The Sounds of Saturday . . .

Mike works every Saturday.  It sucks and it doesn't.  It sucks for him but he takes Thursdays off.  It will probably suck big time when the little ankle biters start playing sports and such (those of you who know our daughter can laugh here-but you never know, she may have a Cha Cha recital on Saturday).


Anyway, Saturdays are kind of a special day for me.  It's MY day with the kids.  All mine, just us.  Nothing scheduled, no agenda.  Just me and my peeps.  We can kick it in jammies all day playing blocks and watching cartoons, go to the park and terrorize other nice children or swim or do art projects . . . whatever we want--well, as long as Momma wants to do it.  


Today was a pretty awesome Saturday.  I made applesauce pancakes and just for giggles, covered them with Halloween sprinkles.  We pulled out all the toys, played on the porch and covered paper, the counter and little arms and faces with lots of pretty marker colors (that last part was all on the boy).  It doesn't take much to impress this crowd and that's how I like it.  Thinking about how much I treasure these Saturdays of gold - before we get wrapped up in sports and sleepovers and such - this time is all mine for the keeping.  I'll admit it, I'm selfish as hell about protecting these days.  I don't plan play dates, go to community events or generally like to share this time with anyone else.  I know these carefree, unscheduled moments are going to decrease and eventually fade away so I'm trying to hold on as long as I can.  


Today, I decided to log some of these sounds of Saturday as it does get a bit crazy with the three of us, given how young and let's just say, "needy" the kids are.  If you were a fly on the wall and I didn't manage to whack you with a copy of the latest American Girl Catalog, you would have heard the following today . . . 


"Jake, get Cinderella out of your mouth." (mom)


"That's a 2 minute penalty for running down your brother!" (mom)


"We wash our eyes and we wash our penis." (jake)


"My eye's been hurting for a while now.  I think Daddy should examinate." (soph)


"Jake, don't eat that Smurf!" (mom)


"Smurfs do NOT go in the dishwasher!" (mom)


"On the paper, ON the Paper, ON the PAPER!" (mom)


"Push your pee pee down.  No, down, no, DOWN.  Don't point it in the air!" (mom)


"Get back in here and put on panties.  We don't leave the house without our underwear!" (mom)


"Mom, Jake just jumped on my face!" (soph)


"Momma, you need a pac (ifier)." (jake)


"Get the baby head out of your mouth and put it back on the body." (mom)


"Somebody is a Mr. Stinky Pants." (soph)


"Stop licking me.  Seriously.  Stop licking me now." (mom)


"My cheek hurts.  Can I sleep down here tonight.  Hey, is that licorice?" (soph)


"Scooby doo, scooby doooooo, scooby doooooooooooo . . . needs a pac (ifier)." (jake)


"Is this a Japanese color?" (soph)


"Soph, thank you for encouraging him but move back or you might get peed on."  (mom)




Ah, that's the good stuff!  I look forward to reading these scribbled notes many years from now . . . and probably bawling my eyes out at the memories of these awesome Saturdays.  For now, they're mine, all mine and I'll keep them for myself as long as they'll let me.  

Kickin' it, Sandy Saturday Style.

Investors, Get Out Your Wallets!

Here's another slice of pie that I baked up in my head spending so much time on 4 wheels touring this lovely area of the Delta in my mobile office or, as I like to call it, My BGID (Bad Ass Get It Done Factory).  I drive here, I drive there, I drive everywhere.  Business is in the good, the bad, the ugly and in the "don't come to a complete stop unless you're packin' heat" parts of town and so, you go where the business is.  I'm in the habit of constantly scanning the sidelines to look for new businesses--those potential gold mines waiting to be "saved" by this salesperson.  This particular "habit" came from my TV days where my first introduction into sales was walking into my cube to a giant phone book and my manager saying, "okay, start dialing".  Being in the square cell dialing for dollars drove me insane so I perfected the art of prospecting and cold calling. 

Anyway, that's how I came to drawthis point of which I shall share.  Perk up your ears and if you've got any cash stuffed under the mattress.  Get. it. now.  I'm about to give you THE NEXT BIG THING.  The next hot investment in retail franchise opportunities. 

Well no, they have not actually been Franchisisized yet but as I am a gracious ideator (see previous post, "Hear This Detroit"), I give these to you fine folks who can take these ideas and run with them.

Cupcakes Schmuckcakes . . . Gigi's, Muddy's, Sprinkles . . . make way for the newest bite sized bakery phenom, "Boutique Brownies".  Yeah, that's right.  Blondies, Brownies, Double Fudge, Nutty, Chewy . . . the possibilities are endless here.  You can smather them with frosting, get crazy gourmand on the flavor combinations (Dulce de Leche with espresso cream cheese frosting?) and on the bright side, they are a heck of a lot easier to transport and eat than the cup cake.  Sorry Cupcakes.  You're cute and all but Brownies . . . they're rich!

Yogurt places . . . I just don't get you.  Frozen yogurt, do you know you're NOT ICE CREAM!?!  Perhaps I'm missing something.  I probably am . . . it's called ICE CREAM!  Perhaps we are in love with the frosty frozen treat concept.  31 flavors, TCBY, snowcone shacks . . . meet your newer, prettier little sister . . . "Popsicle Panache".  She's stylish, she's cute, she's simple and yet can be very complex (strawberry zinfandel zinger?).  Customizable molds for parties . . . large sculptures and installations in buffets . . . I could keep going here.  This one has infinite frozen slurpy possibilities . . . just watch out for the BRAIN FREEZE - THAT's the title of my store!

Burrito - Fast Casual Tex Mex places . . . you just really hack me off.  Why don't I just go in the back and make my own damned food?  Here's what I find irritating . . . I either want it fast, casual and cheap, or if I'm going to pay $12 for lunch, I want someone to bring it to me AND refill my drink.  And laugh at my jokes.  And bring me a box for my leftovers.  I don't actually have an idea here.  I just find these Swanky, QDoba Booya's places irritating and confusing.  Food's good.  Just wish someone refilled my drinks for the $12 I just dropped in thier drawers. 

Edible Arrangements . . . whenever I hear this store name, I always think of "Edible Underwear."  I know it's fruit but really, that's where my mind goes.  Any how, Edible Arrangements have a healthier leg up on the yogurt and cupcake franchises but let's take this one step further and add a Vegetable Arrangement store like maybe, "Cucumber Cuties" or "Lettuce Celerybrate Arrangements". 

Hmmmm . . . maybe I'd better stop while I'm ahead . . . although, who could resist these cuties rolling into your office with a card that said, "Happy Birthday from the guys at the 'plant'!" 



How DO you cook eggplant, anyway?

What do you think?  Any other Entrepreneurial folks have an idea for the next big franchise opportunity?

Signs Your Child is Destined to be a Vegas Showgirl . . .

So, I believe in all my heart that people should be allowed to make their own choices, follow their own dreams, change their minds, reinvent themselves and pursue their passions.  That being said, I'm pretty sure my sweet daughter will end up being a Vegas Showgirl, run away to join The Circus or (crossing my fingers here) become a Cirque du Soleil performer.  I've intentionally avoided the performance category of "Stripper" because, well, I can't go there.  Neither will SHE.  Even though she runs around naked a LOT, I'm hoping that's just because she's 5 and has no shame about her body yet.  A little bit of shame or, let's shoot for humility, could have us bypass Stripper or Pole Dancer and take the exit on further up the road to Feather Frocked Headliner for Celine Dion's come back come back come on waaaaay back show.

It's not exactly what I'd choose for the girl but early signs suggest she's headed in this direction.  Signs such as . . .

• The child doesn't just walk or run, she shimmies, Cha Cha's or saunters from point A to point FABULOUS.  Oh, she's fast and can run like the devil if she wants to . . . but chances are, it's because she doesn't want to miss "So You Think You Can Dance" - - - especially if it's the Cha Cha, Salsa, Mambo or something with a skimpy, shiny twirly costume.  

• Playing "dress up" . . . well, what can I tell you here.  In her closet, there are princess costumes, fairy wings, and plastic dress up heels.  They are patiently waiting for some other little girl to put them on and play in the castle.  My little girl prefers yards of gauzy fabric, satiny belts, frilly fringe from the fabric store and silk or lace castoffs from my closet.  She twists and maneuvers, ties, somehow incorporates a beaded necklace headpiece and voila, she's Carmen Miranda, Madonna, Liza Minelli or (gulp) Gypsy Rose Lee, the burlesque dancer.  

• Her "pretend" names sound an awful lot like "stage" names.  Yesterday she announced her name was Jezebel . . . that one made me choke on my coffee and question how a waffle that was previously swallowed could make it back up my nose.  Jezebel was a new one on me.  Her go to name is usually something like Sparkle Crystal Pearl Shimmer Diamond Tiffany Rose Summertime Sandy.  

• We tried ballet class for a year.  She loved the outfit.  She liked the teacher - the teacher was pretty.  She did not, however, like ballet.  It was "slow and I have to wear the same outfit every time."  She was eventually a little disruptive to the other children and that was the end of our little Nutcracken' dreams. 

• We went to a few gymnastic classes.  She liked gymnastics.   Especially when they got to climb the rope to the ceiling and twirl on the bars.  Sigh.  Outside of those two circus-like activities, she was once again, distracted and that led to being disruptive.  Perhaps being distracted and disruptive is merely a symptom of being five years old and not that her mind is wandering off doing the cha cha or planning where to sew on her sequins and feathers.  

• The girl loves to swing.  Upside Down.  And Dangle from one Leg.  We have a playset.  It has a slide, a playhouse, two swings and a Trapeze bar.  The Trapeze bar is this child's favorite.  Nay, her ONLY method of swing.  

I could go on and on.  I could tell you that she has been this way since birth.  Or that I hope I'm just imagining this crazy future for her and that she may out grow it.  Or, I could encourage her and support her just like I did when she showed signs of wanting to crawl or walk and talk and use the potty.  She's still so little so I have to keep in mind we have many, many, MANY milestones to go before we're doing handstands on elephants or seeing her name up in lights on the Great White Way.  I need to stay true to letting HER choose her own dreams, shape them and pursue her passion--whatever they may be.  I'll even sew feathers on to the caboose of her costume or help her scrub the glitter off her beautiful face and I will always, ALWAYS buy a ticket to her show.  I will, however, draw then line when she asks for an elephant or to add a trapeze bar to the living room ceiling fan.  She'll have to get her own place for those particular things.    

And with that, I leave you with a video of my child.  Mexico, 2010, 4 years old.  Called to get up and "Cha Cha" with her own fashion creation made from a Mexican dress, a bathing suit cover up, a sarong and accessorized perfectly with light up sandals.  

Enjoy.  (It was windy.  She's cute . . . you'll have to get over it.)

Anatomy of an ER visit . . .

Recently, there was a bit of a big "ta-doo" of sorts and the Sandy HQ.  It started with a BANG.  Yes, quite literally.  Many of you have heard the story of how the Hubs tried to blow himself into meaty man bits and bones and yes, it was scary and terrifying and all that . . .

Being several weeks post explosion, we can look back and laugh a little.  Not like a chuckle.  That would be inappropriate, you freaks.

Anyway, when Hubs tells the story it's all about the explosion.  When I recount the events, I think about the sequence of things and what exactly ran through my head during those moments as I've not experienced the likes of such an emergency that we had on that sunny summer Saturday afternoon.

1.)  I'm in the living room folding laundry.  Watching "The Blind Side" for the first time.  Working hard to keep it together and not cry like a baby all over little people's socks and underwear.  She soooo deserves that Oscar.  Mike and the kids are swimming in the back yard.

2.)  "BOOOOOOM" from the back yard.

3.)  My first thought was, Damn, those birds running into the windows keep getting bigger.  Wait, that sounded like a Hippo hitting the glass.  Better check it out.


4.)  I head to the back yard and hear my little Snake wailing.  Hubs is carrying him.  I don't know why but I thought the loud sound and my baby Boy crying had something to do with him potentially falling off the roof.  Yeah, he's just that kind of boy.

5.)  Now, at this point, I cannot give you exact sequence of dialogue because it's a bit fuzzy but I'll do my best  to recall it for you:
      Me:  "What happened"
      Hubs:  "Take him"
      Me:  "What happened!"
     Hubs:  "Is he okay?  Check him!"
     Me:  "What the F*&# happened!"
            "What am I checking him for?"
             "Why is he crying?"
              "Is he hurt?  Did he fall"
   Hubs:  "Turn on the hose"
     Me:   "Okay - - - What the $&*+ happened?"
   Hubs:  "$0d #%$$+"
    Me:   "Where's Soph?"
  Hubs:  "She's swinging"

6.)  I look out and She is in fact, still swinging.  Apparently oblivious to the emergent situation that has just unfolded 25 yards in front of her.  So, she may not have a career as any sort of "First Responder".

7.)  Looking back over to the husband, I see him pretty much shoving the water hose into the giant hole that once was his entire shin.  I believe I again screamed, "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!"  Oh, and the boy is still screaming and crying and shaking in my arms.

8.)  I gathered from the bits of communication that there was an explosion of something over in the pool pump area.  Husband received the brunt of the damage but the blast picked up our son and deposited him back down several feet behind him.

THEN, something (or someone else) took over my self because I don't know how we calmly did what we did but it goes like this . . .

9. - 14.)  HUBS gets into the shower as there are bits of plastic and chunks of chlorine burning through the blasted flesh.  I instruct little daughter to get clothes on as we're going to the hospital.  This excited her beyond reason.  Baby boy reaks of highly concentrated chlorine so I hose him down, whip off his wet clothes, diaper and change him like he's a NASCAR and I'm the pit crew and then locate medical tape while also throwing juice boxes and a snack and the portable DVD player in my purse, confirm with sweet daughter that "Yes, that outfit in fact does look good to wear to the hospital and they will all love it and I don't know what kind of toys they have there" and then load kids into the car - helped bandage husband's leg with paper towels and tape and get him to the car and get to the emergency room.

That was the craziest 15 minutes of my life.

15.)  The ER is very close and being a hospital in the suburbs, thankfully seeing very little action on a Saturday night.  They did, however, seem a little too "laissez faire" about treating my husband so I asked him very loudly if he had in fact, explained to them that chlorine was "BURNING THROUGH HIS SHIN GUTS" as we speak.  That got Delores (seems like a good ER name) to get him back to Triage faster.

16.)  We were only there for 2 1/2 hours.  While husband was back getting his tetanus shot, 20 shots of lidocaine, stitches and chunks of plastic and chlorine extracted from his meaty gross wound . . .

17.) WE, the lucky and unscathed (especially the boy whom I thought had kartwheeled off the roof) sat in the waiting room watching the same 3 episodes of Scooby Doo and dining on an entire box of My Little Pony gummy snacks and Cheeze Its while the boy proceeded to touch everything that could possible be covered in germs, hazardous waste, snot or Lord help me, Poo.  Thus, it was a pretty rockin' evening for the kids.  We even got to visit Daddy back in the triage room.  Sweet daughter was so thrilled she didn't stop grinning the whole time.  The boy, ugh, more touching of all gross things.

In the end, everyone is okay.  Sweet husband has a huge shiny new pink scar after all the scabs have been scraped off and has taken a lot of crap about not making the best use of his chemistry degree.  He did drive around to reassure the neighbors who seemed very concerned that our explosion could be the sign of a Meth ring in the burbs.  He's so thoughtful like that.  I learned that we can be calm and cool in a crisis . . . even the kids.  Well, they weren't "calm and cool" so much as excited and well behaved.  I've also learned that if you're going to blow up your leg, do it in the suburbs where there's not much else going on in the ER but a few dehydrated stomach virus stragglers.  Oh, and bring your own snacks and juice boxes.  Just don't blow through them in the first 10 minutes.  Ha, no pun intended!

Ewwww.