This has been on my mind for a while and last night I decided to decide.
I will not longer be posting on MOMINTHEHOOD. Instead, I have transferred most of the content from this site to the following THERIBLET.COM.
Why?
Well, while the title of this site was chosen in humor and fact (because we do live in a neighborHOOD), I’ve had more than a few friends (who know me well enough to be this honest) that perhaps the name of the site could be misinterpreted as being offensive.
This is not my intention.
This site was started primarily so that family and friends far away can log on and keep up with what we are doing at the Hollis house.
So come on over to THERIBLET.COM. And just how did I come up with that name? Click here.
There are only five photos in this slideshow but there are probably only two people who can identify the content.
When we went to my brother’s wedding in Virginia back in May, we had a few hours of down time one day and when I’m bored the crafty Gemini in me rears her head. I had two cameras at my disposal and decided to pick up the Canon and take some industrial shots of some of their decor and appliances.
When we got back home I removed the color from the photos and cropped them to give them a mass market retail store stock photo feel.
I took more but these are my favorites. I think I may actually send them off to a print lab and have some wall art made for my own personal use.
The girls are getting more and more ready for the start of school. Gwen has been in a mini day camp with Girl Scouts this week and it’s required her to have to wake earlier than 7:30 a.m.
Today, while Gwen was at the campsite, Emma and I did a little school clothes shopping for her. She’s easy to buy for at this point and nothing has to be tried on. She’s a size 5 all the way. She does have the same condition Gwen has, however. The one where the price tag isn’t looked at, ever. The one where it doesn’t matter what the item may cost, I WANT IT ANYWAY.
But I’ve managed to deal with that illness the same way with both girls. I give them a choice between two items if they are both tagged for more than I want to spend. They get one, but not both. Gwen is learning that adding more expensive items is something we do a little at a time, not all at once.
Gwen is also learning how to use a curling iron. She’s been begging, and begging, lobbying, pleading, praying and hoping for the INSTYLER, the one on the infomercials. She read the initial BOGO offer and thought all she needed to earn was $15 to pay for it. Once I read the FINE PRINT and explained to her the INSTYLER will eventually cost close to $150, the dream died.
After she got back from camp today, I did some sorting through the bathroom cabinets and found an old curling iron I no longer use and gave it to her. It doesn’t get a hot as a metal iron (which is why I quit using it) and practicing occupied her for nearly 2 hours.
I didn’t bother telling her that the likelihood that she would actually do this in the mornings before school will be slim. There’s no need to be a party pooper. She is too young to realize how much effort it really is to do ones hair before school. To date, the extent of her hair care has been to shower and brush out the tangles. I’ve sent her to school many a morning with a damp head and I’m sure that has sent many a tongue wagging. She’s 9. She’s not entirely consumed with her hair care at this point and while I did give her this iron, I know it will be a passing fad…for now.
Your days are numbered Barbie, or Barbie-wanna-be, whichever one you are. I can’t pick Barbie out from the wanna be’s.
You brought much joy when you were brand new. Maybe you were a birthday gift, or a Christmas present. Maybe you were purchased with allowance or at a yard sale. Maybe one of the playmates abandoned you at our house, not knowing you were being left with a death sentence. Your plastic skin was clean, like that of the girls who played with you.
What happened to your clothing? I think I saw one of your stiletto boots in the bottom of the toy box a couple of weeks ago when I cleaned the bonus room while watching Michael Jackson’s memorial service on Fox News Channel. Your faux fur jacket and pink lame skinny jeans were somewhere at the bottom of that toy box, too, I think. I can tell you with certainty that they were discarded. Discarded like you are destined to be.
I’ve been around long enough to know your days are numbered. Your hair has been coiffed by the little girls that live here – and they have no formal training in haircutting. Some of you are totally bald. According to the girls, some of you look better with shorter hair. Yes, yes, I know I allowed this to happen. I said nothing as to objecting when the scissors were brought out of doors. Apparently, there was a haircut special at the Hollis House of Horrors this afternoon. Don’t be mad. They were bored. It’s been a long, hot Summer and today was a break from the humidity. I was far too busy weeding the plants and trimming the boxwoods to object to the hair massacre you and your wanna-be cohorts were victim to. You provided me a good solid hour of bliss with no fighting and both girls getting along perfectly.
It’s only a matter of time, a few weeks at the most. They will grow tired of your modified looks. They will regret having cut your hair. They will no longer play with you because your clothing is not readily available anymore.
You’re destined for the garbage can. It stinks in there. Good thing you can’t smell through your plastic nose. I don’t know if you are biodegradable but I am pretty sure Mattel hasn’t progressed that far in their production of unrealistic body proportion dolls.
It may not be this Thursday, but your death will come on a Thursday. That’s when the trash runs in our neighborhood. So take this time you have left and discuss amongst yourself who will be at the top of the heap when the can gets turned upside down and you are emptied into the compacting truck that will drive you to the landfill.
I’m sure you will find some of your cousins there. They will show you around.
It seems that Caveman has been somewhat upset over my previous post – the one about the shoe shopping.
He was at the firehall Friday when he took the time to read my blog and then promptly called me to defend himself and question me as to why I ‘dogged him’ so bad. He went on to tell me he felt as if I made him out to be an ass.
I don’t think it helped matters that Friday was our tenth anniversary.
Over the weekend he spent more time with the girls to give me a break since I’ve been with them so much the last three weeks. He and Gwen threw mulch around the landscaping in the rain on Sunday and he hurt his back in the process. He played card games and board games with the girls and got up with them so I could attempt to sleep in.
Saturday night we went to dinner ALONE to celebrate our anniversary and then to his business partner, Skip’s, house for a party. This party was to celebrate the birthday of Skip’s sister (Kitty). I’d never met her before but after meeting her I can believe she is related to Skip.
Also at this party were many of the people who work or frequent the sports bar that Skip and Caveman have equipment located in (video games, juke boxes, trivia games, etc.). Skip wanted me to try some wine from a local winery because he knows I prefer wine over the harder liquors but there was no wine bottle opener in the house. Skip’s son Eddie, a real life culinary school trained professional chef came to the rescue with his own homemade way of opening a bottle of wine. Pay attention Mother!
The entertainment was a brother and sister who sing for their dinner. I failed to get their names but the girl is Gwen’s age and I shot this short sample of her talents.
I looked around this party and it became apparent to me that Caveman was the only one without a beer gut. Caveman was the only man with his shirt tucked in. Caveman was the only man with dress shoes on. Caveman (and I) were just about the only people at this party NOT smoking. Caveman was the only man who didn’t feel the need to curse every fifth word to carry on a conversation.
I know it doesn’t paint a pretty picture of whom we choose to befriend but it takes all kinds, sometimes. Fortunately, I chose a husband with some class, who gives a crap about his appearance and health. He works hard to provide for us and while it frustrates me and stresses me, I know how fortunate we are to have him. I don’t think the girls know how fortunate they are to have him though.
He bought me a new crock pot – a 6 quart deal – because we desperately needed a larger one. This may not sound like the most ideal anniversary gift but he knows I prefer gifts I can and will use. He also knows it’s easier for ME to throw something in the crock pot in the morning and not have to slave at the end of the day when I’m the most stressed.
He’s the one who goes with me to the doctor in the event I decide to pass out for whatever reason there might be for me to do that (which has happened twice in the last month).
So I can tolerate the online poker playing and the snoring and the many phone calls from the many people who need him RIGHT NOW to fix a piece of equipment because if he doesn’t they might just spontaneously combust. As long as I can get a break every now and then. How many more days until school starts?
I’m going to tell you a secret. It’s something that no one talks about but it happens all over the country every week day.
Stay-at-home Moms prefer to shop during the day when working men and woman are doing just that, working. The stores are less crowded during the week. There are literally no school aged children in the stores. It’s quiet and peaceful. Mom’s can think when they shop this way. Concentrate. Maintain a normal blood pressure.
So imagine his reaction when I announce to Caveman that we are going to stop by the Shoe Carnival on the way to dinner in a restaurant (because I didn’t want to cook last night).
“Can’t you take them?” he asks
Spoken from a man who doesn’t take the girls into retail stores frequently enough. There is nothing peaceful about dragging a kindergartener and a fourth grader along into a department store single handedly. Yes, yes, I realize it’s just two kids. I don’t have multiples. I didn’t have twelve embryos implanted into my uterus and have them all take. We all make choices. But the way my clouded leopards have behaved of late, I’ve taken to staying home and doing all the retail employees and other Mom’s a favor by doing so.
My thinking in taking Caveman with us was that he would be reinforcement. We could tag team the girls. It would be magic. We would be in and out. There would be no putting shoes on one daughter while the other rifled through the inventory waiting. He reasons well with Gwen and I know just what to say to Emma to get her to pick the shoes I WANT HER TO HAVE.
Immediately, Emma gravitates to a pair I approve of, these lovely white Skechers on the left. She’s not quite spot on with her shoe tying and these won’t present a problem until she learns completely, and confidently. Caveman expresses his discontent with shoes that don’t have laces and then crosses the line with his verbalized opinion.
“You need to teach her how to tie her shoes.” he says.
The following is what I was thinking but didn’t verbalize immediately after he made his statement.
EXCUSE ME!? YOU DIDN’T JUST SAY THAT! I guess since I’m with them all the time this is what I should be working on, teaching her to tie her shoes. While we’re at it, they each need to learn to work the washing machine, the dishwasher and the water softener. It would be great if they took the trash to the curb and changed the air conditioner filters too. The deck needs staining and the weeds are getting out of hand in the flower beds. That sounds like skills kids need to know how to accomplish.
“You could teach her how to tie her shoes, too.” I reminded him.
Nothing. No response. Wonder what he was thinking that he didn’t verbalize.
So Emma is set. We’re ready to go, right?
Oh, no. Not by a long shot. Now we have to deal with the drama queen fashion Diva GWEN. The one with very specific ideas about what athletic shoes she wants and NONE OF THEM ARE IN THIS STORE.
It got to the point that we had to cordon off sections of the aisle that included shoes she could choose from.
It got to the point that we threatened to leave and NO ONE WOULD GET SHOES.
It got to the point that we threatened to buy Emma’s and Gwen would have to wait until another day.
It got to the point that we gave her a choice between three different pair.
New Balance was the winner, pink suede with two different color laces to choose from.
I was glad to get out of there. Caveman’s blood pressure was elevated and the employees were left with a aisle of shoebox packing material to clean up because we opened and took out about twelve pair of shoes trying to find one that the Diva could live with.
All that over shoes. We still have to venture into jeans and tops in the next 30 days. They have to have hair cuts and dentist visits.
More blogging material coming your way.
It’s been a while since I posted a music video. Emma found her way onto Napster when we confiscated Caveman’s laptop and I happened on her having her own private American Idol audition. The sunglasses were her own idea before I ever came into the room.
I think Kindergarten music class may be somewhat of a bore for her after her Summer of jamming at the kitchen table. I also think the Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus songs are much more enjoyable when interpreted by a 5 year old.
Just when the withdrawal symptoms were approaching that point where I would give in to the urge to charge a new computer on the VISA, they call me from AZZO Computers to tell me I’m free to come pick up my repaired laptop at my convenience.
One hundred and eight dollars later, you get to marvel at this photo of Gwen writing the letter ‘G’ in the air with a glowstick over the holiday weekend.
Yes, she is wearing pajamas. It was dark, though it doesn’t appear to be with the setting I used on the 20D.
Most years, when the fourth of July rolls around we have the extended family over for too much food and the fireworks. We have a strict $50 budget for fireworks and there are two reasons for this. One, Caveman and I aren’t the type who enjoy sending our money up in smoke which is essentially what you are doing everytime you light a firework. Second, the neighbors with little man syndrome do one helluva great job exhibiting their need to feel superior by blowing half their mortgage on fireworks.
Now don’t get me wrong. I love me some fireworks. I could sit and watch them for hours, which we do MOST years. This year, however, Caveman was at the firehall and the biggest news of this day was not the holiday but the now classified ‘murder’ of former Tennessee Titans Quarterback Steve McNair.
In addition, it rained just when it was time for fireworks to begin. Rained like Noah’s Ark was about to float by. Rained so much that the cover on the pool was too heavy for me to remove by myself.
“This fourth of July sucks!” Gwen said.
But the rain cleared and we did get to see some fireworks, and do some cool things with glow sticks and delayed camera lens aperture.
As usual, when Gwen does something, Emma automatically jumps right in there and wants to do the same thing. Emma, however, did her ’same thing’ at the same time a car was driving by, for a little added flair. Such a show off.
