Additional Awesomeness...

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

It's payback time

Let me preface this by saying that I love my baby brother.  No really, I do!  It's just that, well, until he got married and became insta-dad (which was totally friggin' AWESOME for him and all the rest of us BTW), it was his sole mission in life to make mine a living hell by purchasing the loudest, most annoying, battery-filled and/or most likely to incite a riot toy he could find when buying a gift for one of his nephews. 

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the balls it took to actually enter TRU as a single guy in search of the perfect kid-gift.  I just did not always appreciate turning off the lights at night only to hear some random toy start singing to me about building with friends, or how they were ready to rock.  It's disturbing when toys start playing by themselves. 

But now, dear reader, it is MAH TURN!  I have two lovely nieces; the baby will be 1 in a few days, and Miss P is a whopping 5 (kind of out of the realm of blinky-flashy-noisy-annoying toys).  And believe you me honey, I am going to to everything in my power to find the most annoying toy on the market.  Because I love my brother and SIL.  And I feel they really do need to get the FULL parenting experience.

Of course, I'll have to do it when the kids are asleep.  And maybe zoned on allergy meds. And blind.  Oh, and deaf, because those kids can hear the crinkle of a Target bag from 3 miles away.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Medival Torture Devices (aka shoes & socks)

At what point does one wake up and decide that footwear is no longer an instrument of the Grand Inquisitor to inflict pain and suffering the likes of which would make even a CIA deep-cover operative cry like a baby and spill their life history to anyone with a pair of ears?

I'm really hoping that point is reached soon in my house.  Divo got a pair of new (spendy!) Skechers about 6 weeks ago, after jumping from a 1 1/2 to a 4 in less than a month.  Said shoes were "speedy fast" "good runnin" and "socks is okay" BEFORE we brought them home from the store.  Yet, the very next morning, those same amazing and wonderful SPENDY shoes that light up like the Luxor Hotel spotlight were horrid, evil, toe-pinching, heel-squishing instruments of torture that I was insane to think you'd wear.  And yes, I am that horrible, abusive mom who made the kid wear them anyway.  Now they are perfectly fine.  Now.

Two weeks ago, Whiney literally popped his toes thru the ends of his shoes.  WHUCK?  When did that happen?  This kid NEVER complains about his feet/shoes, so it's always a surprise when he announces his feet don't fit anymore.  Off to Payless we went.  And spent an HOUR browsing every possible shoes there that would fit the foot of a previously non-picky 4-year old.  We had the foot measured.  I swear, those Payless broads are on crack.  She measured his foot at exactly the same size as the shoes we just poked toes through.  Um, sorry Ms. Teen Fashionista, that 13 1/2 is NOT going to fit him.  But I digress.  Where was I?  Oh yes, Payless.

So, after trying on every mur.thur.fur.kin shoe in the joint, he pronounces every pair unfit.  He is "jusss not finnning what I'se wookin fow. Can we meebe check annoder stow?"  So we headed to Sears.  Incidentally, I adore their KidVantage program.  Every time Divo gets a hole in his pants, we just head on over and swap them out for new.  It. Is. AWESOME.  So, we head to Sears.  Have same experience.  Until.....

There they were.  Sitting enticingly on the top shelf, tantilizingly out of reach.  They were black.  And red, and orange and yellow.  They looked like shoes on fire.  Or bleeding, or blood on fire!  YES!  And yes, they had a size 2 in stock.  Now the checklist:
1.  Freakishly awesome looking?  Check.
2.  Velcro strap instead of ties?  Check check.
3.  Bling and blinding, flashy lights?  Oh, even YESSER!
4.  Speedy-fast?  Yep, yep.
5.  Able to make big brother wish he had new shoes?  Yes, Yes and YES!

This is what we ended up with:
Black, with blinding lights that an airplane could land by.

With a teensy bit of tasteful bling in the little silver "dots" (they aren't juws mom, deys DOTS)

And, for the Payless price of $27 bucks.  Thank you KidVantage!  I just love getting $60 shoes at less than 1/2 price.  Which is the only reason I keep going back to Sears.  Because honestly, it sucks to shop there otherwise.  Those who have ducked into the local Clovis Sears know of what I speak.

But again, I digress.  So.  Two weeks ago, the kicks were flippin awesome.  Divo went so far as to shove his size 4 feet into the size 2 shoes to test the speediness factor.  Nevermind the fact that now his size 4's are too small and don't like his socks.  Those cool size 2's his brother is sporting are better and don't hurt.  Whatev.  Now, Whiney is whining about the cool shoes.  All of a sudden, they hurt his feet, and his socks, and his legs.  I'm surprised his eyes aren't hurting too, what with all the flashing lights.  Seriously?  I need a t-box and Season 1 of Gray's Anatomy. 

Thank God summer is almost here - I can just shove them into sandals and flip-flops and who cares if their toes hang over the edges?  Mom never gets new shoes, so she really doesn't care if you have a callus on your baby toe from rubbing it on the ground...

My bed, and other things I don't want to share with short people

What is it about the parental bed?  I remember (waaaay back before electricity and indoor plumbing) crawling into my parents' bed at random times, if for no other reason than I wanted a snuggle.  And that bed was oh so much more comfy than my own.  I remember, really.  I do.

So why is it that when my short peeps decided it's time to invade my bed, I can barely hang on to my schmidt with my fingernails?  Every. Mur.Thur.Furkin. Night.  Now, granted, it's not all 3 of them.  It's Whiney.  And occasionally Thing.  But mostly Whiney.  Yeah, Whiney of the chilly toes and clammy feet.  The one who likes to sleep sideways and on the same flippin pillow I am trying to use.  The one who moans/whines every time I move in a vain attempt to attain a more comfortable position.  The one who ends up right back in the middle of MY bed about 10 mintues after one of us hefts him back into his own bed.

I'm okay with co-sleeping the baby, while he's a BABY.  But a 4-year old?  Um, not happ'nin honey.  I've been up and running at night for the last 6 years; I deserve at least 3 straight hours a night, don't I?  Or was that not in the mommy-contract?