Weasel Of Doom

OldestOne, running around with a piece of blue cupboard lining on his head: “Look, Mommy, I am the Avatar!”

Later, downstairs: “MiddleOne, you are going to be Firelord MiddleOne!”

MiddleOne, to YoungestOne: “You are going to be Sokka!”

Why yes, we like Avatar in our household ;)

(I would like to be Mai. There will be a post on what that means, one of these days.)

[from a conversation with a work friend]

“it would have been a good thing for you to go to.. it’s all ad hoc, poorly planned, fly by the seat of your pants event”

The bell tower at my work got struck by lightning. Think God is trying to tell us something?

Got an email from Lynne yesterday. She found a quote for me:

(drum roll, please)

I’d tell you to go to hell, but I work there & I don’t want to see you every day…

I am still laughing.

The setup:

Way back this summer, before ChairmanMao was born, BelovedSpouse and I went to IKEA and bought stuff, including an indoor swing and rope ladder for the kids. Fast-forward to January 1, when my Dad finally got the swing and ladder installed for us, attaching them to the beam already holding the ceiling fan in the room-before-the-great-room, the one that holds our expensive (but well worth it) fireplace. Mom tells us a weird dream she had, which involved being on a train with Nazis, and signing some kind of paperwork promising cooperation with them.

Ta-da-da-dum:

We (Mom, DemonChild, ChairmanMao, BelovedSpouse, and I) are sitting in the TV room, watching Wall-E. Dad and Squeektar are enjoying the swing. Squeektar wanders in. There is a muffled thud from the somewhere in the house. A minute later, my Dad walks into the TV room, his hand to his mouth. My first thought, “Oh my god, something terrible happened.” A quick look-around reveals that we are all present and accounted for, however. Dad is not saying anything, but motions me to the fireplace room. Once there, it takes a few seconds to sink in that one end of the beam holding ladder, fan, and swing is now on the floor. Dad finally takes his hand away from his mouth, revealing an upper lip that looks like it was used to catch the aforementioned beam.

The resolution:

Three hours and six stitches later (one on the inside of his lip, five on the outside), we are back home. Good thing we live two minutes away from a hospital!

[Dad, calling Mom from the ER]: Now we know what dreams about Nazis mean. Next time, don’t sign anything!

Lessons learned:

• Dad has one uber guardian angel.
• The beams in the fireplace room are fake.
• And nailed to the ceiling.
• Nailed, not screwed.
• To the actual ceiling. No studs were harmed in the installation of the beams of fakeness.
• Dad still cannot believe that somebody would do a thing like that, despite all evidence that somebody had indeed done it, and he (Dad) has stitches to prove it.

BelovedSpouse and Dad disassembled the beam after the kids went to bed, and Dad had re-engineered the way the beam is attached to the ceiling, so in theory it is a lot less likely to fall onto our heads now. Or at least if it does, it is going to take a significant chunk of ceiling with it.

Amusing language barrier episode:

[BelovedSpouse]: Your Dad wanted a blow torch. I told him we don’t have one. I am afraid to ask why he wanted it.
[My Dad]: I can’t believe you don’t have a flashlight!
[me]: Torch = flashlight in British English.
[BelovedSpouse]: *big sigh of relief*

The lip, explained:

[Me]: Dad, how exactly did the beam ended up hitting you on the lip?
[Dad]: I suspected something was not right, so I stood on the swing. And looked up.

Yes, we are lucky Dad has a face left.

Wellgames.com released a Christmas version of Patchworkz ;-)

What, you were planning to actually get something accomplished this holiday season?

*evil grin*

(First, I want to thank all of you for your kind thoughts and condolences. I will write a nice long post in memory of my grandma soon. But for now, something to (hopefully) make you smile.)

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[My Mom, helpfully]: You need to work out to get rid of the weight around your middle.
[Me]: Nah, this way if the hard times come, the family will have something to eat.
[Mom]: How can you say something like that?! You have three children!
[Me]: That’s right, we’ll start with Squeektar, he is the fattest.

***************************

[Dad]: We need to go to the store, we have nothing to eat!
[Me]: I’ve got milk.

***************************

[OldestOne mutters something unintelligible at the dinner table]
[Mom]: What did he say?
[Me]: I have no idea, but I am pretty sure he was mouthing off.

****************************
My poor parents, see what they have to put up with?

On Saturday, DemonChild sat down to watch a movie with HisMelness, BelovedSpouse, and Squeektar. Squeektar got to choose the movie.

[DemonChild, unhappy with his younger brother's choice, muttering]
“Fucking movie”

[BelovedSpouse, unable to believe his ears]
“What did you just say???”

[DemonChild, still muttering]
“Fucking movie”

[me, happily]
“I never used the word ‘fucking’ with the word ‘movie’ ;-)”

[BelovedSpouse, after giving DemonChild a timeout]
“I might have said it the other day, when I was very frustrated”

[me]
“For the foreseeable future, you are picking the kids up at daycare, because I don’t want to explain that one ;-)”

I just find it highly amusing that DemonChild picked up something BelovedSpouse said, and not me. For the record, I am the one with the potty mouth, so I would have expected my kid’s first swear phrase to be “fucking Tom” or “fucking Development” :P

P.S. I was planning to post this yesterday, but fell asleep, so the answer to “NaBloPoMo or bust!” is a resounding “bust.”

Whenever ChairmanMao starts crying, Squeektar pipes in with “Baby is crying! He is hungry! He wants boobies! With milk!”

This one is from a few months back, when Squeek discovered the difference between the sexes: “[Squeektar] has a penis. [DemonChild] has a penis. Papa has a penis. Mommy has a penis?” After being assured that Mommy does not have a penis (but knows where to get one when she needs it), he goes right down the line with “Grandma has a penis?” We got to have this discussion every day for at least a month.

Demonchild to BelovedSpouse, yesterday: “Papa, go away and talk to Mommy!” (Now where is that attitude when we want them to leave us alone? Nowhere to be found, that’s where.)

DemonChild, after farting: “[DemonChild] puknul!” (“puknul” means “farted” in Russian, and is about the only Russian word he remembers). This is followed by five minutes of giggling. Oh, the joys of life with boys.

[UPDATE] There are now 109 levels in Patchworkz. No 3 by 3 squares anymore, but some levels are still pretty hard. A lot more non-geometric patterns, too (like fish, animals, landscapes, and plants). [/UPDATE]

I am alive. We are surviving life with three kids. And for some reason, I have totally lost my motivation to post.

And now, to make this marginally less of a waste of cyberspace, a list of Free Online Games I Waste My Time On:

Daily Jigsaw

Hitori

The Daily Diff

Patchworkz
(if you haven’t played it in a while, they changed the patterns. I just discovered that today, so will post later if the last 10 levels are once again exponentially harder.)

Wellgames
(competitive Patchworkz, w00t, and a bunch of other games. I am so NOT good at competitive anything)

Free Daily Games on Shockwave
(even MORE ways to kill time)

One of these days, there will be a post with real content…

Nobody wanted to attend the staff meeting (reason being, we are all swamped with projects that need to be done before classes start, or, in my case, before I go into labor). He went home early in a huff. Guess somebody was being Mr. Sensitive today.

DemonChild is talking more. We are still not at the point of having conversations, but he is making full sentences on occasion, like “I am SuperDemonChild!”, “Papa drives a minivan!”, “Go away, Squeektar, I am trying to sleep!”, and “I don’t LIKE [whatever it is he is currently not liking; recent objects of derision include his bed, his pillow, and the bath]!”

For Father’s Day, BelovedSpouse took DemonChild to see “Kung Fu Panda.” It was little guy’s first theatre-going experience. According to BelovedSpouse, good time was had by all, and DemonChild only fell asleep for a little bit at the end.

Last Friday morning, I was wondering why it was taking BelovedSpouse forever to get ready, and walked upstairs to discover DemonChild buck-naked and eyeing the shower with anticipation. On Saturday, Squeektar also decided to try that new shower thing, but he wanted Mommy to join in, too. Our tiny shower stall is not big enough, so I had to make an executive decision — “Everybody with a penis, into the shower. Mommy is going to enjoy some peace and quiet.” Squeekinator did not like the shower, so he was out in a minute. DemonChild, on the other hand, now prefers taking a shower to taking a bath.

Squeektar has developed a fondness for the word NO. Both boys also say “Allright” instead of “Yes” – very cute. Squeekinator likes: cars, buses, building with megablocks, reading books, splashing in the water, sitting on Mommy’s head, snuggling. He dislikes: tags on his shirts, waiting more than 5 seconds for whatever it is he wants, being ignored, not being allowed to do things.

Number3 is right on target and head down. He/she enjoys sitting on my bladder, finding painful places to shove at, and going into stealth mode whenever anybody else is trying to feel it move. Our 32 weeks appt is on Thursday. I can’t believe how fast time is going! Need to find out if there is an antidepressant I can take while breastfeeding.

Work is work. Hopefully we will find out who our new fearless leader will be soon, seeing as the current fearless leader is leaving at the end of the month for greener and less stressful pastures which will hopefully suit his personality better. My immediate boss is still an annoying pain. He lost all the power and influence he had a few months ago, and that is not sitting well with him. He does not realize it’s all totally self-inflicted, either. Not a bad guy, just really inept as a manager. In some ways, it would have been easier if he was a total jerk as a person, too.

I am doing OK. Tired a lot (and anemic, too, as we discovered at my last OBGYN appt; need to stop forgetting taking my iron pills; at least I managed to pass the gestational diabetes test somehow.). For a few days, hormones were overcoming the antidepressant, and that was NOT fun. Doing better now. Same old, same old, basically.

My apologies for such a boring post. I miss having a brain, but I strongly suspect my brain does not miss having me.

BelovedSpouse, a few days ago: “You know, you are getting big. You’ve really ballooned in the last few weeks.”

Me, well aware of the fact: “GRRRRRRR”

BelovedSpouse, furiously backpedalling: “I like it! I think it’s very sexy!”

And a day later: “Well, you ARE getting big! And you have a good reason for it.”

When I shared this story with HisMelness, he gave my stomach a thoughtful look and said, “This must be a big baby.”

The fact that those two are still alive is a testament to my iron self-control.

Behold Filler. As if Patchworkz does not take enough time :-)

There are other free games on the site, too, if you are so inclined.

“So, do you think our kids are weird because of spending nine months in my womb? Or is it your sperm that’s so screwed up that even nine months in my uber womb can’t repair all the damage?”

(we actually had this conversation today, after a particularly trying couple of hours)