An open letter to the former owners: WTF?

Dear Former Owners,

Why?  Please explain to me the thought process that went into your color choices for the humble abode which is now ours?  Cranberry red?  Really?  Why?  And why in the world is one wall in the front room that monstrosity of red while the other two are puke green (I swear that really must be the official name of the paint)?

What is the name of the demon who possessed you to paint the ENTIRE DINING ROOM in that awful dark red?  I would like to send him a firmly worded letter (full of expletives).  Nothing says, "Let's enjoy this delicious dinner together with our lovely family" quite like walls that look as though they're drenched in blood.

SIX FREAKING COATS OF PAINT is what it took to cover just one of those red walls (including 2 coats of primer).

This entire house has me wandering around asking, "What were they thinking?"  So please, do tell, what WERE you thinking?

Moose?  Really?  Why?

I want a 2 page essay explaining the motivation behind these firmly attached horrors.

Please explain your love affair of the ugliest shades of green and peach.  It is not 1987.  CUT THAT OUT.

Baffled,
the New Owners
who will be painting for the next three months to cover these horrid colors

P.S.  Our sincerest thanks for taking that awful ceiling fan with antlers with you.

ETA:
The infamous antler fan (at least a portion of it) at the top of this photograph.

Please note: don't blame me for the furniture or colors.  Those are all the fault of the former owners.

It was actually far worse than it appears in this shot.  There were even MORE antlers than you can see in this shot and there was a large log replica at the base against the ceiling.   Um...ah...no!  

Join me in the confessional

Yeah, I'm Jewish, so I guess the title doesn't work well.  But hey, go ahead and try to make me care.  I wish a priest would join me in the confessional.  That would be freaking fun for the Jew, don't you think?  "A priest and a Jew walk into a confessional..."

I have a confession.

Do you ever watch Jeopardy and answer their questions with, "Who is someone with whom I've never shared coffee," or "Who is someone of which, I have never heard?"  Not only have I wanted to use those answers, I HAVE used those answers, and you know what, Alex?  In damn near every situation, I was FREAKING RIGHT!

Tonight's randomness brought to you by Chocovine which is asstastic, but is both chocolate and wine at the same time.  

Oh and FTR, I no longer have a t.v. on which to watch Jeopardy, but when I did, I kicked ass on that show.  So don't think I'm an idiot.  Go ahead and think I'm buzzed, though.

Asstastic chocolate wine  Wheeeee!

If It Looks Like A Horse, Walks Like A Horse and Sounds Like A Horse, It's Probably Not A Zebra

A very dear and wise friend gave me the above advice (the zebra bit, not the blunt card) when I was still in training for some health care work I did. The gist of it is to always look for the simplest explanation first because there's a good chance that really was the answer. We saw a variety of problems including some pretty severe and complicated ones, but we needed to remember that those were rare.  For the vast majority of people we worked with, the solutions were simple and basic. We needed to be aware that the troubling situations existed and required extra care, but we also needed to remember that most people would not have those complex difficulties.  If it seems simple, it probably is.  Treat it as such without jumping to uncalled for conclusions.

I was reminded of that advice this week.

Why would a 5-year-old child cut his things with scissors?

Some suggestions included that he was one step away from self mutilation, that he was very angry and unable to express it, he was deeply troubled, he was feeling abandoned and (as would obviously be the case with any of these) that he needed professional help.


However, all of those suggestions were way off base.  The child's true motivation is actually a horse, not a zebra.

Here's a simple little story to explain.

This is the comforter that S. slit.

Here is the bed all cozy and warm covered by the comforter that S. slit.

Here is the window alongside the bed all cozy and warm covered by the comforter that S. slit.

There hang the curtains in the window alongside the bed all cozy and warm covered by the comforter that S. slit.

Here is a curtain rod threaded through HOLES THE BOY'S MOTHER CUT to hang the curtains in the window alongside the bed all cozy and warm covered by the comforter that S. slit.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, when I sat my son down to have a heart-to-heart talk as to what his possible motivations could be, the conversation went very much like this:

Me:  What were you feeling when you cut your comforter?

Him:  I wasn't feeling anything.

Me:  What were you thinking when you did it?

Him:  I wasn't thinking anything.

Me:  Were you angry or frustrated when you cut it?

Him:  No.

Me:  Were you feeling sad?

Him:  No. (pause) Well, I guess a little sad.

Me:  What made you sad?

Him:  Because it looked bad and it wouldn't even hang up.

At this point, I was completely and utterly baffled.

Him: (pointing to his curtains)  You cut holes in those and got them to hang up, but it didn't work for me.

(pause here for mom's "Eureka" moment)

Me: So why did you hide it from me?

Him:  I didn't hide it from YOU.  I hid it from ME because it doesn't look cool.  It just looks broken.  I don't wanna see that.

Sellabr8ing Han-oo-kah, Ur Doing It Rong

These lovely ladies were seen in line at a Chanukah event.  There were about six of them all decked out in Xmas sweaters, Santa hats and giant red and green bows.

After witnessing (and being baffled by) this little inappropriate fashion show, the children had a request.  They would like to wear this at an Xmas party.

*****

Nothing says, "Happy birthday, baby Jesus," quite like this.

This is an actual Xmas ornament I found today at Hobby Lobby.  Um...er...why?  Hobby Lobby is run by the same type of Christians who get their panties in a wad when people want to respect ALL faiths by saying, "Happy Holidays."

How dare you show respect.  That's wrong!  That's a war on Xmas.  

Showing respect is an act of war, but declaring that one of your holiest holidays is really "All about the Benjamins" is okay?

This leaves me itching for a little caroling.

"For unto us a child is born.  Unto us, a son is given and his name shall be overshadowed by cheap ornaments hanging from a pagan remnant as we celebrate his birth."

Reminds me of another song I rewrote last year in honor of the Xmas season.

(to the tune of Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus").

Your own inflatable Jesus.  Santa blown up on your lawn, deflate at dawn.

Survival of the Sweetest

This morning, I found myself wondering how on earth my children would survive and what on G-d's good sweet earth was wrong with them.  Just 30 minutes later, I was left wondering how I got the sweetest kids in the world.

Yesterday evening, we found out last minute that someone was coming to see the house.  We were not at all prepared.  The mad cleaning dash began.  While mopping the floor for the second time, I found my oldest jumping on the couch.  Wait....WHAT?  Get your bum off that this minute!

My cleaning ADHD (I can never finish one project because I remember something else I need to clean) later took me to the playroom.  When I turned around, I found the same child jumping on ANOTHER couch.

Couch jumping is NOT allowed ever, but it's punishable by death when potential buyers are arriving in mere minutes.

This morning, I found the EXACT SAME CHILD jumping on the first couch as though she was TRYING to break it.  I. Was. Livid.

We headed out for our day with me fuming and wondering what on earth was wrong with that child.

Once we parked at shul for Sunday school, that same insufferable child unhooked, jumped out of her seat, and stood on one leg with the other leg over the baby's car seat.  You see, her baby sister had started crying and the eldest knows the baby likes to play with the dial on her sneakers.  So the oldest stood there, precariously balanced with one leg up in the air just so the baby didn't cry.

In the span of about 30 minutes, I went from wanting to punt the child to thinking she was the sweetest thing in the world.  

Next Up On Our Itinerary

Next up on our itinerary while the husband is away:  Vomiting.  Not just any vomiting, mind you, vomiting FROM THE TOP BUNK.

Oh happy freaking day!  Our kids are very rarely sick, but why, oh why, are they about 83.2% more likely to get ill/injured while their father is thousands of miles away?

Why?  Why?

That's it.  I've had it.  I'm creating a wishlist.

Here is what I wish for. Should you be at a loss for what to get me, pick from any one (or combination) of these:

1. More towels (since SEVEN full-sized ones were used to clean up and most of the others are packed)
2. A maid (so someone other than me could have cleaned up using those aforementioned towels)
3. An additional washer/dryer set (to clean the tons of towels, sheets, shoes, and curtains [YES, she hit the freaking curtains ACROSS THE ROOM] contaminated during top bunk vomit hockey)
4. Twelve extra sets of hands to switch that laundry from washer to dryer and then to fold all the laundry (plus the existing 4 loads already in the washer/dryer before top bunk vomit hockey 3000).
5. A full body massage.  

That last one doesn't make any sense you say?  I say, "SCREW YOU!"  I have none of those things and so I'M the one doing all the clean up, so I freaking deserve it!

1 AM EDIT:

Now my son is vomiting too. It's Top Bunk Vomit Hockey 3000 part DEUX. Oh happy day!

 He made it to the bathroom, but, in the dark, didn't see the lid was down and threw up all over it.  Then he wiped his mouth on my towel--the only one left after all the others were used to clean up after his sister.  Need I remind you that the laundry basket, washer AND dryer are all currently in use.

Mind if I add a pedicure and a bottle of rum to that wishlist?

Questions For the Universe

Why do autobiographies have an "About the Author" section?  Isn't that what the ENTIRE BOOK is supposed to be?