The Spin CycleJanuary 2013 - The Spin Cycle

Archive for January 2013

Open Letter to Mom from The Small One

By Sue · Comments (31) · January 31st, 2013

Hey there, Facebooker! If you like it, then share it! It’s easy as shack bread with the little “Facebook” icon at the end of the post. Gracias!

Author’s Note: Today’s post has been supplied in large part by The Small One, who I picked up from school at noon on Wednesday with a low-grade fever. Inspired by Mama Kat’s Writing Workshop, I asked him to dictate an open letter to all women.

He refused.

I did, however, manage to elicit an open letter from him to me. In it, he waxes poetic about what I do well as his mother…along with a thing or two that he might change if he could.

Dear Mom,

I think that I should get more screen time. I only get an hour each day. Except for today. Because I’m sick and I deserve it.

I also want to talk about dinnertime. I’d like to have more of my favorite dinners. Like Ham & Shells. But you barely ever let us eat it because it’s not healthy. And even though you found out a way to make it healthier with milk instead of cream, you still don’t make it all that much, and that makes me kind of sad.

Pasta Shells with Peas and Ham via Food & Wine

There are some foods that I don’t want to have. Like the sausage soup thing. Actually, it’s not the soup I don’t like. It’s the sausage. Sausage belongs with pancakes, waffles, and other breakfast foods. But not in soup. That’s just odd.

Author’s Note: I approve whole-heartedly of this and all other Pinterest Foods about which I’ve written positive reviews.

And then there are the taquitos. They tasted like bread shacks. A bread shack is like a gingerbread house that’s gone rotten. Actually, any food that is way too crunchy can be a bread shack. Crunchy is usually good, like when it’s in apples and potato chips, but not in my main course. Way, way, WAY too crunchy. No more bread shack foods.

Baked Chicken Taquitos via Pinterest. A bread shack food. Who knew?

And then there’s most Pinterest Foods in general. What I don’t like about Pinterest Foods is that they’re usually completely bizarre and odd. They look nice, like in the pictures on your computer, but I feel different about Pinterest Foods when they’re lying there on my plate. Sometimes food can be as good as it looks, like nachos. But with most Pinterest Foods that is not true.

Sometimes I think about hiding your computer. This would be a good thing because then you wouldn’t get any more Pinterest Food ideas. But then that could also be a bad thing because you might miss your computer a lot and get really sad and then mad. Plus, how would my Cool Cat Press books for school get typed up? But it would be for a really good cause, so I think I might try hiding your computer anyway. You know, sometime when you’re not expecting it.

There’s one more thing: Punishments. When I get in trouble and you send me to my room, you press timer-eight-zero-zero-start on the microwave. That’s because I’m eight years old. I think it should be how old you are, minus two. I think that would be fine. Then The Twins would go to their rooms for nine minutes when they get in trouble, and I would go for six minutes. That is two more minutes that I would get to spend with my family that I love very much.

I do approve of some things, though. Like when I get sick at school. Like today. You wrap me up in the sickie blanket and gives me popsicles and juice in a sippy cup. I also like that you let me eat pretty much what I want except for dairy which can do harm to your stomach if it’s already upset. All of the extra T.V. and computer are very good, too. But I already told you that.

I just want to play Minecraft now, so I have to go.

Love,

The Small One

Comments (31)

Coming Out of the Closet

By Sue · Comments (42) · January 24th, 2013

Hey there, Facebooker! Do you Like Me yet?

It was Sunday. We always attend church as a family on Sundays.

But on this Sunday? It was not to be.

I was a bit too ~~lazy~~ comfy in my pjs. A tad ~~comatose~~ weary from the previous evening out with good friends. Longing to ~~crawl back into bed~~ enjoy an easy morning with my family in the comfort of our own home.

The Cherubs snuggled with me on the family room couch. I watched them as they watched the minutes on the wall clock tick by, thinking that I was unaware of the time and that they were pulling one over on me. And when the Moment of no Return – the time at which we would physically be unable to make it to the 11:00 service on time – arrived, they let out a collective whoop and began to tear about the house.

And the easy morning with my family came to a screeching halt.

My groom was in the pantry, mumbling with disdain. He backed his way out, tripping over a super-sized jar of canned tomatoes as he did so. He stifled curses under his breath.

It was Sunday, after all.

Aloud, he announced, “That’s it. It’s time to clean out the pantry…”

I winced. His words stung like a hornet’s tail end on my sensitive skin. Nonetheless, I rose and shuffled over to where he was standing to have a look inside.

“…As a family.” He finished.

At that juncture, I believe that I lost consciousness for an indeterminate period of time. I cannot completely account for all that transpired during my metaphorical absence. But the din of chaos brought me back to reality. Face down on the floor in front of the pantry, I raised my throbbing head…

And I saw this.

I blinked.

What the?

Still facing this gaping chasm, I clutched the door frame, staggered to my feet, and inhaled several times. My childbirth breathing techniques proved more helpful in bizarre scenarios like these than they ever did when in labor with The Cherubs.

Even with The Twins.

I slowly turned around and surveyed the rest of my kitchen.

And I screamed.

Five times.

The next several hours were more or less a blur. The five of us filled garbage bags, sorted, sanitized, and occasionally dry-heaved over what we discovered had been lurking in the corners of the pantry. And when it was all said and done…

…my groom suggested that we tackle the hall closet.

At which point Twin A made a hasty retreat into the basement. After noisy footfalls on the stairs, she began to practice her piano pieces with a level of enthusiasm that was usually reserved for Recital Week.

The Boys followed her, bickering over who would have the next turn at the piano.

And I?

I slithered down after them, sheepishly murmuring that my Mozart could stand a bit of brushing up as well.

Inspired by a prompt from

“Show us your kitchen!”

Comments (42)

Laptops, Urine, and Pavlov

By Sue · Comments (35) · January 17th, 2013

There’s been a whole lotta doggy talk goin’ on ’round he-ya, my friends.

I don’t know why I found it necessary to break into jive speak up there. It just felt right.

Anyway.

As you’ve probably surmised by now, there was No puppy in a stocking at Christmas for The Cherubs. And that was pretty much ok with them, considering the fact that I prepared them for the inevitable by ever so gently telling them, “There. Will. Be. No. Puppy. In. A. Stocking. At. Christmas.”

On the bright side, Santa scored a white-hot deal on laptops, so the glitz of shiny new technology helped to soften the blow. And this trio of portable internet access, combined with unseasonable early January temperatures that had us practically sunbathing in the driveway, formed the perfect storm this past weekend: An intensive online search for just the right breed of dog to be purchased in the spring.

Three cheers for global warming and Google.

So there they sat in the family room with their computers on their laps, clicking away with abandon. The Small One called out from his perch on the fireplace hearth, “Guys! Checkitout! If you go to iams.com and search ‘pet finder?’ It asks you questions and tells you the perfect kind of dog for you!”

The Twins’ curiosity was peaked, and they quickly logged on and began the online inventory that would unite them with the breeds of their dreams. Even my groom got into it, opening up his computer and making his way through the pet-finding prompts. I seized this tech-fest as an opportunity to load the dishwasher.

After a few minutes, Twin B snorted in disgust. ”Awwww…man…They’re all ugly!”

“What?” I asked, drying my hands on a paper towel and making my way toward him. I looked over his shoulder at his computer screen. ”It says a Schnauzer would be good for you. Or any kind of Terrier.”

Click images for sources

“Yeah. Terriers are ugly. And stupid.”

“Now, how can you say that, B? Have you ever spoken with a Terrier?”

“I don’t have to. I can just tell. Look at these dogs, mom…all wiry haired and weird-faced.”

“Oooooooh!” breathed Twin A from the other end of the sectional. ”Look at this! It says that I should get a Belgian Terv-oo-reen. It’s so pretty!”

“A what?” I sat down beside her took a look at the breed pronunciation guide. ”Look, hon, it’s pronounced Terv-Urine.”

“Urine?” crowed The Small One. ”That’s awesome!” he laughed so hard he began to choke.

Twin B, helpful soul that he is, whacked his brother on the back. ”Well, I’d rather have a Terv-Urine than a dog with shag rug hair and a jacked-up face.”

Twin A giggled, “Mom? Can we get a Terv-Urine? And name it P.P.?”

“No! Wait! Forget the Terv-Urine, guys!” The Small One, now coughing, was pointing at his computer screen. ”This is what we need! A Poo-me!”

I rolled my eyes and glanced at his screen. Pumi. Fabulous. I had never heard of such a creature, but leave it to The Small One to find it.

My groom had remained silent during this debacle. He was staring at his search results, his eyes growing wider by the minute.

“What did you get?” I asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“An African Basenji.”

In an automatic gesture that would make Pavlov proud, his hand traced its way down his right leg and came to rest upon his shin. Right over the spot where I knew there was a scar underneath his pants leg.

A scar that had its origins when he was eight and had a chunk of his leg removed by…you guessed it…

…an African Basenji.

All four of them slowly and quietly closed their computers, and the online exploration came to an end. The Small One and Twin A were wiping tears of laughter out of their eyes and still sputtering a little.

Twin B broke the silence by offering meekly, “Ummmm…maybe we should look into getting a cat instead.”

Inspired by a one-word prompt from

“Explore.”

Comments (35)

When the Kidz Stop Screaming

By Sue · Comments (21) · January 10th, 2013

I remember it as if it were yesterday. It was an unseasonably warm night in October of 2001.

Truth be told, it was technically morning. But back then, the days and nights melded together in a murky haze.

I had just put an infant Twin A back in her crib after a feeding and diaper change. I was now sitting upright in bed, repeating the procedure with Twin B, giving him a bottle and willing myself to stay awake despite my exhaustion. Supporting his head in the crook of my elbow, I reached with the other hand for the television remote and hit the power button. I channel surfed until a technicolor image assaulted my bleary eyes:

This and all images copyrighted by Kidzbop, Inc.

As painful as the image was, I couldn’t look away.

Kids sing today’s greatest pop hits! The tenor voice on the screen proclaimed. Livin’ la Vida Loca! Oops!…I did it Again! Steal my Sunshine! All in one fabulous collection, sung by kids, for kids!

My punchy, post-partum brain registered this as funny. I laughed like a loon, scaring the wits out of the now dozing infant in my arms. He began to wail.

You’ve got that right, kid. I thought morosely. I finished up Twin B’s feeding and diaper change. The commercial was still on even after he was back in his crib. I snapped the television off, disgusted.

Who on earth would pay for yesterday’s C-rate music re-hashed by a gaggle of pre-pubescent pop star wannabes?

Seriously…Who?

A few months later, I had my answer.

More than 500,000 Americans, that’s who.

The CD had gone gold in no time flat.

And since then, friends? Kidz Bop has made a mockery of my mockery by cranking out more than forty five CDs in the subsequent ten years.

Just let that ~~regurgitate~~ resonate with you all for a moment.

I snorted when they came out with Kidz Bop Sings Monster Ballads, which included selections from Motley Crue, Poison and Whitesnake. For, as much as I love me some screechy-guitared glam rock action, the absurdity of this genre of music is not lost on me.

But when they released this?

I stopped laughing. That was hitting just a wee bit too close to my musical home. Some things – namely, the music of legitimate artists – should remain inviolate. And I was growing increasingly alarmed that the ‘tween gang at Kidz Bob didn’t know the meaning of that four-syllable word.

But it didn’t stop there, friends.

Oh, no.

The Kidz Boppers have waged their audio assault on musicians with their roots in indie music, folk, and rhythm & blues.

Coldplay. Norah Jones. Lenny Kravitz. Marvin Gaye and Crosby, Stills & Nash.

None of these has escaped the Kidz Bop juggernaut.

Forget the Mayan calendar, friends. It’s Kidz Bop upon which we must keep a vigilant watch.

They’re taking over the music world.

And, in so doing, they’re effectively taking over my world.

Since 2001, my dreams have been haunted by the shenanigans of these pipsqueaks. I can stay silent about it no longer.

Down with Kidz Bop.

To paraphrase the words of the fictitious Dr. Hannibal Lecter, don’t buy into the hype. And I’ll let you know when the Kidz stop screaming.

Inspired by a prompt from

“Tell us about something that is haunting you.”

Comments (21)

A Resolution Revolution

By Sue · Comments (34) · January 3rd, 2013

First: A bit of business…Thank you to the 48 entrants for the Thinkfun Daily Puzzle giveaway! Click here and scroll down to view the winner in the Rafflecopter box of the giveaway post. I’ll be emailing the winner today to obtain shipping address information. I hope that they enjoy the puzzle as much as we have.

And now…Back to our regularly scheduled post:

*************************************************************************************************************************

Happy New Year, friends. Did you do it up right?

Boogie on down?

Party until the cows came home?

Me? I spent New Year’s Eve in Mexico in the company of thirteen other family members, plus scads of strangers at an all-inclusive shindig. We were treated to an international buffet of epic proportions, a live Avengers-themed stage show, and dancing to the selections of a disc jockey with an affinity for Laura Brannigan and The Thompson Twins.

And, friends…I partied until the cows came home. *fist pump*

Or until approximately 9:55 pm, when the third glass of chardonnay kicked in and I found it prudent to take a little nappy-nap at the dining table.

My groom, ever the attentive one, was at the ready with my phone camera. He captured the moment perfectly and sent it via text message to our friends back home.

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve him.

One might be tempted to think that I’m feeling obliged to share the image with you here, on The Spin Cycle.

And one would be wrong if one were to think that.

But don’t you worry about me, friends…I rallied after my power snooze like the rock star that I am. At 10:30, I raised my head, rose from the table, and with a flourish…

I retired to our family’s casita.

Because *that’s* how I roll.

Come to think of it, I spent last New Year’s Eve adhering to a similar timetable.

And the one before that as well.

I’m not old enough to behave this way. And it needs to stop.

Now. I typically poo-poo the idea of resolution making. I think of it as flinging the door to Disappointment wide open and ushering inevitable Feelings of Failure within. What is that crazy statistic regarding how many people fall off of their self-inflicted resolution bandwagon within a month?

I just don’t care to clamber aboard that bandwagon.

Plus…If I decide to make a change for the better? I can do it any old day. Not just on December 31st under the influence of sentimentality, bravado and a glass or two ~~or nine~~ of bubbly.

However. I am breaking with tradition by actually making a resolution this year. And that would be to keep my eyeballs until midnight on the next New Year’s Eve.

That’s it.

It’s a simple, attainable goal. One that will save me from being slapped with the moniker of Ultimate New Year’s Eve Party Pooper.

As well as from my own phone camera.

How about you, friends? Have you made any resolutions for this year? Or do avoid them at all costs?

Do tell…I’d love to hear where you stand on the issue.

Inspired by a prompt from

“Resolutions. Love ‘em? Hate ‘em?”

Comments (34)