Outnumbered Two to One

What’s this HASAY all about?

My darling teen had been dropping hints for weeks.

She wanted a treadmill. A treadmill would make exercising easier. A treadmill would make exercising fun. A treadmill was all that stood between her and her lofty fitness goals, goals that once attained would make her a happier, more pleasant person to be around. Riiiiight…

The Wii Fit wasn’t good enough.

The multitude of shelved aerobics DVDs were lame.

The stationary bike was for losers.

Only a treadmill would do.

Unfortunately for her a treadmill wasn’t in the budget.

Enter my lovely sister with a crowded garage and a dusty, but perfectly functional treadmill that was at the time being used as toy shelving. One mom’s castoff is another mom’s clutter.

As of yesterday, we are the proud owners of one space saver treadmill with complimentary hand weights and a convenient water bottle holder. I suppose you could fit a bottle of pretty much anything in there, but for the purposes of this post we’ll assume it’s water. 

So far all of the children have tested the treadmill at least once. And today, I revisited my abandoned fitness endeavor and hopped on that baby for a thirty minute interval work out. It made me realize, once again, how out of shape I really am, when one minute of light jogging makes me feel like my heart is going to burst. That’s a good thing right? That means it’s working, doesn’t it?

Fortunately I avoided the coronary and live to jog another day. And my teen has also ventured on a couple of times. Whether she’s happier or more pleasant remains to be seen.

I’m hoping the treadmill stays active though, as soon as it starts collecting dust I’m going to have to find another relative to donate it to.

I think Google is talking to me.

Lately some of the searches I’ve gotten seem less like item look-ups and more like legitimate, thought provoking questions. People are turning to the web to seek solutions to some of their more pressing issues. Whether or not they’re finding them, I’ve no way of knowing, but I thought I’d provide a few answers for them just in case.

1. Can a toddler go to the movies? I suppose he can, but you’d probably have to drive him and buy the ticket, since generally they’re not tall enough to reach the accelerator or box office window.
2. How do I start a pointless argument? Usually by asking a pointless question that you probably already know the answer to.
3. What is a typical two year old like? They’re kind of unpredictable, like wild little monkeys only more devious and with less hair.
4. Where can I complain about my internet company? First you’d have to find someone who cared enough to listen and as far as I can tell, those people are a myth and don’t actually exist. They’ve been replaced by automated voice services designed to direct you in circles as it slowly saps you of your remaining sanity so that by the time the phone call has ended, you no longer care about your internet company’s crappy service.
5. Why would a toddler put there finger in there mouth far enough to throw up? In my experience, usually just to torment their parents. See my previous monkey statement.
6. How much does DJ Lance Yo Gabba Gabba salary? Not enough considering he’s always wearing the same clothes and his gigantic boom-box is grossly outdated. Also I don’t think your question is grammatically correct.
7. What diseases can you get from cockroaches biting your genitals? I don’t have an actual answer for this, it just prompted more questions like, why exactly are cockroaches crawling on your naked genitals? I’m trying to think about how a situation like that would ever arise and can’t come up with anything except being chained in someone’s basement, in which case I doubt you’d have internet access. Keep the roaches off your privates is all I can advise.
8. Can I give my toddler Nyquil? No. Really don’t do it.
9. Why is my toddler so lethargic? Doping him up on Nyquil probably did the trick.
10. Why is my toddler scratching his genitals? Usually itching prompts scratching, unless you’re the guy with roaches on his privates.
11. How can I stay to myself, ignore a lot of drama? I’d guess by staying to yourself and ignoring the drama. Is that a trick question?
12. Why no sick days for mommy? Mostly because we’re not unionized and have a substandard benefits package.
13. What does outnumbered two to one mean? It means there’s two of them and one of you, it means they can probably take you in a fist fight, it means if it comes down to fight or flight, head for the hills.
14. Is my paranoia serious? If you’re hiding in an underground bomb shelter because the government is watching you through your television, then yes. If you were an X-Files fan, then not so much.

Have your own question to ask? Throw it out there, I’m a fountain of useless information.

I’ve borrowed this idea from Helene over at I’m Living Proof that God has a Sense of Humor, she’s a list girl and consistently cracks me up with her twin tales, so I figured I’d use her as inspiration this Friday. Also check out Elizabeth at Three Channels who also did a great version of this list.

1. By all means, the toilet and the sink are completely interchangeable, feel free to wash your hands in the commode since it is already at your level. If I was shorter, I might opt to freshen up in there as well.
2. Of course Hershey’s kisses are an acceptable meal substitute. Calories are calories right? Who needs fiber? Nutrients are way overrated.
3. Please, tell your friends they can call at any time of day or night to gossip about what some long haired boy did or didn’t say to them. I don’t mind waking up at 3 am to answer the phone in an agitated haze, expecting to hear that someone in the family had died a horrible fiery death. Finding out it’s just a bored teenager on the other end is like a fabulous punch line to a hilarious joke.
4. Absolutely I’ll buy you that $75 Godzilla plush toy imported directly from Tokyo, but only if you ask me 35 times in rapid succession.
5. No, really, I love it when you ask me a series of questions in the middle of a climactic scene of a movie I’ve never watched. I love being jarred out of the moment.
6. Whenever you have to pee in the early predawn hours of a school day, please be sure to wake me from my peaceful slumber just to let me know. Knowledge is power.
7. Don’t ever, ever, do things the first time I ask. That would just take the fun out of me repeating myself thirty times before finally bellowing so loudly I burst a blood vessel in my eye. I don’t get enough opportunities to yell at you.
8. Aw, it’s so cute when you rip off your diaper and run around naked before accidentally peeing on the tile and slipping in it. It’s like living my own AFV clip, except I get to wash pee out of your hair which makes it that much better.
9. Yay, splash more of your dirty bathwater at me, especially when I’m nice and dry and ready for bed myself. If you can, wait until my mouth is open.
10. More whining, please, I can’t get enough of it. If all four of you can do it at the same time in varying pitches, it’s almost musical, like you’re all performing a beautiful new age opera just for me. Ah, what a tribute.

I am easily amused. Just ask my husband.

It’s one of the reasons why we’re together, not only is he hawt, but he makes me laugh on a regular basis.

Unfortunately, I’m not that discerning in what I find humorous. Occasionally when he and I sit down to watch television (which is pretty rare considering our viewing tastes are so diverse, I like trashy reality TV, he likes the Outdoor channel), we usually opt for something light and entertaining that will please both. Something that will offer a good chuckle or two.

A favorite of ours is The Soup, which we DVR and watch together. Sometimes we opt for some SNL or Mad TV. Now, my husband rarely finds humor in anything on either one of these skit shows, he’ll dramatically roll his eyes and shake his head, like it’s beneath him. I, on the other hand, will giggle, guffaw, and snort at the most ridiculous segments. Stuff that borders on the bizarre has been known to push me over the edge. Men screaming like women will always get a laugh out of me, which inevitably triggers a chain reaction in my husband who will always laugh when I’m genuinely laughing. Maybe it’s my flaring nostrils, maybe it’s that gurgling sound emitting from my throat, or the tears streaming down my face, but every time my husband will laugh and look at me like I’m a head case and he’s happy about it.

Things that make me laugh include:

A recent SNL skit that literally had me in stitches was The Lawrence Welk Show, since for some reason I can’t include the clip, I’ve linked to the NBC website. If you haven’t seen it and you have three minutes to spare, go take a look, even now it still cracks me up with it’s weirdness…I apologize in advance to any of you with big foreheads, baby hands, and car chasing propensities.

And for more laughter Spins please visit Sprite’s Keeper for a chuckle or two or twenty.

Sadly, this is what’s left of my husband’s recent Girl Scout Cookie purchase. I should be grateful that the temptation to binge on chocolate covered minty goodness and coconut caramel heaven has been eliminated, but the sad fact is I didn’t even get a single, pathetic lick of a cookie, much less an entire serving, before my children completely devoured our cookie ration.

I like to feel I’m doing my part to help the Girl Scouts out. Not by participating in any way, shape, or form, but by buying and eating and savoring their products in a carefully managed allotment, so that my yearly purchase can last me as long as humanly possible. This strategy helps me feel that I’m contributing in some small way to the Girl Scouts’ courage, confidence, and character building.

When my kids join forces to rob me of that experience, well that’s like mutiny…or something. It’s like a revolt, I mean it’s certainly revolting to me that I didn’t get a taste of a single Samoa. I’m not a perfect mom, but I’ve taught my kids the basics - don’t bite people, don’t eat your boogers, brush your teeth sometimes, share your toys. That last one applies to cookies too, dammit.

Did I have to spell it out for them? Did I have to be that specific? Maybe the right strategy would’ve been stashing the cookies in an undisclosed location then doling them out one at a time at my discretion…which would be never…muhuhuhahahaa (that’s my evil laugh, in case you’re not familiar).

Do as I say not as I do and all that…I’ll share the regular cookies with them - Chips Ahoy, Oreos - the special ones are mine next year…all mine.

For more Wordful Wednesday visit:

Cause some people don’t want to keep it Wordless apparently.

Last Friday my sister and I decided to meet up once again for another one of our  oh-so-rare girls’ night out. It had been a couple of months since we’d last ventured an evening without our respective broods and we both felt we needed some grown up time…you know, after dark, in our good jeans, with our hair brushed and sporting a little lipstick. Fancy, right?

Well, after abandoning my children to their father’s capable hands, I hopped in to my styling minivan, and shuttled off to meet my sister at the restaurant, which is about 20 minutes of highway driving from my house. About halfway there, cruising along at a steady 80 mph, I noticed some movement in the left corner of my windshield. What I saw lurking there was this…

Now, I normally don’t harbor any ill will toward the arachnids. Live and let live is my general approach, not like roaches which I strive to either annihilate or flee from. The problem was that as my vehicle was hurtling forward at an alarming rate of speed, I suddenly became terrified that this slightly repulsive critter was going to fling itself toward my face and I was going to drive my car in to a ditch where it would quite theatrically burst in to flames.

Spiders are fine, sure. Spiders on your face are somewhat less fine.

Rather than pull over to the side of the road and risk getting splattered by whizzing traffic, I opted to get off at the next exit, drive to the nearest gas station, and run screaming from my car, while simulataneously checking my hair for spiders. After a brief moment’s panic I walked back to the driver’s side and checked things out. The tiny spider was still perched at the edge of the windshield, possibly wondering what the heck was making me so twitchy.

After trying unsuccesfully for several minutes to flush the guy out with a balled up paper towel, I was approached by one of the car wash attendants who must have thought I was completely schizo dancing around in my flats and making little squeaking sounds on the asphalt.

Luckily he ignored his better instincts, and helped a girl out. He very gallantly grabbed the little guy by the legs, pulled him out, and set him free in the nearby bushes, hopefully to live out the remainder of his spider life in peace and happiness. He also was quick to point out that spiders are good luck and I should consider his little visit to be a good omen.

I suppose he was partially right, I was lucky enough to find parking that night at the restaurant , we only had to wait half an hour to be seated, and the movie we caught didn’t suck.

All in all it was a successful evening.

Now had a spider landed on my face, I probably wouldn’t have been so fortunate.

Now, for the record, I generally do not delight in torturing my children and broadcasting their misery on the internet. Mostly.

But yesterday, after an exceptionally long day of two-dler tantrums, my darling son took it upon himself to flip out because his big brother was eating a left over Valentine’s day party cupcake, while he was stuck with a measly sugar cookie. He tried for a good long while to snatch the cupcake out of his older brother’s hands, to no avail.

When that didn’t work he proceeded to demonstrate his frustration the following way. Being the diligent blogger that I am, I decided to capture the moment on video. Ignore my nasal tone as I try to provoke my son in to continuing his outburst, ignore also my five year old’s out of control giggling because he thought this was absolutely the funniest thing on the planet and was very proud to be a part of it.

I swear I’m not a bad mother.

7:30 am - Woke Mom up by shouting her name repeatedly until she stumbled in with her eyes half closed and picked me up.

7:31 am - Continued saying Mom’s name until she filled my bottle full of soy milk, then pitched a screaming fit because she tightened the lid without letting me help.

7:33 am - Pitched a screaming fit because Mom put me down on the sofa when I really wanted to be in her bed.

7:34 am - Pitched a screaming fit because Mom attempted to change my diaper while I was still pitching a screaming fit over the bed.

7:35 am - Drank my soy milk with a dry diaper. It was nice.

7:55 am - Pitched a fit when I realized Mom was in the bathroom without me.

8:00 am - Pitched a fit when Mom didn’t put my shoes on before my brother’s.

8:05 am - Pitched a fit because my sister turned off the television even though she knows that’s my thing in the morning.

8:10 am - Pitched a fit because Mom didn’t let me climb up in to my car seat by myself.

8:13 am - Rode in the car while we dropped the other kids off at school, Mom played the Muppets. It was nice.

8:30 am - Pitched a fit because Mom wouldn’t let me unlock the front door with her keys.

8:35 - Pitched a fit because Mom wouldn’t let me fill up the dogs’ water bowls. What is her problem anyway?

8:40 - Pitched a fit because Mom made me come inside from the backyard, only to make me walk out the front door, just to get in the car again to take another sister to school. Then she wouldn’t let me climb up in to my car seat like before…what did she think was going to happen?

9:00 am - Watched Backyardigans. Told Mom yes, I wanted pancakes, except I really didn’t and I had no intention of eating them.

9:20 am - Backyardigans was over so I pulled seven DVD cases off the shelves and tried to pry the discs out before Mom could wrestle them out of my hands.

9:30 am - Pitched a fit because the dogs ate the pancakes I had not intention of eating myself.

9:35 am - Went to my room and pulled as many of my brother’s toys as I could get out of the box, even though I have no intention of playing with them.

9:55 am - Got hungry, wished for pancakes, then pitched a fit for a Hershey’s kiss. Mom gave me cereal instead. That woman never listens.

10:00 am -  Went outside and tried to play with a plastic baseball bat. I think it was broken because it didn’t do anything so I threw it in to the grass and pitched a fit, except this time I tripped and fell on the concrete, which made me really angry, so I pitched another fit on top of the first one. I don’t think anyone could tell the difference.

10:10 am - Mom filled a watering can for me and let me water the plants, only I watered the concrete instead. Also I pitched a fit when it was empty.

10:30 am - Mom said she would make me a hard boiled egg except she wouldn’t let me hold the egg, so I said “aw, man” and pitched a fit.

10:45 am - Mom brought me a perfectly cooked hard boiled egg which I ate with a sprinkle of salt. When I was finished I asked her for more but she said “all done”. What the hell? Does she want me to eat or not? I pitched a fit.

11:00 am - Hid in my bedroom behind the door so I could poop in privacy. It was nice.

11:10 am - Mom came looking for me, she sensed something was amiss. When she asked me if I had poop, I said no and ran away. She caught me and tried to change my diaper, except she wouldn’t let me reach down and wipe for myself, so I tried to pitch a fit but she pitched a louder one which made me quiet down and be still.

11:20 am - Started feeling tired so I spun circles in the living room until I got dizzy and fell down, then pitched a fit

11:30 am - Hid beneath some furniture because it seemed like a good place to lie down.

11:45 am - Mom took me to my bed for some night-night even though it was still day time which didn’t even make sense. I thought about pitching a fit but my eyes. felt. so. heavy. And I meant to get really angry, but. then. I. just. fell. asleep.

To Be Continued…

• I believe the post office is one of the outer circles of hell. The one near us is always jam packed and still they have only two unhappy employees working the counter. These people only have one speed and it’s not snappy. Also they tend to speak in a monotone even when they’re being friendly, which makes it a little difficult to know when they’re telling a joke.
• I also believe one of hell’s circles is a never ending carousel ride.
• I have a cold again, which makes me a little angry. I just want to lie down and close my eyes, which with four kids in the house is not exactly possible. Even when Mr. Bear is at the helm they sneak in here to pull at my eyelids and shriek unintelligibly in my face…I’m going to take that as a sign of love.
• Also being sick makes it harder to shout when certain children are gratuitously flushing the toilet or pitching a tantrum because Yo Gabba Gabba is not coming on fast enough.
• My two year old is obsessed with his right nipple. Whenever he is shirtless, he picks at it unconsciously with one finger while he goes about his business. I’m scared he’s going to scrape it off. I can’t get him to quit so I tried suggesting he scratch at the other one. No dice. He’s got a favorite nipple apparently.
• A two year old without a diaper will always find the one square of rug in the house to take a pee on.
• My neighbor is getting her baby delivered via c-section this afternoon. It’s always exciting to me when someone else is having a baby because I get to soak in that new baby smell without the midnight feedings and postpartum depression.
• Don’t worry, I’m not taking my head-cold plague and spreading it on someone else’s new baby. I’ve got plenty of my own kids I can make sick, but then I’d just have to listen to them whine and clean up there puke, which I should be exempt from since I am sick myself.
• I am so not cleaning up my own puke.

You know you want in on the randomness. See Keely The Un Mom , she’ll hook you up.

My two year old isn’t afraid of anything.

Scratch that.

My two year old wasn’t afraid of anything.

Recently we discovered his fear of the dark during one of our routine bed time rituals.

A couple of weeks ago we unmasked yet another fear during an evening bath.

Okay, I might be partially to blame for this phobia he’s developed.

This guy shoulders the rest of the responsibility…

It was a quiet night in the Bear house. The boys were getting washed up before bed. There were soap suds and lathering and scrubbing of the several layers of dirt and stink they’d accumulated, when all of a sudden my five year old said, “Mom, there’s a bug in the tub.”

The bug in question was a teeny tiny black speck of a cockroach floating leg up in the bath water.

“Get a grip,” I mentally prepared myself.

I decided to scoop up the obviously dead insect in my cupped palms and flush it down the nearby toilet. Great idea in theory.

Great idea until the creepy little mutant demon spawn faker cockroach miraculously resurrected and started CRAWLING up my arm.

So I did what any grown adult woman would do.

I screamed like a girl and flung the cockroach on to my two year old son, who just happened to be within flinging range.

Wait, it gets better.

I flung the no longer dead cockroach on to my two year old son’s PRIVATES and by privates I mean his genitals.

I threw a cockroach at my son’s genitals. Which made him scream like a girl. Which made me hop up and down for a good five seconds while I regrouped before finally snatching the bug and brushing it off my hand in to the toilet at last.

Talk about terror. Not mine, the boy’s.

He screeched, he cried, he climbed sopping wet on to my lap and buried his damp face in to my shirt and I felt like a heel.

Maybe some day, after years of therapy, he’ll learn to forgive me. Or at least channel his fear in to something productive, like a blockbuster screenplay or a really cool blog.