This Is How We Do It In My 'Hood

Psstt.... Dudes...(looks suspiciously over shoulder, puts finger to lips) Shhhh...  Come over here! I got something to tell you man!

Guess what I did last weekend!!

Yes it involves coffee.

Yes. And some sidewalk chalk.

OK, you're right, there was a TURKEY! hat too, but, geesh! There was more!

See, I totally engaged in a wee bit of civil disobedience!  Oh, yeah, that's right, me.  I flouted the law!  Thumbed my nose at the man! Repudiated the regulations! Derided the dictates! (Throws fists in air. Triumphatically.) Affronted the assizes!! Wait. (Lowers fists.)  Assizes? Hold on a sec. (Googlegooglegoogle) Whew! Yep. Still family friendly here!

First, a stupid back story:

See, a few months ago some guy walked down to the fountain area near the ferry dock of our town and pulled a few pieces of sidewalk chalk out of his pocket and wrote the same 23 Occupy Movement Grievances that were written in New York a year before.  Then, the City came by and said, "Dude! You can't do that! You're vandalizing " And he was all, "Um, City, you know it's chalk right? And it's totally going to rain in like 15 minutes and wash it away...." And then the City said, "Well, yeah, but, it's vandalism, and, WHAT IF IT DOESN'T RAIN!?!" And then the guy gave them this look, like, seriously!?! it's totally going to rain, but then, didn't have time to say it because then the Fire Department showed up and washed the vandalitical chalk away.

End of stupid back story.

And, yes.  All of that was true.  Except everyone probably used the word 'Dude' at least 50% less than I did.

Then, last weekend? In the dark wee hours of early Saturday morning, when normal protesters are sleeping soundly in their snug little beds, I donned my most awesome of awesome TURKEY! hat and did THIS:

Oh yeah. That's my hand and it's totally chalking up my neighborhood! On the street! You know the one! It's the one that I don't own! The public one! And dudes, I didn't just chalk up the street in front of my house, oh no, that's not near protestatical enough for me. I totally chalked up 3.86K of the public streets. And then I and at least five of my closest friends ran around my neighborhood, following the pigmented arrows, to protest the chalk oppression that is happening in our town*! And then we drank gallons of hot coffee and ate homemade sticky Nutella caramel pecan rolls. Because protestaticalling stupid regulations uses up a lot of calories. Plus, apparently Mabel knows how to use PinINterest for more than sarcasm. Because she's awesome.

And, um, also, now that I think about it, since all the cops have to do is follow the chalk arrows directly to my house in order to arrest me maybe I should go put on my TURKEY! hat now. Because that'd be one awesome mugshot!




*Or to train for a race in March we all signed up for that promised us chocolate fondue and cozy hoodies afterwards. Potato/Patata.

At Least One Of Them Is Going To Grow Up To Be The President Of The United States The Other Will Cure Cancer

Typical lunch conversation with Katie at two years old:

Katie: We're having apples and cheese? I like apples and cheese!

Me: Me too!

Katie: What kind of apples are they?

Me: They're called Fuji apples.

Katie: Why are they called Fuji apples? Who thought to call them that?

Me: Um. I don't know.

Katie: Can you look it up on your phone and read it to me?

Me: Sure. (start typing "why are fuji apples called fuj-", then stop abruptly because she's sooo not done yet)

Katie: How is cheese made? Why is this cheese orange? Is all cheese orange? Where do Fuji apples grow? In Fuji? Is Fuji a country?

Me: (looks down at two thumbs and mumbles) Alright Thumbkin! And You too Thumbkin! You guys ready for this?


Typical lunch conversation with Ellie at age two, or, you know, yesterday:

Ellie: WE'RE HAVING APPLES!?! AND CHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESE?!!!!!!?!!!!!! YE-AA-AY!!!!!

Me: (placing plate in front of Ellie) Eat up!

Ellie: (picks up apple slice in one hand and cheese slice in the other) Well, hello Mr. Apple! I'm Ms. Cheese! How are you today? Oh! Look! (raises index finger) It's Mrs. Finger! Hello Mrs. Finger say Mr. Apple and Ms. Cheese! Well, hello Mr. Apple and Ms. Cheese! How are you today?

Me: (laughing) Come on! Eat up now!

Ellie: (singing) Where is Ms. Cheese? Where is Ms. Cheese? Here I am! Here I am! How are you today, sir? (Mrs. Finger throws Ms. Cheese on the floor) AAAAAHHHHHhhhhhhhh!!!! Bye-bye, Ms. Cheese!

Me: (picking up  Ms. Cheese) Ellie. Eat. Don't throw people on the floor.

Ellie: (still singing) Where is Mr. Apple? Where is Mr. Apple? Here I am! Here I am! OMP-CHOMP-CHOMP-GULP! Mmmmmm! He was GOOOOOooooooOOOOOD!!!!

Incendiary Thoughts

I'm going to offend you.  Maybe alot. Maybe alittle. It probably depends on you're, you know, tolleration level for people yelling, "Boo-yah!" and then waving their hands all annoyingly in front of your face. Because. Yeah.  I just did that. Alot.

And if your still reading, thinking  to yourself, "Dude, it's Martha.  She's just trying to scare us off with these annoying grammar bombs. She's probably just going to write the rest of the post in fragmented sentences. Like normal. Pshaw! She's got nothing!" I have one word for you f-bomb*.  That's right. I've sprinkled them liberally throughout this post. Because, dude, IN-CEN-DI-ARY!!! (I just did that whole waving my hands in front of your face again. Yeah. Deal with it.)

Incendiary Thought #1 on Education

Parents who home school their children are lazy!

Reasons:
Because they tweet and post statuses that say things like, "Oh I just love homeschooling my children! We slept in, made waffles and then did our math and spelling while still in our pjs!"

While my status would say something like, "Dudes! This morning I hauled two inert bodies out of bunk beds an hour before we have to leave for school, and in the case of Ellie deposited her on the toilet itself, made three different breakfasts, because goodness knows we can't all eat the same thing, unloaded the dishwasher, buttoned dresses, found shoes, laid out coats, shoveled food into my own mouth as well as others because HOW CAN THEY POSSIBLY EAT SO SLOW!, watched the clock so I could inform everyone that, "We need to leave in 20 minutes!" and then repeated myself every 5 minutes, finally I yelled in my best Drill Sergeant voice, "Back Door! Back Door! Go! Go! Go!" while I scooped up the inevitable forgotten lunch box and water bottles, only to play goalie at the back door as small bodies tried to wedge their way back into the house because they only brought three books for the 15 minute ride to school and they really really need Megan the Monday Fairy because, well, obviously....then finally found myself at the car only to be logically listing out the reasons why Ellie can't ride backwards in her car seat before I realized what I was doing and simply picked her up, turned her around and strapped her down while ignoring her yelling "Noooo! I don't want to ride this way!" in my ear, then once we were all finally buckled I took exactly 37 fortifying swigs of coffee from my travel mug that I washed once on Monday but since today is Thursday it's starting to taste a bit off before I finally dropped Katie off at school, 10 minutes late. Again."

Logical Conclusion:
Obviously home schooling parents are lazy because I have to type more words on Facebook than they do.  Plus they didn't share their waffles, so, all bets are off.


Incendiary Thought #2 on Feminism

Bras. Burn 'em.

Reasons:
Because while I'm stuck in a tiny overly pink striped changing room mentally wrestling with the problem of whether to buy something lacy, underwired, itchy and unsupportive or something ugly, comfortable, and supportive while mumbling under my breath something along the lines of, "Stupid bras that costs (checks label) $65!! For something basically no one is going to see unless I join a gym or get a job at one of those pastie coffee stands, which obviously I can't do, because 1) inevitably I'd burn myself with the milk steamer 2)  Bring Your Daughter to Work Day would be awkward and 3) I'd spend all my tips on lattes. Dude. I hate bra shopping!!" the last thing I need is for some salesclerk to come knock on my stupidly pink door to ask "how I'm doing" which, obviously, will startle me so much I drop my phone that I was using to look up the profit margin on t-shirt bras, and as I bend over to pick it up while insisting, "I'm doing just fine!" I'll slip on the pile of stupid bra hangers I've left on the floor that I was too lazy to hang up, fall on my face and end up with my head sticking out from under the stupidly pink door looking straight at the salesclerks perfectly shaved legs and think to myself, "Man, I wish I had that kind of time.  I haven't shaved my legs since last September for my triathlon." Which I will actually say out loud. Because it's me.

There's a reason I go bra shopping by myself.

Logical Conclusion:
Bras are stupid.  Unless they're for running. Then they're awesome. But mostly because running stores don't have pink changing rooms.


Incendiary Thought #3 on Celebrity Hair Styles

Your hair looks stupid!  Yes. I'm talking to you Drew Barrymore.

Reasons:
Remember when I got my hair cut and colored? At that fancy salon? With the artsy prints on the wall and matching decor? Yeah. I try to block out those kind of awkward situations too. Aw, who are we kidding? Here's the link to that post!

Anywho, as I was sitting, trapped in that hydraulic spinny chair, staring at the atrocity that was my neglected-split-ended-last-colored-in-Mabel's-bathroom-a-year-ago-while-sporting-teal-eyebrows-head in the giant mirror in front of me, the stylist actually says, "Ooo! Who did your color? Ombre is really in right now!"

Seriously.

Then, after the stylist's description of ombre being the coloring of your hair in gradient hues from dark at the roots to light at the ends, during which I did not once tell her I thought it was a reference to a three handed card game popular in Europe in the 17th and 18th centuries, because that would be awkward, I realized, UsMagazine is right! Celebrities are JUST LIKE US! The only difference is they pay a couple hundred dollars to have their hair look like JUST LIKE MINE!

Logical Conclusion:
Color your hair in Mabel's bathroom, wait a year, and you'll look just like Drew Barrymore!

But for less money.


Incendiary Thought #4 on Unisex Fashions

This hat makes everyone look awesome! Or.... should I say TURKEY!

Reasons:

Logical Conclusion:

Made and Designed by Karen and Sarah at SewKlassic!

And, because I promised, here's one last f-bomb for you all.






*Which, fine. "F-bomb" may  be a hyphenated word and it can be argued that it is actually two words, but, in order to arbitrate this inevitable disagreement I would've had to Google it, and then I would have gotten sucked into the Internet reading about famous cover ups which would inevitably lead me to reading about the possible murder of Kurt Cobain, which would have brought me to looking at maps of Seattle, which would eventually bring me to Zillow, because obviously, where I would then wander across the 1-90 bridge to find this house** on Mercer Island. Which I will be buying someday.  It's happened before.

**PEOPLE IF WE ALL CHIP IN $100 IT COULD BE OURS! ALL OURS!!

Twenty Minutes.

Two weeks, almost two paragraphs.  That's it.  That's all I've written in the last two weeks! Where does the time go? Does it fly laboriously and awkwardly out my tiny kitchen window, buoyed up by itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini wings? If so, I'm in need of Winnie the Pooh to come over and stop that time wasting hole up. Like he did for Rabbit.  I just bought a huge jug of honey plus Katie could read to him all the boring* Pet/Ocean/Rainbow/Fun Day/Weather/Dance/Music/Sports/Party/ETC!!! Fairy books she keeps on insisting reading to me. Again. So, I have 20 minutes.  Twenty minutes until I have to wake up a napping Ellie, convince her to use the toilet QUICKLY!!! so we can race to pick up Kathleen from school.  Twenty minutes. Aaaaaaannnnd.....GO!

(insert your own witty segway here)

Dudes! They found the Kraken! Giant squids are swimming around our oceans! Undulating tentacles up to 20 feet long are able to reach out of the water and swipe 5-10 people off the decks of boats in one blow! Then they eat them!** Floating ocean cities don't look like such a good idea now, do they Jon?

(feel free to insert another witty segway here, or do an interpretive dance of a giant squid attacking a floating ocean city.  You know, your choice***.)





*Don't tell her I told you that, the official word is that they are fascinating! and suspenseful! and hilarious! and I don't have the heart to break it to her that they are trite, repetitive and, let's face it, Daisy Meadows, not even written by a real person.

**Kraken don't do that.  That was sensationalistic. And a gross misrepresentation. I'd apologize  but Katie promised to read to me again after school and Jack Frost has stolen the enchanted conch shell and Amelie the Seal Fairy, with the help of Silky the seal and of course the human girls, Rachel and Kirsty, must race to find it! And, really, this is more exciting.

***Link videos below in the comments.

I May Be Forced To Drink The Hand Sanitizer Next

We've been away vacationing in the land of sun and grapefruit again. We say it's to visit family, but, really, I think it's to make sure my skin sucks up enough vitamin D so I don't sleep walk through the winter thereby resulting in people calling Jon saying, "Dude. Martha forgot to pick up Katie from school. Again. And I'm pretty sure Katie's wearing the same pajamas that she wore yesterday. And the day before." Ellie however would probably thrive in that environment. Because when you're two, Kix is a food group.

Luckily I wore a lot of short sleeved shirts while in Arizona, because this is what I've been doing this week:


2.  Unloaded 85 pounds of suitcases, two backpacks and one purse.

4.  Did (Counts on fingers. Runs out of fingers. Starts to use toes. Runs out of toes. Gives up on math resorts to vocabulary instead.) MASSIVE amounts of laundry.

6.  Diagnosed Ellie with pink eye.

8.  Administered one dose of eye drops while singing a rollickingly happy Girl Scout song about the moon.

2.  Administered nine more doses while cursing Girl Scouts for teaching me rollickingly happy songs about the moon instead of practical skills, like calf roping.

4. Undecorated the Christmas tree.

6.  Hauled the Christmas tree out to the curb for  the Boy Scouts to collect.

8.  Stuffed tree in to the back of my car and disposed of it myself because Boy Scouts are unreliable.

2.  Cooked a huge casserole of Southwest Corn Pudding.  Realized I didn't have enough corn. Added barley.  Realized I didn't have enough barley. Added mung beans. I have no reasoning for this culinary progression.

4.  Ate a lot of Southwest Corn/Barley/Mung Bean Pudding by myself. Because the kids won't eat it even if I bribe them with bonus Christmas candy.

6.  Bought chicken soup with real chickens cut up in it.  Cooked it for Jon. Because he's on day two out of three days in bed and apparently Southwest Corn/Barley/Mung Bean Pudding isn't what you feed a fever. Even with a Christmas chocolate chaser.

8.  Spilled chicken soup with real chickens cut up in it on the kitchen floor.

2.  Mopped kitchen floor. Twice.

4.  Took Ellie's temperature.  Dug out the children's Tylenol.  Called it fairy elixir. Because I'm well aware of my lack of calf roping skills.

6.  Wiped one teeney tiny two year old nose approximately 50 zillion times a day. Was reminded of a clown car. Or a faucet. Or a hose. Or really, anything that has things that keep streaming out of it.

8.  Applied hand sanitizer approximately 50 zillion times a day.

2.  Ate vitamin C tablets like candy.

4.  Helped Katie, who is the only one besides myself who has not succumbed to the virus, make a "cage for Ellie" (her words)/"quarantine area for Ellie" (my words) where Ellie spent exactly 10 minutes.

6.  Cleaned every doorknob in the house.

8.  Mowed the lawn.  Because, randomly, the lawn was dry and I NEEDED TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!!!

2.  Realized I was going to be teaching Sunday School by myself this week.

4.  Planned the Sunday School lesson by writing "Just wing it" on my lesson plan.

6. Taught Sunday School. Kinda. I brought cookies and frosting. So basically, it taught itself. Because there were sprinkles involved. A lot of sprinkles. And God loves sprinkles.

8. Wrote this list. Because no one else will listen to me whine.

If I'd Only Listened To LeVar Burton All This Could Have Been Avoided

You ever have one of those days?

You know, the kind where it's Friday evening and you're doing your best to dress up for your spouses work Christmas party but you have a two year old grabbing for the iPad that's precariously balanced on the back of the toilet as you're trying to figure out exactly how the pretty people on PinINterest did that updo. And then you remember that you have absolutely no hair styling skills. So, instead you just twist your hair into three buns*, call it good and defeatedly hand the iPad to the two year old.

Then, two outfit changes, a frantic search for black nylons, some crusty mascara and heels you haven't worn since your best friend's wedding later, you wobble out the front door, leaving the children behind with their most favoritest babysitter EVER, and you think to yourself, "I haven't been this dressed up in YEARS!" Which is true. Because the only nylons you could find are circa 1998, your best friend's wedding was three kids ago and your dress? You bought it six months before you got married. In the year 2000. Meaning? You are either embarrassingly out of style, or awesomely vintage.

Then as you giddily rush for the ferry to take you to the BIG CITY, plain latte swish sloshing in your hand, you think, "Oh, man! A whole hour to myself to sit and drink coffee! No kids! No husband! And DUDE! I'M WEARING A PRETTY DRESS!"

But then you start to slow down as you notice the amount of people waiting. In line. Because there's not a ferry in sight.

And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Then, after a whole hour passes and your latte is gone and you've eaten the random packet of cheese crackers you found in the bottom of your purse, you snap a picture of yourself reflected in the window of the terminal. Because you are BORED!

And that's when you realize that you're paying someone $10 an hour so you can sit in a ferry terminal a little over a mile from your house, eat stale crackers from the bottom of a purse and take stupid pictures of yourself. But at least you have your phone, so, you know, you have something to do.

But then! There's the ferry! And people start moving! And you think,"THINGS ARE GETTING BETTER!"

But then, while waiting to get on the ferry, some guy mistakes you, in all your holiday party finery, for a Catholic nun.

For reals.

Of course, once you're actually on the ferry, you have go to the restroom to see what, exactly, it is about your outfit that's giving off nun-like vibes. And while you're there reapplying your nude colored lipstick and repining one of your buns, you rip a huge hole in the knee of your awesomely vintage nylons and think, "Huh. Maybe nylons do have a shelf life...."

So you take a picture.

Why? Because you have nothing else to do. For a really long time.  Because they've replaced the regular ferry with a much slower ferry and instead of taking an hour to cross over to the BIG CITY it takes an hour and a half. During which, you rip another hole in your awesomely vintage nylons.  But you don't take a picture. Because nuns don't take pictures of their derrieres.

Then? Your phone dies. Because you forgot to charge it. And you spend the rest of the ferry ride ducking the curious glances of the guy who thought you were a nun, pretending to look stuff up on your dead phone (to fend off any more awkward nun like questions) and trying to surreptitiously read the book of the lady who's sitting next to you. Until she moves seats. Because, obviously, she hates nuns.

Yeah.

Days like that.

You know what they teach you?

Always bring a book. Because everything LeVar Burton ever said was true.



And maybe buy some new black nylons.



*Because one bun says "librarian" two buns say "Princess Leah" but three buns say "I'm being all fancy and stuff". Obviously.

I'm Getting All Judgmental. Christmas Style.

Tonight, as Jon and Katie are enduring enjoying their annual trip to the Nutcracker, complete with fancy clothes and dinner out at the Family Pancake House, and Ellie is tucked cozily and grumpily in her "I'm a BIIIIIIG girl I go too!" bed, and I sit here, glass of wine in hand (on second taste this may be the expired pomegranate juice from the back of the fridge..*sip*... eh. wateves.), I bring to you 

The Comprehensive List Of The Worst Christmas Gifts To Be Found On A Single Shopping Trip To Fred Meyer With A Two Year Old

1) Half a set of footie pajamas. For men.

For men who aren't quite willing to commit to the Full Monty*.

*I'm totally using this phrase correctly.  Because, dudes, these pjs are begging for some stripping. But only in the privacy of your own home. Not mine, because that's just-Is this footnote getting awkward, or is it just me?

2) A spoonstraw. Because milk with floaties in it was NEVER meant to be drunk.

Didn't we all learn our lesson with the spork?

3) Finger lights. For those times you want to pretend to be Edward Scissorhands but can't get the nagging voice of your first grade teacher yelling, "Stop playing with the scissors" out of your head.

"Hold me."
"I can't."

4) A coffee cup that lets you catch that first glimpse of your "Crapaziodal! We're late for school again! Everyone to the car! Where's your lunch bag? What do you mean it's show and tell day? ELLIE PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON!" morning face. You know. The pretty one. The one before your first cup of coffee.

In attractive zebra stripe.

5) So, let me get this straight. I drop a couple plastic cubes into a cup of "pomegranate juice" and a rumba and a topanga later I have myself one of those fancy slushy drinks? Because it's magic?  And exactly how many can I drink before the magical cancer sets in?

But it's BPA free! It must be totally safe!  

6) For the special person in your life that needs some comfortable footwear to go with their favorite sock monkey pajamas.

Wait.
I own sock monkey pajamas.
DUDE!
These slippers are totally awesome!

 7) Your own personal desk top style cotton candy machine! For those 2:30 in the afternoon feelings!

Oh. Wait. That's what grown ups are supposed to use coffee for.

8) Nausea. In a stripy stick shape.

Someday I'll have to share my "mint makes me nauseous at normal times but makes me throw up when I'm pregnant all the time and this one time I went to the dentist and they flossed my teeth with mint floss" story. It's spectacular. Just like Old Faithful.

 9) Twinkies. On a stick.

There's a reason the makers of Twinkies went bankrupt. And it's not because they forgot the sticks.

And finally,

10) The Keurig.

Listen. If someone is going to spend $190 on a coffee maker, you can be dang sure that it better make more than one cup of coffee at a time. At the very least it should charge my iPhone, pack Katie's lunchbox, read Ellie Robert the Rose Horse for the thousandth time AND lie  tell me how the color of the dove grey skies make my green eyes snap and spark while they gaze like emeralds from my bewitchingly beautiful countenance.  Without a stupid mirror glued to the side of my coffee cup.

What's the worst gift you've come across this year?