Archive for May, 2010

Laws Of Patrolling

posted by on 05/20/2010

I may not be an authority on potty training or how to get your kid to sleep in their own room and stay in your bed for the whole night please I’m begging you because my back is going out from sleeping like a pretzel, you little bed hog, but I do know one thing: kids love presents.

We started with the potty training. Troy immediately informed us “NO LIKE IT” and when we tried to put him in some underpants, he politely declined with “No Dank You”. I deemed him not ready and have decided to turn the heat down on the pressure cooker of please don’t pee in your pants. I mean, he said N0 Dank You. God.

We decided to play hardball with the Go Sleep In Your Own Bed And Stay There thing. This is an intricate plan of putting Troy to bed in his own room and shutting the door and waiting approximately 17 seconds until Troy opens said door and climbs into bed with us. Repeat 7 times until we decide Troy can sleep on his crib mattress on the floor next to our bed. We fall asleep, Troy gets into bed with us and nobody wins. Except Troy.

We are getting owned by a two year old on a daily basis. It’s gotta stop, you know? So I bribed him, I’m just going to go ahead and admit it. I was basically all “Here, have this most adorable PRESENT ever in the entire history of the world for being such a big boy and sleeping in your own bed”. But I said it with feeling.

And it totally worked.

Can you blame him? I heart these little finger puppets so much, I would probably punch a squirrel if someone gave them to me.

Can you even stand how cute these are? I want to quit my job and stay home and take pictures of Troy’s my new friends.

Except Troy has other ideas, like trying to play with them.


That’s okay, buddy, you gotta go to your own bed sooner than later. Just leave the puppets where I can find them.


Why Take The Escalator When I Have A Perfectly Good Canoe Right Here?

posted by on 05/13/2010

I’ve been searching for a bench for our entryway, a place for the children to sit while they pull their snow boots on and off. And yes, they are still in snow boots because it snowed here YESTERDAY and please-dear-baby-Jesus-make-it-stop-snowing-because-I-cannot-take-it-anymore.

I found a bench on Craigslist that was just what I wanted, sturdy and cheap. I called the number listed in the ad and come to find out, the lady with the bench lived less than a mile from us. I told her I would be right over and she asked me if I could keep an eye out for her cat because it ran away earlier that morning. I told her I would and she informs me it’s a show cat and his name is Bubbles.

About fifteen minutes later, I pull into her driveway and park behind her SUV. I think she must have small children because she has a swing set and a kiddie pool in the yard. I notice she is standing in the middle of the yard and is pushing a very small baby on a tire swing.

I look again and it’s not a baby. It’s a cat.

That looks just like Mr. Bigglesworth.

I get out of the car and I tell her I called about the bench. She walks over holding Mr. Bigglesworth/Bubbles up over her head and tells me she found him, that he was hiding in the kitchen the whole time! I debate internally how much I really want this bench.

We walk toward the house and while she is opening the door, she asks me to hold him, SO HE WON’T RUN AWAY.

We go inside and I’m actually holding the godforsaken weird, bald cat and she disappears down the hall. She comes back with a pack of cigarettes and she offers me one. I decline and I wonder if I’m on candid camera. Or in the Twilight Zone. I see the bench off to the side and tell her I will take it, hand her Bubbles and $30 and thank her. As I am backing out of the driveway, she is standing on the porch with the cigarette dangling from her mouth holding Bubbles and making him wave good-bye to me and the bench.

My plan was to paint the bench and call it a day. However, when I took the woven rattan seat off of the bench, I discovered it was soaked in URINE. Bubbles was using it was a litter box, at least I’m hoping it was Bubbles. I threw the seat away and I had a friend of mine cut a piece of wood to fit. After scrubbing the bench down repeatedly, I slapped on a couple of coats of Martha Stewart paint in Haystack, added some foam and batting, a few yards of fabric and holy balls, it would have been so much easier to order one from Pottery Barn.


And every time I look at my new bench, I will think of how holding that godforsaken weird, bald cat was like holding a naked butt.