There's a girl in my MOMS Club who is just amazing.
She can craft like there's no tomorrow. Every time she bakes cookies, they're perfectly uniform, super soft and VERY delicious. When I had Little Boy she made me a little door hanger that said, "Shhh, Little Boy is Sleeping." She also made a onesie with "I love MOMS Club" on it. When I ended my term as secretary on the MOMS Club board, she made each board member a little embroidered, personalized handkerchief. Her kids' bedrooms are decorated beautifully, with color-coordinated paints, furniture and accessories. She always makes just the right amount of food for each potluck (for my first MOMS Club potluck function, she hosted and said to make enough for 20 people. Well, I made about 10 gallons of potato salad. More than half of the 20 people were kids 2 and younger so they did not need as much potato salad. MrDartt and I were eating potato salad for weeks. Too bad you can't can potato salad).
Anyway, one time she told me how she hopes her neighbors don't ever hear her screaming at her kids. I just couldn't imagine this sweet woman screaming at her kids.
Then I had my second son.
Now I know why she screams.
Here she is, baking beautifully shaped, perfectly soft, delicious cookies, or hand-stitching a handkerchief.
And one of her kids is on timeout for hitting and he's throwing himself on the floor over and over again. Her other kid is putting his feet in the dog water bowl, splashing around (okay, these are things my kids do while I am baking over-cooked, hard, misshapen cookies, but you get the idea).
And so she's screaming.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Beautiful Space
I don't know what we were thinking when we bought two acres of land.
Okay, I do know what we were thinking. We were thinking, "Gosh, look at all this space. This will be so much nicer than living in our little tiny condo with two shared walls and a little tiny fenced yard."
Or maybe we were thinking, "Gosh, this will be a great way to destroy our marriage and/or live in squalor in just three short years."
Just more than four years ago, we were living in my teeny tiny, 1000-square-foot condo, which I'd bought when I first moved here. It was small and cozy. We were about to get married so we thought we'd buy some land and build a nice spacious house and then, several years down the road, we'd have a kid or two (well, I wanted three or four, but that is still up for discussion).
Well, right after we got married, I got pregnant. Surprise!
So throughout my pregnancy, we were building the house. It went fine, and we moved in when Big Boy was 2 months old. It was the dead of winter and our entire lot was full of dirt. And big rocks. And a few scrub oak plants.
Little did we know that when spring rolled around, we'd be surrounded by wasps the size of hummingbirds and weeds the size of redwoods. Have you ever been to Northern California? Redwoods are very, very big. So are our weeds.
We have spent tens of thousands of dollars on landscaping. I am not exaggerating. We have some very nice trees (12 trees), some very nice plants (at least 13 or so), a big lawn (and a sprikler system that waters the lawn about 8 times per day, even though it's set to run only once) and lots and lots of crushed granite. Oh, and a beautiful patio MrDartt built (I've mentioned it before -- it almost caused a divorce but looks very nice). And we have a HUGE, GIGANTIC hill in front of our house. It has six trees on it. And some plants. But it's mostly dirt. Dirt, dirt, dirt. There are weeds everywhere. Weeds, weeds, weeds. The weeds behind our house look like trees. It's like a prickly, spiky forest back there. Seriously.
We have decided that although we love our house and we put a lot of work into it during the actual building and since we moved in, we want to move somewhere that has a little tiny yard, which is already landscaped.
MrDartt just asked if, in my writing, I've come up with something to do with our two acres. No I have not. He said, "Besides winning the lottery and having somebody come in and lanscape the whole thing?"
There's the ticket. Any other ideas?
Okay, I do know what we were thinking. We were thinking, "Gosh, look at all this space. This will be so much nicer than living in our little tiny condo with two shared walls and a little tiny fenced yard."
Or maybe we were thinking, "Gosh, this will be a great way to destroy our marriage and/or live in squalor in just three short years."
Just more than four years ago, we were living in my teeny tiny, 1000-square-foot condo, which I'd bought when I first moved here. It was small and cozy. We were about to get married so we thought we'd buy some land and build a nice spacious house and then, several years down the road, we'd have a kid or two (well, I wanted three or four, but that is still up for discussion).
Well, right after we got married, I got pregnant. Surprise!
So throughout my pregnancy, we were building the house. It went fine, and we moved in when Big Boy was 2 months old. It was the dead of winter and our entire lot was full of dirt. And big rocks. And a few scrub oak plants.
Little did we know that when spring rolled around, we'd be surrounded by wasps the size of hummingbirds and weeds the size of redwoods. Have you ever been to Northern California? Redwoods are very, very big. So are our weeds.
We have spent tens of thousands of dollars on landscaping. I am not exaggerating. We have some very nice trees (12 trees), some very nice plants (at least 13 or so), a big lawn (and a sprikler system that waters the lawn about 8 times per day, even though it's set to run only once) and lots and lots of crushed granite. Oh, and a beautiful patio MrDartt built (I've mentioned it before -- it almost caused a divorce but looks very nice). And we have a HUGE, GIGANTIC hill in front of our house. It has six trees on it. And some plants. But it's mostly dirt. Dirt, dirt, dirt. There are weeds everywhere. Weeds, weeds, weeds. The weeds behind our house look like trees. It's like a prickly, spiky forest back there. Seriously.
We have decided that although we love our house and we put a lot of work into it during the actual building and since we moved in, we want to move somewhere that has a little tiny yard, which is already landscaped.
MrDartt just asked if, in my writing, I've come up with something to do with our two acres. No I have not. He said, "Besides winning the lottery and having somebody come in and lanscape the whole thing?"
There's the ticket. Any other ideas?
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Worst Mom In America -- or Possibly the Whole World
Little Boy suffered his first injury during our camping trip. And it was all my fault.
Sunday morning, we cooked breakfast on the campfire. A few hours later, one of my MOMS Club friends came over to talk to us. MrDartt was in our little cabin helping Big Boy change his clothes, and I was talking to my friend and watching Little Boy crawl around the campsite. He was happily walking along the stroller, pushing Big Boy's bike. I looked away for probably 45 seconds, and he crawled over to the fire pit. He burst into tears and I looked over to see him sitting down right next to the fire pit.
I went over to get him and I checked his hands. They didn't even look red. He stopped crying immediately when I picked him up. I didn't think anything of it.
The next day, he had a slight fever (100.7 under his armpit). I gave him some Tylenol, his fever went down, and I didn't think anything of it.
THEN, the next morning, I noticed a HUGE blister on his hand. HUGE. It was right on the crease. It was already open, and very deep. I inspected it and realized that it was a blister from the burn he got when he put his hand on the fire pit. When I wasn't watching him!
That big blister was open, and there was a trail of smaller blisters all the way across the crease.
Of course I immediately packed him up and took him to the doctor.
She inspected the burn with a little light.
"He has a pretty good burn there," she said. Yep. I know.
She gave us some cream to put on it and told me to bandage it.
"That probably hurts, so you should give him some Motrin," she said. Good thinking.
As she was leaving, she said, "Be careful around those fire pits!" Thanks. Got that one figured out.
My mom and some of my friends have told me not to beat myself up but I feel so BAD! My Little Boy and his huge burn! He just keeps pulling off the bandage and picking at the loose skin, and then crying.
Other than that, he's recovering just fine. We go back to the doctor tomorrow.
I think he'll live.
Sunday morning, we cooked breakfast on the campfire. A few hours later, one of my MOMS Club friends came over to talk to us. MrDartt was in our little cabin helping Big Boy change his clothes, and I was talking to my friend and watching Little Boy crawl around the campsite. He was happily walking along the stroller, pushing Big Boy's bike. I looked away for probably 45 seconds, and he crawled over to the fire pit. He burst into tears and I looked over to see him sitting down right next to the fire pit.
I went over to get him and I checked his hands. They didn't even look red. He stopped crying immediately when I picked him up. I didn't think anything of it.
The next day, he had a slight fever (100.7 under his armpit). I gave him some Tylenol, his fever went down, and I didn't think anything of it.
THEN, the next morning, I noticed a HUGE blister on his hand. HUGE. It was right on the crease. It was already open, and very deep. I inspected it and realized that it was a blister from the burn he got when he put his hand on the fire pit. When I wasn't watching him!
That big blister was open, and there was a trail of smaller blisters all the way across the crease.
Of course I immediately packed him up and took him to the doctor.
She inspected the burn with a little light.
"He has a pretty good burn there," she said. Yep. I know.
She gave us some cream to put on it and told me to bandage it.
"That probably hurts, so you should give him some Motrin," she said. Good thinking.
As she was leaving, she said, "Be careful around those fire pits!" Thanks. Got that one figured out.
My mom and some of my friends have told me not to beat myself up but I feel so BAD! My Little Boy and his huge burn! He just keeps pulling off the bandage and picking at the loose skin, and then crying.
Other than that, he's recovering just fine. We go back to the doctor tomorrow.
I think he'll live.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Can't Even Think of an Appropriate Title
We went camping over the weekend.
It was our first trip since Big Boy's previous terrorist attack during a camping trip (he claims it wasn't him -- that he was possessed -- and I believe him!). We had a blast and I will save that for a later post.
But here's the funny story (I promise it relates).
I'd packed all our clothes in one suitcase. I packed on Friday during the day, and then left the suitcase in the living room because Big Boy was having fun rolling it around. MrDartt and I went out to dinner and a movie to celebrate our anniversary, and my parents watched the boys. Saturday morning we left for camping. We got back Sunday afternoon and I left the suitcase on the floor in the living room as I unpacked it little by little.
Monday morning, Little Boy was climbing on the closed suitcase, which was lying on the floor.
Big Boy came over and gave Little Boy a swift shove, sending him face first onto the floor. His knees were still on the suitcase, and his head was turned to the side, with one of his cheeks smashed into the carpet.
MrDartt yelled to Big Boy, "Why did you do that?"
To which Big Boy responded, "Grandma and Grandpa said he was going to fall down anyway!"
MrDartt carried Big Boy to timeout and sat him down, then knelt down and told him, you need to sit there for a few minutes, and then you need to apologize to Little Boy for pushing him down.
MrDartt turned to pick up Little Boy, and there he was, not making a peep, with his knees on the suitcase and his cheek pressed into the carpet.
He'd held that position for at least 60 seconds. Didn't even care.
It was our first trip since Big Boy's previous terrorist attack during a camping trip (he claims it wasn't him -- that he was possessed -- and I believe him!). We had a blast and I will save that for a later post.
But here's the funny story (I promise it relates).
I'd packed all our clothes in one suitcase. I packed on Friday during the day, and then left the suitcase in the living room because Big Boy was having fun rolling it around. MrDartt and I went out to dinner and a movie to celebrate our anniversary, and my parents watched the boys. Saturday morning we left for camping. We got back Sunday afternoon and I left the suitcase on the floor in the living room as I unpacked it little by little.
Monday morning, Little Boy was climbing on the closed suitcase, which was lying on the floor.
Big Boy came over and gave Little Boy a swift shove, sending him face first onto the floor. His knees were still on the suitcase, and his head was turned to the side, with one of his cheeks smashed into the carpet.
MrDartt yelled to Big Boy, "Why did you do that?"
To which Big Boy responded, "Grandma and Grandpa said he was going to fall down anyway!"
MrDartt carried Big Boy to timeout and sat him down, then knelt down and told him, you need to sit there for a few minutes, and then you need to apologize to Little Boy for pushing him down.
MrDartt turned to pick up Little Boy, and there he was, not making a peep, with his knees on the suitcase and his cheek pressed into the carpet.
He'd held that position for at least 60 seconds. Didn't even care.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Potty Training: An Almost-Three-Year-Old and His One-Year-Old Sidekick
Big Boy has decided he is ready to wear Big Boy undies and go potty in the potty.
So we got out the undies we'd bought a couple months ago.
First issue: These are mommy undies, not daddy undies. These have short holes, not long holes (translation: these are briefs, not boxer briefs like daddy's). So I showed Big Boy how there's a little flap in the front of his, just like in daddy's so he can go potty without taking off his undies.
Second issue: He can't open the flap on his own. There is a lot of digging going on. MrDartt suggests that Big Boy just pull down the front of his undies ("That's what I do," he says.) Big Boy refuses. Maybe that will be too much like what mommy does. So I have to help Big Boy open the flap and get his pee pee out. This makes me very uncomfortable because you really have to get in there, and it seems very physically uncomfortable for him.
Third issue: While I am distracted with the flap-opening situation, Little Boy is madly crawling for the potty, and before I can stop him (because I'm determined to give Big Boy the right amount of attention during this whole potty-training thing), he's splashing in the toilet. Really. So Big Boy says, "Going toilet-diving, Little Boy?"
Fourth issue: Once the pee pee is out and Big Boy is peeing, he's forced to hold it pretty close to the end because of how the flap sits. So he gets pee on his hand EVERY time. So he has to wipe off his hand and his pee pee with toilet paper after he's done.
Fifth issue: Big Boy either spends the entire day in the bathroom, trying to go potty over and over again (but of course, most of the time there isn't anything there because he's in there literally every three minutes), or he refuses to go, and then suddenly it becomes very urgent because a tiny little bit of pee has come out.
Sixth issue: Sometimes not all the pee comes out the first time. So then Big Boy has his undies and pants pulled up after he's gone potty and then a little more pee comes out. So we're taking Auntie Laurel's suggestion and telling him to pretend he's a firefighter: the pee pee is the hose, the pee is the water and the toilet has a fire in it. Squirt 'til you can't squirt no more. Put out that fire. Seems to be working.
Seventh issue: Pooping. Big Boy held his poop the entire first day. But yesterday while we were eating lunch, he jumped off his barstool and ran to the back of the house (he insists on using the potty in mine and MrDartt's bathroom). I said, "You're going potty again?" He yelled, "I have to poop!" Sure enough, by the time I got back there, he'd pooped in the potty! Ah, a major success. He got mommy cheering, jumping up and down and yelling, plus ice cream for that one.
Eighth issue: We don't have enough undies. We have three pair. Yesterday he had three pee accidents right in a row! We were out of undies! So we have to buy more today. And I'll be looking for boxer briefs like daddy's.
There's just so much to think about, but I LOVED not changing a poopy diaper yesterday. Because Big Boy poopy diapers are BIG BOY poopy diapers. And I admit, this is kind of fun!
So we got out the undies we'd bought a couple months ago.
First issue: These are mommy undies, not daddy undies. These have short holes, not long holes (translation: these are briefs, not boxer briefs like daddy's). So I showed Big Boy how there's a little flap in the front of his, just like in daddy's so he can go potty without taking off his undies.
Second issue: He can't open the flap on his own. There is a lot of digging going on. MrDartt suggests that Big Boy just pull down the front of his undies ("That's what I do," he says.) Big Boy refuses. Maybe that will be too much like what mommy does. So I have to help Big Boy open the flap and get his pee pee out. This makes me very uncomfortable because you really have to get in there, and it seems very physically uncomfortable for him.
Third issue: While I am distracted with the flap-opening situation, Little Boy is madly crawling for the potty, and before I can stop him (because I'm determined to give Big Boy the right amount of attention during this whole potty-training thing), he's splashing in the toilet. Really. So Big Boy says, "Going toilet-diving, Little Boy?"
Fourth issue: Once the pee pee is out and Big Boy is peeing, he's forced to hold it pretty close to the end because of how the flap sits. So he gets pee on his hand EVERY time. So he has to wipe off his hand and his pee pee with toilet paper after he's done.
Fifth issue: Big Boy either spends the entire day in the bathroom, trying to go potty over and over again (but of course, most of the time there isn't anything there because he's in there literally every three minutes), or he refuses to go, and then suddenly it becomes very urgent because a tiny little bit of pee has come out.
Sixth issue: Sometimes not all the pee comes out the first time. So then Big Boy has his undies and pants pulled up after he's gone potty and then a little more pee comes out. So we're taking Auntie Laurel's suggestion and telling him to pretend he's a firefighter: the pee pee is the hose, the pee is the water and the toilet has a fire in it. Squirt 'til you can't squirt no more. Put out that fire. Seems to be working.
Seventh issue: Pooping. Big Boy held his poop the entire first day. But yesterday while we were eating lunch, he jumped off his barstool and ran to the back of the house (he insists on using the potty in mine and MrDartt's bathroom). I said, "You're going potty again?" He yelled, "I have to poop!" Sure enough, by the time I got back there, he'd pooped in the potty! Ah, a major success. He got mommy cheering, jumping up and down and yelling, plus ice cream for that one.
Eighth issue: We don't have enough undies. We have three pair. Yesterday he had three pee accidents right in a row! We were out of undies! So we have to buy more today. And I'll be looking for boxer briefs like daddy's.
There's just so much to think about, but I LOVED not changing a poopy diaper yesterday. Because Big Boy poopy diapers are BIG BOY poopy diapers. And I admit, this is kind of fun!
Monday, September 14, 2009
My 100th Post! Vegan Cookies.
I am sitting in a coffee shop right now. I brought my laptop and am supposed to be working on some writing projects. But something funny happened so I thought I'd break to blog.
Two women just came in, and were talking about another woman, who they'd come to buy some coffee and a cookie for. The coffee shop worker said the coffee shop is all out of cookies.
"But we have some vegan cookies, over there," she said.
"Ew! Vegan cookies! That sounds gross," said one of the patrons. "What does that mean, that they don't have any animal oil?"
"Well," the coffee shop girl said, "it means they're made without eggs or dairy or any other animal by-products."
"Gross! I don't think she'll like vegan cookies."
The other patron said, "Yeah, if they don't have real cookies, we'll probably have to get these bagged cookies. These look better."
Another couple of people came in to the shop and overheard some of the conversation.
The two women left, sans cookies.
The woman from the new couple said, "These vegan cookies are huge! Where do you get these?"
"We order them from the company," the coffee shop girl said.
"I'll have to try one sometime," the woman said.
The couple left.
Another woman walked in.
"Look at these huge cookies," she said to her boyfriend/husband (I only know they're romantically linked because they couldn't keep their hands off each other and they are kissing right now, as they've paused before exiting the door!).
"They're vegan," the coffee shop girl said.
"Oooh, vegan cookies!" the woman said.
These cookies are getting a lot of attention.
Two women just came in, and were talking about another woman, who they'd come to buy some coffee and a cookie for. The coffee shop worker said the coffee shop is all out of cookies.
"But we have some vegan cookies, over there," she said.
"Ew! Vegan cookies! That sounds gross," said one of the patrons. "What does that mean, that they don't have any animal oil?"
"Well," the coffee shop girl said, "it means they're made without eggs or dairy or any other animal by-products."
"Gross! I don't think she'll like vegan cookies."
The other patron said, "Yeah, if they don't have real cookies, we'll probably have to get these bagged cookies. These look better."
Another couple of people came in to the shop and overheard some of the conversation.
The two women left, sans cookies.
The woman from the new couple said, "These vegan cookies are huge! Where do you get these?"
"We order them from the company," the coffee shop girl said.
"I'll have to try one sometime," the woman said.
The couple left.
Another woman walked in.
"Look at these huge cookies," she said to her boyfriend/husband (I only know they're romantically linked because they couldn't keep their hands off each other and they are kissing right now, as they've paused before exiting the door!).
"They're vegan," the coffee shop girl said.
"Oooh, vegan cookies!" the woman said.
These cookies are getting a lot of attention.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Little Boy's First Birthday
Yesterday, Little Boy turned one. I think he had a very nice day. We went to the park, and he got to swing, play with dirt, put dirt on my pants, and eat dirt. What could be better? We went to the store and he and Big Boy drove a car cart, and even shared the steering wheels very nicely. We even went to the pediatrician for his one-year check-up. His head is in the 90th percentile (which means it's bigger than the heads of 90 percent of his fellow one-year-olds). His height is in the 10th percentile and his weight is in the 5th percentile. Seriously. Huge head.
Anyway, as I was reflecting on his actual birth day, one year ago, I was thinking about how much kids change in just one year. This little baby who came out of my tummy SCREAMING his big head off is now the moving, shaking, dancing little boy who immediately upon waking up crawls over to the pretend guitar, finds the right button to turn it on, and stands up to start rocking out. The little baby who barely made a peep during his first few months now shouts, "LOLA!" every time he hears a dog bark.
It seems like the doctor just hollered, "We have a BOY!" and now that boy is refusing help when eating and throwing little tantrums if he doesn't want a certain vegetable.
I was feeling all nostalgic all morning about his infancy, and kept thinking, "I need to focus on cherishing every moment because it goes by so fast."
Then we went to the pediatrician's office, and the ENTIRE time I was trying to talk to the doctor, Big Boy was interrupting, because he wanted me to unroll the roll of bags I have in the diaper bag, which you're supposed to use to put poopy diapers in. He was getting right in my face, saying, "MOMMY! EXCUSE ME! I want you to give me a bag!" "MOMMY! I want a bag!"
I kept saying, "Just a minute, Big Boy. I am talking to the doctor. You need to be quiet for just a minute." And he kept saying, "MOMMY!" "MOMMY!" "MOMMY!"
I thought, "Ha! Cherish every moment! Right!"
Anyway, as I was reflecting on his actual birth day, one year ago, I was thinking about how much kids change in just one year. This little baby who came out of my tummy SCREAMING his big head off is now the moving, shaking, dancing little boy who immediately upon waking up crawls over to the pretend guitar, finds the right button to turn it on, and stands up to start rocking out. The little baby who barely made a peep during his first few months now shouts, "LOLA!" every time he hears a dog bark.
It seems like the doctor just hollered, "We have a BOY!" and now that boy is refusing help when eating and throwing little tantrums if he doesn't want a certain vegetable.
I was feeling all nostalgic all morning about his infancy, and kept thinking, "I need to focus on cherishing every moment because it goes by so fast."
Then we went to the pediatrician's office, and the ENTIRE time I was trying to talk to the doctor, Big Boy was interrupting, because he wanted me to unroll the roll of bags I have in the diaper bag, which you're supposed to use to put poopy diapers in. He was getting right in my face, saying, "MOMMY! EXCUSE ME! I want you to give me a bag!" "MOMMY! I want a bag!"
I kept saying, "Just a minute, Big Boy. I am talking to the doctor. You need to be quiet for just a minute." And he kept saying, "MOMMY!" "MOMMY!" "MOMMY!"
I thought, "Ha! Cherish every moment! Right!"
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Time Traveler's Wife - SPOILER ALERT!
My birthday was on Friday and MrDartt surprised me by arranging for my parents to babysit the boys so we could go on a date.
We went to the movie, "The Time Traveler's Wife."
Overall it was a good movie, with an interesting story and mediocre acting.
One thing about it kind of bugged me, though.
If you haven't seen the movie and plan on seeing it, I'm about to give away part of the ending.
When the Time Traveler, Henry, meets the family of his fiancee, Clare, the movie kind of emphasizes how the father is a gun-toting, hunting, Republican. It's kind of a joke. The mother even tells Henry he can bond with the father during a killing spree, as the father and some friends are outside shooting some birds.
Partway through the movie, we find out that the Time Traveler, Henry, eventually gets shot and dies.
Toward the end of the movie, Henry travels back to the same meadow where he originally met Clare. It happens to be just outside the home where Clare grew up. It's winter, and Clare's dad is -- guess what? -- hunting. When Henry lands, naked in the snow, there's a moose (or maybe it's an elk or something, didn't pay too much attention). He's looking at the moose, and then all of a sudden, Clare's dad shoots at the moose/elk and -- guess what? -- shoots Henry, fatally wounding him.
I guess I just felt like the movie had so many other opportunities for killing Henry -- every time he travels through time he has to steal clothes and angry people are always chasing him so maybe one of them could have shot him. Or maybe he could have time traveled right into a gun fight. Or maybe he travels into the Revolutionary War. I mean, if we're sticking with Henry getting shot, the choices are almost endless. Not sure if they movie was making fun of Dick Cheney or what, but it was just kind of a bad choice, I thought. It annoyed me and took away from the drama of the situation.
I still want to read the book (the books are usually better than the movies, and I enjoyed the movie enough to read the book), but definitely am wondering if it turns out the same way.
We went to the movie, "The Time Traveler's Wife."
Overall it was a good movie, with an interesting story and mediocre acting.
One thing about it kind of bugged me, though.
If you haven't seen the movie and plan on seeing it, I'm about to give away part of the ending.
When the Time Traveler, Henry, meets the family of his fiancee, Clare, the movie kind of emphasizes how the father is a gun-toting, hunting, Republican. It's kind of a joke. The mother even tells Henry he can bond with the father during a killing spree, as the father and some friends are outside shooting some birds.
Partway through the movie, we find out that the Time Traveler, Henry, eventually gets shot and dies.
Toward the end of the movie, Henry travels back to the same meadow where he originally met Clare. It happens to be just outside the home where Clare grew up. It's winter, and Clare's dad is -- guess what? -- hunting. When Henry lands, naked in the snow, there's a moose (or maybe it's an elk or something, didn't pay too much attention). He's looking at the moose, and then all of a sudden, Clare's dad shoots at the moose/elk and -- guess what? -- shoots Henry, fatally wounding him.
I guess I just felt like the movie had so many other opportunities for killing Henry -- every time he travels through time he has to steal clothes and angry people are always chasing him so maybe one of them could have shot him. Or maybe he could have time traveled right into a gun fight. Or maybe he travels into the Revolutionary War. I mean, if we're sticking with Henry getting shot, the choices are almost endless. Not sure if they movie was making fun of Dick Cheney or what, but it was just kind of a bad choice, I thought. It annoyed me and took away from the drama of the situation.
I still want to read the book (the books are usually better than the movies, and I enjoyed the movie enough to read the book), but definitely am wondering if it turns out the same way.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Dogs
Okay, I can't believe this will be my first blog after my birthday hiatus.
Dogs are so disgusting!
First of all, I admit that I am a bad doggie parent and we haven't had Lola, the Great Pyrenees, spayed.
Similarly, my parents have not had their dog, Mongo, neutered.
My dog, Lola, must be in heat because lately Mongo has entered our yard at every opportunity (he sneaks through this tiny rabbit hole under the fence in the upper corner of the yard). He comes over and he and Lola hump each other's heads until the cows come home, or until MrDartt discovers them and runs outside, grabs Mongo by the collar and throws him out the gate, thereby getting a huge gash and bruise on his back when he scrapes it on the latch.
That is not the gross part.
If you think dogs are gross, just click off this page now.
Otherwise, here's the gross part:
Our other dog, Louie, is neutered. A while back, around Thanksgiving, he tore the ACL in his left back leg (it's a part of his knee). The vet said it would cost $1500 to fix, but the surgery doesn't usually work anyway and the dog goes lame in the injured leg. So we let it heal itself, and it's just about healed, but he still limps on it. Sure enough, now he's torn the ACL in his right back leg. So he's walking on three legs again, but the left back leg is still very weak.
Do you know that he can still find a way to hump Lola?
Is that amazing? Is that totally disgusting?
Here he is, whining when he runs inside, scuttling around the slippery wood floor because his leg is too weak to get a good grip, sitting down at every opportunity he gets, and he's still humping Lola.
Gross.
Dogs are so disgusting!
First of all, I admit that I am a bad doggie parent and we haven't had Lola, the Great Pyrenees, spayed.
Similarly, my parents have not had their dog, Mongo, neutered.
My dog, Lola, must be in heat because lately Mongo has entered our yard at every opportunity (he sneaks through this tiny rabbit hole under the fence in the upper corner of the yard). He comes over and he and Lola hump each other's heads until the cows come home, or until MrDartt discovers them and runs outside, grabs Mongo by the collar and throws him out the gate, thereby getting a huge gash and bruise on his back when he scrapes it on the latch.
That is not the gross part.
If you think dogs are gross, just click off this page now.
Otherwise, here's the gross part:
Our other dog, Louie, is neutered. A while back, around Thanksgiving, he tore the ACL in his left back leg (it's a part of his knee). The vet said it would cost $1500 to fix, but the surgery doesn't usually work anyway and the dog goes lame in the injured leg. So we let it heal itself, and it's just about healed, but he still limps on it. Sure enough, now he's torn the ACL in his right back leg. So he's walking on three legs again, but the left back leg is still very weak.
Do you know that he can still find a way to hump Lola?
Is that amazing? Is that totally disgusting?
Here he is, whining when he runs inside, scuttling around the slippery wood floor because his leg is too weak to get a good grip, sitting down at every opportunity he gets, and he's still humping Lola.
Gross.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Computer Customer Service ... Bleh!
Customer service probably has deteriorated in every sector, but recently I experienced it with regard to my computer and I am really peeved!
Lately my computer has been on the fritz. I'm a writer and I haven't been able to use Microsoft Word to do my work. Every time I open Word, it just freezes up and won't let me do anything. So of course I was gone all weekend and then had a bunch of projects due Tuesday and Wednesday.
Anyway, I figured out that my hard drive was totally packed. The spec sheet for my computer says I should have 60 GB of space on my hard drive. I have two hard drives. The C drive says it has 21 GB available, and it was totally full. The D drive says it has about 7 GB available. I'm no math whiz but I'm pretty sure 21 and 7 add up to 28. Which I believe (again, I'm no math whiz), is less than 60. It's about 32 GB less than 60.
So I went online to Gateway (that's the kind of computer I have and a computer tech told me it's not a good kind), and found that Gateway sold the line of computers that includes mine. So I'm supposed to go to this other site to get information. I click on "chat with a Gateway representative" anyway.
The web site has already scanned my computer and found the serial number.
Finally a Gateway representative comes on. He says he can tell from my serial number that my computer is out of warranty and so as a one time courtesy he'll give me a best effort conversation to help me. Thanks so much! After spending $1000 on this darn computer (granted, it was 4 years ago and that's a million years in laptop years), I get a lousy best effort conversation. Which, he adds, will include some "self help" I can use to fix the computer.
I'm pretty sure this one time best effort conversation isn't going to help me with my parenting skills, my wife skills or my work-life balance skills. This
I tell (type) him my problem and he types to me that it sounds like a hard drive issue. He tells me to do a system recovery (which my computer will not do, by the way) and then if that doesn't help then I should replace the hard drive. REPLACE THE HARD DRIVE. No problem. Let me get my screwdriver.
So I ask, "What happened to my 32 GB?"
He types, "MrsDartt, I've given you the steps to resolve your issue."
That is not very helpful.
Anyway, the next day, I followed my mom's suggestion and backed up all my photos to an external hard drive. I realized they were taking up 5 GB of space on the hard drive so I took them off this computer and now it's working like a dream. No thanks to the Gateway computer representative.
But I did some great self help.
Lately my computer has been on the fritz. I'm a writer and I haven't been able to use Microsoft Word to do my work. Every time I open Word, it just freezes up and won't let me do anything. So of course I was gone all weekend and then had a bunch of projects due Tuesday and Wednesday.
Anyway, I figured out that my hard drive was totally packed. The spec sheet for my computer says I should have 60 GB of space on my hard drive. I have two hard drives. The C drive says it has 21 GB available, and it was totally full. The D drive says it has about 7 GB available. I'm no math whiz but I'm pretty sure 21 and 7 add up to 28. Which I believe (again, I'm no math whiz), is less than 60. It's about 32 GB less than 60.
So I went online to Gateway (that's the kind of computer I have and a computer tech told me it's not a good kind), and found that Gateway sold the line of computers that includes mine. So I'm supposed to go to this other site to get information. I click on "chat with a Gateway representative" anyway.
The web site has already scanned my computer and found the serial number.
Finally a Gateway representative comes on. He says he can tell from my serial number that my computer is out of warranty and so as a one time courtesy he'll give me a best effort conversation to help me. Thanks so much! After spending $1000 on this darn computer (granted, it was 4 years ago and that's a million years in laptop years), I get a lousy best effort conversation. Which, he adds, will include some "self help" I can use to fix the computer.
I'm pretty sure this one time best effort conversation isn't going to help me with my parenting skills, my wife skills or my work-life balance skills. This
I tell (type) him my problem and he types to me that it sounds like a hard drive issue. He tells me to do a system recovery (which my computer will not do, by the way) and then if that doesn't help then I should replace the hard drive. REPLACE THE HARD DRIVE. No problem. Let me get my screwdriver.
So I ask, "What happened to my 32 GB?"
He types, "MrsDartt, I've given you the steps to resolve your issue."
That is not very helpful.
Anyway, the next day, I followed my mom's suggestion and backed up all my photos to an external hard drive. I realized they were taking up 5 GB of space on the hard drive so I took them off this computer and now it's working like a dream. No thanks to the Gateway computer representative.
But I did some great self help.
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