Shots of London

I gave Tigger explicit instructions to take LOADS of photos and sent her with my camera.

It's always interesting to see what other people, particularly your children, see in the world. Here are some of her shots.


This one cracked me up. She's taking Rosetta Stone German right now in order to catch up to her peers so that she can take German 2 next year. She showed me this picture and said, "See this? It's called the Rosetta Stone! Isn't that cool?"


I think she only took this because it's written in English. In fact, I'm pretty sure that most of the pictures of signs were just because they were in English. This fact does not thrill me as much as it did her.

Yeah. Got no clue on this one either. We kind of alternate speaking British English and American English at home, so I don't know what was so thrilling about a lift. We use that word sometimes too.

I love her for this one. She hasn't told me about the pictures yet, but I know this one is for me. This is her way of saying that if we lived in London the chance of me getting hit by a car would be much less. Because not only do they HAVE bike lanes, there's a concrete barrier there. Sweet.

There is also an awesome short video of her friend flipping off the camera and then having a mild freak out when she realized that Pamela was holding her mother's camera.

And of all the souvenirs she could have brought me, she brought me only this:Because she is the greatest daughter in the universe.

And I Actually Purchased It...

This is Piglet's new shirt.


Do you see the obvious punctuation error? I didn't.

And this isn't a locally bought shirt in a country that doesn't speak English natively (my "Chili & Pepper: Come and be the heat tonight" T-shirt is always good for laughs when I wear it around native English speakers). This was ordered online from Old Navy.

So I gather that hurt belongs to Get...or that there's some new fangled slang that nobody get is hurt. Or maybe Get is hurt.

Poor Get. We should probably get him some snacks.

So She's Gone?

Tigger, my oldest, went on her very first trip outside of the country by herself. Well, not by herself. I'm not one to send my 14 year old off on a plane all alone.

She's on a school sponsored trip to London.

When you don't fixate on it, you don't realize what a milestone it is.

And it's easy to not fixate on the fact that your "little girl" has grown up, when you're busy fixating on the fact that you have never been to London.

And when she brought home the permission slip I said, "OOH, ooh, ME ME ME! I want to go to London!"

She kept dancing around the house saying "They speak English there!" While I glared at her from the corner.

Yeah, whatever. You go off and see the Old Globe theatre and speak English to all those nice people.

I'll be fine. I'll stay here and creep out the only English speaking people I know by being all weird and silent. And by mentioning my blog in every conversation.

It's probably better that I hang out in a country where I don't speak the language natively. Or fluently.

I can have my conversations with the deli clerk.

"Please Miss. Please 1/2 kilo meat. Turkey. Slicing. Please Miss."

She Simply Has A Little Herb Garden

So lately, husband has decided that we can't possibly send our little naive, always lived overseas, no idea how the world works, daughter "off" to college.

She's almost 15. I wasn't really planning to send her off until she had at least graduated from high school.

I guess he had other ideas.

So, in an effort to traumatize familiarize her with the ways of the world, he's got us watching Weeds every night.

We had never seen Weeds, as we've been outside the United States since 2005 and AFN doesn't carry shows with drug content graphic sex Mary-Louise Parker in them. It took us to the end of the second episode to realize that Weeds meant weed.

And now I gather from this show that every widowed American housewife is actually a pot grower/dealer who is secretly married to a DEA agent who targets other drug cartels in order to allow his wife's business to flourish.

I guess America has changed since I was last there. Or perhaps I just didn't know any widows.

And now I'm pretty darn sure that I will not be sending the aforementioned daughter anywhere. She's going to live at home until she's 30. Or she'll join a convent.

So That's Why!

The other day, I picked Piglet up from a playdate at his friend who happens to be a girl (not to be confused with his girlfriend, because she would be very angry to know that things changed while she was gone for 3 months).

I asked him how everything was and he said, "Fine. They only have girl stuff."

I said, "Well, that's because they only have girls."

He said, "I wish I was a girl."

I asked him why.

He said, "Because girls always get to go first."

I Just May Kill Someone

For those who are just joining us, our cat died last year.

Not too long before she died, some kittens came to live in our garbage house, then our garage.

We took said kittens to the vet to get their shots and get "fixed".

The vet said that at four months, they were too young to have surgery and that we had to wait until they entered puberty or until they had their first litter.

On many issues, I completely understand where Poles are coming from. Like how they drive like maniacs (And why were you driving 60 kph anyway? Just because it's the speed limit? Pshaw!) and how they really like to dress nicely (who doesn't? Wearing stiletto heels in the dead of winter acts like an ice pick and keeps you anchored to the ground.).

This is the one case where I think they are backward (well, this and the idea that a kid with a runny nose due to allergies most certainly carries the next black plague which will indeed wipe out Europe).

When we had our 6 year old furnace replaced (I KNOW!), one of the kittens vanished.

So now this has left us with one "kitten" to contend with. And guess what? She's in heat. In this time of no money spending, the damn cat has gone into heat! So she's howling at the top of her lungs ALL THE FREAKING TIME whilst rubbing her body all over every piece of furniture to make sure that any wandering males who happen upon our living room will be able to find her.

And my husband continues to sing this song:



I may very well lose my mind. Send medication. And liquor.

We're Sophisticated!

Have you seen the news coverage about the prostitution ring in Houston?

I grew up in Houston. I read the Houston Chronicle most days.

When I read the first article about the prostitution ring, I was offended. They said, "The couple stands charged with running a sophisticated brothel and call-girl operation that catered to the city’s high rollers and screened its prospective clients carefully. Like similar operations that have come to light in New York, Washington and New Orleans..."

It made it sound as though Houston was not sophisticated. At least not as sophisticated as New York, and D.C.

I was highly offended.

Houston has a world class medical center, wonderful museums, and fabulous shopping.

And apparently, some really high class hookers.

What's not sophisticated about that?

Why You Should Never Give Your Spouse A Magazine Quiz

Thank you all for the birthday wishes. I feel very loved:).

Last night, on the way to our big local grocery store (we've decided that shopping at the corner store is insanely expensive, and we're having a go at once a week shopping at Auchan), Dylan decided he wanted to administer a sex quiz from Maxim.

I'll spare you the details of the whole quiz, but one of the last questions was "What's a deal breaker in a relationship? a) Lying - about anything, b) Using online pron, c) Flirting with another woman, d) Cheating (this includes just kissing another woman)?"

I said, "Cheating, to include kissing."

Him: "Really? Even if I was just kissing her?"

Me: "Why were you kissing her?"

Him: "Oh, so I could have sex with her. But we didn't. We just kissed."

Me: "Yeah, well that's only 'cause you got caught. And that's why we're getting divorced. Are you happy now?"

Him: "You're going to write about this on your blog aren't you?"

Go Shorty, It's My Birthday!

Yep, today, 35 years ago, yours truly was born.

And my dad still doesn't know that I wasn't born on the 18th.

Maybe my "dad" wasn't there...

Anyway, I have little to say about this except that this has been the most depressing birthday by far. There were SO many things I had wanted to accomplish. Not that I really had a date in mind, but in my family if you make it to 35 - well - you're pretty much at the end of your life.

That said, Piglet and I are drooling over the mere idea of chocolate cake...yummy American style chocolate cake with loads of frosting.

And wine. Well, that's just me. Piglet is not so interested in the wine.

Because Father W. was also born in March and has granted me special dispensation for my birthday. Because he had whiskey on his birthday and a little Irish birdie told me that.

So I have special dispensation.

Random Holes

Have you ever seen the movie (or read the book) Holes by Louis Sachar?

Sometimes I feel like I'm living it.

But It Has Melted!

A few weeks ago, we had an electrician come to the house to check on our outside lights.

Others look like this:


Ours look like this:

As a result of our simply turning them on.

The conversation with the electrician went like this:

Him: "I have come to check on the lights."

Me: "Yes, they are right over there."

A few minutes later, after he circled the house two times.

Him: "I think you will need to come and show me these lights. I cannot find the broken lights."

Me: "They're these ones right here."

Him: "So they don't work?"

Me: "Well, they ARE melted."

Him: "But do they turn on?"

Me: "You see, I didn't turn them on again once they melted. I don't actually know if they still work."

Him: "Please turn them on."

I turn on the lights, one does work and the other does not.

Him: "Well, one works. The other one probably needs to have a bulb replaced."

Me: "But you see...the lights have melted. I don't think that's normal. I'm pretty sure it's a fire hazard."

Him: "But the lights work."

Me : *Throw up arms in frustration and give up*

Wow, my grammar was horrendous today. I apologize if I've missed anything.

Sadness

Two bloggers I read and love and feel all friendly with have had something horrific happen to them in the last few days.

Braja was on her way to the airport when the car she was riding in hit a truck. She has suffered facial injuries and a broken wrist and a punctured lung. Her husband's injuries were much more severe, but it looks as though at some point he regained consciousness. Read this update (updated regularly) then go send Braja some love.

Kelley of Magneto Bold Too! suffered a stroke on Wednesday. The day before her birthday. She is 36 years old. She (along with her husband, MPS) is blogging and her sense of humor is intact, but please go and send her some love.

Yeah, We're Related

Last night my husband discovered the We're related application on Facebook. He added everyone he could remember being related to.

It popped up in my Facebook (if you are friends with one or both of us on Facebook, I'm very sorry, but you'll know that in the evenings he usually sits at the desktop and I sit across the living room using the laptop and we harass each other incessantly on Facebook - we're weird that way. It's also something that meets the requirements of the experiment. We also occasionally harass our daughter, but she gets really angry and hacks into our accounts and changes information is no fun). So last night, it popped up asking me to confirm my relationship to him. He was giggling like a schoolgirl.

I confirmed that I was related to him and THEN it popped up with "You've confirmed your relationship with Dylan as his old lady. Add your relationship to Dylan.

He said, "Are you going to put My A$$hole? Have you seen my a$$hole?"

Me: "My a$$hole has it's own Facebook page. You wouldn't believe how many friends my a$$hole has!"

Him: "My A$$hole has an extensive online following. You should add my a$$hole as a friend. My a$$hole even writes a blog."

At that point we both collapsed in laughter. And Tigger said, "Y'all are weird" and left the room, most likely to go find some nice normal people - like drug dealers and prostitutes - to talk to.

But now you know why, after 15 years, we're still married.

Thoughts on Week 3

This is the beginning of week 3 of the experiment. Saying it that way makes me feel better than saying "it's been 2 weeks". The beginning of week 3 insinuates that there are only 3 more weeks left (not that I'm counting, but it's exactly 742 hours, 29 minutes and 14 seconds until April 11 at 3 PM). So these are some random thoughts about the experiment.

- We're almost out of iced tea blend tea bags from the States. I fed my family "baby" tea last night (tea that's for babies not tea made from babies. Wouldn't that really be like bathwater?).

- It was a sad day the day we opened our last jar of Jif Peanut Butter. I think I will cry when it is all finished. On the plus side, I've taught the children to make peanut butter from actual peanuts. It's like we're pioneers!

- If I could buy one thing from the store that was not "essential" it would be woda gazowana (water with gas). I love the stuff. I live on the stuff. Distiller water is making me angry. You won't like me when I'm angry.

And those are some of my random thoughts. Maybe I should keep them thoughts.

Super Why! Super Scary!

Stewie has always been the timid one. I mean, he's not actually timid and he can beat the crap out of his brothers with the best of them (like this weekend when he hit Piglet in the face with his Leapster L-Max), but sometimes movies and TV shows scare him.

Which is strange to me. I haven't had a kid who freaked out at television.

A few weeks ago, iTunes had Super Why! as a free episode. We had never seen Super Why! as we have AFN which shows the same Blues Clues episodes on endless loop since Tigger (who's almost 15) was 2. Don't get me wrong, I love AFN, it's just that we're not always getting the most updated television there is.

But it's better than no television. Particularly when there's no money to do anything else.

Anyway, Piglet and Pooh LOVE Super Why! It's a PBS show, so it's educational AND entertaining.

AND it scares the living daylights out of Stewie.

So really, it's a win-win for the big boys.

I Can't Help That You Have Psychosomatosis...

Dear Parent of daughter in Pooh's class,

I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your going to the preschool director about Pooh and his runny nose.

I found it particularly amusing how you saw Pooh's runny nose on Monday and your daughter fell ill that night with what he was ill with.

I understand that your daughter has a "delicate" immune system. Only girls who are the youngest in their families by 10 years often do. Only children also suffer from this ailment. And, interestingly enough, mothers of these types of children often suffer from psychosomatosis and/or hypochodriosis. I believe they must be genetically linked.

I also found it interesting how you threatened the director that if my child was allowed back with a runny nose your child would no longer be attending the preschool. I thought you'd like to know that she did pass that on to me.

I also thought you'd be interested to know that:

a) Pooh has a medical condition that causes his nose to run uncontrollably ALL THE TIME. I assure you it's annoying to me as well. We have provided a note to the director from his doctor that notes that he is not contagious.

b) I pay for two children to attend the school. You pay for one. You will be leaving this summer. I will not be leaving this summer. I believe the director will take all of this into consideration when she is forced to choose between us.

Oh, and please pass on to your husband that my husband would like to see him in his office on Monday.

Have a very nice weekend.

I Always Go For Walks After I Go to Bed

Piglet came down after bedtime last night with this complaint:

"The cat keeps following me wherever I'm going."

"Where are you going? You're supposed to be in bed!"

"Um. Whenever I go to get a drink of water."

Tigger: "How many drinks of water have you gotten? You've only been in bed 20 minutes!"

Piglet: "Four."

Okay then.

And my friends, today I discovered soy milk*. I know that sounds stupid, but I have always avoided "milk" that comes from beans. Of course, since I'm lactose intolerant, I pretty much avoid milk that comes from mammals too.

So now I just have to figure out how to make it an "essential" item. Seeing as I haven't been a milk drinker since I was a kid, it's hard to convince hubby that this new invention is something I MUST HAVE.

*I purchased it about a month ago and left it in the pantry. I did not just buy the milk.

And Now I Do...

Awhile back I posted about why I don't use Google Analytics (or a sitemeter of any kind). Well, this weekend I finally got curious enough to find out who's reading my blog, so I signed up for Google Analytics.

I am, indeed, just as paranoid as I thought I would be.

I'm also a wee bit disappointed. I had imagined there were WAY more of you out there reading me and you were all just being quiet about it.

You know, 'cause it's easier to believe made up crap in your head if you don't have any proof that it's true. Heck, there's an entire website devoted to disproving that sort of thing.

Anyway, I don't get many hits off of Google searches, but the funniest one I got, in just this first weekend, was for "don't use Google Analytics".

And so I thought I should come clean. My name is Kylie and I'm a Google Analyticaholic.

And, for all of you who are still curious about the experiment, I'll update more tomorrow...or perhaps the next day. I'm still feeling a bit lazy and apathetic. I think it's the no moisturizer/Coke Zero/crackalattes.

Taking a Break

I'm taking a break today from my whining and moaning to update you all on my friend.

I saw her today for the first time since the surgery and she's doing really, fabulously well. She was back at work.

And, in case you were all curious, we came to an amicable agreement on how she would pay me. She provides me a service normally. It's, um, not something I want to talk about here - because it's embarrassing she's my crack dealer it's personal. Anyway, she will provide the service for a discounted rate for as long as I continue to help her out.

Win-win!

And, because I am such a slacker productive human being who has a lot going on in her life, I have not yet responded to those of you who asked for interviews. I'm lazy highly efficient, so I have decided to send the same interview questions to all of you then post the questions here and link to all of you.

See, highly efficient.

Days 52, 73, & 365

Edited to add: Yes, my blog header has changed again. I'm still in this imaging class and I'm messing around with my blog look. Sorry. I'm going to be doing this for the next four weeks until I get it perfect.

Day 2

8:30 AM Realize that I am almost out of my $50 a pot moisturizer. Start to use the Mary Kay samples from my dealer. Start to freak out that I might have to resort to *gasp* a drugstore brand. Are we barbarians?

7:00 PM Score a bottle of nice wine from some friends in return for watching their dog while they vacation. Am learning to freeload. Or at the very least barter.

Wonder what I can get if I sell my body? A haircut? Free moisturizer?

I'm pretty sure the salesperson in Douglas was checking me out the last time I was there. So what, if she's a woman?

Day 3

7:30 AM Am officially out of Coke Zero. Resort to instant iced tea. Consider starting a Coke Zero plant in my kitchen.

10:00 AM Receive email about a sale at Gymboree. Realize that there is no way that my children will have new Easter clothes. Explain to Dylan that the children NEED new Easter clothes so that they don't look like bums. People in church may think we're neglectful parents.

He doesn't buy it. Thinks they have enough clothes since their (collective) closet won't actually close. Tell him it's a bad hinge on the door. He doesn't buy it.

5:00 PM Try to figure out what to make for dinner from flour, water, and diced tomatoes. Assume that no one will eat a tomato casserole. Make a pizza. From scratch. Pizzas don't HAVE to be round, right?

Day 4

2 AM Wake up ridiculously early panicking about my phone card, which I'm pretty sure I threw away.

Let the dog out. Dog does not come back in. Freak out that dog has escaped and I will have to call friends and tell them "I know you haven't even left the country yet, but I lost your dog. Here's your dog toys, bed and money back. Oh, and the nice bottle of wine *sob*."

Dog comes back in the house just after I have gotten completely dressed to conduct a massive neighborhood search.

(Before typing all of this up, wonder for a long time if said friends read my blog. Decide that even if they do, they won't be in town to read this one. And really, what are they going to do? Turn around and come home?)

3:30 PM Send kids and husband to the park while I "work on my photoshop homework". In reality, dig through yesterday's garbage scrambling to find 50zl phone card.

Neighbors probably will never talk to me again.