Tuesday, April 28, 2009

not fair

I enjoyed a childhood completely free of allergies. While I knew kids who couldn't have milk or couldn't play on grass, I could eat and/or play on anything.

When I was pregnant, I was sporadically lactose intolerant. Fun.

After I had my kid, I could drink milk again, but I developed seasonal allergies - because, I guess, the stretch marks weren't enough? Whatever, seasonal allergies can be managed with over the counter stuff.

A couple of years ago, I developed... something with peanut butter - whenever I eat it, I get nauseous, I get a headaches and I generally feel like shit for about a day afterwards. Whatever, in spite of one or two peanut butter cookie cravings a year, I can live without the stuff.

Today, on the way home from the farmer's market*, I reach over into the bag full of beautiful red strawberries and pop one into my mouth. Yum. Strawberries that were on the vine this morning? It doesn't get much better than that. So I eat another one. And another one. And another one. Then I realize that my lips feel all tingly and kind of... puffy. By the time I get home, my throat is kind of achy and swollen and I feel gross. So I drink a bunch of water and assume that I'm still sick or something. Within a couple hours, I'm feeling much better, so I grab another handful of berries and chow down. Guess what? Puffy lips and swollen throat again. WTF? Who the fuck is allergic to strawberries? And where does my body get off developing a damn strawberry allergy when I live in the damn strawberry capital OF THE PLANET**? Why couldn't I be allergic to brussle sprouts or kumquats or something else I don't and won't ever eat?



*is it weird that I find myself dressing like a hippy whenever I go to the farmer's market? flowered shirts, faded jeans, old flip flops

** I have no idea if that is true or not

Sunday, April 26, 2009

So, in spite of eating all kinds of healthy fresh produce and spending copious amounts of time in the lovely California sun, I've been sick for about... I don't know, it feels like a year, but I'm assuming it's closer to three weeks - which, in case you couldn't guess, is a long fucking time to be sick.

This evening the local news is running teaser promos for a story about the Swine Flu and how it's going to end the world (or something, I wasn't really paying attention)

My husband points to the tv and says "Maybe that's what you've got."

"Are you calling me fat?"

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Here's why I'm dangerous in the kitchen

Today, I'm making a bastardized version of cookies from this ridiculously good recipe that my BFF sent me. The recipe calls for some sour cream and the sour cream container that I scavenged from the back of my refrigerator was almost empty.

A normal person would have either:

a) just used less sour cream

b) used a different recipe

or

c) googled to find a substitution

Do you think I did any of those three?

Of course not.

I swung open the refrigerator to see what else I had.

Vanilla yogurt? It's white, it's a dairy product. Maybe, but then that wastes a whole thing of yogurt for a few tablespoons.

Mayonnaise? It's white and possibly a dairy product. And even though I think I remember seeing a recipe for cake that was made with it... Ew.

Milk? It's white and dairy, but... I don't see that it would add much to the recipe.

Cool Whip? It's white and creamy, kind of like sour cream, even though it's not dairy and is sweet as opposed to... sour... Yep, Cool Whip it is.

As it turns out, cookies made with Cool Whip and one less egg than the recipe called for (because we were out of them) are pretty good. Who knew?

Labels: suzy fucking homemaker

Friday, April 17, 2009

And so it begins

This morning at about 8:30AM, in the small, yet dangerous, window between my ass rolling out of bed and my ass getting coffee, there came a knock on my front door*.

I was wearing holey, striped pajama bottoms and a dirty t-shirt, and normally, I'd just make my kid answer the door, but he had just rolled out of bed, too, and was wandering around in boxers, so the door-answering duties fell to me.

I'm assuming, since it's 8:30 in the goddamn morning that it's my landlord at the door**, since he keeps odd hours and who the hell is going around knocking at people's doors that early? I crack open the door and see two little girls standing there.

"Hi!" one of them says. "Is Quinn here?"

It's damn 8:30 in the morning on his last official day of Spring Break, where else would he be?

"Um... yeah, just a second." I shut the door and tell him to put on some pants.

He gets dressed with lightening speed and heads out onto the front porch only to come back inside about thirty seconds later shaking his head.

"What was that about?"

He shrugs.

"What did they say?"

"They asked me if I knew the girl, Megan, in my class and I do because she sits next to me and then they asked if I knew that she likes me."

"What?"

"Then I asked them if they were sure it was Megan in my class because there's, like, four Megans in my school. Then they said that it was the Megan in my class."

"Then what did you say?"

"I asked them how they knew where I live."

"Are they gone now?"

"Yeah."

"Those girls seriously came to the door this early to tell you that Megan likes you?"

"Yeah, why couldn't they have just told me on Monday?"

Just to recap, my kid is 10 and in the 4th grade. And girls come by the house to announce crushes. the hell?

Also to recap, apparently, I'm a fucking mommy blogger now, I might as well just start doing product reviews of healthy snacks and posting pictures of my messy ass living room.



*we don't have a doorbell, it's weird, I know

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting

Saturday, April 11, 2009

my kid hasn't yet reached that magical angsty age where he wants nothing to do with his parents, so recently, he begged me to come help out with his class's Easter* party and I agreed.

I show up in class at the appointed time, hair brushed, deodorant applied, tattoos mostly covered (basically looking nothing like the scroungy couch monster I am in real life) and the teacher sets me and a few other moms to work covering a bunch of desks with newspaper and arranging cups of jellybeans.

Once the kids return from recess, the teacher starts explaining the "stations" and exactly what's going on - the egg dyeing station, the alternate egg decorating station, the Easter basket decoration station, the snack station, and the fraction worksheet station.

Wanna take a wild guess which station I was assigned to?

Yeah, the motherfucking fraction worksheet station.

I got out of pajamas for this?

WHUT???

The other parents get candy, juiceboxes and cut up pieces of tissue paper and I get MATH**????

Thanks.

Maybe at the next party, while other parents are running the kitten-petting station and the obsequious flattery stations, I could work the quadratic-equations-and-trips-to-the-dentist station.


(Fortunately, my kid's in the gifted program, so the eggheads in his class didn't gripe too much about having to count out jellybeans, graph them and turn that into fractions, especially because they got to keep the jellybeans afterwards - but still)



Damn, how many times have I posted about my kid lately? I might as well be one of those mommy bloggers. Geez.

*yes, Easter party, not "Spring" party, not "pre-Spring Break" party, Easter party.

** I'm not saying I didn't have any fun with it.

I asked one kid if his fractions were all in simplest form and he nods.

me: Are you sure? Because if they're not, I get to keep your jellybeans.

him: What if I lick all the jellybeans?

me: What if I already did?

he looks at me, a little skeptically, like he doesn't believe me.

me (pointing to my kid): I'm pretty gross, ask him

my kid nods emphatically without looking up from his work.

that kid sets down his cup o' jellybeans and picks up his pencil to re-do his worksheet.

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting

Thursday, April 02, 2009

it's possible that my kid watches too many game shows

my kid: Hi, Awesome Mommy

me: Hi, Baby

my kid: I also would have accepted 'Awesome Baby'



And, just because I can, I kind of love this pic of him at the park

Labels: adventures in shitty parenting