In Noah's Words

This post is mostly for me! I want to be able to look back and remember some of the things Noah said when he was 16 months old. He is so funny and I don't want to forget these things. 

"Mocos" (said with a scrunched face)= Boogers. Then he holds up his fingers and says "see?" He wants to see his boogers after I get them out of his nose. I know this is gross but it's so funny. Sorry if I just made anyone gag! 

"Butt"= buttons

"Guck" = Chuck

"Ny-night"= pacifier

"Gu-wayss"=Grapes

"Hi mum" = my pink phone

"Ya ya"= Undignified by David Crowder band. His favorite song that I listen to about 37 times a day.

"Ze-watt"= water

"Woo-Hoo"(in a high pitched voice)= Belly Button

"Pee-yo"= pillow

"gurkey"= Any kind of meat

"Ah-cah-co"= Avocado

"Bop" (in high pitched voice)- Milk (it's the noise the microwave makes when his milk is done) He actually has stopped calling his milk "bop" though and now calls it "malk" 

My personal favorite at the moment is...

"Bup"= Grammie Pammie. Don't ask. I have no idea where he got this.

Letter to Mid-Life Crisis Man

Dear Mr. Mid-Life Crisis Man,

You have been our neighbor for about a year now and although I prayed daily for your departure it seems you are here to stay. Because of your prolonged stay, I decided that it is time I address your Mid-Life Crisis ways in hopes that I will refrain from vandalizing your stereo, car, and vocal chords and you will grow up and realize that you are a 45 year old man who is responsible for his 5 children.
I understand that you are unemployed however the rest of your neighbors are responsible citizens and are employed and must wake up early to go and earn their living. Thus, we do not appreciate you partying in your garage until 3:00 a.m. yelling to the high heavens in your drunken state. No one wants to hear the inappropriate language that you and your ever changing lady friends use. My child sleeps directly above the garage that you party in and he does not wear ear muffs to sleep.We also do not care for the 80s butt rock that you blast from your car upon your return from the bars at 2:00 a.m. We'd appreciate it if you kept your music to yourself at these hours.
Next I'd like to address the issue of your car. To put it simply: Nobody thinks you're cool because of your car. No amount of revving your engine will change that. It is pointless to rev your engine every time you leave and every time you return, especially at 2 a.m. when my kids are trying to sleep. Also, when your16 year-old daughter's friends are over for a visit, you can stop peeling out in your car down the alley to try and impress them because I am almost positive that they are unimpressed. It would probably serve you well to look into a 4 door mini-van or SUV that would be better equipped to transport your 5 children. Your 2 door, "corvette engined" pontiac just isn't cutting it. I know it will be hard to give up your loud engine and the youthfulness that you feel driving around in your obnoxious sport's car, but let's face it, you are no longer a youth.
Lastly, I like to suggest that you stop partying with your teenage children and their friends. I know that it probably makes you feel young when you drink beers with the teenagers and hang out in your garage all night long (which is once again directly underneath my children's bedroom) but if I was one of your kid's friends, I can guarantee that I would be thoroughly creeped out by you. Mr. Mid-Life Crisis Man, might I advise you that you are the parent and should start acting like one.
In summation get a job, get a mini-van, be quiet, and grow up!


Sincerely,
Practically Insane Mother of Two Babies with Whom You Share a Wall

Jose Eber Stood Me Up

I don't really want to talk about it, but maybe if I do, I'll feel better. I was stood up today by Jose Eber himself. I was supposed to be a hair model today and I drove all the way down to Beverly Hills to get my hair cut and styled in the famous Jose Eber salon. I woke up this morning like a child on Christmas. I arrived at Jose Eber's salon and tried to my best not to make a fool of myself by revealing my excitement. I was directed up to the VIP room and the girl who was going to be cutting my hair met me in there and we discussed my hair cut. Then a lady called her out of the room. When she came back I could tell something was wrong. She informed me that Jose Eber would not be coming and she would not be able to cut my hair. What?! I drove all the way down here, spent $30 in gas money, got my eyebrows threaded, changed my clothes 15 times, and wore extremely uncomfortable heels to be stood up by Jose Eber?! Imagine a child waking up on Christmas morning running down stairs anticipating all the presents Santa left for her and as she rounds the corner, she sees that he left her absolutely nothing. Yup, that pretty much describes my moment. It sucked. I felt bad for the stylist because it wasn't her fault. She drove all the way out there for nothing too. So, I kept my cool and played it off like it was no big deal but I went straight home and ate a gallon of ice cream and tried to convince myself that I am just meant to have long stringy hair forever. 

 Sorry for the scary picture. I was trying to capture my disappointment. Can you see it? 

Queen For a Day!

Oh my gosh! I am giddy with excitement. I can barely keep my fingers on the keyboard! Remember my post To Cut or Not to Cut? Well, the question has now been answered in the coolest way ever! My friend Tiffany over at www.tiffluvslife.typepad.com has a sister who does hair for the stars...yeah, the Hollywood ones. Anyways, she needed a hair model who wants a change in style. I thought hey that's me! So, I volunteered. I really don't know why she has to do this, but I don't even care. All I know is that I am going to Jose Eber's salon tomorrow to get a way -too -expensive- for- my -bones -haircut for FREE! A friend of mine got her haircut in Beverly Hills last year and paid $500! Can you believe that? Never in my lifetime would I pay that kind of money! I have trouble forking over $25. Obviously I don't belong in Beverly Hills but who cares? I am bringing good ol' Chino to Beverly Hills tomorrow....Um, what should I wear. I don't have any clothes worthy of Beverly Hills. Oh and what about my toes? How can I go to Beverly Hills with a 2 month old pedicure? And my unibrow, I am sure no one in Beverly Hills walks around with a unibrow. I obviously have a lot of work to do so I can make myself presentable for the paparazzi...what?...the paparazzi won't care what I look like?...why not?...I will be walking out of Jose Eber's salon with a schnazzy new do!!!

A Crush at One?

It's official, my son has a crush on Carrie Underwood. My son's surrogate grandpa, Chuck, warned me but I didn't believe him. He told me that when he plays Carrie Underwood's "All American Girl" video Noah goes into a trance. Well, today we were having company for dinner and as I was trying to cook dinner, Noah was driving me crazy and I needed something to keep him occupied. I don't really let him watch T.V. yet so that wasn't an option...hmmm, what was I going to do? Then, I remembered what Chuck had told me and I decided now was as good a time as any to see if Miss Underwood could work her magic on my kid for awhile. I pulled up the video on you tube and here is what happened...  

Yup, this was about the 4th time in a row that he had watched that video and he was mesmerized. Should I be worried? 

I Did It!

You may not think this is that big of a deal, but it is a HUGE deal to me! I finally went through a drive thru for the first time in Big Mama! For those of you who don't know who Big Mama is, she is my big massive truck who I have trouble maneuvering and refuse to take through a drive thru for fear of getting stuck or driving through the actual restaurant.

Today I was super hungry. I felt like a bottomless pit because even after finishing my lunch at work I was still hungry. So, I decided to go get myself something else to eat but I needed to be quick because I had to get back to my office to pump by 2. I decided to get a burrito from a place called Miguel's. My original plan was to park Big Mama and run inside but then I remembered how compact their parking lot is and decided to brave the drive thru because it posed less of a threat to Big Mama. As I pulled up to the restaurant, there was a long line of cars and I had to just sit at the end of the line and visualize my myself driving Big Mama over the curb and getting stuck in the drive thru line with a bunch of hungry people behind me pissed off. I was snapped out of my day dream by loud honking behind me.  I pulled up to the speaker and ordered my food with a shaky voice. My palms were sweaty and my heart was pounding as I approached the curve to get to the food window. I remembered my husband's instructions to take the turn wide, so I did. SHOOT! I hit the curb with my right tire. I told myself to calm down and just let the tire rub up against the curb and pulled forward to the sound of rubber scraping. But now I was too far from the food window. I felt like the biggest idiot as I leaned half of my body out the car window to pay for my food. I noticed two of the guys working there look at each other and laugh. I just know they were laughing at me and my inability to drive my truck properly. Finally, I got my food, drove away, and felt a strange sense of accomplishment despite my clumsiness. My first drive thru experience was a success minus a pulled muscle in my back from leaning so far out the window I almost fell out of the car and a few little scratches on the rim of Big Mama from the curb. 

Boys are Weird

I'll never figure them out. I've given up on trying. What is so funny about watching somebody get hurt? I've noticed that boys seem to enjoy this. My husband enjoys watching TV shows that show people doing extreme sports and falling and hurting themselves. He really enjoys watching hockey...but only if there are a lot of fights during the game. Or what about Cage Fighting? Boys love to watch these guys beat each other to a bloody pulp. They get some strange thrill out of watching people fall or get beat up. I tried to convince myself that boys are not born with this trait but rather acquire it by peer pressure. However mytheory was proven wrong today. Noah, my 1 year old, was born with this boy trait.