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Posts Tagged ‘I kill things’

On purpose.

In some stroke of, oh I don’t know, STUPIDITY maybe, the Easter bunny thought it would be awesome to gift the kids with their very own caterpillars and ladybugs so they could watch the miracle of life unfold before them.

Keaton: "When they're done cooking in there, the butterfly will rip open the Chrysalis and eat up all the flowers!"

Leave it to a boy to make the delicate metamorphosis of caterpillar to butterfly sound so violent. The way he puts it we could pitch it to Scorsese, although we’d probably have to teach one or more of the butterflies to talk with a Brooklyn accent if we wanted it to get past the negotiation stage and I don’t even know where the hell to look for a vocal coach for a butterfly. Maybe Michael Bay would be a more realistic choice…?

Where was I? Right. Butterflies.

Instead of one butterfly kit and one ladybug kit, the Bug People {as I not-so-affectionately call them} sent me 2 butterfly kits. After numerous e-mails they still have yet to send me the stupid ladybug larvae and every day Keaton wakes up and checks the ladybug house to see if they magically appeared over night, which is sad but also a little funny as he’s so very earnest in his belief that they will just appear one morning.

The kits include 5 tiny caterpillars each, that reside in a cup which is filled on the bottom with an inch or so of a semi-soft gel that is apparently food. Food that I’m pretty sure is made from a combination of steroids, growth hormones and Twinkies because in a few days our sweet teeny caterpillars were big fat mother-effers that pooped all. the. time. And their poop looks like boogers. {YOU’RE SOOOOO WELCOME FOR THAT IMAGE.} It didn’t help that we had gotten into the habit of taking them down from the shelf each morning and watching them while we ate breakfast. I gotta say, it’s sort of hard to eat when staring at a fat, wriggly caterpillar who is desperately trying to make his way up the side of the cup but keeps falling down into his own waste because even with his MANY FEET he’s too fat to get all the way to the top of the cup.

Once they did make their way up there, they would try to get in a J-curl and the dumbasses would go ass over tea kettle, fall down and have to make the long harrowing trek back up the side of the cup. After 3 days of this I was beginning to think we got defective caterpillars- too stupid to follow their own natural instincts, but finally each and every one of them figured it out and once they bound themselves tightly in their chrysalises we placed them in the Butterfly Garden {or Butterfly CAGE as Keaton delicately puts it} to await this miracle of nature.

Rowan's chrysilises are on the right: Callie, Lucy, Flower, Christabella and Pom-Pom. Keaton's are on the left: Car-car, Pickle, Vroom-Vroom, Goosey-Lucy and Peter Pan. Don't ask me which one's which though.

They’re supposed to spend 7-10 days in there, uh… metamorphosizing {???}, and it’s already been a week so the kids are hoping to see their first butterfly very soon. I, on the other hand, am just fine with them tucked inside their little homes as I’ve found this a rather useful tool in controlling my children. Yeah, yeah, I got these bugs so we could all witness nature at it’s finest and so on and so forth, but perhaps more usefully I’ve found that when the kids are running around or being too loud I can use the butterflies to guilt them into submission.

i.e.~ “Lower your voices! How can our caterpillars become butterflies with you guys screeching all the time. They need peace and quiet!” or,”Do the caterpillars complain that they have to work hard to grow into an entirely different bug? NO. If they can manage that then I’m pretty sure you can do your math homework without complaining.” Or “If you guys jump around too much the caterpillars will lose their concentration and might only be able to grow one wing- one winged caterpillars can’t fly can they? CAN THEY?”

Parenting? I WIN.

In the end I just hope butterflies aren’t anything like plants because my track record for keeping things alive in this house are as follows:

Christy, ZERO

Untimely Death, 497

Just ask this sunflower {Not suitable for young viewers or those involved in Vegetation Rights}:

Its grizzly remains. Rest in peace, Sunflower. Rest in peace.

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Happy Friday, Internet! Or Happy Royal Wedding Day, if that’s your thing. I do have to admit to being a closet pop culture enthusiast and I get that people care about royalty. They are pretty! And Royal! And CROWN JEWELS! I also admit to clicking on pictures to see what Kate’s dress looked like before I even opened my e-mail this morning and yes it was very pretty but if I read one more status update or comment about how this shit is every little girls’ dream then I am going to throw up all over you Internet. When I was a little girl I dreamt about being a writer. A veterinarian. A movie star. A doctor. Or maybe briefly turning into a cartoon to ride in the Mystery Machine or on Rainbow Brite’s horse. Just about the worst thing I could have possibly imagined was getting shoved into a lacy dress and made to stand next to a BOY with millions of people watching. Gross. Maybe that says a little bit too much about what kind of a kid {and adult!} I am, but so be it. I can’t handle girly romantic shit any better now than I could 20-25 year ago. And I certainly hope my daughter has bigger dreams than that. I’m all for tiara’s but she can institute those when she becomes Queen President of the Universe {VOTE ROWAN J GUNTERPANTS 2040!}.

*********

Now to the real point of this post:

Last year…

'Reading' The Garden to help the plants grow.

This year…

Actually reading. Amazing what a year can do.

Nevermind that there's only one measley little plant as spring is taking its sweet time arriving. Even still...

It growed!

Now hurry up and come spring, these little sunflowers will need company. Especially under my care as plants tend to be safer in numbers around me.

******

I almost forgot! Let me present to you this weeks desktop awesomeness, artfully crafted by Bill…

How long before Bill gets sick of using that picture of Keaton? My prediction: NEVER.

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Wow. This weekend flew by. We have a ridiculously busy week coming up and Internet, I AM SCARED. We have Rowan’s dance rehearsal and recital and end of the year picnics and last class sessions and birthdays to shop for and OH MY GOD Lost will be over one week from tonight. OVER. As in, NO MORE. ALL DONE.

Bill and I have seriously considered therapy to help get us through this loss. Lost started the fall after we got married. What will we even have to talk about anymore? Will our marriage be proven a total sham, based solely on our love of a fictional TV drama?

Probably. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

I don’t know how regularly I’ll be posting this week (let me give you a second or two to work through your grief….) so I’ll leave you with a few pictures of our weekend to help you get through what I’m sure will be a tough time in your life. How will you live without me? You might go through bad-grammar withdrawals! Or get the made-up-word shakes! Or more than likely not even notice at all!

Only time will tell.

So, yeah. Pictures.

To celebrate the warm weather's return on Friday, during Keaton's nap Rowan and I threw down a blanket in our sorry excuse for a front yard to read Stuart Little and look at the cloud shapes.

We of course had to bring out our pots so they could enjoy the sun and the story as well. Look! Buds! I'm unabashedly proud of these little shoots.

And look who came to town! Erica, (who, shhhhhhh TUNRED THIRTY today) is back from Washington to get some things lined up for her move home at the end of the summer, so we got to hang out with her on Saturday night.

She brought her boyfriend, Ian along so he could make fun of our Minnesotan accents.

I can't wait to have her back here. And can we all just take a minute to take note of Bill's face in the background? Nice.

Today we took a cruise down the St Croix, put on by the nursery school Keaton will be attending in the fall.

There were ice cream sundaes on the boat.

Definitely Keaton's kind of boat.

He got a tattoo to commemorate the occasion. That apple doesn't fall far from our tree.

The kids had a blast.

It was a perfect day to be at sea. Well, at river. Whatever. You know what I mean. Have a good week, Internet.

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Last weekend Rowan and I decided to try our luck at container gardening so we picked up a few pots, some soil and a variety of seeds whose packages promised us they would grow- Even at the murderous thumbs of me, who seem to kill green things just by showing up in the same room. Yesterday Rowan ran in from our little deck where we had lined the plants up and said, “Mom! I just haved the most FABULOUS idea.” And before I could inquire what it was, or correct her grammar like the asshole I am, she grabbed this book, ran out to the deck and started reading:

An avid reader (read: memorizer) of all things Frog and Toad.

The story she read to our little plants was, of course, The Garden, wherein Frog gives Toad some seeds to start a garden and Frog plants them and impatiently awaits their arrival. I know she’s my kid so I’m incredibly biased, but it was the cutest dang thing you ever did see. So cute that I thought: I shall get my phone and record this for all the internets to see how superiorly adorable my girl-child is. And it IS a really cute video, except right in the middle of it Keaton had to use the bathroom so I told him to go ahead and go. Only I didn’t realize the bathroom door was closed and (THANK GOD FOR SMALL FAVORS) he still can’t open our doors. So out comes Keaton to let me know he can’t get in, but he’d already undressed so he was butt nekkid from the waist down, wiener hanging in the wind, for all the world to see right in the middle of the adorably cute scene.

Now the video went from cute to hilarious but not exactly for internet consumption. My son will, I’m sure, have to forgive me for a lot of things but I’m not sure if posting his wienerhausen on the internet would be one of them. So we’re just keeping it to our friends and relatives to be safe. And probably future prom dates. We’ll wait and see how much he pisses me off as a teenager before I make that decision.

"NOW SEEDS, START GROWING!"

Our half a tree is full of pink buds, ready to unfurl into white blossoms any day now. This is very exciting, as the week or two it flowers is the only time this Stepford neighborhood looks appealing to me.

The biggest hit of this spring has been taking the shopping cart out to buy dandelions.

I am FILTHY RICH in dandelions. Try not to be envious.

Rowan, pickiest of picky eaters, surprised me by not only trying cantaloupe but using it as her main form of sustenance the last week.

We've already hit up almost all of the local parks, and the kids have played really great together- a huge change from last fall when they would dart in different directions leaving me to tend to one while praying that the other wasn't being kidnapped or dangling precariously off playground equipment.

So we're rocking spring and loving that it came a few weeks early this year. As Rowan says, "We're pretty lucky to have a earfh".

Keaton thinks so, too.

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Last weekend Rowan and I decided to try our luck at container gardening so we picked up a few pots, some soil and a variety of seeds whose packages promised us they would grow- Even at the murderous thumbs of me, who seem to kill green things just by showing up in the same room. Yesterday Rowan ran in from our little deck where we had lined the plants up and said, “Mom! I just haved the most FABULOUS idea.” And before I could inquire what it was, or correct her grammar like the asshole I am, she grabbed this book, ran out to the deck and started reading:

An avid reader (read: memorizer) of all things Frog and Toad.

The story she read to our little plants was, of course, The Garden, wherein Frog gives Toad some seeds to start a garden and Frog plants them and impatiently awaits their arrival. I know she’s my kid so I’m incredibly biased, but it was the cutest dang thing you ever did see. So cute that I thought: I shall get my phone and record this for all the internets to see how superiorly adorable my girl-child is. And it IS a really cute video, except right in the middle of it Keaton had to use the bathroom so I told him to go ahead and go. Only I didn’t realize the bathroom door was closed and (THANK GOD FOR SMALL FAVORS) he still can’t open our doors. So out comes Keaton to let me know he can’t get in, but he’d already undressed so he was butt nekkid from the waist down, wiener hanging in the wind, for all the world to see right in the middle of the adorably cute scene.

Now the video went from cute to hilarious but not exactly for internet consumption. My son will, I’m sure, have to forgive me for a lot of things but I’m not sure if posting his wienerhausen on the internet would be one of them. So we’re just keeping it to our friends and relatives to be safe. And probably future prom dates. We’ll wait and see how much he pisses me off as a teenager before I make that decision.

"NOW SEEDS, START GROWING!"

Our half a tree is full of pink buds, ready to unfurl into white blossoms any day now. This is very exciting, as the week or two it flowers is the only time this Stepford neighborhood looks appealing to me.

The biggest hit of this spring has been taking the shopping cart out to buy dandelions.

I am FILTHY RICH in dandelions. Try not to be envious.

Rowan, pickiest of picky eaters, surprised me by not only trying cantaloupe but using it as her main form of sustenance the last week.

We've already hit up almost all of the local parks, and the kids have played really great together- a huge change from last fall when they would dart in different directions leaving me to tend to one while praying that the other wasn't being kidnapped or dangling precariously off playground equipment.

So we're rocking spring and loving that it came a few weeks early this year. As Rowan says, "We're pretty lucky to have a earfh".

Keaton thinks so, too.

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Keeping things alive is not my forte. I murdered at least 40 indoor plants in my hay day. Listen, it was never intentional so it was more like manslaughter or 2nd degree plantslaughter. I tried HARD to keep them alive- even resorting to reading them Dickens while playing classical music but man the longest they’d last was three weeks and by that third week there was maybe 12.6% greenery left on the things and CHRIST, DICKENS QUIT KILLING MY PLANTS.

I really wanted to be one of those people who could grow things, to cultivate life and surround myself with it. Alas. I was only the poor things’ guide to Hades and though I felt guilty, I persisted. I always had an excuse as to why the plants never thrived in my care. It must have been the indirect sunlight, acidic water, expired soil, angle of the couch in correlation with the alignment of Saturn and Venus and/or invisible plant eating caterpillars.  But mostly I blamed the cats. I swear Monkey would give a plant the evil eye and I would find it dead the next morning.

We admit to nothing without a lawyer present, and even then probably not. Yawn.

We admit to nothing without a lawyer present, and even then probably not. Yawn.

In the end I gave up not because I felt bad for murdering plants but because I was afraid if I went back to the greenhouse where I purchased the last round (a round they assured me was unable to be killed by anything short of actually pouring poison in them instead of water) they would arrest me or at the very least take my picture and hang it up on their Do Not Sell Plants To The Following Idiots tack board of fame. So I was shamed out of becoming a Plant Lady which I thought would have complimented the Crazy Cat Lady persona I already had well established, quite nicely.

We bounced from apartment to apartment to apartment, none of which had a space for planting anything outside. Our townhome has maybe a 10 foot squared patch of grass with a tree that is still alive and actually in very beautiful full spring bloom right now but I have to give the credit for that, the grass and the bushes to the nice men who come once a week ALWAYS DURING NAP TIME to cut (NNNRRRrrrRRRrrrRRR), trim (BUZZZzzzZZZzzzZZZ) and blow (VVVvvvVVVvvvVVV) these things.

Our tree a week ago...

Our tree a week ago...

Our tree today. Pretty but still totally not worth the BZzzVRRRRNnnNNrr's during naptime.

Our tree today. Pretty but still not worth the BZzzVRRRRNnnNNrr's during naptime.

Gratuitous diaper butt shot.

Gratuitous diaper butt shot.

Rowan is enthralled with flowers (or “flafoos” as she called them when she was still saying cute things that didn’t include “YOU pick them up if you don’t want them there, MOM.”) so I feel like I should be cultivating a love for planting and growing. She got me this little number for mothers day:

Why yes that is a used corn dog stick and a twisty-tie holding it up. Am the MacGruber of plant life.

Why yes that is a used corn dog stick and a twisty-tie holding it up. Am the MacGruber of plant life.

Unfortunately we don’t have a yard to play around with, and I don’t really want to spend a bunch of money on soil and pots and flafoos that are going to die within 10 minutes of touching my poisoned thumbs. Enter grandma. I’ve heard they are good for these sorts of situations.

My mom has a beautiful yard with tons of annuals Rowan can help plant and perennials that she can watch sprout anew and grow throughout the summer. She asked, with huge smiling eyes if she would be able to help Grammy plant and squealed with reckless abandon when I told her that today was the day we could do it. I thought I had found a nice way to get Rowan involved without have to kill any of God’s good creations. I WIN!

Rowan's very favorite flower, Bleeding Hearts.

Rowan's very favorite flower, Bleeding Hearts.

Right now they are praying my affliction isn't hereditary.

Right now they are praying my affliction isn't hereditary.

Then we got to Grammy’s and Rowan was all EFF YOU PLANT LIFE I HAVE MY MINION LITTLE PONIES TO PUT IN LINE AND BOSS AROUND. So guess who got stuck planting shit. I probably should have warned my mom she was giving her Lily of the Valley’s a death sentence when she asked me to transplant them, but it all worked out because I hope those suckers bite it. They did not wish to be transplanted and fought my shovel with there spiny but surprisingly hearty roots and now I am full of dirt and I saw more worms and snaily type things than I ever really wanted to see and this one bush kept pricking the back of my calves and this other asshole had needle-like thorns that totally punctured my thumb and now I think I have leprosy on the inside of my elbow.

See? Totally lepracy. Or heat rash. No, definitly plant induced lepracy. (Also? It's really hard to take a picture of the inside of your elbow.)

See? Totally leprosy. Or heat rash. No, definitely plant induced leprosy. (Also? It's really hard to take a picture of the inside of your elbow.)

Now squint really hard. It's hard to see but that thorn is probably going to cause my thumb to fall off.

Now squint really hard. It's hard to see but that thorn is probably going to cause my thumb to fall off. I think they call this IRONY.

Clearly the dozens of plant lives I took in the earlier part of this decade have been biding their time and now are trying to take me down, like for good, preventing any future plant deaths (this might be where the Terminator franchise should venture next).

Other highlights include a picture of my sister’s thong underwear but I thought better of posting that one since she maybe knows some stuff that I wouldn’t want her to tell the wide world in retaliation of said thong picture.Don’t worry, Em! I deleted it. Probably.

During the writing of this post at least one plant dies. That would be this one. Sorry, Rowan!

During the writing of this post at least one plant died. That would be this one. Sorry, Rowan!

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