I'll have my husband get back to you

In case any of you were wondering, yes, there are still sexist jerks around in 2010.
Okay, so for those of you who don't know me, here's a quick description. I'm about 5 feet, 6 inches tall, about 125 pounds, with reddish-brownish hair and lots of freckles. When I'm not wearing make-up (particularly mascara), I look like I don't have any eyelashes.
So today, I wasn't wearing make-up when the solar panel engineer guy came to our house to take measurements.
Here's how it went down:
The guy was supposed to be here at 2 p.m., by which time I'd planned to have the chicken (touted as delicious whole slow cooker chicken) in the Crock Pot. He showed up at 1:40, when I was in the middle of cutting the skin off the chicken. So I went outside and brought the dogs in, as the solar guy was still sitting in his truck.
A few minutes later, I heard him shouting, "Hello? Hello?"
Yes, he was standing outside the gate, shouting, "Hello?"
So I went outside and he asked if this was the Dartt residence, to which I replied, yes, it is.
So then he says, "Is it your dad?"
I say: "My dad what?"
He flips through his papers and says, "Um .... MrDartt."
"Nope, that's my husband," I answer.
"Is he home?"
"No."
"Okay, so should I just talk to him by phone then?"
"About what?"
"I just want to go over a few things about what will happen next."
"You can talk to me about that."
"Okay. I'll just take some measurements and come back inside."
So he starts heading around the house, and comes back within about 20 minutes, by which time I still haven't gotten the delicious whole slow cooker chicken into the Crock Pot.
"All right," he says, "I'm all done."
"Okay, do you want to come in?" I ask, quite pleasantly.
"Oh, no, I'm pretty much done."
"Didn't you say you had some things to discuss?"
"Oh, well, I answered all my own questions."
Seriously?
I'll bet you five bucks he's on the phone with my husband right now.

Training Wheels

Well, we're getting to the point where Big Boy may officially be big.
He is ready to take the training wheels off his bike.
Last year at this time, we were potty training, so this must be his annual Big Thing.
I remember when he first got this bike, for his second birthday. We helped him ride it around and around and around and around and around our house (there's a kind of "track" in the house, which goes from the front door, through the dining room and kitchen, through the living room, and then back to the front door).
It took him a long time to learn how to pedal on his own, with us helping him, saying, "push," over and over!
So needless to say, now that we're taking off the training wheels, my back is killing me. The first day, MrDartt and I took turns helping Big Boy ride in circles on the driveway (he has much too much speed now to ride inside).
Yesterday was Day Two with no training wheels, and I was on my own. Big Boy kept listing to the right. I kept saying, "you're leaning this way." I made him practice -- I held him up, but leaned him to the right, and coached him to straighten the bike up again.
But again, he was listing to the right.
Finally, after about eight thousand laps of the driveway, I said, "Why do you think you keep leaning this way?"
He said, "Probably because we took my training wheels off."
Right.

Funny Stuff

Well, it has been a loooong time since I posted.
A lot of funny stuff has transpired during the past few weeks and I thought I should share it.
Plus, I had a friend over today who I haven't seen in a loooong time, and she said she started a blog. So I got on here to check out her blog and was inspired to blog, too.
So without further ado:

A couple of days ago, I asked Big Boy to vacuum up some cereal he spilled after I told him he could not have any cereal for a snack. He'd taken the box down from the pantry and taken the bag out and spilled cereal all over the pantry floor.
So I set up the vacuum and said, here you go.
He said: "No way! I'm not vacuuming. That will make me a boring man!"

Last night, at dinner, we used a strange cheese on our pasta. Admittedly, it was kind of yucky.

Big Boy said: "This dinner is yucky. I'm marching off."

And he marched off.

A couple of weeks ago, Little Boy got into the protein powder and spilled it all over the kitchen floor. At first, he got the broom and started sweeping it up. When he discovered how fun that wasn't, though, he and Big Boy got on the floor on their stomachs and licked up the protein powder.

The other morning at breakfast, Big Boy announced he wanted a March birthday (his is in October -- those winter months are cold!). I said he couldn't have a March birthday because he was born in October. You know what happened next. He asked why. I told him it's because he came out of my tummy in October.

He said: "So you have to come out of your mommy's tummy in March if you want a March birthday?"

I said: "Yes."

He said: "That's the rule?"

Okay, and finally, here's a direct quote from Big Boy: "Give me back my gloss!"

Yes, gloss. As in lip.

Dogs are Idiots

MrDartt really wants to get rid of our dogs. And when I say, "get rid of," I mean eliminate. Send them to doggie heaven.
Here's the latest: that last windy, rainy storm, which blew our fence over, also caused some of the dirt on our hill to slide down, leaving space enough between the bottom of the fence and the dirt that the dogs can slide through and escape.
Not only do they run off, but they run faster when we call them. They're gone for hours. And when they come back, they're both limping and often bleeding. Louie, for instance, has a huge bloody bite mark on his front right leg. He has a bite mark on his left ear. And he has no use of his left back leg right now because he has a torn ACL. Just minimal use of the right back leg, because the torn ACL on that one healed just recently. And Lola is limping too, favoring her right front leg and her right back leg. But every time they go outside, the make for the hole in the fence.
MrDartt, bless his heart, keeps trying to fix the hole. He keeps putting rocks there, thinking the dogs won't move them. Notice how I said, "keeps"? Yeah, doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.
Anyway, the worst thing about all of this is that Lola likes to bring back deer legs. Intact. Real deer legs. She hordes them under a bush on the hill. Right now there are two deer legs on the lawn.
Check out the picture.

Where's Waldo? Part 2

There is a sippy cup in the toilet.

Where's Waldo?

I was missing a pair of black shoes the other day. Where do you think they were? That's right! You guessed it! They were in the garbage can in the office/weight room.
A huge storm with lots of strong winds came through, and knocked our fence over (hats off to the guys who installed it crappy the first time, and then fixed it, only to have it fall over again in the next big storm). So I was going to go outside and try to fix it. I wanted to wear my hiking boots. Where do you think they were? Yep! They were in the boys' laundry hamper.
I went to put on mascara in my bathroom one recent morning and couldn't find it (the mascara, of course, not the bathroom). Bathtub.
CD case, which was in the office/weight room, next to the CD player? Our bedroom, under the bed.
The belt for my robe? Living room floor, with Zorro hat.
My red snowflake sock? The planter behind the front door.
The Christmas card that sings "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer"? Under the entertainment center. With the bullwhip.
The culprit? Little Boy, who has really gotten the hang of walking around while carrying stuff.
The other day I found a half-eaten pear on his little musical chair. Gross.

Crying Wolf

Big Boy has recently potty-trained himself, so all cries of "I have to go potty" must be taken seriously -- until now.
Today we went to a playgroup kind of far away. On the way home, Big Boy started saying he had to go potty. Bad. He's had diarrhea for the past couple of days so I thought maybe he needed to go Number Two.
Big Boy: "I have to go potty. BAD. I don't feel good. My tummy hurts."
Me: "Can you wait until we get home?"
Big Boy: "No. I have to go poopie. BAD."
Me: "Okay, let's find a gas station."
So we stopped at two gas stations. They were both closed. We had to drive for another 8 to 10 minutes to the next gas station. I've been driving our pickup truck for a couple of days so when we got to the gas station, I had to open the passenger door and reach behind the seat to get Little Boy, then walk around the truck and open the driver door again and reach behind that seat to get Big Boy. Then we're walking in, and Big Boy's saying, "Carry me!"
We finally got in and I got a toilet liner, which he usually begs for, and he didn't want that.
Big Boy: "I don't WANT that!"
So I let him sit on the toilet seat.
So he sits on it.
And sits on it.
And sits on it.
Me: "Is any poop coming out?"
Big Boy: "Not yet."
Me: "Do you even have to go?"
Big Boy: "YEAH, I DO."
Me: "Do you really have to go, or are you just trying to trick me again?" (You see, this has happened before, when we were out running errands, and all of a sudden he said he had to pee so we went to a store to pee and he didn't even go!)
Big Boy: "I REALLY have to go, Mama." (He has taken to calling me "Mama.")
Me: "Well then push it out!"
Big Boy: "Mama, I just have to relaaaax, remember? Just relaaax."
Yes, like many of my other parenting ideas, my potty-training mantra -- "just relaaaax," has backfired.
And if you're wondering, he never pooped. He was trying to trick me.
I explained how if he keeps saying he has to go, but doesn't really have to go, then I'm not going to believe him when he really does have to go, and then he's going to poop his pants.
Big Boy: "I'm really sorry, Mama."