Yogi Better Watch His Step

When I grow up, I think I want to be my cousin Carissa.

Now, yes, I know that doesn't make a lot of sense, seeing that she is eight years younger than I am, but if it's possible that is what I want.

She's a Park Ranger. How cool is that? And she's not just one of the rangers who tells you how old Old Faithful is (hint, look at the first part of the name), she's one who gets to carry a gun and enforce "the law." Bear gets out of line? Pepper spray. Tourist gets out of line? She introduces them to the bear that just got pepper sprayed.

Nah, she is much too responsible to do that. When I am grown up like her I will be too.

She's in there somewhere...

Carissa doesn't even mind all of the stuff that goes along with being a park ranger that would send most people (me) running. For instance, she's spending the summer living in a cabin with no electricity. You know what that means right? No Internet. Carissa doesn't seem to mind that she won't immediately be able to learn if Lindsey Lohan has died, or who Perez Hilton hates, or what things funny babies and/or cats are doing. Nope, she just wants to make sure she has enough books to read.

I know, some of you are now starting to question if we are actually related.

Oh, and despite the fact that Carissa is outdoorsy, and doesn't abuse the authority given to her, she's actually fun to be around. She likes telling stories about all the dumb stuff she's seen people do in the parks, and doesn't go all "Smokey the Bear" on you. And the stories she tells? Better than any that I have about T.V. After all, I've never busted anyone walking naked in the newsroom.

I can hardly wait until I have stories like Carissa's to tell.

I just hope that when I'm grown up I get to ranger in a park with Internet.

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The Girlie Battle

I am considering an injunction against my Mother. Look what she did to Meg.

She claims Meg picked it out. That she tried to dissuade her from getting a headband with a planet attached. That she pointed out all kinds of tasteful, understated headbands, but that Meg wouldn't budge. That walking out of the store without that lavender abomination would have caused a fit that possibly would have ended with Meg exploding, and certainly would have ended with her mad at Grandma. That my Mother, the woman who is unswayable, was swayed.

I don't buy it.

I think this is just the opening salvo in my Mother's war of revenge.

I was not an easy teenager when it came to clothing. I wasn't my sister (that's a tale for another time -- a dark, Gothic tale) but I definitely didn't want to wear what my Mom picked out. I liked overalls with holes in them, and big baggy white t-shirts. For two whole years I only wore one earring: a silver female symbol. I liked bandannas. Hey, it was the early 90's. Lots of people were dressing this way. My Mother just couldn't believe I was one of them.

I can't believe she's been plotting for 20 years.

I can only picture what's coming next. Dresses with enormous bows! Patent leather shoes! Sparkly earrings! (gasp) TUTUS!

If Meg ends up a cheerleader I will know the war is lost.

I should probably call my lawyer now -- just to be safe.

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O! The Pain!

I wanted to post something really wonderful today, but I just can't. The looming world without "Oprah" is just too much for me. How will I live my best life now that there is no one who might randomly give me a car while yelling at me?

If you need something to read I have posted over at Tired and Stuck about how I just can't visualize doing visualization. At Sprocket Ink I have written about the strange turn of events that is turning out to be the life of Casey Anthony.

I think I'll be feeling better tomorrow though, so meet back here for some of my favorite things.

Favorite things. Oh, Oprah. Sob.

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I Thought I Was Smart

I am seriously getting my ass kicked at "Words with Friends."

For those of you who don't play Internet games, WWF is basically Scrabble only with two people, so the humiliation is on a personal level. You can play as many games as you want at a time though, so you can risk being humiliated by several people at once in the vain hope that you might, sweet baby Jesus please, beat at least one of them.

So far that strategy has not worked out for me.

Not only are there now several people in my office I can't look directly in the eye, but there is also a Dad at Meg's day care, several people I went to college with, Suzanne from Married Geeks, and I think Sarah Palin.

Oh, and Tara. I can't forget that she is beating me. She won't let me.

I asked Tara to play knowing that she hates Scrabble and therefore hasn't played in as long as I have and probably would be an easy mark. Really, I can't tell you how dumb that was. Since she started what can only be called a "whupping" I have tired several times to convince her I am letting her win. It isn't working though, because she reminded me how much we both enjoy gloating.

Truth be told, I don't really enjoy it though when she's doing it.

I try to tell myself that this really isn't a commentary on my intelligence. That lots of people who are smart and have good vocabularies and consider themselves linguistically gifted aren't good at Scrabble. That I happen to know a large number of people who love Scrabble and possibly spend all of their free time playing when I am doing other things -- like blogging or saving orphaned seal pups from burning buildings. That I will eventually get better at this, and know that "xu" is a word while "xoja" is not. I really wish it was though. That would have saved my ass when I was playing a guy from high school today. Well, maybe not saved it, but made it less sad in defeat.

Maybe I should just wait for a sarcasm based game to come out. It could also be called "Words with Friends" but you would say it differently, so people would get the meaning.

I definitely wouldn't play that one with Tara though. I know my limits.

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Generation Gap, Dag Nabit!

When I was a kid I had a toy clock. I had a toy camera. I had a toy radio and even (yes, I am this old) a toy record player. Also, like most girls, I had a toy phone -- a light pink rotary that I loved very much.

My kid? She just has a toy phone.

When she wants to take a pretend picture? She points the phone at her subject and says "cheese." Sometimes she'll snap her fingers and say "over here" if she feels they aren't paying

proper attention. When she wants to check the time? She picks up the phone and looks at the face, saying "tell time." And when she wants to listen to music? She hands me the phone and tells me to "plug it in."

If I just put it down she gets very upset, so we have learned to compromise. After all, if my phone plays music, why can't hers?

She also, of course, makes numerous phone calls.

There are days I wish that most of Meg's life play didn't revolve around a phone. That she had numerous things to mimic me and her Dad instead of just one. Maybe it would help if our lives didn't revolve around our phones. After all, I only really loved my pink rotary because my Mom loved her beige one so much.

I guess we could cut down on phone use.

Hmmm... That might be an idea.

Yeah, not going to happen.

At least Meg hasn't figured out texting yet. Otherwise we would NEVER get her phone out of her hands.

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Marco?

Yeah, stop waiting for me to say "Polo" because I'm not really here. I am other places though, with lots of interesting things to say!

Over at Tired and Stuck you can read about why I have replaced my morning coffee (okay, Diet Pepsi) with a cup of hot swamp water, and couldn't be happier about it!

Oh, and at Sprocket Ink I have written about why a psychologist trying to prove African American women are not attractive has probably been turned down by a lot of African American women.

Of course, I will be back here tomorrow, zipping up my cardigan sweater and putting on my sneakers for a trip to the land of make believe.

Can you tell I am feeling nostalgic for childhood?

Later, gators.

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These are the People in my Neighborhood

We have a new neighbor. Well, actually, we have six new neighbors, but only one interests me. Her name is Liza, she's six, and I'm guessing she's lived a pretty boring life so far, because she thinks we are the most fascinating people ever.

The first time we met Liza, Meg and I were sitting on the front porch waiting for Ryan to get home. Really, that's all we were doing. No fireworks, no acrobatics, just sitting. Liza jumped out of the van and yelled "are you our new neighbors?" I was so shocked I didn't even have time to think of something sarcastic to say about how we were just trying out the porch. I just said "yes." Liza LITERALLY (yes, I know the meaning of the word) started dancing, and shouting "and they have the cutest little baby" into the air. I couldn't argue with her there, so I just smiled.

Liza has now lived here about three weeks. Every time we see her, it's the same routine. We walk out, or she walks up. She shrieks and yells "you're out!" Meg screeches along with her. They both start dancing. Sally starts barking and running. Somewhere a unicorn smiles. It is truly a sight to behold.

Really, Liza doesn't even care what we are doing. Tonight Ryan was pulling weeds, I was blogging, and both of us were trying to keep Meg from eating dirt. After the traditional yell/screech/dance/unicorn smile, Liza had to ask us all about what we were doing. What plants weren't weeds? Why did my computer work outside? Did Meg like one kid of dirt more than another? Then she told me about school, and her brothers, and made Sally sit and shake hands before petting her on the head.

I am not a big fan of neighbor conversations. I like to be left alone unless something has been scheduled, or people are well aware of my "drop by" rules. However, there is something about Liza that is just so utterly enchanting. Maybe it's because kids are so funny. Or maybe it's because I watch how Meg watches her, and know I am getting a preview of what's coming.

Either way, I think Liz is pretty fascinating too.

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Turkey Trot Terror

Meg and I were almost killed today by a turkey.

Totally not lying.

We were at the zoo, waving to the monkeys and telling the giraffes we loved them, singing songs of joy and love, and wishing our fellow living beings well, when all of a sudden, this big turkey stepped out into the path.

I could tell he was ready for a fight.

Meg clapped her hands, like she does with the turkeys at the farm to make them gobble. But this was no farm turkey, and he would only be gobbling for blood.

We took a step forward. He took a step forward. We faked to the left. He followed us. I asked him what the hell was his problem. He didn't answer because he's a turkey.

Finally, I just took off running, pushing the stroller with all the might my spaghetti arms could handle. We ran right past him as he ruffled his feathers, finally gave a gobble, and Meg screamed with glee.

When we turned around he was still mad, but his little bird brain had forgotten all about the fact we were the ones he was mad at. And there was another family coming up the path. A menacing looking family.

We didn't even stick around to see what happened. I figure next time if we see the turkey with a black arm band we will know.

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Hey you!

Yes, you! Good to see you here. There really isn't that much going on here today though. All the action is on the other sites where you can find my ramblings.

Over on Tired and Stuck you can read how my body is trying to show me who is boss -- no matter how many supplements I take, or how many needles I have stuck into me.

Oh, and at Sprocket Ink I've written about how Osama bin Laden's apparent love of Pepsi makes my head hurt. It's deeper than just that though, so go check it out.

Of course, come back here tomorrow. I might have a puppet show planned...

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Twenty Two Months

Meg is very advanced for her age. She's already well into her terrible twos.

Maybe "terrible" isn't the right word for it. How about her "incredibly active, opinionated, and willful" twos? Yeah, I think that works better. She really isn't trying to be difficult. She just knows what she wants to do, exactly when she wants to do it, and hasn't figured out that is not always possible. Hell, if it were I would always be eating pizza and never have on pants.

It isn't just that she doesn't understand that she can't always have her way though, it's that she is now mobile enough to try and get her way if we aren't immediately helping her to get it for those reasons she doesn't understand. She can now get out of the restaurant high chair when we tell her we will not lift her down because people are still eating. She can now reach the counter where the fruit snacks are sitting when we won't hand them to her because dinner is almost ready. Oh, and she can definitely undo her car seat straps when we refuse to let her out because the car is still moving.

Despite all this everything she does still makes me smile. Even when I am totally exasperated because she has thrown herself to the floor, or refuses to eat and is instead trying to "help" by clearing her plate into the (fat) dog's mouth, I am still enchanted by this child. I love it when she tells me "no, no" or "be nice" when I am doing something she doesn't like -- like trying to bathe her or make her wear socks. I love that when she runs away she also slightly dances. I love watching her tastes develop, and her opinions evolve. For instance, she no longer like ketchup. Used to love it -- now won't look at it. Why did that happen? And what will change next?

I can't wait to find out.

Oh, how we love our girl.

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An Open Letter to Mariah Carey

Dear Mariah,

Congratulations on your new babies! I am sure you are going to be a very interesting mom to say the very least. And I think that you're first act of parenting, I mean, after playing them your greatest hits tape and introducing them to the Reverend Al Sharpton as he renews your wedding vows, is to change their names.

No, I'm not saying your choices aren't unique. Monroe and Moroccan? Your kids definitely won't have to go by Monroe and Moroccan C to differentiate themselves from the scads of others with the same names in school. Mostly though, that whole uniqueness thing will bite them in the ass.

For instance, they will NEVER be able to find a pencil with their names on them at Disneyland.

Now, I know, that doesn't seem like a big deal. With all of your "Glitter" money you could buy them personalized unicorns with pencils for horns. However, when you're five, and you see all of those pencils, with practically every name in the world on them, and yours isn't there, it makes you feel crappy. Trust me. My name is Libby.

It isn't just pencils, or license plates, or rainbow mugs that are the problem either. You know that saying "kids can be cruel?" Well, guess what? KIDS CAN BE CRUEL. Yes, I know, kids can find a way to make fun of every name, but at least make them work for the payoff. Isn't it bad enough that bullies will already have the ammunition of the fact that you are their Mom and you took these pictures while pregnant? Maybe you should have just named your kids "give me a wedgie" and "really, take my lunch money" to make it easier.

If you don't want to change both names, at least change Moroccan, or let him go by his middle name -- Scott. After all, girls can get away with kooky names most of the time, especially if they are slutty, but boys have no such luxury. Also, Scott (I will always refer to him as that now) really should get to pick his own name, since you named him after a design scheme. Yeah, Mariah, we all know you named him after the decor in your third floor balcony. How do we know this? BECAUSE YOU TOLD US! IT'S LIKE YOU DON'T EVEN WANT THEM TO HAVE A CHANCE!

Sorry, I got a little excited.

Ahem.

Really, though, mazel tov. I hope you have very competent nannies to take care of all three, er two of your children. After all, we don't want you overexerting yourself.

That might lead to decisions you regret later.

Best of luck,

Libby

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Pssst...

Hey you! Yeah, you! Wanna read all about how I am not only having acupuncture, but ELECTRIC acupuncture? Well you can! Just not here. Head over to Tired and Stuck for the lowdown.

Of maybe you want to know what I think of the Osama bin Laden situation? Or rather, what I don't think of it? That's over at Sprocket Ink.

Come back here tomorrow though. I'll be handing out puppies and Pop Tarts bright and early...

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ARRRGHHHH!

What happens when you try to explain to a toddler that riding on the outside of the cart can be dangerous, no matter how many jerky kids with irresponsible parents you see doing it in Target?

This:

I tried to get her standing -- twice. She slid back down. I tried to pick her up and carry her. She made her body so heavy I swear it was made out of lead. Finally, her Dad just threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A screaming sack of potatoes.

At least it tired her out. I'm going to drink wine now.

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