Too Much Information

Pooh goes to a Montessori preschool. The director, who is also his teacher, is a very interesting character.

I've never really talked about her here, but she's hilariously funny without trying to be. I'm always pretty paranoid that people I know are going to find my blog, so I often try not to talk about people I know in real life. Of course, sometimes I get a little sideways and tell such people that I write this blog.

Anyway, because I'm usually not drunk at the preschool, I've never told the director about my blog.

So now she's fair game.

Last week, she told me that Pooh's favorite book was this one:


And Pooh's favorite part of the book is this one:


So Pooh showed me the book and I said, "Yes, that's the way you were born, but sometimes the doctor has to cut the mom's belly and take the baby out that way."

And the director said "Now, that's too much information."

THAT'S too much information? When exactly does it become too much information? I suppose it's when we start talking about surgery.

Update: This is the page about how babies get there in the first place:


My particular favorite is the man and woman lying in bed apparently thinking love thoughts.

Rhymes With Duck Race

I had totally intended to have this post up on Wednesday, but my internet went out on Tuesday. Two days without internet - I nearly died. Today, when I reached rock bottom, I could be found at my children's school trying desperately to hack into their WiFi network; which, despite my mad skillz, I was unable to achieve.

I often read stories, or in the case of my sister in law, HEAR stories about children who say inappropriate things in inappropriate situations. They do this because they are children. It's what they do. They haven't yet learned tact. They will learn, although some unfortunate souls never do (is it unfortunate for them or for those of us who have to deal with them? Like the lady at a party the other day who turned to me and loudly announced that another woman at the party had "no tits").

Me? I am blessed by living in a country where 99% of the people speak a language different than the one my family speaks. Therefore, I am usually spared most of those mortifingly embarrassing moments. However, my Polish is horrifically embarrassing, so there's no need to feel like I'm missing out on embarrassment.

Anyway, a few days ago, I was walking through one of the largest malls in Warsaw, while Piglet and Pooh Bear were entertaining each other with the rhyming game. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the rhyming game it's a maddening game where a word or phrase is repeated incessantly and then, because their mother/father/nanny/sister has not been driven to the brink of insanity yet, they think of words or phrases that rhyme with it.

That particular day's phrase was "duck race". I think they came up with it because they are 4 and 6.

So, there are many, many interesting things that rhyme with duck race, but I think you know which one caught my attention.

So I stepped in.

"Please don't say that word. It's not a nice word in English." And yes, I really do specifiy which language when speaking to my children.

Pooh: "What's not a nice word? F*ck face?"

Me: "Yes. That word is not nice."

Pooh: "So I shouldn't say f*ck face?"

Me: "No."

Pooh: "Why is f*ck face not a nice word?"

At that point I was fairly convinced that he was just screwing with me. And he's 4!

Me: "I don't know exactly. Someone a long time ago decided it was a bad word. It's culturally accepted to be a bad word and therefore we shouldn't say it."

Pooh: "Okay. I'll stop saying f*ck face."

Yes. I am truly, truly grateful that most people did not understand a gosh darned word that kid said.

Some Days

You know how some days start out like normal?

You're running late, like normal.

Your four year old erupts into a hysterical crying fit because you "let his snail go live outside" - when in reality it was dead and you tossed it into the backyard. You wonder why you bothered to spare him the truth.

You get the kids in the car, give the remaining kids the list of things they have to do before and after school and go off to the preschool drop off.

You get to preschool and the director says, "Here's our information. Build us a website. By tomorrow. Go!"

And then you're like, "How in the name of all things that are good and pure, did I manage to get myself into this mess? Today was so normal!"

Then you turn up 4 hours later with a pretty awesome looking website and she says, "Well, that's good."

And you're like, "Seriously? That's it? Do you know how amazing I am? Especially since I haven't worked in this field in 10 years! And everything I've learned has been through hobbies!"

So here it is:



I expect more praise from y'all.

And it's not online yet because we're having server issues.

A Bad, Bad Thing

I've been a bad blogger. Trying to make the rounds, but back when I took my break I told myself that I would only read blogs from my iPhone. That way, it was when I was waiting to get my hair cut, or waiting in the doctor's office, or waiting at the car service center (where I like to hang out every Tuesday) and would not be taking up my whole day.

Then my iPhone decided that it hates me. Which is so sad, because I really loved it.

I read your blogs, click the link to original post, TYPE MY COMMENT USING ONLY MY THUMBS, and then the darn phone freezes up on me and LOSES my comment AND Google Reader then resets so I lose the original post too!

It's a conspiracy!

But yesterday, I typed up a whole post using only my thumbs. And guess what.

RESET!

Lost the post.

iPhone hates me.

Pimp My Ride - Polish Style

"Why Yes, city bus WAS the look I was going for."

What Happens When You Give a 4 Year Old Rum Cake

Yes, he's licking the plate.

And I didn't find out it was rum cake until after he asked for his third slice.

He slept REALLY well that night.

Whatever You Like

Today is hubby's and my 15th wedding anniversary. We were married on his birthday. Today, he says that if he were to do it again, he would absolutely NOT get married on his birthday.

But we did, so he can suck it.

Anyway, our first several years of marriage were exactly like this:




I laugh every time I hear this song. Yep, totally my life. Except that my husband was assistant manager at Blockbuster, and manager of Radio Shack.

And now we're diplomats.

And we order sushi.

But we'll always have that time. When it was "all about the Washingtons".

And I think that's what sticks us together.

Well, that and we love each other passionately.

Yeah, that could be it too.

And Another Thing...

Anyone who lives in Poland has had the experience of getting to the cash register in a store and having the item not ring up. At that point the cashier becomes Obi Won Kenobi. "This is not the item you're looking for". And she puts it into the pile on the side of her register, where all good items go to die.

Usually I take it as a sign that I wasn't supposed to get whatever it was anyway. I've been known to buy things without any idea what they were used for. For instance, I've bought cream that makes me look...um...WAY darker than my natural skin tone (here in Poland of all places) thinking it was a type of moisturizer (I don't actually intend to write about moisturizer obsessively. If you're as interested in moisturizer as I apparently am, you can read more here and here).

This time though, the store had caught on that the item wasn't ringing up and had written the price on the side of the box. The item didn't scan. The cashier looked at me and waved her fingers. I pointed to the price "Tam. (There)." She sighed heavily and tried scanning it again.

"Sześć dziesiąt dziewięć dziewięćdziesiąt dziewięć (69.99)" and I again pointed at where the price was written. She sighed again and called for assistance.

Assistance never showed up. She rang my whole order and nothing. She waved her fingers at me and I went on my way.

It was not the item I was looking for.

A Typical Long Weekend

This weekend was a long weekend. See, 1 May is Labor day in much of Europe. And then the Poles celebrate Constitution Day on 3 May (I'm still pretty sure that Constitution Day was an elaborate plot. Independence Day is 11 November, which is a really sucky time to have BBQs and sit outside drinking beer, so they waited to sign their Constitution until Spring/Summer so that they could have a nice day to have those BBQs and beer drinking. Brilliant plan if you ask me.)

So we tried to go to a Renaissance festival, had a birthday party to attend, went to the pool and abducted some children*.

Perfectly normal weekend.

*I can't tell the abduction story as it involved my husband and this week is his birthday. This is my birthday present to him.

But next week, it's on. ;)

Probably Shouldn't Confuse This With Your Moisturizer

Especially not just before a job interview.