when a simple "I know." or "Right." will do
tells me everything I need to know about you.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Thursday, August 23, 2012
hairbrush hostage
For my 18th birthday, Brandon burned me a CD. Very early 2000s, yes? Which I played constantly in my Camaro Z-28 convertible (yes. seriously.) until, one day, Mom had to drive my car. And she heard the CD. And she took it! For its explicit nature! fair enough. Trick Daddy never covered a nursery rhyme.
Lord, the yell fest that ensued when I realized she took it.
And said she wouldn't give it back! (Why didn't you just throw it away?!)
Because she was planning to use it as leverage. That's why.
And in my first offensive move of teenagerdom, I quit hollering.
And when she wasn't home, I took her favorite hairbrush. And hid it. And waited.
The first day, I felt awful. Mom scrambled around for 30 minutes. A whirling dervish of periwinkle pastel terry cloth. Late for work. The whole nine yards.
For the next week, she scrambled on.
Oh, y'all.. did she complain about that brush.
My resolve nearly buckled at the sight of her daily distress.
She went through the seven stages of grief, one of which was definitely Blame Courtney and Ransack Her Room. Multiple times.
Which may have revealed a lone empty Miller Lite can.
Which is when I quit feeling sorry for her at all.
After a terrible, terrible awful tongue-lashing, she went back to ransacking her own room. Daily.
See, best-brush-ever-for-trademark-hairdo had been procured a few years previous in a Clinique free gift.
Even so, 'replacements' were purchased of nearly every drug store variety along with those from multiple department store make-up counters.
And I giggled. And I reported to my friends daily. I hollered a little about the ransacked room. And car. And closets. You know, to make it seem genuine.
It was a big deal at school, as almost daily, someone would ask in passing, "Still have the hairbrush?"
Every now and then, a couple of days would go by and I would hear no tale of woe.
I would worry. ..Maybe I've waited too long to pull the string? Maybe she's resigned herself to a life of less fluff at the bristles of a Conair or Goody.
Until one day, I heard her on the phone with Clinique corporate. . . seeking a replacement.
As she listened intently, clutching tightly to the phone cord and her only hope, I saw her face fall in acceptance. Knowing the trail had gone cold.
It was time to strike (and/or haul ass, should the situation not go to plan)
"How badly do you want that brush back?" I asked.
"Bad."
"So if I could find it, you'd give me my CD back?"
"Yes.."
"You swear?"
"Yes." (imagine a look of equal parts rage and relief, if possible - boondoggled, really.)
..So that's how I got it back.
..but not before she, honest to goodness, called me "Diabolical!" and meant it with every strand of her flat hair.
So, she never took a CD again, what with the threat of reciprocity so keen.
And instead, developed a classification system of sorts, pictured below:
Lord, the yell fest that ensued when I realized she took it.
And said she wouldn't give it back! (Why didn't you just throw it away?!)
Because she was planning to use it as leverage. That's why.
And in my first offensive move of teenagerdom, I quit hollering.
And when she wasn't home, I took her favorite hairbrush. And hid it. And waited.
The first day, I felt awful. Mom scrambled around for 30 minutes. A whirling dervish of periwinkle pastel terry cloth. Late for work. The whole nine yards.
For the next week, she scrambled on.
Oh, y'all.. did she complain about that brush.
My resolve nearly buckled at the sight of her daily distress.
She went through the seven stages of grief, one of which was definitely Blame Courtney and Ransack Her Room. Multiple times.
Which may have revealed a lone empty Miller Lite can.
Which is when I quit feeling sorry for her at all.
After a terrible, terrible awful tongue-lashing, she went back to ransacking her own room. Daily.
See, best-brush-ever-for-trademark-hairdo had been procured a few years previous in a Clinique free gift.
Even so, 'replacements' were purchased of nearly every drug store variety along with those from multiple department store make-up counters.
And I giggled. And I reported to my friends daily. I hollered a little about the ransacked room. And car. And closets. You know, to make it seem genuine.
It was a big deal at school, as almost daily, someone would ask in passing, "Still have the hairbrush?"
Every now and then, a couple of days would go by and I would hear no tale of woe.
I would worry. ..Maybe I've waited too long to pull the string? Maybe she's resigned herself to a life of less fluff at the bristles of a Conair or Goody.
Until one day, I heard her on the phone with Clinique corporate. . . seeking a replacement.
As she listened intently, clutching tightly to the phone cord and her only hope, I saw her face fall in acceptance. Knowing the trail had gone cold.
It was time to strike (and/or haul ass, should the situation not go to plan)
"How badly do you want that brush back?" I asked.
"Bad."
"So if I could find it, you'd give me my CD back?"
"Yes.."
"You swear?"
"Yes." (imagine a look of equal parts rage and relief, if possible - boondoggled, really.)
..So that's how I got it back.
..but not before she, honest to goodness, called me "Diabolical!" and meant it with every strand of her flat hair.
So, she never took a CD again, what with the threat of reciprocity so keen.
And instead, developed a classification system of sorts, pictured below:
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Harper's 3rd Birthday Interview
Today is Harper's big day, as of 5:15 a.m., but the celebration has been going on for about 24 hours, now. It is my personal opinion that birthdays for kids are such a big deal - especially once they 'get' it - that there's no way all the fun can/should be packed into one day. Also, there's the matter of nap time. An entire 2 or 3 hours of precious hooting/hollering time lost to sleep. That will not do.
So we decorated a vanilla cake last night and tonight we'll have a chocolate.
Haters gonna hate.
Anyway, I love the interview idea. I'm going to ask the same questions every year on her birthday. However, she was particularly amenable yesterday and anyone with a 2/3 y/o knows you don't scoff at a good toddler mood. . .
Me: Harper, since tomorrow is your birthday, I'm going to interview you.
Harper: Huh? Surprise!
How old are you? I'm two years old.
Right. Tomorrow, you'll be three years old.
Yeah. I'm three years old.
Who is your best friend? I don't know.
What is your favorite thing to do? Nope. Not yet.
What's your favorite color? Purple...Pink!
What's your favorite food? Pink cake!
What is your favorite thing to do with your family? 1,2,3 families! Harper counts them all! ((ok..))
What is your favorite toy? Henry's squishy ball.
What do you want to be when you grow up? dinosaur hunter
What makes you happy? smiling
What makes you sad? happy
What is your favorite TV show? Bubble Guppies
What is your favorite book? 1 color for A,B,C Books or big heavy blue book (Berenstain Bears compilation) I have no idea about the former. I'm pretty sure it means coloring books with words. ..but these are totally not her favorite. Berenstain, yes. Huge fav.
((pause for first lengthy potty emergency/disaster..the details of which I do not care to retain))
Continued bath-side:
What do you like to learn about? Uhh.. Harper doesn't know. Pictures. Mommy, find the missing pictures to go in the hat tree. ((?))
What is the best part of your birthday? Pink cake!! Sooo ("so" is her new conjunction of choice and begins almost every sentence with it)...next, we decorate a crown!
Where do you like to go? The car!!
Where do you like to go in the car? The red light stops the car. Daddy in the car! Let's go get
him!
What is your favorite treat? Chocolate!
What do you think about at night before you fall asleep? Bed.
What famous person would you like to meet? Grandma!
What do you want for your birthday? Candles and some eggs!
What's your favorite thing about your birthday? Huh. The cake.
Momma, more questions?
Before I can think of one. . . .
BONUS ALERT.
Harper begins making up her own. I type furiously.
What do in car? Mommy, Henry, Daddy, Harper.
What's Harper's brother's name? Henry!
Are you a boy or a girl? Girl! I'm a girl, Mom!
What does Harper do? Spinning in a pink dress.
What's the best color? Pink.
Happy Birthday, sweet girl.
Happy Birthday, Momma!
Monday, June 18, 2012
I've heard just about enough.
This camel's back is getting weak.
In three weeks, we're moving back to our hometown.
I am a whirling dervish of packing and sorting and throwing away the last four years of our life.
I can not wait to get back to Fayetteville, North Carolina.
Did you just raise an eyebrow?
It is home to Fort Bragg - you know.. where the men and women who protect your freedom work and train and live and have families. You may have heard of it.
You may have a story of a night you spent there.
And if you did, or your grandma's cat's hamster's turtle's llama spent a night there, as sure as you have a mouth to spew it from, I'm sure you have an opinion.
But what, on Earth, makes you think it's a good idea to insult the city where I was born? Where my family, and my husband's family, have chosen to live for generations?
Maybe it would be a better idea for you to ask me about it, instead.
And another thing:
Those of you who are from Fayetteville and moved off someplace and have gotten too big for your britches and run it down every chance you get? ..You're from there, too. For shame.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Top of the Muffin to ya - Weeks 4 & 5
Over the last two weeks, I've lost 2 lbs. Which is painfully slow, but exactly how it should be because I'm still (guys and gals not of the parent persuasion, look away now) breastfeeding.
I'm currently on the Don't Eat So Damn Much diet. Three meals. No snacks. Water. Duh.
Our whole house has had the plague, so running was put on the back burner in favor of not publicly coughing up a lung on a busy street corner.
However, it seems that simply keeping the house 'show-ready' with two babies is enough to have me doing the sleepy jerk by 10 p.m. every night.
Future Muffin posts may address the loathing I feel for the namers of 'salads' such as Strawberry Pretzel, Taffy Apple and Ambrosia. Yum. and.. dammit. Call it what it is. The big ass recipe.
And also.. these people who "forget to eat." Evolutionarily flawed or....advanced?
Off to scrub something before mypsychotic break open house on Sunday.
Don't forget to check out Laura at Navigating the Mothership, Amanda at The Sassy Southern Belle and the baby brain!
I'm currently on the Don't Eat So Damn Much diet. Three meals. No snacks. Water. Duh.
Our whole house has had the plague, so running was put on the back burner in favor of not publicly coughing up a lung on a busy street corner.
However, it seems that simply keeping the house 'show-ready' with two babies is enough to have me doing the sleepy jerk by 10 p.m. every night.
Future Muffin posts may address the loathing I feel for the namers of 'salads' such as Strawberry Pretzel, Taffy Apple and Ambrosia. Yum. and.. dammit. Call it what it is. The big ass recipe.
And also.. these people who "forget to eat." Evolutionarily flawed or....advanced?
Off to scrub something before my
Don't forget to check out Laura at Navigating the Mothership, Amanda at The Sassy Southern Belle and the baby brain!
Monday, April 16, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Harper's literal life.
Harper: Mother (that's what she's been calling me since we got a fresh copy of her favorite scratch and sniff book, Little Bunny Follows His Nose. it gets a laugh. she persists.), I want to pick a bouquet (thank you, Fancy Nancy).
Me: Ok. Front yard or back?
Harper: Both!
((frenzied running about. choosing of azalea sprigs. occasional falling. whining. laughing. bee spotting. multiple "unexpected" presentations of flowers: "Close yo eyess, Momma. Supwise!! Ok. Now you do it. I cwose my eyes."))
Me: Harp, that is an excellent bouquet. Let's take your picture with it!
Harper: (always game for a photo. always.) Ohhhhkaaaay!!
Me: Ok. Hold your flowers up!
Me: Ok. Front yard or back?
Harper: Both!
((frenzied running about. choosing of azalea sprigs. occasional falling. whining. laughing. bee spotting. multiple "unexpected" presentations of flowers: "Close yo eyess, Momma. Supwise!! Ok. Now you do it. I cwose my eyes."))
Me: Harp, that is an excellent bouquet. Let's take your picture with it!
Harper: (always game for a photo. always.) Ohhhhkaaaay!!
Me: Ok. Hold your flowers up!
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