Even though Texas is hotter than is humanly safe, there are some things I enjoy about living here. (For clarification, that would be living in AUSTIN. The rest of Texas can suck it.) One of those things is being within dirivng distance of places such as Sea World.
So when Ashlyn was here, we all piled into the Lexus and headed for a day in the sun. Nothing quite starts a day in 105 degree heat fighting crowds quite like a 1 hour and 45 minute care ride smooshed in the backseat between a bored teenager and bored preschooler. My muzzles worked well, though, so the car ride was bearable.
Sea World turned out to be incredibly fun. Theme parks are fun, but the geniuses at Sea World deserve a national holiday for coming up with the idea of putting a water park INSIDE a theme park. And they deserve 5 months of paid vacation for selling alcohol there! Me, stylish muumuu, 37 empty beer bottles, sunburn…ah, the memories are flooding back. Oh yeah, and watching the kids frolic was cute too.
Shamu was awesome:
They also trained the whales to line up against the glass, tail up and splash the crowd. It was cute until they got whale water in my beer.
Rohan and Ashlyn also got to feed the dolphins (but I only have a picture of Ro):
And here is a picture of the largest tub of blubber in the world (and it’s not a picture of me):
They trained this walrus to actually lie on his back, put his flippers up behind and head and crunch his body to mimic a sit-up. It was the highlight of my day (well, that and the neck tattoo on the world’s biggest redneck that read “GIT ER DUN”)!
Ah, Sea World. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for making my kids smile, my toes blister and making me feel like a supermodel (Note to Jenny Craig: OPEN A CENTER AT SEA WORLD).
I apologize for the lack of witty and fascinating posts. I know that no one else has a four year old and no one else has experiences like I have had as a mother, so I do feel obligated to share my wealth of knowledge with you. Please don’t be sad. Stay strong and know that the regularly scheduled programming will resume AS SOON AS I’M DONE NAILING MY SON’S TEACHER FOR CHILD NEGLECT AND ABUSE.
Yeah, you heard me.
I haven’t posted about it (which is weird because we LOVED it) but my son attended an international school of languages where he learned both Chinese and German. (If you ever want to feel truly stupid, have your four old talk to you in Chinese and then look at your like you’re pig crap because you can’t understand him.) The school was fantastic for quite awhile and we were very impressed with his education. The founder and main teacher seemed wonderful at first and I pretty much put my life on hold to help her in any way I could.
Cracks started to appear in her stories, facts never seemed to line up and my son came home from school EVERY day absolutely ravenous. The crack that crumbled everything was when CPS was called (by a previous parent) and this teacher concocted the most hideous lie to cover her ass. This alerted all of us parents who got together and started comparing stories and found a staggering amount of lies. Little ones, big ones…you name it she did it. As I have said several times over the last several days, lying is one thing. Lying and using children as your cover blows it into a whole other realm.
She also left her 16 year old daughter alone to babysit our kids often. (And, if her daughter ever reads this, we LOVE that girl. She is most innocent victim of all here and we wish we could help her more than we have!) But no 16 yo can handle 12 kids under the age of 5, nor should she have to. We also found out our kids were being fed little more than Saltines and water some days (this from a woman who originally made amazing gourmet meals for them).
There is much more to this story. Lies so big it will make your head spin. And I won’t bore you with the details (’Cause even I know crap like this is boring unless it’s about your kid!). But I share this with you to encourage you to TRUST your parental instincts and to check out whomever is with your children thoroughly. You can access any school or center on your local CPS website and see any and all complaints lodged against any place in that county / state. If the school has been closed and then reopened under another name, question why because all complaints stay with the old name (meaning you won’t see any if they keep changing).
On a more positive note, my sweet girl (well, except when she’s being a surly teenager…LOVE YOU ANYWAY, ASH!) was here for 13 days so that kept me busy as well. Lots to post and great pics upcoming.
Excuse me while I go lay down in traffic as penance for trusting a crazy liar with my son.
Before I launch into my schmaltzy tribute to Neeraj, I should explain why I called him Roger in the title. Living in the US and having a (let’s just say it) WEIRD name, he’s used to people constantly butchering his name. He even claims I can’t say it correctly but he just means I don’t say it with the proper accent. (Hullo, I am white! Why would I want a funky Indian accent?)
I’ve seen him get mail addressed to ‘Neeras’ which, come on, is HYSTERICAL. Or Nerj or Nee-ridge and the list goes on. But the best was when someone called him and said something along the lines of “Hello. I am looking for a N..n…n…ner….ah hell, I can’t say it. A ‘Roger’ Bansal?”
*Sigh* Ignorant, white folks. Proud to call them my people.
So Roger, this one is for you. To toot my own horn just a bit, I’ve never done anything like this. So part of the present is the countless hours I spent actually teaching myself iMovie. (I have to point out things like this otherwise, like most humans with a twig and berries, he won’t grasp the scope of the entire project.)
This is my tribute to you. As sarcastic (and entirely pleasant to be around) as I am, I can’t say thank you enough for all you do for Rohan. You have grown into fatherhood in a way that still boggles my mind and I am so grateful that you are my son’s father. Your integrity, hard work, love, stability and pancake making skills are all things I recognize and prize and are helping Rohan grow to be a good man.
Here’s my small way of saying we appreciate all you do:
Since Austin is 167 degrees every day right now, Ro and I are living in our pool. No seriously. LIVING. I have figured out the sleeping (hello, floaty island), the cooking (hello, camping stove on the edge and floating cooler). Peeing is easy (when’s it so damn hot outside, the water heats up too so it feels almost like a big pit of warm urine..so the real pee goes unnoticed) but the small kink of the other bid-ness is still being worked on.
So we’re in the pool and my little angel is discussing the necessity of floaties. Something deep like this:
Ro: “Hey Mama. I am a big boy cause I wear arm floaties now and not a swim vest.”
Me: “Yeah, that’s right.”
His eyes travel down to my cleavage and he stares thoughtfully for a good four seconds then says:
“I don’t think you need floaties because your boobies keep you from sinking!”
Yeah, thanks for that. I already think they’re too big and now I am even more paranoid. Way to build your mom up, little one.
Unfortunately I cannot take credit for inventing the deliciousness that is to follow, but I can do my one good deed for the month and pass it along. This is one of my family’s favorite recipes and you will see why. It may sound a little odd but I’ve had some pretty serious foodie friends even give their snooty approval (Hi Freddie! Make me some more champagne!). Many thanks to Kole Kantner for coming up with this recipe which adds a gagillion pounds to my ass every summer.
For crust:
1 c graham cracker crumbs
1/4 butter, melted
1/3 brown sugar (or white for less sweetness)
Mix all ingredients together and press into pie pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 8-10 mins. Cool completely.
For pie:
In saucepan combine the following ingredients:
1 cup water
2 T cornstarch
1 pkg Knox gelatin
1/2 cup sugar
Cook sauce until clear. BEFORE sauce comes to complete boil add:
2 T raspberry jello
Remove sauce from heat. Add:
4 cups fresh blueberries
Pour this yumminess into cooled shell.
Topping:
1 cup heavy whipping cream
8 oz. cream cheese, softened
Powdered sugar to taste
Whip the cream, fold into softened cream cheese. Add sugar to taste then spread over the pie. Chill.
Go take a shot of tequila and lie down from the pure exhaustion of cooking. Try not to eat the whole thing before your kids get home.
Dear, sweet Uncle Matt. He has been a great help lately with Rohan; doing everything from taking him to movies and toystores to making racetracks and forts. (He’s either Super Uncle or Cranky Bastard, depending on the day. But I digress…)
He offered to watch Ro while I did some errands the other day and look what I came home to:
Ha ha, Matt. (How dare you steal my idea? ) I unlocked Rohan from the handcuffs and, to distract him, suggested we all go to Amy’s (which is a local place that has gourmet burgers and beer on one side, amazing ice cream on the other and a large playground with outdoor seating and tables…GENIUS). When we got there, Matt offered to play with Rohan while I read a book with my flask of tequila (the beers just didn’t cut it). So I was relaxing and enjoying my beverage and book combo when I heard Rohan yelling for me. I tried ignoring him for 20 minutes but people really started looking at me weird, so I reluctantly went over to him…and this is what I found:
That schmuck passed out drunk on the cow! What a jerk. I thought I was the only one of the family allowed to drink to the point of neglect and inebriation.
Anyway, I slapped him and he came to and I managed to snap one more pic:
*Sigh* It’s REALLY hard to get good help these days.
My brother left a stunning piece of artwork on my desk with a note that said ‘Here’s a special new boyfriend for you.’ They say that one mark of true artist is someone who can get inside your head and, boy, did he ever. Matt, how did you know what my dream man looks like?
Neeraj has been in India for three weeks and Rohan obviously misses his Daddy very much. Tonight he drew a picture for his Daddy and requested that I send it to him immediately.
So Nee, here ya go. According to Rohan, he drew a little boy that “has a happy smile but sad eyes”. He also wrote “I love Daddy” on the bottom left…you can clearly see “I love” but then the word “daddy” is perfectly backwards. Not dyslexic but a mirror image of the whole word. He does this occasionally and, after I beat him, I yell that this idea only works for the word “mom”. And Mom is the only word he should be interested in writing.
(I am kidding, people.)
Here’s your pic, Nee. Enjoy the smiling boy with sad eyes. How’s that knife in your heart?
Yesterday as I was driving, Rohan asked “Mama, how old are you?
“32 budd..”
Cutting in, “You’re FARTY TWO?”
“No, hon. Thirty-two, as in 3-2..”
“You’re FARTY TWO? EWWWW! You’re farty two because you fart all the time!!”
For a brief second I wondered if I do, in fact, have a flatulence problem that I am in such denial about that I never realize when I am actually, you know, releasing the wind? And wouldn’t that be horrifying (yet kinda funny, I admit)?
He giggled for a while…as little boys do over anything that involves bottoms, pee pee’s, farts or poop. (Oh - if life were only an funny as a nice bowel movement as seen from a 4 year old’s mind! The world would be such a better place.)
I had actually forgotten about it until I was paying for my purchases at The Gap with Rohan next to me. The woman at the register asked Rohan how old he is and he answered ‘Four!” but volunteered a little more information than I would have preferred.
“I’m FOUR but my Mommy is FARTY-TWO! ‘Cause she FARTS ALL THE TIME! Ewww! Stinky m…”
He didn’t get to finish his last word because, in one fell swoop, I picked up the polo I just purchased and stuffed it in his mouth. Then I asked for a garmet bag and wrapped him in it like a mummy.
The police report said something about child endangerment but I totally disagree. I was simply protecting my good name. Or as my cell mate calls me, “Madame Flatulence”.
