Great minds think alike

A few weeks ago my mom called and asked me if I wanted one of the birdhouses that my dad built. She said it’s supposed to be an outhouse. Without really thinking I said yes, and then a minute later it hit me, “Wait, it’s an outhouse for birds!?! That’s perfect!”

In case you think I’m crazy like my mom probably did, a while back in the play-doh post I quoted Amanda saying, “I'm building a toilet for the birds because I'm so sick of them pooping on my slide!” so it just made me all kinds of happy to think about this birdhouse.

As a kid, my dad spent a lot of time on his uncle’s farm and he had a thing for outhouses. He had a little collection of them (my favorite was the two-story outhouse - you never want to be on the bottom floor of a two-story outhouse) and when my parents retired to Hidden Valley Lake he started collecting and building birdhouses. He had a row of them up on posts circling their backyard that overlooks the lake. So the fact that he built a bird-size outhouse makes sense. And the fact that it has found a new home in our backyard makes even more sense. I don’t think this outhouse was meant for me at all, I like to think it was a gift for Amanda from her grandpa.

Grandma gave it a fresh coat of paint and we are searching for the perfect spot for it in our yard. Now if only somebody would have a word with those birds. Please tell them to stop pooping on Amanda's slide.

The Great Debate

When you start thinking about having kids there are all kinds of things you’re supposed to discuss and come to agreement on. How will you pay for them? How will you discipline them? What about religion? Education? Childcare?

What’s the one topic nobody ever warns you about?

Play-Doh.

At our house we’ve been arguing about Play-Doh. Here’s the thing… I LOVE Play-Doh. I love how it smells. I love how it feels. I love that it comes in so many fun colors. For me Play-Doh represents fun, creativity and endless possibilities. In my mind Play-Doh is critical to the childhood experience.

Scott, on the other hand, HATES Play-Doh. Play-Doh is messy. Play-Doh is stinky. Play-Doh is a choking hazard to the baby. Play-Doh is evil.

Huh? What? How can we possibly be talking about the same thing?

Did you know that it is difficult to argue about Play-Doh in an adult manner? They say one whiff of Play-Doh can make you feel like you’re right back in Kindergarten. In our case this seems to be true. When Scott said he didn’t want Play-Doh in the house I kept wanting to say: “Oh yeah? Well you’re not the boss of me!” And when I asked why he didn’t like Play-Doh he said, “Because, just because,” to which I wanted to respond: “Oh yeah? Well I’m gonna tell my mommy on you!”

Of course I can’t actually tell my mom. Because I know if I called her right now she would say, “I HATE Play-Doh.” It’s true that I might be in need of intense therapy regarding my Play-Doh issues. And of course I blame that on my mom and try to make her feel guilty about it whenever the opportunity arises. This seems like a good one so bear with me.

Play-Doh wasn’t allowed in our house when I was a kid. I longed for it; begged for it; put it on every Dear Santa list I ever wrote. But Play-Doh was off-limits until the day my friend, Stephanie Lysett, showed up to my sixth birthday party with the gift to top all other gifts, the Play-Doh Fuzzy Pumper Play Set. Yes!!! Mine, it was all mine, the best toy in the world! Or it would have been the best toy, if my mom had ever allowed me to play with it, that is. But I had these shelves in my room that went right up to the ceiling. And the very top shelf is where my Play-Doh lived, taunting me, torturing me from its cellophane wrapped box.

I’m sure I asked the question “Can I play with the Play-Doh today, Mom?” at least a billion times and I’m sure I risked breaking an arm or leg more than once to climb up and fetch the box so I could drool over it up close. But I was a goody-two-shoes and never dared to actually tear off the cellophane and play with it because I knew I’d be in big trouble. I don’t remember playing with that Play-Doh even once. Clearly I’ve been permanently scarred too. Hear that, Mom? Scarred. Permanently.

So fast-forward 30 years or so to when I hear my darling husband say things like, “NO Play-Doh. I don’t want to see it in the house ever again.” And my inner 6-year-old starts twitching. “Umm. ‘Scuse me? You’re kidding me right? Am I on Candid Camera? You can’t be serious. Did my mother put you up to this?”

But he was indeed serious and when I realized how much it bothered him I tried hard to be reasonable. I thought I would compromise and not let Amanda play with it in the house (well umm, at least not when he was around) but I brought it with us on our last camping trip and again, he flipped out. I responded with, “Yeah… you said no more Play-Doh in the house. We are not in the house.” But then I figured he was worried about the precious Eurovan. He can be kind of weird about The Van and I try to be sensitive. Because I suppose I’d get a little tense if he tried to use one of my scrapbooks as a coaster. So I put the Play-Doh away.

But the other day when I was desperately searching for something, I made the mistake of opening The Cabinet. The Cabinet is where all of the off-limit (and therefore most strongly-desired) toys are kept: the slippery high-heel princess shoes I’m afraid they’ll break their necks wearing, the washable paints that aren’t as washable as I would like, the annoying whistle, the toys that come with a hundred teeny-tiny choking hazard pieces, the toy hammer used mostly to bang on the furniture or each others' heads… and, of course, the Play-Doh.

I’m starting to think that when I open The Cabinet it emits some kind of low-decibel sound that only my children can hear. I honestly think that even if they were in a deep sleep the sound of The Cabinet would awaken them and bring them scampering as fast as they can to throw their little bodies in between the open door and The Cabinet making it impossible for me to close The Cabinet until they’ve made several emphatic requests. Alyssa starts pointing at the ball and chanting, “Bah, bah, BAH!” and Amanda screeches, “PLAY-DOH!!! Mommy, can I play with the Play-Doh, pleeeeeeeease Mommy?”

Since I can totally relate to the intense longing to play with Play-Doh and since I don't want Amanda to be Permanently Scarred like I am and since Scott was gone for a while I let Amanda play with some Play-Doh outside on the patio. I honestly didn’t think he would care since it was outside. But I was wrong.

She was still playing when he got home and… did I already mention that we seem to have a difficult time acting like grown-ups when it comes to this subject? Well I’m not even going to tell you about how he marched out to the table and picked up the tray of Play-Doh and unceremoniously dumped the entire thing into the trash while Amanda and I looked on in horror. I also won’t tell you about the tantrums that followed, except to say that Amanda was not the only one who had one.

We talked about it later and finally agreed that we would put the Play Doh on hold for a while since I can’t really argue the fact that it could be a choking hazard for Alyssa. Even though I didn’t let her near it… wait, I said I wouldn’t argue… So anyway, have to tell you my favorite part of the story…

While Amanda was playing with her Play-Doh I said, "Hey, what are you making?" and she said,

"I'm building a toilet for the birds because I'm so sick of them pooping on my slide!"

If you ask me, this is exactly the kind of creative thinking that our world needs more of...The kind of thinking that is encouraged and nurtured by a lump of fragrant, neon-colored, moldable dough. Just think, maybe 30 years down the line Amanda will be telling her children, "You'll never believe this but when I was young, birds pooped anywhere they wanted! Thank goodness for Play-Doh."

If anyone is actually reading this blog I would love to hear your comments. Especially if you have any persuasive arguments for why the Play-Doh ban should be lifted. Come on people, help save the Play-Doh!

*Photo of Amanda taken in November, before the start of the Great Play-Doh Ban

Well this is becoming a bad habit

Me not writing for long periods and then feeling like I need to catch up. Acch! Okay, so Scott has now been unemployed for over two months…I don't think I've mentioned that here before, but most of you know he was let go from Oracle in the last round of layoffs in February -- him and about a thousand others. He wasn't terribly upset about it. After working at the same company (well PeopleSoft/Oracle) for the last ten years he was ready for a break so he's been enjoying some time off.

And I've been slowly going insane.

Because though I love my husband dearly, I am someone who Needs My Space. So having him here 24-7 for the last two and half months has been a major adjustment for me. And of course the last couple of months have been filled with an endless amount of rain, meaning we've spent much of that time trapped in the house.

Mommy needs some quiet time is becoming a very familiar phrase around here. And my family doesn't do quiet very well. Alyssa obviously can't be counted on to be quiet on demand, Scott requires that the TV be on every second, and the last time I asked Amanda for some quiet time she agreed wholeheartedly and then proceeded to have a long discussion with me about the best possible way for her to be quiet. Seriously, picture this:

"I know! I can make only quiet noises, like THIS," (as she proceeds to blow into her plastic teapot like it's an instrument that makes no noise) "OR I can dance!!! Because dancing doesn't make any noise. Or, or... I know! I can color. Coloring is REALLY quiet! Would that be a good idea? Or... no, I think I changed my mind. I want to watch my show. It's easy to be quiet when I'm watching my show. Mommy, can you turn on my show? Mommy? Can I sit in your lap while I'm being quiet. Brrr...I'm cold behind my toes. Can we have a blanket, Mommy? Mommy, will you read me a book? Mommy, remember how we went to that hotel in Monna...Monnaway? I liked that hotel. I liked that hotel and I liked our vacation. Can we go there again and get cotton candy and ice cream? Mommy, I'm whispering because I'm being quiet. Oh, Mommy? Just one more thing before I'm quiet. Can you make me something to eat? Mommy, I'm pretending it's opposites day so if you want me to be quiet you have to ask me to be loud."

And then, just because she's evil, she adds, "Mommy, you make me cozy and sooooooooo happy."

So I've been going a little crazy, but there's a pretty good chance that Scott will go back to work at Oracle as a contractor soon. Keeping my fingers crossed that actually works out. Things are getting easier anyway now that the weather is clearing up. Scott is playing golf more often and last week we went to Monterey for a couple of days. That was fun and relaxing… The aquarium, fisherman's wharf, the beach, Alyssa's first time putting her toes in the sand…

Before that, the girls and I spent a week at my mom's house, which was a nice break even if it did rain the whole time. I got to do some scrapbooking while my mom and Bob played with the girls. I should say it was a nice break for me. My mom and Bob are still probably recovering!

For Easter we went to Rick & Cara's for brunch and an egg hunt. Fun, fun… Then we swung by Harvey & Ila's since we were in the neighborhood. The girls had a blast.

In other news, I finally got a haircut and my hairdresser informed me that wave is coming back. That came as a relief because I was just thinking the other day as I was torturing my hair into straightness how annoying it is that when my hair was stick straight I was constantly forcing it into curls and would have killed for some natural wave, but now that I seem to have acquired a bunch of natural wave, I'm forever dragging a flat-iron through it trying to straighten it out. So anyway, she used a diffuser and scrunched my hair and I ended up with this whole new look that I can pull out on occasion.
Scott loved it. I think I like it and this is what Amanda had to say...

Me: Do you like my hair?

Amanda: Well, umm, no. I don't really like it. It's all messed up. And well, wow... What are you gonna do to fix it?

Me: I just went to the hairdresser and she did it this way on purpose. I like it.

Amanda: Really? You went to a hairdresser and she did it on purpose? (said as she was trying to straighten my hair with her hands.) You like it? Well I don't like it. And when I touch it, it feels like bird poop.

Yeah. I don't even want to KNOW why she knows how bird poop feels.