Thursday, June 30, 2011

I Swear It Was The Toddler

I was woken up yesterday morning by an action figure to my cheekbone.

This guy, to be exact:

Those action figures are DENSE.  I'm thinking it was the boot, but whatever part it was, it split the skin and gave me a black undereye. 

Right after it happened it didn't look too bad:

But by the end of the day it looked like someone had walloped me a good one:

Then this morning I was woken up by Mason's head slamming into my mouth, splitting the inside of my upper lip and causing a LOT of bleeding.  I swear, that kid has the hardest head, which is good for him but bad for me.

Throughout the day it's gotten worse, and now it's a blood blistery, swollen mess.   

I was supposed to go to a Bloggers event tonight, but opted to stay home and nurse the part of ego that's attached to how I look.  And I wouldn't be much use at an event that involves talking anyway, since I've developed an odd mumble to minimize pain causing lip movement. 

We've decided that it's time for Mason to start sleeping in his own bed.  My heart hurts a little at the thought of him sleeping on his own, but my face hurts more.

Sunday, June 26, 2011

Best Use Of Permanent Mounting Tape EVER

I get such a kick out of this commercial, because it could totally happen.   

Both of my kids like to run off with my phone and leave it in the wildest places.  Like: 

  • on the floor behind the toilet
  • in my daughter's underwear drawer
  • inside a Ziploc baggie box
  • tucked among the bags of pasta in the pantry
  • behind the couch cushion
  • in a DVD holder
  • on a ledge UNDER the kitchen table (part of the leaf system)
  • in the linen closet inside a folded towel
  • on the patio in the stroller basket
  • in my daughter's toy cash register
  • in my laptop

It's a miracle my phone stayed on every single time and I was able to call and track it down by listening for it's ring. 

Though I must admit that half the time I call it, it ends up being right in front of me.  Or in my hand.  That's right, one time I lost my phone and didn't realize until I'd dialed my number that I was calling myself ON MY PHONE. 

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

The Loudmouth Wife's Take On Soccer

Gilberto's soccer team, Santos, just scored a goal.

How do I know?  Well, there was the traditional shouting of GOAL GOAL GOAL, followed by lots of excited swearing in Portuguese.  And a yelp from Gabi as he scooped her up for a huge bear hug. 

I only heard all of this, though, because I've been banished upstairs for talking too loudly during the game. I swear I was only whispering, but it was still too much for his nerves to handle.  You see, he has to be on top of his game, without distractions from his annoyingly loud wife, or his team might feel it and lose.

Funny how I can talk at almost a yell trying to get his attention on a normal day without even a blink of recognition, but come time for his beloved team's soccer game and my whispering drives him mad.

If Santos loses tonight, he will hold me entirely responsible.  The next time we're in Brazil we'll have to hang a dead chicken from a tree branch and have the Priest sprinkle holy water over me to cleanse me of my sin.  And I won't even be able to laugh at the absurdity of it all, since Brazilians take their superstitions and cures very seriously.  I mean, VERY seriously. 

One time I told Gilberto not to get so hyped up, that it was just a ball getting kicked around, and he made me take it back in both English and Portuguese and kiss the Santos badge on his shirt three times. 

Another goal!!  GOAL!  SWEAR WORD!  GOAL!  SWEAR WORD!  GOAL!  

He's already on the phone with his mom.  All of his immediate family members root for different teams, so whenever one of their teams scores, that person immediately gets on the phone to rub it in to everyone else.  We get a lot of calls from Brazil for the sole purpose of gloating.

It's apparently a HUGE game.  Some sort of final?  And if they win, his team can add a third star to their shirts?  And the last time they got a star it was in the '50s?  Or '60s?  And it needs to be a gold star, not a silver star?  Oh, and it's like a world domination championship, but NOT The World Cup?   

I've actually never seen Gilberto this excited about a game before.  He's dressed from head to toe in Santos gear, even thought it's 80 degrees in the house and the only Santos socks he has are made of wool.  WHY a country that's as hot and humid as Brazil even knows what wool is is beyond me. 

And... Santos wins!  Gilberto is dancing around the living room with Gabi, singing the Santos song.

Me: Gilberto!  Are you going to have to replace all of your two star shirts with three star ones?  How much money are we talkin'?

Gilberto: Laurinha!  Come down and join us!  You don't have to worry about your loud mouth anymore!

Me: I was asking about the SHIRTS and not my loud mouth, thank you very much!

Gilberto: Don't be mad, sweetheart!  And don't worry, I'll only get one shirt.  Or two.  Well, maybe three.  Three's not bad! 

Not bad at $100 a shirt?  I'm glad I'm not going to have to do some weird Catholic voodoo forgiveness ritual now, but I'm not looking forward to adding more expensive soccer getup to the closet.

Oh, and I've just been informed that there is more excitement ahead!  Santos will now be playing Japan, or in Japan, for World Domination bragging rights and a GOLD STAR.  So I guess the whole chicken thing might still happen.