This weekend we partook of all things Halloween. It started with making mummy cupcakes for Karis’ school fund raiser. I had plenty of help cleaning the spoons:

and the cupcakes themselves turned out pretty cute.

The kids were very excited about attending the fund raiser. The school was decorated with friendly ghosts and smiling pumpkins. Children ran around in costumes, high on sugar and the chance to goof off in their classrooms and not get scolded.

Brecken’s costume was unintentionally comical. Karis asked me to make him a turtle costume. I had plenty of green felt left over from last year’s Peter Pan outfit, so I turned it into a turtle shell and stuffed it with poly-fill. The result was a shell almost as big as Brecken, and twice as wide. Every time he walked, the shell would bob along behind him. If he ran, the shell would bump up against the back of his head. It was hilarious.

Karis wanted to be a black cat. When she told me about her costume choice I was torn. I love making her costumes and look forward to getting creative – but on the plus side, a black cat? Hello, easiest costume in the world. She already had a black leotard, and black pants. I sewed a mirabeau tail to her pants and bought some cat ears. Ta-da! Instant black cat. Total spend for this year’s costumes? $4.00

Sunday we were supposed to meet Jesse’s co-workers at a pumpkin patch. I say “supposed” to meet them, because though we did eventually get there, we were so late we only saw the co-workers for about ten minutes. Why were we late? Karis refused to wear jeans because they were not spun from the most delicate silk imported from magical fairy land, and we got very lost. Would we have gotten lost if I was navigating? I decline to say. But the last time I went to this particular pumpkin patch we found it with no problems. Just sayin’.

This pumpkin patch is the most popular pumpkin patch in the area. I really can’t understand why. I personally like a quiet, family run pumpkin patch with a quick hayride out to pick your gourd, and maybe a small market with cider and pies for sale. This pumpkin patch is the opposite of that.

This place has sold its soul to the devil that is capitalism. They have the nerve to charge ten bucks a HEAD for admittance – AND PEOPLE PAY IT! Boy do they pay it. There were field after field of parked cars. A steady flow of cars coming in and going out. And for what? The main attraction seems to be three white trash, home made, pipe slides.

Note the woman fondling her cash in the background

All the magic one might expect at a pumpkin patch has been stripped away in the name of milking the public for a quick buck. The pony ride area was literally the size of a minivan. For the bargain price of $4.00 Your kid got to walk twice around an invisible minivan on the back of a tired pony.

The petting zoo was not in fact a petting area. (Which I agree with – I hate seeing the general public mixing with livestock. The population at large should not be trusted near farm animals.) It consisted of some chickens and rabbits in pens, and a wooden hole in a fence big enough for a goat to stick its head through and stare at you with disdain.

The rest of the area was littered with craft venders hocking baskets and sand art. Oh and face painters and balloon artists trying to convince you a balloon animal was worth a kidney. Very classy.

Gosh. Listen to me. I sound like a bitter, miserly old man.

There WERE some good parts. And the kids had a good time – which is the point, right?

A delightful childrens’ musician got the kids involved in a rousing round of chicken karaoke. Yes, it’s exactly what you think it is.

This farm spent a lot of time setting up painted scenes with holes to stick your head through for a photo. Naturally I insisted the kids humor me with a few of those.

They also must have spent many many man-hours painting pumpkin heads and putting them on stick bodies. The result was interesting, albeit a little creepy.

Dorothy is *not* in Kansas anymore

The M&M’s were cute

Is it just me, or does it look like this guy has a vagina mouth?

It was a very busy day, and Karis is even old enough to maybe have a memory of it when she’s older. I’m glad they enjoyed themselves, but this is the last year we will be visiting this particular pumpkin patch.
Next year we will visit a smaller place. Hopefully it will stay a mom and pop farm and not be over run with gimmicks by next year’s harvest. I guess I’m just a party pooper. What would scrooge have said if the ghosts had visited him on Halloween instead of Christmas eve? That would certainly have been more fitting.

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I always wanted to learn how to play the guitar.

When I was in college I bought an acoustic Fender and enrolled in a class. I was very good at the left brain part – the music reading, the finger placement, but when it came to the right brain stuff – the strumming, the finding of rhythm, I was too high-strung (no pun intended) and control freakish to let myself go.

There is a tribal drummer in all of us. One that beats out the steady tattoo of our hearts. For those of us that will let him, our tribal drummer can make our feet move and our body sway too. Alas, I have forced my drummer into an uncomfortable business suit, and insisted he stay seated at all times.

I have never been one to put up posters of musicians on my walls. I can count the number of concerts I’ve attended on one hand and still have fingers left over. But I did develop a huge crush on a musician once. Huge. It was very cliche of me.

This particular musician was a front man for a rockabilly band. He could play any instrument he could get his hands on, but by far his favorite instrument was the bass. One night he was playing a gig at a local bar and a string broke on his bass guitar right in the middle of a very bass heavy song. Without missing a beat he quickly threw off his bass guitar and embraced his bass cello. The man could wail on cat gut like no one I’ve ever seen.

He played my Fender once. I had no idea my little Fender was capable of producing such beautiful music. I had named her Pandora, because only bad things would happen whenever I opened her box. I stood corrected. Pandora just needed someone more in touch with their tribal drummer.

Years later I still fantasize about mastering the guitar. I watch my children dancing blissfully and enthusiastically with their tribal drummers, and I pray they never stuff their drummers into suits. Everyone knows it’s much more fun to dance naked!

Maybe I can rock the piano.

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When I was pregnant with Karis I used to have nightmares about leaving her at the grocery store, or forgetting her baby seat on the roof of the car and driving off. It’s a common anxiety dream of new parents.

Even today I catch myself thinking, “Did I remember Brecken?” because he is so quiet during car rides. Of course I never really think I left him behind, but I always let that thought pass through my mind as he quietly rides along in the back seat.

My grandmother left my mom behind at the grocery store once. In her defense she had five kids to keep track of. She had a neighbor kid in the car with her and never even realized my mother was missing until she saw her trekking up the driveway.

“Oh Ren! I’m sorry.” Laughed my grandmother.

My mom says that was the only time she ever told her mother to shut up.

I can’t blame her really. She was only 7 or 8 years old and it was well over a mile to get home. She had to go past Mrs. Hubble’s house, with the peacocks, and past the scary house next to that, with the mean Siamese cats. My mother was convinced those cats were out for her blood. She would tuck her arms in close to her body in preparation of passing by, and run as fast as her skinny little legs would carry her.

Well, today I joined the ranks of negligent mothers everywhere when I left Brecken behind at Karis’s pre-school.

Ok, it wasn’t as bad as it sounds.

Brecken has been very insistent on walking lately. Today when we were picking Karis up from school we spent a few extra minutes searching her classroom for her doll. Brecken happily explored the area while I hunted through the nap cots.

As we were leaving, Karis and Brecken followed me down the hall like little ducks. The hall was a bit crowded due to the school getting ready for a fund raiser on Saturday. In order to leave the school, one must pass through two sets of doors. One requires a personal code be entered for access, and the other leads to outside.

As I opened the first door I held it open for my little ducks to pass through. I caught site of a mommy friend and asked, “Will we see you at the fund raiser Saturday?”

“Yup. We’ll be there!”

I continued through the door and tried to open the outer doors. They were stuck. I struggled with them for a good 15 seconds before they finally opened. It was then that I realized Brecken wasn’t behind me.

I quickly typed my code into the first doors and threw them open.

There was my boy. Half way down the hall, eyes as big as saucers.

“Is this somebody’s?” A teacher was asking.

I smiled and picked him up.

“We wouldn’t have left him alone.” She assured me.

Geeze. It had been 20 seconds!

“I guess it’s better than if I left him in the parking lot, huh?” I said as I hauled ass out the door lest Karis get any ideas about making a run for it before I caught up to her.

So there you have it. Brecken was left behind today. Thank goodness it was at a pre-school and not the child sweat shop I frequent on Fridays. That could have ended badly.

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My uncle’s wife makes a line of chap sticks called Naturally Wicked Lip Balm. Having giant lips that need constant hydration, I am a bit of a chap stick connoisseur. I was very excited the day a package of lip balms arrived in my mail box. Aside from being made of natural ingredients, they are deliciously flavored!

The package contained a variety of lip balms with names like mocha latte and peachy keen. By far my favorite ended up being lime. It is very citrus-y and refreshing.

I toted my precious lime lip balm with me everywhere I went. If my lips felt the slightest bit dry I would happily slather some on. I was understandably horrified the day I reached into my pocket and found it empty! Where was my lime lip balm?!

I was in the childrens’ section of my local library. Toddlers wandered around the area clutching books and fighting over half chewed wooden puzzle pieces. I followed after Brecken as he joined the masses of diaper clad board book enthusiasts. As we ambled past a table my eye was drawn to a quiet little girl. In one of her little fists she was holding a well worn doll from the library’s doll house (circa 1976) and in her other fist she was clutching…No – could it be? My lime lip balm?!

I could just make out the distinct purple cap.

Don’t be ridiculous, I thought. Lots of chap sticks have purple caps.

Just then, the quiet little girl decided to stand. She braced herself against the table, accidentally dropping the chap stick in the process. It rolled to a stop right in front of me. I could clearly see the Naturally Wicked Lip Balm title set against a pink pentagram. I bent and picked it up.

“Oh, thank you.” came a voice beside me. I looked up to see the girl’s mother.

“Actually, I think this is mine. It must have fallen out of my pocket earlier.”

The mom looked at me like I was some creepy chap stick thief.

“No, it’s ours.” She said sweetly. “I just gave it to her out of my purse.”

“Are you sure? You gave her this chap stick?” I was surprised this mom wanted to keep my chap stick so badly. That’s gross. She didn’t know what kind of cooties I had. Used chap stick is a veritable petri dish of yuck.

“Yes, I’m sure.” She held out her hand expectantly.

“I really think you might be mistaken. You see, I happen to know that this brand of chap stick is a very tiny, boutique brand made very far away.”

She was starting to look uneasy, like she was just realizing she was dealing with a paranoid schizophrenic.

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’d have to ask my mother. She sent it in a care package. My daughter loves peaches.”

Peaches? What is she talking about?

“Where does your mother live?”

“Sparks, Nevada.”

Yup. You guessed it. My uncle and his wife live five miles away from Sparks Nevada.

Just as she said “Sparks” I noticed the flavor title on the chap stick tube I was holding hostage. It was peachy keen. Not lime.

“Oh my gosh! Sparks! What are the odds?”

She was still waiting for the chap stick.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry – here you go.” I stumbled over myself to give her her lip balm back. “You must think I’m crazy!” I chuckled at her, waiting for her to return the laugh. She didn’t.

I ended up finding my lime chap stick a few weeks later in the bottom of my camera bag. Sadly, our reunion was to be short lived.

I went to visit my step-mom this last week. She has a pet pig. Yes, I know – but it’s a far sight better than the pet alligator she used to have.

The pig’s name is Baby. He is very tame and loves to snuggle. Baby is a comical delight. He grumbles under his breath like a pissy teenager whenever he is forced to do something other than snore under the covers or bask by the fireplace. Aside from his affinity for chewing on the linoleum in the entry hall, Baby really only has one vice; He can’t help but ingest things that smell edible.

He doesn’t waste time with unwrapping the random treasures he stumbles upon in his daily sojourns around the house. He’s more of a cram-it-in-and-swallow kind of guy. You can already see where this is going.

Baby found my lime lip balm.

It all happened in slow motion. I can still recall in vivid detail watching that little piggie snout push its way around the pocket of my carry-on bag. I wasn’t giving in without a fight! I wrestled that piggy. I stuffed my hand into his slobbery mouth and pryed my lime lip balm from his squealing jaws. Alas, this is all that remains of my lime lip balm:

I’ve been forced to use watermelon or margarita ever since.

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After consuming a giant lemon drop martini, I become philosophical. Take notes people! This is profound.

Lemon Drop Logic from Theprimamomma on Vimeo.

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Kristy2.0

You always hear people – moms in particular – saying, “I only have two hands” or “I wish there were more of me.”

If I had to choose, I would definitely go for having a programmable clone over having another set of arms. Sure you could stir multiple pots simultaneously and play a killer piano, but really two more arms is just two more pits to shave. (Hopefully not at the YMCA)

A programmable clone on the other hand comes with infinite possibilities! Why programmable, you ask? Because I am very hard headed and it would not be pretty if I were to get into an argument with myself. I mean, really, there would be no winner – or more accurately, there would be no loser. Much easier to just specify what it is I want Kristy2.0 to be doing.

She would have complete authority over how she got the task done – wouldn’t want my genius stifled! – but I would have to remain the alpha female in the household. I think I could convince Kristy2.0 to be cool with that. Sometimes it’s nice to be able to just let go and be led. It’s no picnic being the Commander In Chief all the time. How relaxing to be able to follow orders, knowing said orders come from a confident, competent leader.

I’m not a tyrant. I would share the undesirable chores with her. We could each clean two bathrooms and be done in half the time. Laundry isn’t so bad as long as someone is keeping Brecken away from the folded piles. Same with scouring the floor.

After the grunt work is done we could share the fun stuff. All those little projects I’ve been meaning to get done. The sewing, the painting, the writing – all things I love to do, but can’t seem to find enough time to do them.

Brecken sleeping when it’s time to pick up Karis? No problem! Kristy2.0 can stay with the baby while I go get Karis. Stuck in traffic trying to bring Jesse home from the office? That’s ok! Kristy2.0 can start dinner so the nightly routine stays on track. Thanks Kristy2.0! You’re the best!

On the down side, I’d have a hell of a time keeping her away from my husband. Being a clone, she would have my genetic make up without the soft middle from carrying two children. Her breasts would be firm and perky. Her hands would be soft, rather than scarred from years of animal handling. Yeah, I would definitely feel a little insecure around her. Lucky bitch. Dammit Kristy2.0! Get away from my husband!

I suppose we could solve that problem by cloning Jesse as well. Jesse 2.0 could work that 50 hour week while Jesse played tennis and spent quality time chasing Kristy2.0 with his family.

There are definite possibilities here. I just need to work out the kinks. Oh, and we’re gonna need a bigger house.

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King of the hill

This weekend we went to New York to celebrate Jesse’s 33rd birthday. His sister Danielle was in town from L.A., and due to it being autumn, we were legally obligated to go apple picking.

We all learned many things that day, the least of which being that you automatically lose 47 IQ points when caught chewing an apple:

Danielle, Josh and myself making a case for Darwin

This was the first time I had gone apple picking at an orchard that supplies its patrons with long poles in order to reach the fruit at the top of the tree. I’m sure this is a rather common practice – I am admittedly inexperienced at apple picking. Karis found the pole to be very exciting. She is a natural.

Karis and daddy working the pole

(Yes dad, this is the perfect time for you to make an off color remark about Karis growing up to be an exotic dancer – but now that I’ve set it up for you, it kind of takes all the fun out of it.)

My little pole dancer

Concentration

True to form, Brecken took the whole experience very seriously. He would clutch little apples in a death grip and wobble his way over to the apple bag. He loves to put things away – you would be amazed at the things I find “put away” in the bath tub, and tucked into nooks and crannies around the house. He diligently put every apple he could get his chubby little fingers around into the bag.

The right man for the job

Before we left I discovered I had a hidden talent. It should come in handy if ever I need to pick up a gig entertaining the elderly.

One

Two

The Amazing Apple Trick from Theprimamomma on Vimeo.

Three?

A few more of our apple picking pictures can be found here.

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If you’re reading this it must be fairly obvious that theprimamomma is back up and running.

You have all flooded my in-box with questions of “What’s going on?!” so I’ll fill you in on the adventures of the last week.

My original server host was a little known company that, unbeknownst to me, was owned and operated by Jesus lovers. I’m all for religion – if you want to love Jesus, or Allah or The Great Spirit, then you go right on ahead and love him – just so long as the service I am paying you to perform is not compromised.

Not everyone is so agreeable when it comes to religion. Apparently it is a touchy subject. Who knew?

Well, an organization that maybe doesn’t feel the love for Jesus – or to be fair, doesn’t feel the love for people that love Jesus – decided to hack the host site. They were very successful.

Sadly, despite their best efforts, my original host service was unable to recover from the crippling effect of the hack. They lost too much money, having to replace all of their equipment, only to be hacked again.

Now I have relocated to a new hosting service. They are based here in the U.S. and I have no idea if they love Jesus or not. I do know that they are a green company (I love this about them), they have answered every question I have called them with immediately, and they have an affinity for alligators. I’m hoping they wont be targeted by any anti-alligator hackers. They are pretty well established, so I’m confident they can handle any anti-alligator aggression.

I meant no disrespect when making this picture. I like to think that if Jesus were to hold an alligator, he would do so with as much affection as Betty White.

Now then, on to the next question flooding my in-box: “What’s with the new look?”

I have switched to a new Word Press theme. It is One-Theme Professional, and is fully customizable.

The fact that it is fully customizable in no way means I will be able to figure out how to customize it. Please bear with me as I play with the look and format of the site in the coming days. As I can only work on things when the kids are unconscious it should prove to be quite some time before I have everything just the way I want it.

“Meow”  -Oberon

This is Oberon. His dad has been selflessly helping me stumble through my messy migration from one host to another. His dad is one of the masterminds behind One-Panel and One-Theme. Should you decide you want to try One-Theme out, you may run into Oberon’s dad in the support forum. I wont give you his name, but if you happen upon a very patient, sweet natured, humorous man, feel free to ask him if he has a cat named Oberon. Of course, if he doesn’t, you’ll seem pretty damn strange.

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