.

Yep, the little monkey was perched on top of the bunk bed with a big grin and a Barbie doll. I do wish I had a video of how it happened, because the only thing close was his police car, a ride-in/push-around car with a dome canopy. Tall enough to reach his destination, but it ROLLS! It was pulled up next to the bed, with a smaller Lion Car next to it, and a plastic baby-wipe box next to that. Apparently he made himself a series of “steps” to get where he wanted to go.

Now I don’t feel so bad about calling the playpen his Monkey Cage when he was littler…unless maybe I jinxed myself with that one… Let’s just hope he doesn’t start throwing poop :-\