Dear Overstock.com, You're right. I am all about the O.

Hooray! My chairs arrived this
morning. (Well 6 out of 8 anyway.)
They are darker than I thought they'd be, but I think that actually works out a bit better as far as practicality.

Ten reasons to use Scotchguard:
1. Conner
2. Grant
3. Conner
4. Mitchell
5. Conner
6. Conner
7. Conner
8. Devin
9. Rich
10. Conner

Now I only need to get window treatments, a small buffet, art and a big area rug and we're all set in this room. Oh. And a new light fixture.

I certainly hope Rich likes them, because I am not returning them. (As his dream clearly foretold.)

***************UPDATE*******************

Rich likes the chairs. We get to keep them without any controversy. Grant still thinks the hydrangea bush grows a head once it's dark. We had to trim all of the flowers off.

What dreams may come.

I sleep like the dead, so I did not hear Grant calling "Mom....?! Dad.....?!" at 2:00 in the morning. I did wake up around 5:00 and noticed Rich wasn't next to me, but figured he had trouble sleeping and was on the couch watching some boring show on the history of poop or the scientific relevance of gum wrappers until he fell asleep again. (Happens all the time.)

He had to sleep in Grant's room last night. It appears that Grant woke up during the night and was frightened by a hydrangea bush outside his window.

"Something's lookin' at me!"

"It's OK buddy, it's just a flower...see?"

"No Dad, it's lookin' at me!"

"Is it looking at you now?"

(pause)

"When you're not here."

"Do you want me to sleep in here?"

"Yep."

So Rich had to share a twin size bed with a kid who can take up more than his fair share of a king size bed. That may be why he had his own bad dream.

We ordered some dining room chairs and until they arrive, we've been sitting on crappy folding chairs. Rich dreamt that they came and they were too low and they were really ugly and that he totally hated them but I refused to return them. As he tells me this dream over breakfast (at the table, sitting in a crappy folding chair), Devin comments, "Gee, when you are older do your dreams really become that boring?"

To his credit, Rich refrained from rattling off a few smart-ass answers about dreams young men have during puberty.

(I refrained from rattling off a few smart-ass answers about pharmaceuticals and wine thwarting the dream cycle.)

When the discussion turned to common elements in dreams like being naked in public, flying, falling, etc. I left to check my tracking numbers on the FedEx website. I'd be better able to participate in these conversations if I were sitting in a pretty chair. If it's comfortable too? Well, that's a nice perk.

"Each day is better than the next." - Dom Wooginowski (kidding.)

Rich and I celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary on Saturday.

We were in the 6th grade together (although I don't really remember him at all) and we began dating in High School. I was head over heels then he broke my heart and left me to carry a torch for him for 20 some years. I couldn't wait that long for him to come to his senses, so life goes on. I got married, had my two beautiful boys, got divorced, got remarried and quickly got divorced again (we try not to talk about that fiasco too often).

By that time Rich had gotten married, had Mitchell and gotten divorced too. He finally came to his senses and we sort of picked up the pieces where we left off, now a bit older and wiser and knowing what is truly important. I moved back from Portland and a month later we got married.

We got married in Wardlow Park in Long Beach on a Friday night. Rich never actually proposed because we knew we were getting married. On Wednesday the 25th he said "Does Friday work for you? Yes? OK, I'll call the judge and set it up."

Rich brought home Taco Bell for our wedding feast with the boys and then we went over to the park. The boys played on the park equipment while a judge married us a few yards away. After we were pronounced husband and wife I went back to the house while Rich stayed at the park and played with the boys.

Back home later on, the boys had gone to bed, Rich was channel surfing. Given that this was our wedding night, I let Rich know that the boys were asleep and that we were all alone, hint hint... He said "Why don't you go ahead. I want to see how this VH1 countdown finishes out."

I'm sure I made some sarcastic comment about romance being dead and went to get ready for bed (and I briefly considered putting cold cream all over my face just to mess with him.) Once he knew which hair band had the biggest hit in the 1980s, Rich took me in his arms, looked deeply into my eyes and said, "You've been married 3 times. Baw-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!!"

It's been nothing but romance ever since.

And trust me, there is a lot of romance in squabbling children, house projects, paperwork, soccer games, baseball fundraisers, PTA meetings, sickness, health, burned dinners, late nights at the office, grocery lists, bills to pay, reruns on TV and messy bedrooms.... you just have to learn to see it.

It's not a Wii, it's a Mii

Grant's video game privileges were taken away yesterday. They mean a lot to him. (In fact, video game deprivation was the way we got him potty trained - took about a day and half.) He was pretty unhappy about the situation.

So yesterday evening I was getting ready to go to the second of three Back To School nights and Grant came into my bathroom. For someone who goes days without make-up, I have a lot of it. Grant began to root around in one of my make-up drawers.

I asked him not to touch (I could picture dropped eye shadows with exploded powder all over the place, or lipstick on the walls, or who knows what) and he said, "but I need to play with them."
Oh dear. This kid won't participate in the preschool art activities, but he'll play with make-up.

He held up the one he wanted.

Well, OK.... I don't use that one very often and it's a cream shadow, so if he drops it, it won't explode.

I went about my beauty business and I noticed he was making sound effects and jogging in place and jumping in front of my mirrored closet doors.

He was playing a video game in his head and using the eye shadows as his "controls." So I need to come up with an different consequence for bad behavior, because it appears that if I truly want to take away his video games, it will involve a frontal lobotomy. (His, not mine.)

And yes, I know. The bathroom is horrible. I don't know what I'm going to do in there, so after stripping the wallpaper, I just painted it white until I can think of what to do. Please feel free to leave your suggestions in the comments section....

But what if I don't want to bitch slap my ho...?

To be honest, with the exception of Run DMC, Doug E Fresh, Slick Rick and the Beastie Boys.... it all sucks.

I liked the old school stuff where they were bragging about who was best on the microphone, not who had popped the most caps in the most asses.

I don't think I'll see my cow until the boys finish puberty.

Watching our boys develop and mature, Rich and I have decided that, along with puberty, boys between the ages of 10 and 12 go through the Hama Hama stage. (rhymes with Obama...)

We theorize that brains are working so quickly and randomly that the mouth cannot keep up... which accounts for the unintelligible, garbled speech that typifies the Hama Hama stage of development.

This phase was named when Devin was in the middle of it. He could be asking if there were any more apples in the refrigerator, but it would sound like: Araya frige ap hama hama in uh, mom?

(Seriously. Not much of an exaggeration.) We tried getting him to slow down. We tried getting him to enunciate very carefully. Nothing was working, so we resorted to the most effective treatment we could think of: Family Ridicule.

We took to yelling Hama Hama! whenever he did it. One night after an exciting round of knock-knock jokes at the dinner table, Conner brought the house down and had us in complete hysterics.

Knock-Knock.

Who's there?

Hama Hama.

You probably had to have been there, but we laugh about it to this very day. Fortunately, it really does seem to be a phase. Devin has grown out of it. (I will be so thankful when he grows out of the eye-rolling, smart-ass-muttering-under-his-breath phase as well!)

Mitch is showing symptoms of Hama Hama, and usually results with him giving up with an "ugh!" sound of disgust, due to the fact that his mouth is not cooperating with his brain.

Conner is a different story. Conner is in full blown Hama Hama mode. This problem is compounded by the fact that he also has new braces and a bite plate on the roof of his mouth. However, Conner (who was the first to jump on the Family Ridicule bandwagon) will not admit he has a problem. He says we are not listening properly.

In addition to this, Conner has hearing problems. He is doing the normal kid-not-paying-attention. Expected. But he is also twisting words, instructions and phrases immediately. There isn't time for him to forget what we say... it's immediate. Exaggerated example:

"Conner, please put your backpack away."

(He heads out the front door empty handed)

"Where are you going? I asked you to put your backpack away."

"Nah-uh! You told me to go play in the street and throw tomatoes at passing cars!"

"No I did not! I said put your backpack away!"

"No you said go in the street and throw tomatoes at cars! Yes you did mom!"

This exchange is accompanied by an incredulous look and tears welling in his eyes because he is so frustrated. He knows what he heard, and for some cruel reason his mom is lying to him, just to mess with his head.

It's just a maddening argument now, but a long time ago it was kind of cute when he misheard or misunderstood what I said. I used to say "Calgon, take me away!" on a fairly regular basis. Said it for years, and sometimes still do.

One day while helping out in Conner's 2nd grade class, there was a fire drill. I tried to help the teacher get the kids out of the classroom in neat, orderly lines and get them to the "safety spot." Conner and a few of his buddies were screwing around in the line. I reminded them 3 times that it was practice for an emergency and they needed to behave and take it seriously. The 4th time I got tough an told them I was going to have them miss recess or something. Conner said: "You guys better do as she says, I think her cow is gone."

Come again?

"You know mom! When your cow is gone, you say to take you away."

Along with "Hama Hama", the phrase "my cow is gone" has become part of our family lexicon. Now when I'm on the verge of becoming Screechy Mommy, I tell them "My cow is almost gone" and they try their best to behave.

I am hopeful that Conner's Hama Hama phase will pass quickly, or at least improve once some of the orthodontia comes off. (I think that Mitch's Hama Hama phase will be less severe.) But unfortunately, I think this hearing impairment of Conner's is here to stay.

Gonna go find my earplugs and my bath salts now.

This "man" can't possibly feel good about himself...

Only slightly less strange than Steven Cojocaru... what's with the woman behind him to the right?

Why is she wearing a bathrobe to the Emmy Awards?

Give 'em an inch, they'll take a mile.

I will definitely have to be more specific when I give Grant permission to take "one small toy" to bed with him.

As you can see, he did indeed take a small toy into bed. However, it is connected to the video games... Turkey!

But I want it.

From the Eat This, Not That guy:

The Worst Breakfast in America

Bob Evans Stacked and Stuffed Caramel Banana Pecan Hotcakes

1,543 calories

77 g fat (26 g saturated; 9 g trans)

2,259 mg sodium

198 g carbs

109 g sugars

It’s not a good sign when it takes you nearly five seconds to spit out the name of your breakfast. This bad boy packs in more than 75 percent of your calories for the day, along with more sugar and fat than nine glazed Dunkin’ Donuts, and nearly as much sodium as five Bloody Marys.

It's a good thing that the closest one is in Sacramento...

Rumor has it that my friend Tracy went into a food court in a mall and saw a shop advertising a gooey, yummy cinnamon roll of some kind. She went inside to try and order it.

The clerk explained that the picture was posted as the unhealthy, fat & calorie ridden bad choice, and that all that store sold were good, healthy items. The image of the yummy item was for shock value only.

Tracy said, "Oh, well never mind then" and left the store.

Love her!

Please boys, please eat more fiber.

If it rains on your wedding day, it's considered good luck.

If a bird poops on you, it's considered good luck. (what-ev)

Now tell me: Is it good luck or bad luck to christen a new home with an overflowing toilet?

Which box has my brain?

The wallpaper has been removed, the paint is dry, the majority of the furniture has been moved in.

Now I have some questions:

• How can one move into a house with the same floorplan and have the furniture seem too big?
• Did the cable guy lie to me when he said "Listen lady, if you want it installed today, the Internet service has to go right here." (here being Grant's room) "Otherwise you will need to reschedule and we can come back in about two weeks."
• Is instant gratification the reason I'm sitting on the floor of Grant's room, balancing a keyboard on my knees and using a box of Legos as my mouse pad? (My ass says that next time we should reschedule and do it right.)
• Why did previous residents make lots of nice upgrades, but all of them chose to leave the original, pinkish brown Rossmoor tiles & tub in the bathroom?
• Why do boys who can run, jump and play all day long suddenly become soooooooooo tiiiiiiiiiiiiired when it's time to unload a truck or carry their own damn toys to their rooms?
• If I kept a clean house all of this time, why was there all sorts of guck and mung under the fridge when we moved it?
• How long will the spice cabinet stay neat and orderly?
• Why didn't I find the missing Tupperware lids or the socks?
• Why have I moved certain articles of clothing and shoes from California to Washington and back again... when I know I haven't worn them and am not likely to?

and my big question...

• If there are boxes that are still sealed up from a move made in 2002 (and I haven't missed anything), should I open it or just continue to store it?

This can't be comfortable...

I've heard of getting up on the wrong side of the bed, but I've never heard of sleeping on the wrong side of the bed....

"It is a terrible thing to lose one's mind" ...Dan Quayle

What are they teaching kids in school these days?!

If there was a requirement to cover your textbooks when I was in school, we used brown grocery bags to do it. Nowadays, you can just buy these nylon stretchy book-covers that are ready to go. Because we're in the middle of moving, I'm grateful for those stupid stretchy covers. Because when I am informed of a book-covering requirement with 5 minutes notice, I can hand over one of those covers and save myself some hassle.

I gave one to Conner yesterday. This morning over breakfast I asked him if he had all of his books covered.

"Yes, but I really hate those stretchy covers. You can't open the book when they're on there."

"Really? May I see how you've covered the book?

"It's not a pillowcase. It only goes on the cover. Doesn't common sense tell you that? Not only from the name, Book COVER, but from a functional standpoint as well?"

"Oh. Now I see."

I am so very afraid to know how he is adjusting to Middle School in other areas. I hope he can take Common Sense 101 as an elective.

April Fresh!

Tip of the Day.

After trying several chemicals and enzyme concoctions, I can tell you this:

The best way to remove wallpaper is to scratch it up a bit, then spray it with a mixture of water and fabric softener. Let it sit a few minutes then scrape it right off.

1 gallon of warm water to 1 cup of liquid fabric softener. Works like a charm and doesn't require a trip to Lowe's.

Well how do they make sno-cones then?

We have a good friend who is a police officer. From time to time we hear funny "on the job" stories. This is definitely my favorite:

Once he was part of a team serving a search warrant for drugs in a house. As part of that drug search, pretty much every stone is overturned during the search, including the inspection of the contents of the refrigerator and freezer.

When he opened the freezer to take a look inside, he noticed the old fashioned Popsicle-making trays, filled with some frozen punch or juice. However, instead of the traditional Popsicle sticks, this homeowner had used chicken bones. That's right. The bones from chicken drumsticks.

Incredulous, our friend turned to the homeowner and pointed at them, "What are these?"

She looked at him as if he were the dumbest person on the planet. "They're chicken-sicles."

What's next? Midnight margaritas?!

So we're moving. I have been up to my eyeballs in wallpaper stripper and paint cans at the new house. It is only 6 blocks from the old house, so I've also been running back and forth between the houses, dealing with kids, packing, organizing school supplies, etc.

And, since the big guys went back to school last week, my built-in babysitting disappeared, so I've been doing all of this with Grant in tow.

Gramma to the rescue! My wonderful mom offered to come and get Grant Friday evening and take him to her house for the weekend. A huge treat for Grant, and I'm pretty sure Gramma loves it too.

I periodically call to check in and see how it's going. This is the schedule/report that I received last night:

Saturday
8:00 - Gramma's homemade waffles
8:30 - 11:00 - watch video
11:00 - 12:00 - play with Gramma, read books, eat cheese and crackers (aka Gramma's Party Platter)
12:00 - 4:30 - play in the backyard, running, jumping and pretending to be their new puppy, Penny.
4:35 - Penny collapses, exhausted.
4:36 - 5:00 - running, jumping, playing with the sprinklers
5:00 - 5:30 - bubble bath and ensuing bathroom flood
5:30 - 6:00 - begin to watch a video
6:01 - Gramma notices Grant has exhausted himself and fallen asleep
6:02 - Gramma decides that little boys should get 12 hours of sleep and ignores the Mommy's advice to wake him up and not let him take a nap so close to bedtime.

Sunday
1:30 a.m. - Grant wakes up and asks for waffles
1:45 a.m. - eat another of Gramma's Party Platters
2:00 a.m. - watch another video
3:30 a.m. - back to bed
9:30 a.m. - wake up ask for more waffles
9:45 a.m. - repeat Saturday's schedule

Gee Gramma! Thanks for getting Grant out of my hair for the weekend. Thanks in advance for the return of my child, who I am sure will be waking me up at 2:00 in the morning and asking for waffles. What will my response be? Where do you think you are?! Gramma's??!! Get your butt back to bed!

He will go back to bed with a sniffle and a sigh, no doubt to dream of happier times at Gramma & Poppa's House of Waffles.

X58l#$cfg! How's that one?

Even Paris Hilton has fallen prey to this hacker's scheme to steal passwords.

Wow. If it fooled Paris Hilton, it must be a really complicated scheme. Thanks for the article telling me that my passwords should be difficult for hackers to guess. I did not know that!

Have some candy! Watch out for the poop, though.

Rich and I grew up in Norco, California. Norco is a great place to be from.

When my parents moved us there in 1978 it was because my Mom was going through an equestrian phase and Norco prides itself on being "Horse Town, USA". By city ordinance, there are no sidewalks in Norco. Only horse trails. All residential property must be at least 1/3 of an acre so as to accommodate horses and other livestock. I once rode my pony through McDonald's drive-through, and to this day, there are hitching posts and watering troughs for horses outside of many commercial establishments in the town.

In Norco, one can see a beautiful, new housing development. And right next to that, a total dump. And right next to that? Another beautiful, sprawling ranch. It's odd, the Norco demographic.

My parents have become very involved in Norco town politics over the past several years. Well, my mom especially. My dad kind of does what he's told to do. Mom works at this like it's her hobby. (And she does it all without a computer, which boggles the mind.)

In March she was named Norco's Woman of the Year. One of the honors that comes with that is to ride in the Norco Fair's parade. She wanted the boys to ride in the horse-drawn carriage with her and toss candy to the crowds.

We needed to leave immediately after the parade, so I had to pretty much speed walk the entire parade route next to her carriage, in order to grab my kids and go. Along the 10 blocks of the parade route I noticed several things that made me proud of Norco and at the same time really glad to be from there (if ya know what I'm sayin'....)

• A nice crowd turned out, even in the 80 degree heat (at 10:00 in the morning!)
• Happy parade participants, enthusiastically throwing candy and smiling
• Onlookers clapping and cheering
• Little kids scrambling to pick up the candy and not pick up the road apples
• Little kids scrambling to pick up the candy and not pick up the road kill
• Watching the horses in the parade leave a trail of horse poo
• Watching my mom's unmarked carriage go along the parade route because no one bothered to tell her that she'd need to provide her own "Woman of the Year - Pat O----------" signage
• I believe she actually had to round up her own carriage horses too
• Too many people with missing teeth, giant belt buckles and tattoos
• People who still chew tobacco

And yes, this horse is taking a dump.

There was something else I observed that really bothered me. There was a black woman and her two children watching the parade. As I passed by her, I heard her say to her children: "Well I guess they only throw candy to the white children." That made me so mad! There were children everywhere, scrambling to get the candy. No where along the parade route did I see children getting their candy hand delivered to them.

Way to go Disgruntled Mommy! Good job perpetuating the idea of racial inequality (whether real or imagined - and in this case, imagined) and good job teaching your children that anything you don't have in life is the fault of someone else.

Horse poop in the street and bullshit on the sidelines. Happy Labor Day and congratulations Mom!

His father's son.

This morning, as every morning, Grant came running out to find me. I love hearing the pad, pad, pad of his feet coming down the hallway. I love how he says, "Mom!" as if I'm some delightful surprise he wasn't expecting. I love how he wants to climb in my lap and snuggle up and give me big hugs.

What I don't love?

The way he is constantly elbowing me in the boobs. When he's not hurting them, he's poking them, pushing on them or trying to use them as pillows.

This morning I was exasperated: "Grant, leave my boobs alone!"

"Gosh mom, I just like looking at them."

(Before anyone calls the Oedipal Hotline, it should be noted that this comment was said in the same tone used to complain when it's time to wash for dinner, clean rooms, turn off the TV, etc.)