Fear of unleashed dogs?

Today I took the Man-cub to a park we'd never been to before. We played for a while, but just when I thought we'd both faint from the heat, I heard thunder rumbling in the distance. That sealed the deal -- we were leaving.

As I offered my son a million dollars to walk in my direction picked up my boy, I saw several harried parents freaking out, grabbing their children and running in our direction. (Now, if they had been running away from us, I would just figure Who could blame them?)

Turned out a pair of Rottweilers had come into the park by themselves, and everyone was afraid. Half of the people ran into the restrooms, and the other half went to the back of the park, which was fenced off (except for the non-gated entrance to that area -- duh! -- yeah, that's going to deter 200-some total pounds of slobbering muscle.)

And then I started to worry. Not because of the dogs, but because I wasn't freaked out over a couple dogs wandering around the park.

That's right -- I was worried because I wasn't worried.

With my boy squirming in my arms because he didn't want to leave, I got to my car just as I heard a lightning alarm. So I felt justified in leaving the park. I saw the dogs walking side by side along the fence, tongues wagging.

I don't know if I should have been afraid of the dogs, but I wasn't. They weren't acting menacing. They hadn't come near anyone. They weren't barking or growling. I just figured the dogs had gotten out of their backyards and gone for a stroll. Maybe they wanted to go down the slides or sit at the shaded picnic tables.

Makes me wonder if it's a good thing or a bad thing that it's rare to see a dog not on a leash in South Florida.

Hot as H-E-Double-Toothpicks

Weather reports need to start forecasting car temperatures. That's all I'm sayin'.

A toy story: Imagine a revolt

I loved the movie Toy Story when it came out, even though I was kidless then. That toys come to life when you're not looking is something lots of children imagine.

But it's also something parents fear.

Because toys have already taken over every room of my house.

You'd expect toys in my son's room:


Look away, Leap!

And also a few in the bathroom:


Rubber ducky, you're the one, la la la la la...

But we have toys in the front room, too:


The flooring looks like a basketball court, so...

There are even toys in the kitchen, primarily on the fridge:


The duplicates of I and O are missing. My son has it in for vowels, apparently. This makes it impossible to spell indefatigable, Cro-Magnon and many other words.

There are toys in the family room:


Oh, who am I kidding? It's not a family room anymore -- it's the playroom.

There are toys in the office:


A toy leftover from the Man-cub's baby days

And a stash of toys in my bedroom too:


Please don't lecture me about my bedroom being a sanctuary and all that. When I'm getting ready in the morning, my son plays with the toys, and I can brush my hair in peace.

And, why yes! Those are Velcro hair rollers, circa 1998. Not toys, but fun anyway.

If all of these toys came to life and led a revolt, we'd be surrounded and in big trouble.

Not to mention, most of them probably speak Mandarin Chinese so we wouldn't understand the demands of their revolution....

Swordfish sculpture

Everyone loves a swordfish sculpture, no? This is at the Broward County Convention Center.

Death by flip-flop

This is turning out to be the Summer of Flip-Flop-Induced Injuries.

First, I cracked my toe after sliding across the floor and into a wall.

Then, in yet another supermarket drama, I walked across the Publix parking lot in the rain, slipped in a puddle and did the splits in front of traffic. (Fortunately, my son was safe in the shopping cart pushed by a bagger.) As if the humiliation, wet fanny and sore elbow weren't enough, my fall took the polish off two of my toes!

My three readers might remember another unpleasant flip-flip situation.

Caroline's comment was right: flip-flops might be the official footwear of Florida, but they are dangerous!

I'm full of scrap

This weekend, I went to the big estrogen fest scrapbooking convention that hit town. For better or worse, I am very susceptible to the power of suggestion. All it took was one little e-mail that told me I, too, could expertly preserve my precious photos in beautiful, artsy ways by taking scrapbooking classes and plunking down money to enter the big vendor hall. That's right -- they make you pay just to shop. Rows and rows of stores lined up to sell paper, ribbons, paper, T-shirts that say "It's all fun and games until somebody loses an eyelet," paper, stamps, paper, album kits, paper, printers and more paper.

First off, I met up with MomsMiami blogger Lissette Mendez and her friend Sarah. Fun gals! They work behind the scenes on the hallowed Miami Book Fair, which has to be one of the best jobs, ever. They are such good scrapbookers that they didn't have to take any classes.

I, however -- who once almost flunked art in elementary school -- signed up for a class that promised I would go home with an acrylic album. I had no idea what that was. Apparently, I was the only person attending who had never heard of these see-through albums, which were for sale everywhere. Slinking into a seat in the back row with my paltry bag of supplies (some women were toting around wheeled luggage full of their scrapbooking goods), I felt like such an imposter. I didn't even have the right equipment to make the dern album.

Fortunately, a nice woman from Palm Beach sitting next to me loaned me her poker. And by that, I mean she gave me a sharp tool to open my package of supplies. She also showed me what the heck the class instructor was talking about.

On my other side, a woman let me use her glue stick because mine was so old that nothing was sticking to the paper. She was there with two other friends -- all the way from Tampa -- who were making a girlfriend weekend out of the scrapbooking convention. These women were so good that they did the bare minimum on their albums, deciding to use their own papers later and not the one they gave out in class. Bonus: they gave me some of their class-issued supplies.

So, I got by with a little help from my classmates.

I was all thumbs and made mistakes, but nothing too heinous. And just as promised, I actually finished the five-page, six-inch album (sans photos). And then we held hands in the air, swayed and sang, "We are the champions, my friends...."

Erm, not really that last thing. But that's what I felt like.

And then I made good use of my paid entry into the vendor hall. Let's just say the Man-cub's next few years should be well-documented -- if not artistically perfectly so....

No procreation hotel package for me, thanks

I am cracking right the heck up over this article pointing out a Marco Island hotel's "procreation" special. It's called the "Fertile Turtle" package and includes fertility-promoting raspberry tea and aromatherapy massages. Part of the money from your baby-conceiving stay goes to help sea turtles, because apparently sea turtles are a symbol of fertility. (Really?) And if you do get busy and make a baby, then the hotel rewards you with a free three-night stay (no mention of free childcare, though).

As nice as this all sounds -- and Marco Island is so close -- I would probably just be too embarrassed to call the hotel and book the package. I'd be like, "Um, hi, I'd like your [whispering] Fertile Turtle package? ... I said the Fertile Turtle package? And a large 'Do not disturb' sign?" Then you'd check in, and everyone at the front desk would have these knowing little smirks on their faces. The massage therapist would be like, "So, you guys want to have a baby, huh?"

Just too embarrassing. And everyone knows embarrassment hormones aren't good for a little ovum.... However, they seem to have no effect on sperm.

Exploiting my kitty

Darn, I hate it when I read or hear something and can't remember the source. Yesterday, I visited a blog that indicated your blog will be successful if you just post pictures of cats (or maybe it was kittens). If that was your blog, please let me know. Because you will want to have a good laugh at my expense.

We have two cats. One of them is a super-snuggly tortoiseshell cat we got from a shelter who grooms herself almost constantly. The other is a black cat we rescued from being the runt of a neighborhood litter who never grooms. At all.

Because I had to wash two blankets today to get rid of her excess fur -- in addition to brushing her body to get rid of excess fur -- I thought I'd make her the target of cat exploitation for my blog.



You want me to pose? Like this?



OK, if that pose wasn't good enough for you, then....



...I'll just leave some of my fur up here!



Stop with that flashing thing! I'm outta here!

Washing the two blankets got rid of a lot of her fur, as my dryer's lint trap will show:



(Please don't blast me for not line-drying to save our planet. Not only is it the South Florida rainy season, but the city I live in forbids clothes lines.)

I have collected enough fur to make a kitten!



And the blankets are still furry, sigh....

I have a feeling this post isn't going to make my blog more popular.

Nine Mile Pond Canoe Trail

Nine Mile Pond Canoe Trail in Everglades National Park

A good deed gone bad

I'm afraid I sounded kind of mean in my post yesterday, even though I am not trying to be mean. Just for the record, I really don't have a reputation as a beyotch. I try to do the right thing, but sometimes I fail horribly, as I did this week.

Let me just say right up front I didn't intend to risk sending a woman to jail.

This is how it happened.

It seems like every week, another church is in the South Florida news for encouraging its members to go out into the community and do something nice for others. Inspired, I wanted to do something nice too -- a deliberate act of kindness.

So when I saw that flower bunches were buy two, get one free at Publix (just how many of my dramas happen at the supermarket?!), I thought I'd spread a bit of cheery love in my little corner of the world. Just call me Little Miss Sunshine and sprinkle some rainbows on top. I got three flower bunches with the idea of giving one bunch to a friend who is stressed out over work, one bunch to my neighbor about to have her third son and one bunch to a random person I passed as I was leaving the store.

As I left Publix with my flowers, I had a bouquet ready to hand to the first woman I passed. While a bagger pushed my son in the shopping cart, I looked for my target recipient. There she was -- a largish woman about my age in shorts and swingy, curly hair.

"I'd like you to have these," I said, extending the bouquet toward her.

"Oh, really?!" she said. "Thank you!"

And I kept walking out the door, following the bagger and my son, feeling like maybe, just maybe, I had made someone's day a bit brighter.

By the time I reached my car in the parking lot, though, the full effect of what I had just done gripped me and nearly gave me a seizure. That woman was going to get to the checkout and claim I gave her the flowers! And the cashier wouldn't believe her! And the woman would either be arrested for shoplifting, or she'd fling the flowers to the side and refuse to pay for them when faced with a suspicious cashier.

Go, me!

I explained the situation to the bagger, who had seen me give the flowers to the woman, and he said he would make sure everyone knew the flowers were paid for. Whew.

Maybe I should leave good deeds up to the more experienced good-deed-doers .... Or is it true it's the thought that counts?

A new way to deal with grandma wannabes

In yet another brush with crazy little old ladies....

Regular scenario:

Standing in line at Publix. Son is in the seat of shopping cart. Grandma type gets in line behind me and starts acting like my boy is her grandson, ignoring my attempts to put myself between her and him. "How are you? Oh, you're so cute. How old are you? How old are you? Hey, how old is he? What's your name? What's your name? Hey, what's his name? You're gorgeous. [Son clings to me to get away from her face.] Oh, don't hurt mommy. You're hurting mommy. [Son knocks package of chewing gum off display.] Oh, he knows what he wants, doesn't he? Yes he does! He's just showing off in front of me. Oh look, mommy's going to make a cake. She also has lots of healthy food for you. Are you a good eater? Are you a good eater? Hey, is he a good eater? [Woman rubs son's arm.] Oh, you're whining. You must be tired. Hey, I think he's tired. [I continue to ignore her, so she has to tell the cashier my son is tired.]

I think I'm going to start doing back to these women whatever they do to me or my son.

New scenario:

Crazy Lady: How are you?

Me: He's great. How are you?

CL: Oh, you're so cute. How old are you?

Me: He's 16. He just got his driver's license. How old are you?

CL: What's your name?

Me: His name is Sophocles. What's your name?

CL: You're gorgeous.

Me: Can't argue with you there.

[Son clings to me to get away from her face.]

Me: Would you mind getting out of my son's face?

CL: Oh, don't hurt mommy. You're hurting mommy.

Me: Actually, I'm fine. He's clinging to me because he's afraid of you, so maybe you should back off.

[Son knocks package of chewing gum off display.]

CL: Oh, he knows what he wants, doesn't he?

Me: Sure, I let him chew gum all the time. Even for breakfast.

CL: He's just showing off in front of me.

Me: He only shows off for people who get in his face.

CL: Oh look, mommy's going to make a cake. She also has lots of healthy food for you.

Me: Oh look at what's in your cart -- Bloody Mary mix! Bet those Depends will come in handy after your drink!

CL: Are you a good eater?

Me: Are you a good eater?

[Woman rubs son's arm. I rub her arm. I pinch her cheek for good measure because I know she's thinking about doing the same thing to my son.]

CL: Oh, you're whining. You must be tired.

Me: You're right -- it couldn't possibly be because of you.

I really don't want to be mean. Really and truly. But I am way past tired of grandma types thinking they have a right to my boy when I have never even seen these people before.

Why, oh why, do I seem to attract the crazy ones? Where are the polite little old ladies?

Care to sign my toe cast?

Suppose my husband opened a shipment and pulled out packing material that was made of a 30-foot-long piece of heavy paper, which he started dragging through the house to amuse our son.

And maybe I thought it would be fun to grab the other end and go in the opposite direction, around the corner, down the hallway.

But the thing was so long I didn't know it was actually a separate piece of packing material paper. And as I ran down the hall with the paper, my flip-flop slipped and I went sliding into the wall.

Perhaps I whacked my middle right toe so bad that it burned and I was lying on the hard floor, speechless with pain.

And then suppose my husband actually put down the paper he was playing with and brought me a bag of ice while I lay on the floor.

Just another happy scene of domestic life.

A wrinkle by any other name....

When wrinkles start forming around your mouth, we politely call them laugh lines. It's a nice way of saying, "Oh, you've just smiled and laughed so much during your lifetime -- that's why you have a wrinkle there." As if to say, how nice! How lucky of you! Woo-hoo, you have laugh lines! You've lived a happy life.

If wrinkles show up around your eyes, though, what do we call them? Crows' feet. They supposedly look as though a bird has trampled you and left its mark on your face. Which isn't nice at all. Who wants to look trampled? By a bird?

Wrinkles on your forehead are called worry lines. This has to be the worst name yet. This implies that horizontal lines on your brow are proof you have lived a life of fretting and misery. Which, maybe it's true and maybe it's not. Like, what if they're surprise lines?

If you have a wrinkle on your face outside of these boundaries, it's just a wrinkle, plain and simple. I have a wrinkle like that, I've just discovered, in an unfortunate spot under my right eye.

I really don't believe I can banish this wrinkle with a cream -- but part of me would love to believe so. It's this hope that sells wrinkle creams, I'm sure.

So last night after washing my face, I opened a jar of cream and found it empty. Luckily, I had another container of cream, so I reached for that. Actually, it's a mousse. It felt sticky when I put it on. So I picked up a tube standing by. That was a cooling gel, but it smelled funny. I scrounged around and found another jar of wrinkle cream and slathered on some of that.

Yes -- my face was hit with four wrinkle creams!

And that wrinkle is still there today.

Maybe there's a name for this?

Serial creaming?

Am I a serial creamer?

Royal Poincianas

The royal poinciana trees are in bloom.



Ahhh.

Rorschach test for parents

My husband's parents just got back from a fabulous trip to Europe. They e-mailed my husband a couple of photos of their tour of London and Paris. We looked at the thumbnail images that showed up in our e-mail program. One photo showed his mother and another woman in their bath robes, with a man standing in the middle.

"Who are those people?" I asked my husband.

"I don't know," he said.

"Did your parents go to one of those European baths, where everyone gets naked and sits in the same big pool together?" I asked.

"Beats me," he said. "I thought my mom and some other woman were posing with Hugh Hefner."

Turned out that his father took a picture of people standing in the hotel hallway after the fire alarm went off in the middle of the night.

Something tells me my husband and I need a date....

When incongruous dorks go shopping

Feeling kind of ill all week, I finally decided to get some medicine and went to Walgreen's with my boy.

I am the kind of person who hates -- hates! -- going to a store and buying one thing. It seems like a wasted trip. And these days when putting gas in your car is a major purchase, it seems especially wasteful. So even though all I needed was some stomach medicine, I bought more than that to make myself feel better about going to the drugstore.

That's right -- I buy things I don't need so I don't feel wasteful. Yeah....

So I grabbed some tablets I hoped would make me feel better, wandered down the toy aisle for a book of Winnie the Pooh stickers for my son, picked up some elastics for my hair and selected a Dove candy bar for my husband as a treat. There. Something for everybody.

As I got up to the cashier, I wondered how this would look: two boxes of stomach medicine and a candy bar.

It reminded me of when I wanted to lose weight and tried Slim Fast. That same shopping trip, I also picked up some brownies for my husband by request. Wouldn't you know the bagger put the Slim Fast and brownies together in the same bag ... by themselves? Smartass. I'm sorry, but there's really no other word for that.

So when I got to the Walgreen's cashier, I told him, "These items might look ... what's the word ... incongruous (yes I'm that dorky!), but the medicine is for me, and the candy is for my husband. Just wanted you to know."

Luckily, the Walgreen's cashier was cool. He told me, "That's nothing. I've seen people come in here and buy a nicotine patch and a carton of cigarettes."

Couldn't top that one.

Or how about a five-pound bag of sugar and a toothbrush. Imodium and prune juice. Condoms and a pregnancy test....

Sequined thongs redux

An excerpt of my post about wearing sequined thongs to Butterfly World is in today's Miami Herald, the MomsMiami part of the Tropical Life section. Can I say, "Go me!"?

Sexy seniors?

Can you guess what this is?

A) A page from a model's portfolio
B) A picture from a photographer's MySpace page
C) A Hollister ad

Before you start panting....

Would you believe this is actually a high school graduation photo?

Of my nephew?

Since when did graduation pictures become so sexy? (And when did my little nephew get a chest like that?)

When my sister sent me this photo as part of my nephew's graduation announcement, I couldn't believe this was the same boy I knew. I don't know if I should frame it or give it to a friend to put under her mattress.

I'm sure these aren't the same photos going in the school yearbook. Or ... maybe yearbooks have gotten sexier too?

Don't raise your voice and other advice moms ignore

In a mom group I'm in, a while back we were discussing a book about parenting. The book suggested that when your child has a tantrum, you speak in a quiet voice and tell your child he has the option of calming down or going to his room.

I laughed at this advice and told everyone in the group that my wailing, thrashing son would never hear me if I spoke in a quiet voice. I told them I would have to yell to be heard above him.

One of the moms said when she speaks in a soft voice, her children get quiet so they can hear her. Another mom seconded this approach and said raising your voice only makes your child want to get louder. Both of these women have children who are three years old and up, so they have the language skills that my not-yet-two-year-old does.

But anyway, I left that day feeling guilty and like a mean mom who yells at her kid.

This week, though, I happened to talk to one of those women on the phone and was surprised when I heard her tell her child, "Knock it off!"

So, ha!

What a relief to know not every mom can live by her own advice all the time....

Butterfly World

Butterfly World

Meet Inappropriate Woman!

You may know Inappropriate Woman. She could be your neighbor, a friend's mother or even your own mother or mother-in-law. Usually, you come face to face with Inappropriate Woman at the worst times. It's part of Mom's Law.

- - - - -

Inappropriate Woman: "Oh, hi, honey, how are you?"

Me: "Hi--"

IW: "Look at your son's hair! Tsk, tsk. He needs a haircut. He looks like a girl. How long are you waiting to cut it, till it's down to his shoulders?"

"Oh, and what is that on your chin?"

Me (trying to keep smiling): "A pimple?"

IW: "Oh, would you look at that? It looks like the kind that really hurts. Is it the kind that really hurts?"

"I'm here returning this statue. I got it for Mother's Day. My daughter gave it to me. But I wanted an outside statue, not an inside statue. I can't do anything with this. Did you have a nice Mother's Day? I bet your husband didn't do anything for you, huh? Figures, men don't get it anyway. But you've got to keep your man happy. Did you know that? You've got to be there for him when he gets home, do you know what I'm saying? You don't have those piercings like women do today, do you?"

"Wait, before you go, ah, are you going to church this weekend? There's a concert at my church. You should go. They have childcare. You could put your boy in the nursery. There's probably a few women working in the nursery."

"OK, well I see you're trying to shop, take care!" {plants huge lipstick kiss near son's mouth}

Never wear sequined thongs in an aviary

My son has had The Very Hungry Caterpillar book for more than a year now but seems especially interested in it lately. Like probably most kids around his age, he likes to touch the holes where the caterpillar has eaten through all the food in the book.

Wait, stop the story for a moment. Did you know the author, Eric Carle, lives in the Florida Keys? That's all I wanted to say....

So when you get to the last page of the book, the caterpillar has turned into a beautiful butterfly. By then, we've passed all the pages with the holes in them, so my son has lost interest in the book by the end. But I decided to turn the book into a butterfly, moving the sides of the book up and down and make it "flutter" around his head.

Now he loves the end of the book. In fact, the boy will even skip the pages with the holes just to get to the butterfly at the end and make it fly.

With his new interest in lepidoptera, I thought he'd enjoy going to Butterfly World. We went today. The first part of the butterfly garden you enter is amazing! There are butterflies everywhere you look.

To dress for the occasion, I put on a pair of blue flip-flops that are topped by butterflies made out of sequins. Cute, huh? Well, when we got to the lorikeet aviary of Butterfly World, a bird there also thought my shoes were cute. In fact, the bird decided to stand on top of the sequined butterfly. My son was amazed, the lorikeet keeper (say that five times fast) was curious, and I was amused.

Until that little bird finally moved on, and I noticed he left behind green poo on my toes. Niiiice!

Overall, my boy enjoyed Butterfly World. We'll definitely go back -- but next time, I'm wearing work boots.