This Is Hard...

I mainly use social media as an outlet for my sense-of-humor.  Unlike most, I do want to see pictures of your children and spectacular vacations.  I do not want to see that you are a bigot.  Controversy, and the very thought of being attacked for my point-of-view, terrifies me.  I do not want to offend anyone regardless of the fact many offend me (and poor Marcus gets to hear all about it when he comes home).  For me, social media is not the time or place for arguments and such anonymous, typed-out, meme-producing vitriol takes away from the oftentimes very serious subject matter.  Sadly, that subject matter is even more oftentimes about the senseless loss of life.

I cannot explain why the 49 people who lost their lives at a nightclub in Orlando has affected me so deeply, especially given the number of daily terrorist attacks worldwide.  When the Paris attacks happened I was saddened and wanted to write but didn't.  When the San Bernardino shootings occurred I wanted to speak-out but didn't.  I remember watching social media and was astounded at the divisiveness events such as those created.  I wanted it to be known that I am a woman, liberal, gun-owning, tax-paying, college educated, mother, anti-feminist, hard-working, bra-burning, welfare/social services proponent, breast feeding advocate, Christian, believer of Evolution Theory, I-don't-care-who-uses-the-restroom-stall-next-to-me, Climate Change activist, and lover of ALL peoples (despite differences) but I was too scared to say it.

I have quite a few family and friends who are part of the LGBQT community and maybe that is why the Orlando shootings have hurt so deeply.  No matter your sexuality, the weekend is a time for rest and relaxation.  At one point for me, that meant bars and nightclubs.  Personally, I enjoyed the gay bars the most because that was where I could go and dance and not be harassed.  I also secretly relished the glowing admiration of my shoes or nails by the regular patrons.  It was also a sign of a potential significant other's character if he could go to a gay bar and not feel uncomfortable.

I've been reading some of the thoughts my more tolerant social media friends have had to say on the subject of the Orlando murders and one thing has occurred to me:  To not voice an opinion is to validate the hatred.  To not voice an opinion is to sit back and indirectly teach my children that hatred is tolerable.  I cannot stand for it any longer.

So, here is where I do stand, and here is where you can take issue:  I do not care if you are a law-abiding gun-owner because I am one as well (and a liberal to boot, imagine that?!).  I do not care if you are afraid of your right to the Second Amendment being taken away because it never will be.  I do not care if you find homosexuality to be a sin because "...love is love is love is love is love is love is love is love..." (Lin-Manuel Miranda, 2016).  I do not care if you believe all Muslims are evil because they are not.

I do care about stopping these atrocities and getting guns out of the hands of those who want to kill me or anyone I love.  I do care that with inactivity this will directly affect me one day and I will lose a loved one.  I do care that my FUCKING (sorry, mamma bear coming out) FOUR YEAR OLD participates in ACTIVE SHOOTER drills at her school.  I do care that your supposed Christian beliefs hold you to certain truths but not to all.  Finally, I do care that I am raising children who may one day be the difference.  I pray that they find their passion and become genuine, kind, and compassionate unlike so many.

Making Friends: A Sad Story

As my many adoring fans know (Hi, mom!), we've moved a few times in the past three years.  In 2013 we left the comforts of Fredericksburg, VA and moved to Jacksonville, NC.  My impression of Jacksonville as a whole can be summed-up in a contemptuous facial expression and we'll leave it at that.  This past summer we moved to Williamsburg, VA and I have enjoyed this change of scenery so much more.  This, however, is not the point of the post.  Making friends is the point of this post.  Every so often someone will ask if I've made any friends and every single time the answer is "no."

Making friends as an adult is f*cking hard.  It's not like I can get up in someone's face and ask if they want to play hide-and-seek with me, thus initiating a lifelong friendship.  Making friends is made even harder when you're an introvert.  For starters, I truly enjoy spending my time at home no matter how much I want to murder all of the living creatures that reside in it.  Putting myself out there is hard when I don't physically go anywhere, anyway.  I also feel like I'm a victim of "Resting B*tch Face" and, given my propensity for absolute silence, this can certainly only be viewed by outsiders as unfriendly.  Then, when I do come out of my shell, I tend to talk about things nobody cares about and probably tell them highly inappropriate information that leaves them wondering who the hell they just came into contact with and whether the authorities should be involved (and if I've asked them to play hide-and-seek the authorities will certainly be getting involved).

We lived in Jacksonville for three years and I can count on no fingers how many friends I made.  I was friendly and tried putting myself out there.  One time I was asked to join a mom running group that rotated homes and watched each other's children.  I went once.  That was hard.  I gave myself pep talks the whole night before and while driving over the next morning.  For me to go to a complete stranger's home and try and make myself comfortable is vomit inducing but I did it.  It's moments like these that I rely heavily on my children as a sort of shield.  If you see me in public, white knuckling my child's shoulder and constantly stroking her hair it's because I'm highly uncomfortable and somehow, she's protecting me from the horrors of human contact. 

Anyway, that afternoon after I left the first and last running group I'll ever join, I got the distinct impression one in the group didn't like me.  The second time I tried to go I was running late and when I got to the house nobody answered the door.  Later, I saw the person who was at the house (the one whom I gathered was not a fan of mine) was posting pictures on Facebook at about the same time I was standing at the door with my two girls in tow, a lunch for them packed.  No matter how unsubstantiated my feelings were, my paranoid-self just knew that she did not answer the door on purpose and I felt like I had entered the Mean Girls club.  Of course, the fact that she was surrounded by about five children with the TV turned-on meant absolutely nothing to me.  Needless to say the girls and I continued our regular, solo, running routine though deviated slightly on the days I knew the mom running group would be in the neighborhood.

So, yes, my attempts at making friends have been nothing short of pathetic.  I've met plenty of women here in Williamsburg that I think would make great friends but how do I put myself out there?  I've met other mom's at some of the girls' activities and we've hit if off but how does one ask another woman for her digits?  What if, after spending more time together she realizes what a weirdo-with-really-strong-opinions-about-almost-everything I am?  It's like dating but way, way worse because I'm probably not even getting free dinner out of the deal.  I've been seeing a dermatologist for the past few months and today I realized we had a lot in common.  But, again, how do I ask if she wants to be my friend?  Should I do it as she's looking between my butt cheeks for abnormal moles or should I wait until later?  Later.

Pissed

Back to feeling like a failure.  Jo's temper tantrums have escalated and my own as well.  I feel bad for myself, for Jo, and for Alex who is witness to the almost daily battles.  I know as the moment progresses and Jo continues down her path of not listening and continual screaming and kicking that it will go one of two ways:  I will be successful or I will cross-over and tantrum along with her.  95% of the time it is the former and 100% of that time I fall into a mother induced depression as I know my actions are affecting all.

Currently, Jo is asleep in the bed that she tore apart after a 45 minute battle that began when I asked her to return an item she had taken from her sister.  Until she kicked me in the groin I was able to more or less hold it together.  At that point I screamed, she screamed, and Alex went downstairs to escape.

I am pissed.  I am pissed because I don't know what to do for Jo.  I am pissed because I know my actions are inappropriate for helping her.  I am pissed because I will be judged for this behavior of mine.  I am pissed because no matter how successful I feel one day I take a giant leap back the next.

Dear Husband

Dear Husband,

If you do not have a youngest daughter by the time you get home from work do not be surprised.  She would not, WOULD NOT, get out of bed until after 8 this morning.  Although, to her credit, she was technically the first of the children out of bed when she briefly got out to scream and writhe around on the floor because I turned on the little lamp.  Once her stance on morning lighting was thoroughly discussed she got back into bed, stuffing herself and all of her lovies as far under the covers as possible.  I was set to let her ride in the car wearing pajamas but, eventually, she did get out of bed and got herself dressed.  There was a slight issue with her cowgirl boots being 1/4 of an inch unzipped which led to them being taken away completely.  After she got over the loss of the boots, she made her way to the breakfast table where her attitude slightly changed upon seeing the delicious donut her older sister was eating.  She came thisclose to not getting a donut.  The ride to and from dropping off her sister at school was fairly uneventful.  However, upon returning home, she refused to get out of the car because I killed a spider with her rain boot and she wanted to do it with her bare hands.  At the moment, TV is not an option and so she is going around finding things that she thinks will bother me.  For example, she yells "I'm going to mess this up!" and she moves the pumpkins on the fireplace around.  Currently, she has put herself in her room so I will sit here while I can and sip my coffee and eat my own donut.

Love,
Your Wife Who Will Be Running Away Soon

High Aspirations

Tonight we are getting Alexandra ready for her first day of pre-kindergarten. I put together a little sign for her to hold like every other parent does (I have no original thought) and I wanted to include a line stating what she wanted to be when she grew up. Her response? A "grown-up" and a "dishwasher."

Needless to say I did not include that line.

Not For The Faint Of Heart

I have not posted much about the house we moved into but, suffice to say, it's been a stressful draining depressing interesting adventure.  The entire house is in need of updating and that's not even including the massive amount of outside work that needs to be completed.

Prior to moving in I stressed the importance of a few items being taken care of before I even considered staying one night.  We installed new carpet on the second floor and had the entire second floor painted.  That made a big difference and I've been dealing with the less than ideal bathrooms and such.

However, I think it's time the bathrooms start receiving their long overdue makeover.  It isn't because the girl's sink is completely broken and therefore can't be used.  Nor is it because in the master bathroom the tub isn't even hooked-up to water.  No, it's because the toilets can't handle little girl poops and, as I write this I gag, I found myself this evening cutting up poop in order for it to flush down the toilet.

I refuse to live my life cutting poop.  We will be getting new toilets this weekend.

Sick Babies

Both kiddos have been sick lately and as such have come to expect certain pleasantries like vaporub on their backs, extra love and attention, and a coveted spot in bed with mommy.  Also, as it just so happens, it seems like every time the girls are sick Marcus is on travel and therefore I'm left alone running between bathrooms trying to take temperatures and provide medicine without cross contamination.

I don't usually let the girls sleep with me but when they're sick it's just easier to take care of them as they wake constantly and cry for me.  Alex was in bed with me for a few days, down with a fever, followed closely by Jo who developed a high fever and runny nose.  Despite having only been sick for one night by the time Marcus was back home, Jo must have grown accustomed to her new status as co-sleeper in mommy's bed because at dinner the night Marcus came home she asked "Is daddy going to sleep in our bed?"

As it just so happens, later that night daddy slept in Jo's bed and she came into bed with me. 

A Killer Amongst Us

I do not frequently remember my dreams and rarely do I write about them.  They have to be truly weird for me to talk about them at all.  My dream last night wasn't necessarily "truly weird" but after I woke-up and thought about it I realized it was horrifying.

In my dream I was back home in Fredericksburg in the parking lot of a CVS.  Why such detail, I have no idea.  It was cold, dark, and snowing and I was attempting to get into someone's car.  However, there was a huge, grey lion that kept lunging at me (and ONLY me) and preventing me from doing so.  Every time I thought I was safe the grey lion would appear and come after me.  I was always able to escape but eventually I grew weary of the shenanigans.

Finally, someone suggested I call 9-1-1 and so I did.  The firemen came to my rescue and captured the grey lion, though they gave it some other name that I can't remember anymore, and I was able to get in the car and leave.  Obviously, it was at this point that I awoke.

After waking up and releasing the anxiety and stress that comes from constantly eluding a lion in one's dreams I realized something.  The lion was grey.  Lasagna is grey.  The lion was constantly trying to kill me.  Lasagna is constantly trying to kill me.  The lion was Lasagna.  That sneaky b*tch snuck into my dreams and manifested herself as a lion which she most certainly thinks she is.  I'm assuming since she can now apparently get into my mind I should start sleeping with one eye open. 

The look of a killer.

Midwest Vs. East Coast

Last night Marcus and I got into a debate about whether it would be appropriate for a 15-year-old to hang-out and spend time with an 8-year-old.  I am of the opinion that, and no matter the sex of the person, a 15-year-old has no business playing with an 8-year-old unless I am paying them to do so (i.e. babysitting...I realize that sounded funny).  Marcus did not agree.  He claimed that as long as the child is of good character their age is of little importance.

We went 'round and 'round, both of us stuck on our main issue.  I was adamant that any 15-year-old who does not have friends of their own age might have developmental or psychological issues that could affect a younger child.  He did not follow.  Finally, exasperated, I asked him exactly what he was doing at 15-years-old to which he replied "I don't know.  Catching frogs, building forts..." Aha!  And there we had it.  While Huckleberry Finn was growing up, innocent in the Midwest, I was on the East coast behaving like your more typical 15-year-old:  Daydreaming about boys, reading "Seventeen" magazine, and possibly  definitely already having had my first sip of alcohol.

I'm not sure if we really concluded the debate except that we both agreed we lived two very different lives prior to meeting each other.  I just hope he doesn't expect our girls to be building forts at 15.

Alex Says...

I've been meaning to write down some of the things Alexandra says.  She's been cracking us up lately with her smart responses and ideas on how the way things work.  Alex is a very serious little girl and oftentimes will tell us information with such conviction that we wonder if what she's saying is true.  She recently told us that there was a certain type of horse that only came out at night and as she told us with such a straight face we thought for a brief second she just might be right.

The other day I heard her trying to play a game with her little sister called "Jesus and God."  My ears perked up when I heard this and started paying attention.  While we do go to church we don't often discuss God or Jesus so I was curious to hear her rendition.  Essentially, she wanted Josephine to be God and to lead her, "Jesus," on the donkey.  Josephine wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of playing God and she kept telling her sister so.  However, Alex being her usual level of bossy, finally led an exasperated Josephine to say "I don't want to be God.  God is turning into Elsa."  That was the end of "God and Jesus" as interpreted by Alexandra.

One day recently we passed an old cemetery and Alex asked what it was.  I explained to her that when people die they sometimes like to be buried underground in a cemetery.  For whatever reason I then felt it necessary to tell her my and Marcus's wish when we die.  I said to Alex "When mommy and daddy die we want you to turn us into diamonds" to which she replied "But mommy, I don't know how to do that!"  I laughed and said "Well, no, I know that.  We want you to pay someone to do it" to which she then replied "But I don't have any money!"  I was blown away by her logic and only slightly disturbed by her lack of concern at the thought of mommy and daddy one day dying.

On the way home one evening, all four of us in the car, I was talking to Marcus about watching the movie Ghostbusters and how scary it was.  I mentioned that if Alex had woken up and seen some it she might have been scared.  This immediately peaked her interest and we soon had twenty questions hurtling our way about a movie she had no concept of.  When I told her that I didn't think she was old enough to watch the movie because it had scary ghosts in it she said, in all seriousness, "I'm not afraid of any ghosts" which naturally started a fit of laughter in the front of the car despite the fact she was not aware of how ironically funny her statement was.

Unlike most women, I do not believe that becoming a mother has made me a better person.  I scream, I curse, I experience intense feelings of rage, and I fall into depressions.  I feel guilty every waking moment that I'm not being the person I should be for my children.  I don't do arts and crafts with them, I don't bake or cook with them, I hardly teach them anything at all.

Lately, a good day has been waking up, feeding them at least twice a day, and enforcing naptime with an iron fist.  Neither of my girls knows what its like not to have a mommy who yells and screams at them; who constantly threatens with swats on the bottom, time-outs, or the removal of a beloved item.

I've come to realize the oldest is scared of me.  She had a potty accident at the store one evening and told her dad not to tell mommy.  My anger and inability to control it has clearly affected her and I don't know how to change it.  When every move as a mother is imparted as a lesson for the children it occurs to me that I'm failing miserably as my children have learned nothing but fear and how to scream at each other rather than talking calmly when conflict arises.

This is not to say that my love for my children isn't strong.  I know that somehow, despite my failures, they do know I love them and we share tender moments sporadically through the day.  I meet their needs as best I can.  I just don't know if my best is good enough. 

Anatomy 101

The following few phrases have literally left my lips:


"Ladies, please stop spreading each other's butt cheeks."


"That's enough with kissing each other's butts."


"Jo, if your vagina were green we would have serious problems." (I'm fairly certain this comes from her confusing the color red and green)


"Don't put your hand in your butt at the dinner table, sweetie."


"Wait, where did you say you were going to put that?  No, do not put that in your butt.  We do not put things in our butts."


Obviously, anatomy is a large part of our day.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel

To update anyone who cares (all one of you) the family is packing-up and shipping-out to Williamsburg, VA.  First of all, our current home has been on the market since December in anticipation of a summer move and we were surprised when we got an offer last week.  We were not expecting the house to sell so quickly given the amount of competition and lack of buyers but, barring any catastrophes, the new owners sign the papers on 30 March.  Secondly, and shortly after a contract was signed to sell our home, Marcus was offered and accepted a new position.  So, while we have managed for one of us to be continuously employed we will be homeless.

Once we knew Marcus had the job we quickly worked into our schedule (as in Marcus rearranged his schedule and the girls and I just did what we do every day but in a different place) a visit to Williamsburg.  Marcus and I spent two days looking at homes without one of them looking like a remote possibility.  Of course, we have two different ideas of what we are looking for.  Marcus wants an investment property and I also want an investment property but one that the family can move into right away and be comfortable.  I have been investment property hunting with Marcus before and while all of the houses had a floor (yes, we once looked at a potential purchase that did not have a FLOOR), none of them would be adequate for the girls and I to live in for quite some time; I am still getting the stench of one out of my nostrils.

Both of us are feeling kind of dejected about the housing prospects in Williamsburg but we know if we bide our time that something will come up.  So, as a result of everything happening at a break-neck speed and having almost no time to buy a home even if one were good enough to move into, the girls and I will be moving-in with my mom at the beginning of April and Marcus will be a geo-bachelor spending his time between Jacksonville, Norfolk, and Fredericksburg.  This is not an ideal situation and having Marcus gone so much is going to be miserable but at least we will have my mom and will be close to Marcus's parents (not to mention all of our friends that I have missed terribly).

So, in honor of our quickly approaching move I have compiled a list of both the positives and negatives of having lived in Jacksonville, or, living the "Salt-Life" as 99.9% of the vehicles around here will have you believe.

1.  This will probably sound strange but I am going to miss the sight of helicopters and MV-22 Osprey flying around.  No matter how many times the girls and I see them we stop and watch as they fly overhead.  What I will not miss are the "sounds of freedom" such as mortar blasts beginning at 7 in the morning and running through to midnight. 

2.  I am going to miss the flat running terrain that is the beach.  The lone hill in the area is about as challenging as walking up the stairs and I am pretty sure my children could run up and down it for days.  I will not miss the daily 30 mph winds that seemingly have no direction and are constantly blowing me back as I try to push a double jogging stroller which is pretty much like wearing one of those flying squirrel suits and running through a wind tunnel.

3.  I am not going to miss living in the jacked-up truck mecca of the United States.  Which leads me to a personal pet peeve which is, if you do drive a jacked-up truck at least know how to park the damn thing in order to not take up more space than you already do.  Anyway, half of the trucks around here have fake diesel exhaust pipes on the back and some sort of slightly offensive slogan plastered on the window.  I suppose one positive aspect of having giant exhaust pipes shooting straight into the air is that the rest of us lowly little car drivers are being saved the carbon monoxide being blown directly in our faces as we sit at a traffic light.

4.  Speaking of driving, I will not miss the sound of motorcycles riding by.  I can hear them when they get to the end of the neighborhood and turn onto the main road revving as hard and as fast as they possibly can.  I still cannot believe I have not heard one crash which I suppose is a positive.

5.  I will miss the house we live in.  Our house has been the only thing I honestly love about living in Jacksonville.  It is the perfect size and layout for our family and the girls have done quite a bit of growing-up in it.  I imagine it will be the first house Alex remembers living in, though Jo will probably not remember it as she grows older.  Nothing has proven to us just how much we love this house than the last few days, looking at less than ideal homes.

Sinterklaas

Given the fact that the girls are 50% Dutch (with a smattering of many other European ethnicities thanks to my genes) we were encouraged to practice the Dutch tradition of Sinterklaas.  Marcus vaguely recalls Sinterklaas visiting when he was a child but I'm not entirely sure this is an actual Tepaske tradition because, also according to Marcus, he was a saint as a child.

Anyway, I started talking to the girls about who Sinterklaas was (though did not include information about Zwarte Piet which apparently wasn't such a bad idea since he is apparently a figure of consternation for everyone else except the Dutch people).  This proved to be a challenge mostly because Alexandra is in her question everything stage.  I was forced to hit such hard-hitting questions such as:

Alexandra: "Where does Sinterklaas live?"
Me: "He lives with Santa Claus in the North Pole."

Followed by my personal favorite:
Alexandra: "Is he Santa Claus's husband?"
Me: "No, he's his cousin."

Alexandra: "Does he have a car?"
Me: "No, he has a horse, which is way cooler."
Alexandra: "Yeah."

Alexandra: "Is he coming to our house?"
Me: "He's going to visit us tomorrow night and leave little gifts in your wooden shoes."

Josephine then interjected with: "I don't like him, Sinterklaas, no." (We're working on sentence structure)

Alexandra: "What color is his hair?" "White." "What color are his gloves?" "Purple." "What color is his cape?" "Red." "What color is his horse?" "White." (This is while we color a picture of Sinterklaas on his horse, Amerigo.  Also, to note, the only reason I even knew the answer to any of these questions is I had to Google it...hence the reason I know the horse's name)

The conversation dwindled from there as we finished working on our Sinterklaas coloring pages.

This morning the girls woke up though didn't immediately think of Sinterklaas.  We finally pointed out that he had visited us after they had breakfast and they opened the little gifts that were left in their wooden clogs.  In the end, I think Alexandra is less enamored with Sinterklaas though is thoroughly excited about Santa Claus's visit as she's just beginning to realize exactly what Christmas entails (read:  PRESENTS!), and Josephine is harboring major anxiety over the thought of a strange man lurking through the house despite the fact he's leaving PRESENTS!

Sinterklaas visits the Tepaske's

Josephine is Two!

Poor, Jo.  She turned two over ten days ago and I'm just now getting around to writing a little something about her crazy butt.  In my defense we've been on the go, traveling to Boston and back, and time has just simply gotten away from me.

So, where to start.  Josephine.  She is something.  She is strong-willed, loving, silly, weirdly aggressive, and growing up way too fast.  Her sentences consist of at least four words and she can clearly verbalize what she wants in either a normal tone of voice or by screaming as she is more likely to do.  She loves dogs but is scared to death when they get too close.  She is also still in the throes of "stranger danger" and has been for a very long time.  While she exudes confidence the minute she thinks we're abandoning her she becomes a mess.  We have noticed a small change in that it takes about five minutes for her to get over it rather than 50 so that's promising.

Josephine will only do what Josephine wants to do though, with a little bargaining, she generally comes around.  Time-outs are a daily threat for her and she's beginning to realize that there are times when mommy means business.  Naturally, I understand this is also a stage of toddlerhood but she has a little more emphasis behind her stubbornness than Alex ever did.

She loves her big sister.  Anything Alex does Jo does.  She wants to be next to her at all times and often, after she wakes from her nap, the first thing she wants to know is where her sissy is.  They do get along very well, though have their fair share of fights as any couple would.  This afternoon, for example, Jo was particularly upset about something only she knows and I asked Alex to fetch Jo from where I had left her on the side of the house.  Less than a minute later they come around the corner, hand in hand, Jo with slight tears in her eyes but overall happy again.  That is all I can ask for as they grow; I wish this helping and caring relationship continues through the rest of their lives.

Josephine is silly.  Much sillier than Alex.  I tend to think of Alex as my "old soul."  She's more serious than most three-year-olds and her silly behavior sometimes comes across as forced.  Jo, on the other hand, she commands an audience for her antics and makes sure all are paying attention.  She eats doughnuts with her feet (something I allowed because we were at the beginning of a ten hour car ride), does interpretive dancing to any song, likes to make silly faces, sings along to songs, and overall loves to be the center of attention.

She is also strangely aggressive and often gets a wild eyed look as she's strangling me or wiping my face or "braiding" my hair.  Seriously.  I think she's out to get me and the look that crosses her face, as it changes from a loving little girl to possessed toddler, tells me as much.

Josephine is also a lot more girly than Alex.  She likes baby dolls, dressing-up, stuffed animals, and clothes and shoes.  She actually likes for me to do her hair, often asking that I braid it which is impossible yet I pretend as if I've done so...not sure how long I'll be able to pull that off.  She also recognizes Gap packages and quickly starts undressing in order to try on the new clothes.

In all it would be a lonely life without Josephine.  It would also be a quieter life but that's not such a big deal.  She's the perfect match for her big sissy and the perfect ending to our family.

Our little goofball

 

Thank Heaven For Little Girls

I've come to realize that one of the hardest parts about raising two little girls is less the fact that they are little girls and more the fact they have a daddy who is clueless about little girls.  Certain aspects of girldom simply mystify the lone male in our midst and he remains steadfast in his belief that certain things are not necessary.  For example, Alex has hair down the length of her back.  It's also baby fine but she has a lot of it.  As a result, it gets tangled and needs to be brushed at least twice a day, once in the morning and once after bath time.  One of the beauties of living in the modern age is that their are now products made specifically for helping get tangles out of hair.  However, getting Marcus to both agree that brushing hair is important and that using detangler makes it easier is like trying to understand why he should brush and detangle his own hair.  He just doesn't get the point.

Equally exasperating is his question for clothing and shoes.  I think if he had his way the girls would run around in their diaper and underwear forever.  The other day I allowed Alex to pick out a pair of shoes for the fall/winter.  She was really into a pair of fuchsia cowgirl boots but I subtly directed her towards a pair of brown cowgirl boots with pink trim (something that might actually match her clothes).  I thought her choice was cute and proudly showed them to Marcus who then questioned why she needed shoes at all.  So, along with running around in her skivvies I guess she could just attach some palm fronds to her feet with twine and we'd be good to go.

The other day we were talking about getting Jo's big girl bed together.  My mom gave us an old metal bed frame that needs to be cleaned and painted and I was starting to feel pressure to get it done.  However, Marcus reminded me that we could just put Jo's mattress on the floor in the meantime since she is still adjusting to not being in a crib.  He then proceeded to state that he didn't understand why the girl's needed bed frames at all and they could just sleep on mattresses on the floor.  I'm beginning to suspect he's a caveman in disguise.  

We Need A New Car

For starters I had been planning on writing a post about a vehicle.  It's just that I had planned on writing an ode to my vehicle, not this particular vehicle.

Remember that time three years ago when we had a newborn baby girl and I was stressing to Marcus that we needed a bigger and more reliable family car?  In response, Marcus brings home a ten-year-old, 100,000+ miles, saturated with cigarette smoke Jeep Grand Cherokee that he hassled the guy down so low on the price he practically gave it to us?  Then, a few short months later the front axle broke and we had to fork over $1,500 to fix it?  Then, less than a year ago we forked over another $1,000 to fix the AC thus totaling more money to fix it then how much we actually paid?  Doesn't ring a bell?

Well, regardless of whether you remember or not we now find ourselves needing a new car.  I'd like to say if Marcus hadn't been such as he is (read: cheap) then we would still have a family vehicle and I wouldn't find myself stuck at home with two little kids and no way to leave.  Leave with them, that is.  I should probably specify that.  I'd also like to say that if he had looked at the amazing spreadsheet I had made three years ago in an attempt to appeal to his nerdy engineer side we would still have a family vehicle.  Alas, none of the above is true and now Marcus must face the facts and purchase a somewhat nice, reliable, slightly-more-expensive-than-a-couple-grand vehicle.

So, we've been looking at cars and debating which is the best option for us.  The best part, and I mean it, is that Marcus has decided we should get the Tesla Model X, an SUV that is currently in production and with a starting price of around $75,000.  Who is this guy?  Naturally, I don't take him very seriously in this and I expect that we'll be cruising around in a 1971 Ford Pinto because it was a "good deal."

Birdie Head

I've been meaning to write a post about this but hadn't been able to come up with something witty to go along with it.  In the end, the picture speaks for itself and nothing I say can diminish it's awesomeness though that doesn't mean I won't try.

So, without further ado I present to you, Alexandra's "Birdie Head," dated June 2nd, 2014, in Play-Doh.

Of course, a piece of art such as this requires a proper critique:

The artist was clearly in an unencumbered state of mind, not concerned about the limits of her creativity.  As this was some of her earlier work, Alexandra was clearly still finding her own style, however, the attention to detail is impressive.  In fact, the texture given to the sculpture is realistic, and evokes Michelangelo or Rodin.  The brightness of the red makes one think that she may have been particularly happy to be creating and in a positive frame of mind.  The thing I find the most interesting of the sculpture is it's naivety and juvenile name "Birdie Head," as if the artist knew not what she was doing.


Tepaske's Birdie Head

Leaf Eating T. Rex

We may have inadvertently perpetuated a lie.  In our desire for our children to eat there is a chance we insinuated that the Tyrannosaurus Rex was a leaf-eater, though it's not completely our fault.  Alex was the one who stated the T. Rex, her most favorite of all the dinosaurs, ate leaves and she was now going to "eat leaves like a T. Rex."  Leaves, in this case, are anything resembling such, e.g. baby spinach, arugula, lettuce, broccoli, asparagus, etc.  Now, during meal time she asks Marcus to hold the "leaf" above her head so she can eat it like a T. Rex.  Of course, she's most certainly confusing the T. Rex and the Brontosaurus (or whatever they're called now) but who am I to correct a three-year-old?  Of course, this will all come back to bite us in the a$$ when she realizes that T. Rex's most certainly did not eat leaves and this will probably be a topic with her future therapist.  In the meantime she'll have excellent fiber, iron, and overall roughage in her diet.

How To Take A Picture Tepaske Style

I don't know who the folks are that have children who willingly smile for the camera.  Mine are not such children.  They're the worst when it comes to taking pictures and it generally involves taking about 200 in order to get just one worthy of viewing and sharing.  As a testament to this I present to you the chain of events leading-up to a relatively nice picture in this household:

Step 1:  Add unwilling children.

Step 2:  Attempt to exert some control by demanding children sit down.

Step 3:  Wait while cameraman takes an unflattering picture of you as the children do everything in their power not to look at the camera.



Step 4:  Allow children to assess the situation going-on at the back of your head during a hot and humid day and...

Step 5 (continued from Step 4):  ...add a delightful hairpiece.

Step 6:  Once children have been seated with an object to encourage them to behave (in this case a lighter and silly string...work with what you've got), have one of the subjects point to the camera just in case the children missed the point of the entire exercise.

 Step 7:  Warning:  The alpha female's role may be usurped by a lesser female of the pack. Refrain from making eye contact or smiling in an effort to discourage this type of behavior.  This is not an example of such.



Step 8:  Ensure all three subjects are looking at the camera by having the cameraman repeatedly call names and make an a$$ of himself from behind the camera.

 

Step 9:  Finally admit defeat and accept a picture with a toddler holding a lighter, a little girl giving her best "smile" while fully engrossed in silly string, and a mom looking pretty darn good as the best you're going to get and move-on with life.