Playset Envy: The Story of Our Swingset

So, we did it. We bought a swingset. It's funny that when you're in the market for one, you start checking out other people's sets like you check out cars. You compare, contrast, stop & stare. It's pretty sick, actually. I think Mark and I have both almost wrecked while checking out someone else's swingset...


So we checked around and decided to go with Lowe's. We first went to Home Depot because I found one online that I liked that was $870. It's a lot, but you know it's worth it not to have to drag everyone out of the house, load up the car and go to a park with the baby...oh, and a 2 year-old who'd much rather get 40 vaccines in a day than listen to anything Mommy tells her to do. So we get there only to find out that this price doesn't include a SLIDE (???) or the support beams needed to complete the assembly. Who the EFF thought of this one? I mean, when you buy a KIT for a swingset, you would THINK it would include the things you need to put the damn thing together, right? Anyway, after making my case to the manager about why this was the most misleading and ridiculous thing I've ever seen, she basically said that she's not the company who makes the kit, and so she's not responsible. So off to Lowe's we went!


Our first trip was to the one over on Shadeland. We were directed to the right aisle by a super nice guy...GREAT start! I looked and immediately fell in love with the most expensive one (DAMMIT)...I mean,
it has a BRIDGE, people!

So I decided we had to have it, and I needed to speak with the manager so we could get a deal on it. As soon as I saw this character, I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with him, but I gave it a go anyway. I told him I wanted 10% off, and he asked me WHY? I told him that I knew I didn't have to pay full price, and that was that. He told me I needed to "work with" him in order for him to work with me. Ridiculous, right? I mean, *I* am the customer. *I* am the one who is either going to drop the cash or walk out of your store with nada. Well, he chose to let me walk out...and right over to the store on Post instead. I walked directly to the customer service desk and told the assistant manager that I wanted the swingset, and I wanted 10% off. He said "no problem." So we bought it right then. How exciting! We set up delivery for the following Friday because this thing is the size of a CAR, and we'd have no way of getting it to our house.


So I get a call Friday around lunch time that the delivery guy cannot find the swingset, and he asked me how I'd like to proceed. Um, how about you find my damn swingset that I paid well over $1K for and drive it on over to my house?! I had to practically hold this guy's hand and explain how to problem solve...hilarious. I asked if they could get it from a different store (preferrably the Shadeland location!), and he said he'd try to get his hands on one and give me a call back. So he calls back a few hours later to tell me they found mine in HIS store. He said it was "hiding." Really??? HIDING?! Like how you stash a doorbuster deal on Black Friday? I can totally see some lady doing that with this thing. Anyway, I held back my laughter and told him that was great. So we reset delivery for the following day.


It was the most ridiculous circus I've ever seen. It came on a flatbed semi, and he had to get it off using a forklift. Well, the box is longer than it is wide, so he had to pick the pallet up so that it was much wider than it was long. He wanted us to move BOTH vehicles out of our garage in order to get it in...UM, NO. So I explained to Mark that it was ridiculous that he couldn't figure out that he could drop it in the driveway and then use the forklift to PUSH it into the garage long-ways, rather than lifting it in and taking up the entire garage. I went inside to take a few deep breaths, and amazingly, my plan worked!

So now we're just waiting for my dad to come down to put the thing together. I promise to post more pictures of the entire charade once we're all done!


Til next time...

Whose Paradise Is THIS?!

So I pretty much stopped listening to the radio several years ago when I discovered Napster. Why is that? You might ask. Well, it's because pop stations (and I imagine other stations as well) generally play the same 10 songs over and over and over. I would hear what I thought to be a great song and would be sick of it by day 3 on the radio because I had heard it 50 bajillion times. I mean, yeah, it's a great song and all, but monotony drives me insane. I think it probably gets on most people's nerves.


Well, I have news for you, people. If you think the radio is bad, try having a toddler! I LOVE Disney. I love Radio Disney, the Disney Channel, Disney movies, Disney theme parks, Disney anything. That said, I am going to drink the Disney haterade (that has been circulating for a couple weeks now---a blog for another day) for just a moment. My little one has latched onto "This Is My Paradise" from Bridgit Mendler like her ratty little bunny that she can't sleep without. However, I didn't realize this until after I had purchased the mp3 and put it on her playlist for car rides...

Case in point: yesterday, we rode all the way from Greenwood to Geist in "Paradise." With anything else, I can tell her "all done" or "all gone," and we move on with our lives. For some reason, though, this is one song she's not willing to let go. So I had a choice yesterday: listen to her scream bloody murder because she wants to hear Bridgit -OR- listen to Bridgit for 45 minutes...I chose Bridgit. I think it was the lesser of 2 evils, really, even though I do think the song is cute. If I had let her cry, I'd have had TWO screamers because the baby would've been startled and scared. Also, I'm pretty sure I would've suffered some kind of temporary (possibly permanent?) hearing loss if I allowed my little monster to scream. She has quite a set of lungs. So, I believe I made the right choice.


I guess, more than anything, I find it fascinating that someone her age can show such a preference for anything. The girl clearly has preferences, too. Tinkerbell is one of them. If she sees anything with Tinkerbell on it, she goes nuts. She always has, even back before she could say anything. Hell, she still can't SAY Tinkerbell. Doesn't matter, though, she loves her. She also loves dresses. If I put her in a dress, she just lights up. It's the cutest thing you've ever seen, honestly. It melts my heart. She loves to spin and twirl in her dresses...And now Bridgit's new song. So, I am truly hoping that this phase passes soon so that I can enjoy some of the other songs that Radio Disney has to offer!


Til next time...

Where's My Effing Chapstick?!

Here's the thing: I have never, ever had to buy chapstick because I ran out. EVER. Chapstick is like socks. You know, it magically disappears without regard to reason. And why is that exactly? If I'm looking for my favorite lipgloss or lipstick (which I rarely wear btw, I'm more of a gloss girl), I have no trouble locating it. If it's chapstick, something ridiculous happens. It miraculously disappears as though David Copperfield himself came into my house and "abracadabra-d" it to his basement...or wherever it is that he keeps stuff that he makes disappear. Either that or I leave it in my pocket (the one day of the week that I'm not wearing yoga pants and actually put jeans on), and it goes therough the washer and dryer. Or my dog eats it. Or better yet, my toddler eats it. It drives me insane.

However, I am making it my new year's resolution (I realize I'm a bit late to the party on that one) to make it through an entire tube of chapstick without David Copperfield stealing it. Even if it's just one, I'll feel like it was a monumental victory.

Til next time...

Why People Are Not @$$holes

So I was thinking this morning, while Hubby was driving us to my hair appointment, and I said to him, "I think I'm going to start calling people potholes instead of a**holes." This was after we almost crashed the truck and would have then gone flying into Fall Creek (okay, a bit of an exaggeration, but still) due to an exorbitant amount of potholes on 79th Street. He looked at me, quite perplexed, and so I went into an explanation of why this is a completely sensible alternative.

The entire premise of calling someone an a**hole is due to the fact that they have been rude, disrespectful, hurtful, or *insert negatively charged adjective here.* Well, my line of thinking is that this doesn't really fit with what the true definition is of what an a**hole actually is. I mean, an a**hole isn't so bad, is it? It actually aids in ridding the body of toxins and waste. Maybe it's not the most attractive piece of my anatomy, but there's no reason to hate on it by using it to reference rude, mean and disrespectful people. The a**hole isn't vile or unforgiving or disrespectful or damaging or hurtful.

Potholes, on the other hand, are demonic creatures from the fiery depths of the underworld. They cause thousands of dollars worth of damage to people's vehicles. Avoiding them and hitting them causes people to wreck or lose control of their vehicles. They screw with the alignment of my truck. They cost the city loads of money to repair. They have even caused major trauma to my (and I'm sure many other moms') lactating tatas. All in all, they're awful. Due to these facts, I have come to the conclusion that a**holes aren't the problem. It's potholes.

The bonus about switching up my daily (yes, I curse daily) vocabulary? It's the simple fact that I am much less likely to be chastised when my daughter calls someone a pothole. Let's just hope she isn't already waiting to bust out with a**hole...

Til next time...

The Struggle For Inner [Pink]

Recently, I read an interview in Parents magazine with the author of Cinderella Ate My Daughter, Peggy Orenstein. The article pissed me off and made me want to burn my copy of the magazine, but unfortunately, it also has some great vacation ideas...So, rather, I decided to venture over to Amazon.com and see what the hype is all about with this book.


From what I can guage, Ms. Orenstein has started a war with Disney and anything "princess." She has begun (or maybe just further exaggerated) the anti-princess movement. One of the chapters in this book is entitled: The Other Disney Princesses: From Wholesome to Whoresome. What kind of judgment is THAT?! I already didn't like this woman, and now she made me want to burn her book and Parents magazine. I mean, how can someone say that princesses are ruining are kids and then go and say something like that? Does Ms. Orenstein know these young women? Honestly! I don't know, but if it's me, and I'm going to put myself out there for the world to see and make a really bold statement such as suggesting that Cinderella is eating my daughter, I certainly wouldn't follow it up by calling anybody a whore. I'm pretty sure that's not going to help my credibility, you know?


Well anyway, this woman, coupled with the backlash that has come from Walmart announcing its new line of cosmetics for "tweens" (which is just filling a hole since MaryKate & Ashley Olsen's line went kaput) got me thinking about how these things fit into my own life as both a young girl and now, as a mom.


My mom used to call me a princess all the time, especially in my teen years, which I totally resented. In fact, I still hate it. I hated it because it was her way of telling me that I was being a spoiled rotten brat, but it was more socially acceptable...I guess. Even in my early 20s, she would still bust it out whenever she felt I was being high maintenance or when I didn't know how to do wife-ish things. "You're such a princess," she would say. So for me, the whole idea of little girls being called "princess" has a negative connotation. In fact, I really hadn't thought about this until recently, but when my first daughter received any clothing that had "princess" on it, I subconsciously ignored it and never put it on her. I'm beginning to understand why now...


So, I had always been a "girly girl" growing up. I loved to play with make-up, loved dresses and Barbies and anything with ruffles. I loved ballet class, shopping, and one of my favorite things to do at my Grandma's house was to put on her costume jewelry and lipstick.

I didn't have any kind of interest in trains, despite the fact that I remember my uncle having a model train in his basement. I had no interest in cars, though my dad was a mechanic and even owned his own shop. When I played over at my (boy) cousin's house, we sometimes played with Lincoln Logs or blocks, but that was the extent of my interest in anything "boyish." I hated fishing, I couldn't stand being dirty...are we getting the idea yet? I grew up on a street that had about 50 boys and 3 girls: my sister, my friend Kristin, and me. The boys would want to play sports, whether it be baseball, basketball, football or wrestling; I always wanted to be the cheerleader. I started dance lessons at age 7, and I continued dancing all through high school.


The funny thing is that at some point during high school, I started a war with myself. I'm fairly certain now, looking back, that I started this war as a rebellion against the "princess" that people saw in me. I think that even some of my friends were annoyed at my femininity...I felt like I was disappointing my dad because I had no interest in the only ways he knew how to bond with me: fishing, hunting & cars. This, coupled with my mom's use of "princess" in daily conversation, really flipped my switch. I began a movement. I forced myself to learn how to change the oil in my car, I went on a couple fishing trips with my dad, and I even stopped wearing skirts and anything pink. I wanted to prove to everyone (more than myself, really) that I was more than a tiara. It was exhausting. It wasn't fun. And frankly, it just wasn't me.


My senior year, I finally gave in to myself. I realized that I really just didn't care what anyone thought of me. I LOVE pink. I LOVE shopping. I LOVE putting on make-up. And damnit, I LOVE a great pair of stilletos and a little black dress.  And I'll be damned if someone's going to make me feel guilty about it. My love of all things girly has nothing to do with marketing. It has nothing to do with all the fairy tales I read and watched growing up. It doesn't even coming from my mother's influence, since she didn't teach me anything about make-up, hair or fashion. I learned that all on my own and from some of my friends on my dance teams. It comes from my heart, and I'm good with that.


The problem I have with Ms. Orenstein is that she doesn't realize (or maybe she does) that having a love of pink, frilly stuff and princesses doesn't make her daughter (or anyone else's) less of a person. It doesn't make her promiscuous or materialistic. It makes her who she is. I think people like Orenstein have this narrow-minded view that says if a girl likes pink and shoes and make-up and fashion that she's destined for a life of materialism and stupidity. Feminine isn't synonomous with stupid or promiscuous. And princess isn't synonomous with entitlement, materialistim, and superiority either.


I'm really glad that I learned these things. I'm really glad that I could look within myself and realize that I don't have to feel bad because I love the things that I do. I can love shopping and pink. I can love make-up as a way of artistic expression, not just "sexualization." And so can my daughters. I'll teach them what it means to be a true princess, one who's humble and loving, compassionate and giving, and who's beautiful both inside and out.

The Magic of Baby Wipes

So this whole crayon thing got me thinking on this topic the other day...You see, when she first colored on the wall I thought, "no big deal. I'll use baby wipes." I figured I had out-manuevered my toddler and wasn't worried one bit. The problem was, though, that my "magic eraser" didn't work! I couldn't believe it. The baby wipe didn't even SMUDGE the crayon. Now, some of you (especially non-parents) out there in cyber space might think I'm insane for thinking it would work or for even trying, but please allow me to explain to you the magic that is baby wipes.

In our house, we have a container of baby wipes in every room. This is no exaggeration, folks. Why have them in the kitchen? Well, in the kitchen, they can be used to clean spaghetti sauce off of a toddler, or better yet---off of said toddler's white shirt! They can also be used to wipe down the table quickly once mealtime is finished, especially since the toddler is bound to make a quick exit, and there is not enough time to bust out the antibacterial cleaner and paper towels, which are of course in a child-locked cabinet...And maybe while your little one is chowing down, you notice that your white board is looking a bit cluttered and could use a cleaning...Guess what you would use to clean it off...anyone? Baby wipes! Did you notice that white scuff mark on my black oven? No? Well, that's because my baby wipes took it off!

Moving on to the living room, the baby wipe possibilities are seemingly endless. Of course, combined with a portable changing pad, the living room is a great place to change a diaper...well, provided that you aren't entertaining company (non-parents who might be grossed out) of course, in which case you may want to move to a more "appropriate" venue. That's boring though. Say that you notice you have some water spotting on your off-white microfiber sofa (what idiot parent would ever buy an off-white microfiber sofa you might ask? ME)...When your steam-vac doesn't do the job and where Oxy Clean fails, the baby wipe prevails! And when your little one decides to sip on your orange soda and spills it all over your ivory carpeting (and what parent in her right mind would ever have IVORY carpeting? Well, I will never claim to be in my right mind, but yes, me again), don't despair! Grab a baby wipe! Are we getting the idea yet? Trust me, my dearest non-parent friends and followers, these babies can provide a benefit in your home as well. For example: drunken buddy spills Captain & Coke on your off-white microfiber sofa? It's no match for the baby wipe! Girls' night get a bit crazy? Red wine on your carpet? No problem! You see where I'm going with this?

I think the best baby wipe victory so far, though, has definitely been getting latex paint off the carpet. Yes, people, you read that right. Latex paint off ivory carpet. PURPLE latex paint, in fact. I was about to lose it when my hubby had an oopsie while we were so carefully painting our daughter's room. We had put a sheet down and everything, and when it came time to clean up that day, we moved the sheet only to find a HUGE blob of purple paint on the carpet. The blob was gone with a couple baby wipes and some elbow grease. UN-freakin-believable.

So with all of these victories, baby wipes have become my go-to item for any kind of mess on any surface. It only stands to reason that I would have expected the wipes to do the trick on the crayon...the WASHABLE crayon. But alas, this time baby wipes were defeated by Kleenex! Who knew?!

I've said this to my hubby a few times since the whole latex paint thing: "What is in these things anyway?!" But the truth is, I'm really not sure that I want to know...because if I find out, I'm afraid I might have to deem them unsafe for my kids' behinds. And then what?! So I have decided not to do any further research into the 'why' they work and to just consider it magic.


Til next time...

In Living [Room] Color

Well, it finally happened. My hubby and I have been planning for this day since the day we found out we were pregnant with our first baby...you know, the day when they realize that walls are FAR more fun to color on than paper. Thankfully, since we've just pretty much been waiting for it, we weren't necessarily all that shocked or ridiculously pissed off.


Here's the thing, though. We've been teaching her for months, yes, MONTHS that "we only color on paper." We always tell her "paper only" so that she understands that paper is the only thing you can color on...This became a bit more complicated when we started introducing her to books, other than the board books she's had since she was a baby, as books ARE paper. So we've struggled a bit there, which I suppose is to be expected. For the most part though, she's stayed on track and only colors on paper. I found out today, though, that this was all a ploy. It was all a way to earn my trust, so that she would be allowed to have unlimited access to crayons, even when Mommy isn't in the room...

This morning, I went to the bathroom, and surprisingly she didn't follow me when I said "Mommy has to go potty." Yes, I announce every SINGLE time that I am going to the bathroom. I should have known that something was about to go down right then, but I didn't. Instead, I relished the idea of peeing without supervision, a rare opportunity once you become a parent. While I was in there (for what, I mean 2-3 minutes???) I heard it. I heard it, and there was NOTHING I could do to stop it...


When I came out of the bathroom, I saw her beautiful smile and the beautiful toddler mural with which she had so creatively enhanced our living room wall. I looked at her with the mom look: you know, serious eyes, head slightly tilted downward and to the side, arms on the hips and said, "Hayden, we only color on PAPER! Paper only!" And pointing at the recently enhanced wall, "THIS is NOT paper, Hayden. This is a WALL." She giggled incessantly, as if to say, "Come on, Mommy! White is BORING! Red is a much better color"...She never takes me seriously, even when I do the "mom face"...I think it's a toddler thing. Anyway, I said to her, "Give Mommy the crayon, please," and surprisingly she handed it over.

I guess I'm happy that this was the ONE room in the house that hasn't gotten a fresh coat of paint since I moved in, though. I mean, at least she didn't take a crayon to HER bedroom, which we spent WEEKS painting. So now, the question is whether or not we should paint the living room this spring or wait even longer, being that we still have one more creative little one who I'm sure will be just itching to add her creative touch to the walls.


Til Next time...