Friday, February 26, 2010


Normally I don't like to share too much personal information, but I've gotten myself into a bit of a pickle and in order to explain it, I'll have to give some background. My oldest daughter has a seizure disorder and a learning disability in reading among other things. When my second daughter's teacher commented that her reading and spelling were below grade level, I decided that it might be a good idea for her to undergo a private comprehensive evaluation to figure out exactly what the problem was.
Not that it matters, but it turns out that daughter number two is not below grade level in anything, and is completely normal. I'm not sure why there is such a discrepancy between the school and the evaluation I had done but I suspect that it may have something to do with the fact that the teacher is jealous of me and my second daughter has a severe case of halitosis but that's neither here nor there.
The point is, when I went in to discuss the results of the test, I mentioned to the psychologist that nothing tests my patience like homework time. I asked her if she could suggest someone for me to talk to that could give me parenting advice on different ways to approach the different learning styles of my kids. That's OK right? It's called proactive parenting. She said that she would think about it and get back to me.
As I was driving home a woman called me, she said that the psychologist had given her my info and she would be happy to sit down and talk to me. Okay, that's fine. Well we scheduled something. Well, when I went in, I had a list of questions with examples of things that were going on at home. I was hoping that she could introduce me to some kind of motivational chart with stickers or a book of cool mnemonic devices to help my kids learn how to spell better.
Instead, she asked me questions about my life and I found myself sharing my hopes and dreams for an hour. I didn't mind so much though, the lady was really nice and I felt like I had a real connection with her. But then at the end, something happened that snapped me back to reality. It was something that I've only seen on TV. She put down her note pad, looked at her watch and said, "Well I think we're out of time for this week but we've made some good progress here, I'll see you next week."

No way.

I'm in therapy? How did this happen? Wait I know how it happened, I was tricked into it.

So what do I do now? This is so unfair. First of all I don't have time for this. What am supposed to do with my two kids who stay home with me all day? I can't find childcare every week. Second of all, can't a mom ask for suggestions without being put into therapy? Or am I the only one who doesn't know how to handle every single situation. I really don't know a tactful way to get out of this. I mean, I can't just stick it out until they decide that I don't need therapy anymore, who knows when that'll be? But I don't know any good way to say, "I don't need therapy, I just need help."
On the other hand, part of me thinks that I do need serious therapy. Plus, I've always wanted to say, "My therapist is going to have a field day with this one."

Friday, February 19, 2010

International Night 2010

Lately I've been feeling overwhelmed with my life here. Let me tell you, raising five kids in the D.C. area is tough. Lots of pressure, lost of weird looks, they don't really build houses for big families here--at least not ones that I can afford. And with this snow storm, getting my family in and out of the car is pure torture. Oh and today, I took my kids to the grocery store to pick out a Redbox and a toothless crackhead asked them if they wanted a piece of candy. That's the truth. I can't help but think to myself that my life would be easier if we lived in Utah, where there is an abundance of houses with garages, children, family to babysit, ahh the list goes on.

However, last night was our school's annual international night, and I was reminded that there are some things that are more valuable than being able to drop the wee ones at my parents and take my husband to Cafe Rio. Our elementary school is pretty diverse and once a year they have a sort of carnival to showcase the different cultures and countries that make up Mosby Woods. They do dances, sing songs bring food to sample and have a fashion show. It is priceless.

Here are some girls singing a Swahili song. I was pretty bummed that I didn't hear any clicking in their words-- that's Swahili right? Notice the Obama print dresses.

This year the place looked more like Little India than anything. Here are a bunch of kids doing the Jai Ho dance that they do at the end of Slumdog Millionaire.

And a picture of my neighbors Shivani and Vikram. How cute are they? Vikram used to be in Shea's preschool carpool. One day I wanted to kids to stay for lunch bunch but wasn't sure how to tell the non-English speaking Bengali nanny so I just made him a pb&j for him. The next day his mom asked me for a recipe because Vikram said he'd just had the best American sandwich in the world. I said I'd be happy to supply weekly pb&j's in exchange for weekly samosas and butter chicken. Best trade ever.

And here is a picture of one of the two fashion shows the school put on. There were too many kids and too many countries for just one show. There were kids from New Zealand (came out doing the Kamate Haka of course-- moron) India, Nepal, China, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Lebanon, Russia, Scotland, France, Arytria, Somalia, and Tanzania. My kids beg to be in the fashion show every year so they go as pioneers, it's either that or a Euromutt.

After International Night I've had a change of heart. Living here: if a harmless crackhead is the price I have to pay for being able to do a high and mighty citizen of the world Brangelina style blog post. Then that's ok with me.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Happy Birthday Jonah

  • Spit a huge wad of gum in the baby's hair.

  • Got our family permanently banished from the annual neighborhood spook alley.

  • Likes peeing off the deck.

  • Popped 2 air mattresses.

  • Report card said that he "enjoys active play that usually involves chasing and tormenting other children."

  • Love's playing with his dad's bike pump. (use your imagination)

  • Drew cute little people on the back of the couch and cool looking X's on the rug with magic marker.

  • Shot a dart gun at the baby's face-- from about three inches away.

  • Wanted to be 'naked' for Halloween.

  • Hate hate hate's to flush.

  • Set fire to the bedroom carpet. He put it out himself though, way to go Jonah!

  • Locked himself in my bathroom. Shaved his head and licked my razor before I could get the door unlocked. I came in and he had bald patches all over his head and blood running down his chin.

  • Shattered my flatscreen.

Six years ago, our boy was born with, well, let's call it an 'impish streak,' don't really think his behavior has anything to do with my fine parenting skills.

Oh, and here's a picture of his birthday cake this year.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

There's a small human in my house.

Not really sure where she came from. But she sort of looks like a 2.5 foot tall Tommy Boy with a unibrow. And she's mean. The only way she'll leave me alone is if I give her a cookie, or chips, or a spoon full of peanut butter, or icing.

I discovered the other day.
She LOVES grape tomatoes.

Guess I don't know her as well as I thought I did.

Saturday, February 13, 2010


Have you ever been in of room full of people and you look around and think to yourself; "What's going on here? Am I the only one who thinks this is ridiculous?" As a chronic cynic, I'm sorry to say that it happens to me much more often than I'd like.

Like the other night, during the opening ceremonies.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Ahhhhh Warm Weather

The 15 foot snow drift behind my car has me almost constantly daydreaming about taking a fun trip somewhere. At first it was Utah, they know how to handle snow. Next it was New York, I keep thinking about that Broadway version of 21 Guns that I saw on the Grammys. Now I'm all about Disney. And the best part about Disney trips is in the planning.

We had a great trip to Disney World a couple of years ago. It was back when I only had three kids so life was really easy ya know? Well, I didn't tell my kids that we were going, I just told them that I had a big surprise for them at the end of the week. They were so excited! They kept asking and asking what the surprise was but I just told them they were going to have to wait and see. When Thursday afternoon rolled around, I packed their bags and threw them in the car. I told them that their surprise was that we were going to go somewhere. They freaked out and begged me to tell them where we were going. "You'll see when we get there!" We got in the car and the suspense was killing them. They started guessing. McDonald's? No better. Veronica's house? No better. The pool? No better. Daddy's office? No better.

As we got closer to the airport they were starting to get mad. They were too young for such anticipation. "Please just tell us!" They begged.

We took the airport exit, turned a corner and the Dulles airport came into view. They saw the airport and I'm not joking, they all burst into tears and cried, "The AIRPORT? This is the worst surprise ever mom. What are we supposed to do here? Your big surprise was to bring us to the airport? This is terrible!"

There is no way any kid is that dumb.

I wanted to wait until the plane landed to tell them that we were going to spend the weekend in Disney World, but I had to tell them at the curbside check in. Oh we ended up having a great trip, but the whole surprise thing didn't really work out the way I had envisioned.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Back in '97, I was in my skiing prime. I skied often, and I skied well. I wasn't scared of driving in the snow and I only wrecked my little Subaru twice that year. Sometimes I'd leave school right after lunch and run up to Park City to get a few hours of good midweek skiing in. Life was good. Now that you know how cool I am, you can picture me riding the lift, looking down at the skiers below. Every once in a while, I'd see an awesome skier down below wearing something like this.

Or this.

I just had to throw this one in because I love pictures with 80's cell phones.

Anyway, I'd think to myself, "Why would such a great skier be wearing such dated clothes? Seriously dude, you deserve better stuff." I mean who were these people? Well, the other day, I got out our snow clothes and I sadly realized that I, am 'these people.' 'These people' are just good skiers who grew up and moved away and now only get to ski a couple of times a year. I love the outfit that I used to ski in. A lavender shell and pair of dark purple snow pants. Could I still wear that without looking like a dork? I don't care. What I want to know is, what are all you East Coasters doing with cutting edge snow apparel?

Dear Navy Federal . . .

After googling you, I guess you're a credit union. I have been getting two to three phone calls a day at my house asking for Navy Federal. Wrong number. So there are one of two options here. Either you have accidentally listed my number instead of yours on your website or a brochure or something, or your customers are um well...... I've checked around and found that you have a number that is similar to mine, but I really wanted to give those credit union account holders the benefit of the doubt. Then I came home the other day and discovered that there were three new messages on my answering machine.

Message one:
Hello, this is Louis. Please tell me how much money is in my account.

Message two:
Hello, this is Louis Rogers, please tell me how much money is in my account.

Message three:
Hello, this is Louis Rogers, my account number is 8674309. Please tell me how much money is in my account.

Of course I changed the name and number. But I swear, those are actual messages.

You know how there are some lessons that you are meant to learn over and over again? Well, one of mine-- quit giving people the benefit of the doubt.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Happy Birthday Elliot

I had some Chinese take out the other day and I remembered that I wanted to wish my brother a happy birthday. His birthday was January 10th but I forgot about it.

Happy birthday Elliot, did you like your birthday peanuts?

When Elliot was in middle school, there was this Chinese place that we loved to go to. Then one time Elliot got some really really bad food poisoning from eating there and so we stopped going. It was too bad because they had really great take out. A couple of years ago we were talking about it, I said, "man I am so bummed that you got sick from eating there because I loved their food." Then Elliot said, "I know, I really shouldn't have eaten it after it had been sitting in my back pack for 5 days."

That's one of my favorite stories to tell about Elliot.

Camilla's favorite story to tell about Elliot is the time he took a frozen banana out of the freezer, put it in the microwave for a minute, took it out, tasted it, gagged, and yelled, "Oh jeez, this is the sickest sausage I've ever tasted!"

I am not sure if these stories are funny to anyone but me and Camilla, but....

Happy Birthday Elliot.

Camilla just commented:
"no no no, you butchered it. He boiled the banana, then ate the whole thing and told me it was the worst bratwurst he had ever had then I told him that it was because it was a banana, then he got mad at me for letting him eat the whole thing."

Even better.