The sound of tinkle in the tub

Again, his antics left me rolling
A few nights ago, the Bean was in a rather cranky mood. He was being a royal smart-azz to his daddy, who, had reached the end of his extremely abundant patience. After spending what I’m sure felt like an eternity in his room sulking, he came back out to the living room and made up with S. Still feeling pouty over the injustice of a WHOLE 5 MINUTES in his room, he was in no mood for anything but some reassurance from mommy. So, we laid down on the couch and cuddled as he drifted off to sleep. He loves to fall asleep on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and mommy’s or daddy’s arms.

That’s the cute part. Now, the funny part.

After about 20 minutes pinned under the dead weight of a sleepy 5 year old, I finally hauled my stiff, achy self into the other room where S. & KDA were chatting. I asked S. to lift the Bean off the couch and take him into his room. S. carried the Bean from the couch and in to the bathroom for one last potty stop, where the following hillarity ensued:

S. stands him up in front of the toilette, and my half asleep boy starts hollering:
"Daddy, I have to go to the bathroom!"

S.: "I know, the toilette's right there, go ahead and pee."

The Bean: "but I have to go!"

S.: "I know, go ahead and pee."

So, the Bean turns completely around the other direction and promptly starts peeing in the bathtub.

I almost peed myself, laughing so hard. No matter how S. tried, he could not stop him or get him to turn back to the toilette. So, I cleaned the bathtub that night. This will not be nearly as funny when he's 21 and drunk and peeing in some one else's tub (because you know it's gonna happen someday-- he's a guy), but for now, it's damn hilarious.

That’s Entertainment
Or not. And to think, I thought Batman Begins was hokey. Over Thanksgiving weekend we watched Sahara with Matthew McConaughey, Steve Zahn, and Penelope Cruz. Again, the scenery and the leading man are the most redeeming qualities of this movie. Talk about hokey. Starting with the premise that there is a civil war era battle ship somewhere in the Saharan Desert with a treasure trove of gold, it just goes downhill from “willful suspension of disbelief” to downright RIDICULOUS! (Yes, I know it was based on a Clive Cussler novel. That explains everything.) I mean, as much as I enjoy looking at Mr. M with no shirt, the never ending string of outrageously implausible heroics will get on the nerves of even the most easy to please movie goers. Again, I loved the scenery. But I’m a sucker for stark wide open spaces. At least the “film” (and I use the term loosely) didn’t take itself too seriously. It didn’t try to come off as serious action/drama­and that’s the one thing that can save (barely) a totally overdone movie. So, my verdict, not a total waste of my $3.00 or two hours, but nothing I’ll be investing time or money in again.

Sounds
So, I feel a little pathetic. I’m sitting at my desk listening to a live U2 CD and, yes, I am such a geek that I am getting giddy all over again. I’m trying to control the grin on my face so that my co-workers don’t realize how um, “special”, I am. I love this band. I love the music and I love their issues and how excited they get and how excited the crowd gets. Right now “Where the Streets Have No Name” is playing. One of my favorite songs.

Laughter is good for the soul, right?

So go wacth a child's sporting event.

I was chatting with my good friend KDA the other evening, over a decaf mocha, sharing stories of the children in our lives and the chit they do to crack us up. Sports seemed to be a theme.

Last summer, when the Bean was playing T-ball, we had many a laugh at his expense. No I'm not just mean; my kid is a fricken clown. He loves to make people laugh. And it was not only me and S. who laugh at him, but the entire bleachers were cracking up.

In what could only be described as an exciting and tense T-ball moment (because anything that involves actually hitting the ball is exciting at this age), my son decided it was the perfect time to transform himself into the six-million dollar man. He was on third base with the bases loaded when the next batter got a hit (because when they actually hit the ball, they always beat the throw to first, which usually sails well over the baseman's head in completely the opposite direction). So, the other three runners are running their 5 year old best, legs spinning like a Flintstone's cartoon. The Bean starts off from third base doing his best Lee Majors immitation.

He's running in slow motion, exagerating every step. The wha-wha-wha-wha-wha-wha sound of the Six Million Dollar Man theme song was almost audible as he labours every inch of the length of the base line. As he hurls himself forward toward home plate, he throws himself dramatically to the ground. He stands up a drags himself toward the dugout, feet trailing behind with each step. He wipes his brow, ever so theatrically, and sighs "whooo. that was hard work. I'm tired."

A which point the entire bleachers full of parents, grandparents, aunts & uncles, collapses in fits of laughter.

The kid loves an appreciative audience.

Some serious hip shaking goin on

Heh. I like the place I work a lot. We just spent a 1/2 hour in the conference room hula-hooping. Yes, you read that right, hula-hooping. That is some fun, and funny, chit. I work in the field of nutrition and physical activity and this is one of the things we do regularly: spontaneuos office physical activity. 'Cept none of our Ag people would comew over to the nutrition side and play. Chickens.

I've pretty much perfected your basic hip twirl. And once, I even managed to get down onto my knees and hoop (don't be dirty now!), and I almost looped my arms through for a neck twirl.

Next time.

Bad blogger, bad

So, I started my little blog here because I am trying so damned hard to start writing again. I used to spend about an hour a couple nights a week hidden away in my office just writing. S. took care of the Bean and put him to bed so I would have some time alone to put pen to paper-- or fingers to keypad as it is-- and just write. These days, due to work circumstances (S.'s) I don't get that. So if I want to sit down and write, I have to do it after putting my son to bed. And, it would mean cutting short our usual bed time routine, which I love. Every night we read at least two books, if not 4 or 5 and then snuggle for a while and chat about the day to come. When I turn out the lights, I sit beside the bed and we hold hands as he drifts off to sleep. How awesome is that? I don't want to ever give that up.

Anyway, I thought that if I could take a little time at least a few days a week and sill it here, I'd at least be writing a little bit.

Well, it's actually harder than I thought. I'm really enjoying it, but it's still hard to put aside a few minutes to do. Plus, when I do I get so into it, I want to write more and more and then I find myself neglecting other duties. (Damn, I still have to clean house, cook dinner, and get stuff ready for tomorrow? Not to mention work, which I'm neglecting right now.)

So, anyway, I'm tryin! And I'll be better I promise. Because I love reading other people's blogs and I get really bumbed when they're not writing.

That's Entertainment:
Sort of. We watched Batman Begins on Saturday. Eh. Not so good. Granted that adorable guy who played Bruce Wayne was not bad to look at, but a handsome super hero does not a movie make. And really, what was Katie Holmes' puprose other than looking cute and smiling that crooked smile at Batman? She had like 8 lines in the movie, and they weren't all that interesting. Liam Neeson was cool. But he's Liam Neeson, he's always good. Unfortunate role though. C'mon folks, he really went to destroy Gotham just because it was corrupt? I mean I know it was uber corrupt and all. But he had to have a better reason than that, what with all that talk of avenging Bruce's parents and all. Did I miss something critical in this movie (maybe it was that time I dozed off in boredom?) Anyway, I give it a luke-warm, not worth more than the $3.00 it cost to rent. And that's mostly for the Bruce Wayne actor and the gorgeuos scenes in (Nepal?) the mountain.

what's to complain about?

OK, really, I can't complain about anything. I've got it pretty good. Last Wednesday I only worked five hours, then ducked out early for a dr.'s appointment. After which, I went shoe shopping. See? What more could I ask for? I'm not indulgent when it comes to shoes. Not with price anyway. I'm actually kind of stingy (though me thinks S. would have other throughts on that.) As any girl knows, good quality, nice looking, comfortable shoes are not cheap. I don't own any designer shoes, 'cause really, I just can not bring myself to pay that kind of money for something whose only essential function is to keep my feet from being cut, cold, or dirty. Now, I love a supah-cute shoe. Hell, let's be honest here, I love shoes in gereal. They can be very fun to look at. But, unless their "essential function" involves snow or extreme hiking, I just am not going to pay more than 30 bucks. See, stingy. Back me up ladies.

Thursday was pretty decent too. I worked a full day, which for me is 6 hours since I am only a part-timer, but I got some warm fuzzy kudos from my boss. I have been at my job for almost 5 months now, and I'll be having my first "evaluation" when we return from the Thanksgiving holiday. I'm not at all worried about this. I never really worry about these things. There are a number of possible explanations, the likeliest of which is that I am totally oblivious. I know people who work so hard, and are so good at their jobs, and yet, they fret constantly over whether they are doing well enough or whether they should be working more hours, or whatever. Not me. I mean, I'm not a doctor. If I am not perfect , no one's gone die because of it. I truely value giving my best and doing a great job. I don't want my name associated with mediocre work any more than my employer wants to get mediocre work, but for heaven's sake, it's just a job! It's not like you have control over the red nuclear button or anything. You may be valuable to your employer, but what about your spouse, your friends, your children, your family? I say give them as much of that worry as you give your employer. They give much better returns anyway.

So, anyway, about those kudos. I'll preface by saying that I'm not sure what I said or did at my interview back in June that made her think I was the good-Lord's gift to media and public affairs, but since the day I started, she's had what I consider a disproportinately rosey image of me. Anyway, unsolicited kudos from your boss is never a bad thing. I'll take it! Now I just have to make sure I live up to it.

And Friday. Heh. Y'all are going to hate how lucky I am. After working in my son's classroom Friday morning (so fun!) I picked him up from school and we headed down the hill to my cousin M's. house. Now, her mom (my aunt) lives two houses down from her and her gandmother lives across the street. M. has a little girl, Savanah, about 8 months younger than The Bean and she is just the sweetest child. My Aunt P. had volunteered to watch both the Bean and S. so that M. and I could go out and have a kid-free afternoon. What, you mean, I get to go to lunch and shopping without a bored and hornery kinderarder? And I don't have to pay my left arm to some over-priced teeney-bopper babysitter? Hell ya! See I told ya, I'm blessed.

Don't Drop Your Porn

Well, at he was walking. Why do drunk people insist on leaving wherever they were that got them so drunk in the first place?

Late Saturday night, my husband and I were driving home from my parents’ house. We had driven separately, so the Bean and I were in my car and S. was in his car. There are two ways to get back to our home from my parents house, and we’re forever arguing over which is faster. So, S. takes his route and is just coming over a hill when he sees a guy laying on the side of the road, sprawled half way into the street. Now, people drive like maniacal NASCAR Wannabes on these dark, winding, hilly roads near our home, so S. thought that there was actually a chance that he’s been hit. Did I mention, it's very rural and we have no street lights?

S. stopped the car a ways back and left the headlights trained on Mr. Passed Out. After a couple minutes, Mr. “I just decided to take a little rest and passed out”, began to stir, lifted his head and pulled himself upright, with much effort. Seeing that the guy was drunk, and now safely out of the roadway, S. got out of the car and called to the guy “Hey, are you ok man?” As Mr. “I'm to drunk to have a clue where I am” struggles to get to his feet, porn starts spilling out of his jacket all over the ground. TONS of porn. Who in god’s name picks up that much porn? And the following ensues (keep in mind drunken stupor man is still in the spotlight):

Mr. Randy-Man “I’m soooooooo drunk I had to take a nap in the road,” finally gets to his feet, picks up his porn, and salutes S., saying:

“Ya man, I jesht hathd to resht…”

S.: “where you headed?”

Dumb-azz drunk dude: “uh”

“home, ya, home.”

S.: “Do you know where home is?”

Intoxicated Idiot: “uh, yaaaaaa. Hhfthat whay…” (visualize overdramatic pointing into the dark) “I duon needth any helpf.”

S.: “OK, well then, don’t drop your porn…”

Beligerent drunk azz-hole: “What the fusck you shay man?”


And Mr. Horny as Hell, Drunker than Chit, promptly drops to the ground again. Out cold. Apparently the exertion of being righteously indignant was just too much.

This time, Drunk Dude in the Dark was safely on the inside of some poor neighbor’s fence and out of harm’s way. So S. left him there for the residents of that house to deal with when he woke up cold and confused the next morning. But at least he had his porn…

AAAARGH!

Where is my damn Wilco CD????

CDs have a uniquely annoying habit of disappearing from my CD case. S. "the most forgetful husband on the planet" swears he didn't take it. Oddly though, I'm also missing a Paul Simon CD, a Reel Big Fish CD, a U2 CD, and an Urban Species CD. Hmmmm. (Sorry Kim! I have no clue where my 'best of 90-2000' went.) What's a woman with a serious Wilco urge to do if she can't find the danged disc?

So, if you see 'em anywhere, would ya send them home?

I cut my hair, and no, I wasn't drinking

Les Vins Fin
We went wine tasting yesterday. Not in napa. Not on the Central Coast (a la "Sideways"), but in Madera.

The Central Valley, in particular Madera County, is not a hot bed of chic, fashionable must-sees. It's not even luke warm. But, it is wine country. Lest you think that only the Napa Valley, the Central Coast, Amador County, and Lodi lay claim to the title "wine country" think again! Because this is California. We like our wines. And we're darn sure going to tell you how many countries around the world to which they are exported.

Being that I live in Madera County and had not yet indulged in any of our vins fin, (ok, so I didn't even know that we had any), my husband and I decided to head out with some friends and hit the Madera Wine Trail. While not quite as charming and pastoral as say, Napa Valley, Central Coast, Amador County, or even Lodi, Madera County does have some decent wineries. And if you can get past the smell of the dairies, turkey farms, and other general agricultural ick, the Wine Trail can be quite fun! Oh, and it's FLAT. If you'd spent your life in Madera, you might indeed believe someone who tried to tell you that the world is not actually spherical.

So, the wines. I'm what they call a "lightweight" (gee, ya think?) so I took a cautious approach and only tried about 15 or so wines (and two varieties of vermouth). My hubbyhoo (S.) and our friends tried, let's just say, a few more. My conclusion? Quady Winery was the best. I'm not generally a fan of sweet wines, but these were all pretty yummy. They even did a cool demonstration (with tasting!) of how soil and climate can change the flavor of a wine, even with exactly the same grapes and exactly the same numbers for acidity, etc. Turns out, I like a wine grown in soil with less sand. S. likes that grown in sandy soil. And to think, 32 years old and I never knew this before. Oh the important things we let slip by us! But anyway, they have a very nice, very light, dessert wine called Electra Red. It's kind of a "picnic wine" as it's very low alcahol content (I know, what's the point?) but it's really yummy. It's like drinking sparkling grape juice with a little kick. And it's so light, you can drink the whole bottle yourself (for those selfish wine horders out there) before you even feel the slightest bit tipsy.

Haircuts at home
A point to remember when you decide to cut your child's hair at home: If you have long hair, for the love of God, don't forget to tie it back before comencing to use scissors or clippers on a moving target.

Somehow, and I can't even begin to figure this out, I cut my own hair. Yes, yes, indeedy, you betcha. I chopped about 8 - 10 inches off a small, albeit very visible, section of hair. Right in front. But not something I can pass off as "bangs".

Didn't I mention before that I sometimes question my apptitude as a parent? My kid is loved, very loved. But you gotta wonder about a girl who accidentally cuts her own hair.

Sick, sick, sick
So it seems everyone here is getting sick. The Bean (also known as "my kid") had a rotten cold. I had a (greatfully) mild case. And S.? Sicker than a dog. Do husbands really get sicknesses worse than the rest of us? Or are we just tougher than them? I don't know, but if he feels anywhere as chitty as he looks, he's pretty sick.

And the best for last
On of my dearest friends in the world called the other day to tell me the results of her ultra-sound. (You guessed she is pregnant right?) So, she's about 11 weeks along, and the baby seems to be very healthy, as is she. Always good news! But y'know what tickles me? The due date is probably my birthday! How cool would that be if my oldest friend had a baby with the same birthday as mine? Then again, I'd have no excuses for forgetting a birthday... hmmmm. I'm rooting for a boy. She has a girl (uber cute!), so a boy would be just adorable. So, K., if you ever read this, I'm placing my bet on a boy on 06/06/06!

Soccer

Soccer for 5 year olds
~n.: (1) a game in which very small people shuffle up and down a grassy field connected- apparently- by invisible wire that bounds them together so closely that each time one of them kicks the ball it ricochets back to the blob of very small people like a high scoring pin-ball game.
(2) what parents with complex guilt receptors spend 2-3 days a week watching, photographing, or driving to.
(3) way more fun than T-ball for 5 year olds.

Yet another reason soccer moms rock? Because we ROCK. So, I'm sitting at my son's soccer game this morning and I see another mom coming up the field with her kid. She's wearing a Vertigo T-shirt. I ask which show she went to. VEGAS; Saturday. Weird-- another person from my podunk little town in the hills traveled all the way to Las Vegas to see those divine rock lads-- at the same show I did. Of course we compared notes on how absolutely incredible the show was.

Music fans can be such dorks sometimes!

Ick, Okies, and Hippies

What is that gooey opaque slime that oozes off of fish when you bake it? I'm not making fish again until we get a new barbeque. blech!

How many relativesdo you have to have all living in a 5 mile radius before you have to call it a commune?

I spent my entire childhood living a minimum of three hours, but more like 6 hours, from my nearest relative. We saw each other for special occasions, had fun when we did. Bit that was it. Just about one year ago, I moved to not only the same town as my parents, but the same neigborhood. And not only my parents, but my aunt & uncle, one cousin, one second cousin and his kids, and as of next month, another cousin and her new baby. Then there is the "other" side of the family. The ones were related to by marriage, and thats a whole other crock of stew. The rest of the whole famn damily? Well, they all live a whopping 30 minutes down the hill. For chrissake, what were we thinking? "Woohoo honey! Jus think, we'll be able to listen to Gramma & Great-Aunt Aggie argue over who takes more naps! (I'm not sleeping, I'm just resting my eyes.)"

I actually do love my family and dig being close to them. But sometimes I wonder. When people hear how many of us there are here, they get a little freaked out. And who could blame them? A bunch of Okies and their descendants and who knows where the neighborhood will go? Not they really care about us being Okies. This IS the hills. They're more concerned that we're hippies. It is quite a suspicious thing that we drive two cars (not trucks, SUVs or dirt bikes) that get 30 - 50 MPG. And that weird ass house we're building. They changed the CC&Rs after our house got approved. Coincidence? But hey, we like to think we're sophisticated. We got us a golf course, and a club house. Complete with the guy who occupies the same bar stool from they time the lounge opens to the time they take his car keys and call his wife to pick him up.

I'm finding that I like living in this little semi-rural community. I like that contractors know who we are even before we call them. "Oh ya, you're so-n-so's kids. I put in their septic tank..." or some such thing. I like that I know just about every one of the parents in my kid's class at school. They think we're a little nuts, but generally harmless.

And damned if I don't love the "Red Hat Ladies." See, this community is on the old side. When we go to the cafe at the golf course for our Friday brunch ritual, we bring down the average age by about thrity-five years. The red hat ladies here are also well aged. But dang they have fun. They meet every Friday at the cafe. I don't exactly kow what they "do" as a club, but they are fun and cute and energetic. And occasionally they even let the old men join them.

I walked in the cafe the other day and had to make my way through the gang of old golfers sitting out front drinking their Miller Light and Pabst --from the can. Boasting, no doubt, about the big drive, or the miracle putt.

So here we are, in the gorgeous foothills of California, surrounded by family, old women in ugly hats, and crotchety old men drinking beer from a can. Does it get much better than this? But we're here now. There goes the neighborhood.

So... Isn't that the proper way to start a sentence?

So. I realized that "So" is how I start most of my stream of consciousness thoughts. And now, I'm noticing that my kid does it too. As in :

"So. Mom, I have this friend at school, Caleb, he's not in my class, he's in Ms. Simons' class, he has a tooth what's just hanging there like this from his mouth, see? what's that? why are you giving me carrots, I don't want carrots, snap peas are my favorite, remember the time I was going potty and I said snap-*-pee, and I snapped my fingers like this and said snap - * - pee, and snapped my fingers? I can snap better than Ben. He can't snap good, he can't whistle either, he just goes like this....." And so on.

I swear I get whiplash trying to follow his conversations.

He is right now sitting next to me driving his hot-wheels around on the carpet, telling me a story about something he did in Utah last weekend. It's kinda hard to follow, what with the hair-pin turns in his train of thought.

On other peoples' blogs
As I said in my very first evah blog post, I LOVE reading other peoples' blogs. It's sort of like when you take a walk through your neighborhood at night and just can't stop yourself from looking in your neighbor's front window. They've got this great big picture window, and they leave the blinds wide open. You see them sitting there watching TV or drinking a beer. Maybe their kids are at the table doing homework... Maybe you can't even really see what they're doing, but you can't help but conjecture. I mean, you sort of know them. Bob likes NASCAR; Susie likes to knit. Their chit-head 13 year old likes to knock over the steet sign a the corner. And you just know that their princess Briannatiffalynnifer is sneaking out of the house every weekend to meet her boyfriend. But you're fascinated none the less. You realize they have nice furniture, and there's a cat you've never noticed before. And a bookshelf full of books. There are family pictures on the walls.

Really, they're just like you.

So, I read your blogs and I see what you're willing to let others see. And from what you let me see, I feel like I sort of know you, but not really. And after a while I start to notice things that escaped me before. And I realize that, more or less, you're just like me. You didn't know you were that cool, huh?

That's Entertainment
Last night we watched Danny Deckchair. Whoever thought it would be cool to make a movie about a guy who ties helium baloons to his patio chair and floats away to another life, is genious.

For those of you who have not seen this, go! Go rent it. It's sweet, but not too sweet. There is just enough of a weird off-the-mark vibe to keep it from being too schmoopy. The main character is really funny and plays the slightly awkward, totally oblivious, yet strangely sexy card very well. And the setting is goegeous. I want to go live in that town!

Alrighty, dinner calls. Or at least the five year old does.

Ready, Steady, Go

So, here I am on the internet. I mean, *I* am on the net, for anyone to see. Kinda like being nekkid in a crowd. I'm giving this blog thing a shot (I know, I'm sooo behind the times) 'cause I love reading all of my friends' blogs. Really, I'm addicted to it. When they're not on, or haven't posted in a while-- like in an hour-- I get a little peeved. "Where the hell are you people?" You're my entertainment you know. One can only watch her five year old groove to 80's dance hits for so long before she starts to wonder if she really is suitable to be doing this parenting thing. Ok, so he's got skills, but still, should I be laughing this hard at my kid?

So, what in the name of all that is good am I going to talk about?

Well, my kid of course! And a few other random bits of bait so I can entice you to come here ocassionally.

But first, some introductions. I am Annie, or Anne... or "mom, can I have..." or "honey, can you get me..."

I'm also a yaya. For those of you who know what that means-- really-- then you might actually come back to read this again some day. I'm just hoping that the rest of you fall under the subliminal hexes I've placed throughout, and find yourselves compulsively wondering "Are we there yet?"

When I'm not making my poor kid learn the Napoleon Dynamite dance, or reading a book, or hugging a tree, or traveling to wildly exotic locales, or canoodling with my goofy-ass husband, I actually do work. I am the Communications Coordinator for a regional nutrition program for low-income and minority communities. Exciting, huh? It actually is a pretty cool job, especially since I only have to work half time. Which still leaves much time for making my child do ridiculous things. Or helping him learn to read. Whatever.

On the domestic front, we're building a house! Which, in Spanish translates to "Somos el coger loco!" *(I can't vouch for the accuracy of the translation.) And when I say "we" I mean my adorable husband. And when I say "building" I mean with his own hands; in all that free time he has. ;)

So, introductions complete, lets move on.

Breaking news
Since I'm still pretty much high from seeing U2 play in Las Vegas, I'll start there. Poppy has already done all of the hard work in summing up our fabulous weekend in, as she notes, the most surreal city in America. So go check out her blog for all the taudry details. Oooh, and she has a picture of Bono too.

I'll just summarize: four yayas, two nights in Vegas, one totally amazing concert. You get the picture.

In other news, the plans for our house FINALLY made it through the county! The engineering was perfect- props to Stacey for tolerating us for so long. So now, the financial hemmoraging begins. Take a look at how we're doing so far, at Hippies Use Side Door.

So, do come back and see what's going on here at my place. See, I really am exciting, huh?