The Saga of Mr. Bear

The Saga of Mr. Bear is a sad one. My son has been ferociously teething since he was three months old. He grabs Mr. Bear in a mighty hold and then proceeds to chomp down on his head with the force of an ancient snapping turtle.

Mr. Bear gets no rest. Daily and nightly, his head his used for teething purposes. Once my son has had his way with Mr. Bear, he leaves him lying in a sodden and mangled heap.

Because of this abuse by an uncaring and demanding one year old, Mr. Bear has a hygiene problem. To put it succinctly, all the other stuffed animals avoid Mr. Bear because he stinks. In fact, when an unwilling parent picks him up, it is usually with great hesitation and disdain. The stench of Mr. Bear is unbelievable. He has reached the point in which we MUST do something.

So this brave mother took it upon herself to clean and sanitize poor Mr. Bear. This has been done on several other occasions, with a somewhat successful outcome.

Usually I take Mr. Bear by the feet, and firmly plunge him headfirst into the laundry detergent. While this is not recommended for stinky small children, it does work fairly well on Mr. Bear. He comes out smelling fresh. The only problem with this is that his discoloration remains. His yellow stained head is a warning to the stuffed Big Bird and Barney to stay away from toddlers.

This treatment needed to be different. Mr. Bear was suffering greatly. He had turned an unnatural brown color. I say unnatural, because Mr. Bear is not a brown bear, but instead a cute and fuzzy white bear. Maybe he is albino, because he isn’t a polar bear, and I’ve never seen a white bear in the wild or at a zoo. But I digress. Mr. Bear had a serious dermatological problem that could only be helped with extreme measures.

We took Mr. Bear firmly by the legs. “Ohhhh nooooo.” He complained, “Not the laundry soap dunk!”

“I’m afraid, Mr. Bear, that it is worse than that. We have arranged today a white vinegar dunk. We are hoping this will remove your unsightly stains.”

“Oh nooooo. It burns! It burns!” He sobbed as I dunked him head first into the preparation in the Pyrex measuring glass. I left Mr. Bear in the solution for a good five minutes, against all protests.

Upon retrieval from the solution, Mr. Bear exclaimed, “I’m never talking to you again.”

“Fine, Mr. Bear,” I said, “But realize I do this for your own good.”

We then took Mr. Bear firmly by the legs again and dunked him into a vat of laundry soap. The solution we used in this instance was a little more powerful this time, as in the interim I have started using All Small and Mighty. It is a lot more concentrated than the regular version.

“Hurmmmph,” was all Mr. Bear said.

Then we buried him way at the bottom of the other laundry. We dialed the water up to blistering hot and commenced with the spin cycle.

Unfortunately, when I took him out, he was still unsightly brown. We repeated our previous torture steps, and placed Mr. Bear back into the wash. “I hate you,” Mr. Bear exclaimed, his beady eyes glaring at me.

“This hurts me more than it hurts you.” I told him, stuffing a blanket on top of his head.

After the second wash, Mr. Bear was only slightly discolored. I think my son may have partially digested his head, and the stains are now permanent. However, he does smell much nicer now. Mr. Bear is still not talking to me, but that’s okay, I can’t understand him anyway, as his head is now back in my son’s mouth. Until we meet again, Mr. Bear.




*******************News Flash***************************

We are happy to announce that we are expecting again. A new Miller will make an appearance around the first of February!

Road Rage

I don’t think road rage is altogether a new thing. I bet back in the days of chariots, Major Phoebes of the Roman Army got irritated when Plebe Thaddeus’s sporty new war horse cut him off on the highway, and threw a spear at him, or at least exchanged verbal blows.

I just don’t understand how some people could be so clueless. I love the balding men in the flashy sports cars who are blabbing away on their cell phones, going 20 miles an hour, weaving though traffic. Or the driver eating a hamburger and not noticing that the light has just turned green.

I was turning out of Walgreen’s the other day, when the irritating driver in front of me decided to turn left, out of the right hand turn lane that I needed! I was so pissed. Not only because they were clearly breaking a traffic law, but also because from that particular intersection it is difficult to turn left even in the correct lane. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, a break appeared in traffic. However, this numbskull wasn’t paying attention, and MISSED the chance to go.

I became livid. My blood pressure skyrocketed. My son was crying in the back seat, and the rush hour traffic was unrelenting. Finally I broke, I yelled and banged on the steering wheel,” If you don’t move your car, I’m going to road rage you!”

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize in my irritation that my windows were down. I realized as the driver looked back at me with a scowl on their face. However, my goal was realized, and the car in front of me vacated my lane. I realize in retrospect that the driver could have been packing some heat. I could have become another causality in the growing conflict between drivers. I really should learn to keep my mouth shut, at least when the windows are down.

Graduation Weekend

Our little brother Jay just graduated from High School. When I first met my husband, Jay was about six. I’ve gotten to watch him grow up. From a skinny little rug rat playing hoops on his toy basket in the living room, to a strong and handsome young man playing football on the field, he has been a joy to watch.

So it wasn’t an option to attend the graduation. We had this trip planned for years. But I knew when we read the weather report we were going to be in trouble. It was going to be hot! Blazing hot. I think I nearly melted away to nothing this weekend.

We arrived on Friday night, after being in the car for five hours, and our little boy screamed for about three of them.

The next day, we arrived at my husband’s parent’s full house. The rest of his family from Arizona was in town, so the house was bursting at the seams. My little niece was there, and the two kids approached each other warily. My son burst into tears the moment she touched his toys. He hasn't quite yet learned the art of sharing. Soon however, they began to at least tolerate each other. By the end of the weekend, they where going wild together, running around the living room and bouncing off the walls.

They had decided to make homemade pizzas for the open house, and the preparations began on Saturday. My sister-in-law Julie used two industrial sized cans of tomatoes to make the sauce, 10 lbs of flour to make the dough, and at least 10 lbs of cheese, which was shredded. I think about 10 onions where cut, and at least 2 garlic bulbs where minced. My eyes were watering so bad from the onions, I had to stick my head out the doors a few times to clear them. I smelled like a big onion all day. Phew!

On Sunday, we got ready for the big ceremony. Upon arriving at the school, we got a few of the last remaining seats in the bleachers. It was so hot in there. It was in the high 80's outside, and without air conditioning in the gym, and the humidity at 200%, it was like a sauna in there. Buckets of sweat oozed out of every pore. I felt bad for the poor graduates, who had to wear those heavy robes. I'm really surprised that no one passed out from the heat. About 20 minutes into it, by son started to fidget, so I took him outside. When I walked in the hallway, it felt about 30 degrees cooler out there. So I stood in the doorway and watched. I think I had the best seat in the house. I got to see everything, and stay cooler.

The open house was a blast. Julie's homemade pizzas were a big hit, especially with the teenage boys. She couldn't keep them coming out of the oven fast enough. My father-in-law, as a joke present, gave Jay a luggable computer to take to college with him. It was circa 1980's, with a mini screen and a huge body. Jay was surprized when he opened his real gift, and found a tiny labtop to take with him instead.

On Monday, we had a delimna. Grandma really wanted to take my son and neice to the zoo, but my husband and I really wanted to avoid Chicago. The traffic, the drive, the crowds. We decided to drive the whole family to Indianapolis, about 2 1/2 hours away, and go to the Indy zoo. It was on the way home for us, and broke the trip up for our son. He hates being in a car seat for more than 2 hours. It worked out well, because our good friend had free passes for entry, and the whole family got in free.

My son really likes fish. In fact, I should really get him a fish bowl or something. He enjoyed the seahorse exhibits. The other things in the park, he really wasn't interested. He was more interested in people watching and cousin watching than anything. He did seem to take interest in the big bull in the farm area. He wanted to reach out and grab him, but I didn't think that was such a good idea.

So, exhausted, sweaty, and happy, we got home at a reasonable time on Monday night. My son wouldn't let go of my hand the whole way home, and wouldn't fall asleep either. I had a huge headache, and ended up sitting in the front seat all scrunched around so he could hold my hand. I sang to him for about an hour on the way home.

I still haven't unpacked all my bags and done all the laundry. But on a good note, my son slept really well today!THE WHOLE CLAN! Click here for more pictures!

Full of Poo

Caca, Poo, Poo-Poo, Poop, Turd, Guano, Sewage. Stinker.

Am I being shocking? Well, we all do it. Having a child gives you a whole new outlook on it. It’s just a natural body function.

Of course, before I had a baby, I knew that babies had poopy diapers. I just didn’t know there would be so many.

My son is a prodigious pooper. About four times a day, I’ll smell the fragrant whiff of methane gas, which indicates a blue ribbon stinker in the works.

My biggest exasperation is that my son WILL NOT lay still to have his diaper changed. If I’m lucky, I can distract him with a book or a toy. If not, he will end up crawling away from me at lightening fast speeds, getting poop all over him, his clothes, me, my clothes. Sometimes, it takes me a good ½ hour to change the pants. Sometimes, I’ll just leave his pants or shorts off, because it’s just too much work to get them back on. I swear I need a nap after one of these titanic struggles.

Actually, lately I’ve discovered that he loves me to sing him some silly song and wiggle his feet around like a maniac. So I have to so all that and try to get a diaper around him at the same time. I’ve actually become quite good at the method of taping a diaper on while the baby is crawling away, standing up, or being held up in the air by Daddy. They should have a contest or something. I bet I would win.

Thank God for Pampers and the good folks at Proctor Gamble, which just happens to be headquarted here in Cincinnati. I feel like driving up to the gates, giving the guard a smile, and saying, “I’m not psycho or anything, but if you could just let all your poop engineers know I think they make a good diaper.” I’m sure that would brighten their day.

I’ve tried other diapers. Actually, I've tried every other diaper in the world. None of them work to hold back the oceans of poop delivered to me every day by our own personal poop factory.

I can’t wait until the little boy is potty trained. When that happens, I’ll probably need to buy toilet paper by the skid. Until then, I just hope that Pampers keeps those coupons coming.

Let's Swing!

My son loves the swings. I think he would stay on it forever if I let him. When he was a baby, he would be content for hours on the baby swing. He would close his eyes and drift away. One time, he slept almost four hours in the baby swing. I would have to wake him up to eat.

As he has gotten older and finally grown out of the baby swings, he discovered the playground swing. The first time I put him into one, his eyes got big and he grabbed the chains. A huge smile lit up his face. It was like he was saying, "Hey mom, I grew out of that baby swing months ago. Have you been holding out on me?"

Unfortunately, the nearest park with swings is a good 10-minute walk from my house. It only has two of the toddler basket swings. It is a very busy park. Typically, before we get to the park, I'm straining to look through the trees and bushes to see if the swings are occupied. If they are, we head straight to the library. Usually, when we come out, the swings are available.
However, like most places in the Midwest, we have had about two weeks straight of rain. Even if it wasn't raining, it looked like rain. I really didn't want to get stuck out in the rain 10 minutes from my house. So we haven't been going to the park. My son has really been missing his outings. He is so bored of the same toys, over and over again. I try to mix them up, but he does have his favorites.

So my husband decided to build him a swing. We have had this toddler swing a friend gave us some time ago, but we have never had a good-sized tree or porch to hang it on. We thought about hanging it off the aluminum awning here, but I didn't want chance damaging the porch.

We put our heads together, scratched out some rough geometry, and came up with a few plans. A trip to the hardware store and back netted us 6 2x4's and some nuts and bolts. With my husband's hard labor, and my somewhat helpful holding techniques, we managed to put it together in one afternoon.

Before the swing was even up, my son was anxious to get into it. His little legs began pumping as his hands attempted to grab the chains before they were even up. Finally, we plopped his little butt into the seat. The smile on his face was something to see. "All right, Mom," I'm sure he was thinking; "Now I can do this all day long!"

On a final note, he swung and swung and swung, protesting once when I tried to take him out. So Daddy swung him some more. Finally, he put his head down and promptly fell asleep. "This is the life!"

Here's to my husband, and the super fabulous, $38.24 swing set. Now all it needs is a coat of paint.

The BIG Night

Recently, I've been reminiscing about a little thing called Prom. Do you remember your prom night? Dressing up in overpriced duds, driving to the florist to pick up the lovely corsage/buttoner, doing your hair and make up over and over again in front of the mirror as you moan and complain about the brand new zit that just appeared.

Posing with your date while your parents/their parents take thousands of pictures. Driving to the prom, tense with anticipation. The arrival, the gushing over friend’s appearances. The obligatory photo op, pasted grins while posing in front of plastic palms. Sweaty palms as you dance to the newest saccharine love song.

Drinking tropical punch out of plastic cocktail glasses. Playing with the candle wax because you are bored out of your mind, and your date is seriously annoying you. Rolling your eyes as the girls leave like a flock of hens to "powder their noises". The endless gossip in the bathrooms as the girls chat about who is hooking up with whom.

I went to a formal once, I don’t remember if it was the prom or not, with my boyfriend. He annoyed me so much; I broke up with him the next day. My good friend was dating my boyfriends’ twin brother, and the twins took us to a cruddy burger joint called Hot and Now before the big dance. Imagine being all dressed up in fancy clothes and going to a drive through that sold .33-cent hamburgers. They didn’t even have a dining room, and the guys wouldn’t let us eat our budget burgers in the car. They insisted we drive back to my friend’s house, where we dined in style on our cold meal. They only reason we ended up going through the drive through is because they had forgotten to make reservations at the appropriate restaurant.

I actually had a good senior prom. The year was 1994. I went with a dear friend, who I had a massive crush on at the time. We both worked together at Burger King. Mostly on cash, but sometimes in the back. I remember making burgers together. Many high jinks insued.

I asked him to the dance. I did that a lot in high school. I didn't have the patience to wait for the boys to untie their tongues and pop the question. We would talk for hours and hours at work, joke around, and hang out. We would talk for hours on the phone almost every night. He loved Mariah Carey, and I loved the Beatles.

Anyway, the night of the prom, he gave me a dozen roses instead of a crappy corsage. I thought it was the sweetest thing. We went over to his dad's house, and his dad make creepy comments while snapping pictures. His dad was an interesting ex-army guy who at that time was an army recruiter.

We had a great time, and although we never actually dated, we still remain the best of friends. I was talking to him just last night, and he asked me if I remembered the vest he wore to the dance. He thought it was ugly, I thought it matched my dress perfectly. I'll let you decide.

I wanted my friend Eric to be the "maid of honor" at my wedding, but I chickened out, as my husband and I were married in a Catholic church, and I didn't have the balls to ask the priest if it would be okay. Somehow, I didn't think the Priest would go for it. .

Also, I have a picture of my best friends and I at another formal. They will probably kill me for posting this, but I couldn't resist. Besides, doesn't everyone have big hair and dresses on prom day? Remember this is circa 1992-1993. Let me know some memories about your prom!

Fuzzy Little Caterpillar

A fuzzy little caterpillar came to visit me today. Actually, a whole FAMILY of fuzzy little caterpillars came to visit. They brought Mom, Pop, Little Joey, Gramps, and Grandma to dine on my newly planted flowers.
They are taking over my patio. I've almost stepped on them in my bare feet (ick), and they seem to like it under my porch swing in the shade.
Actually, they really aren't that attractive. They have that furry body that you just know is going to send shivers down your spine if one happens to touch you.
I'm living in fear my son will pick one up and chomp on it. "Yum, Mummy, LUNCHTIME!"
Maybe they will turn into a lovely butterfly, or maybe they will be some kind of nasty moth. I really don't know. They better just leave my herb garden alone. I've got plans for that basil.

******UPDATE********

Based on my extensive on-line research, I've determined that the family that has moved in with us is part of the clan "Malacosoma americanum" or Eastern Tent worm. In sudden shocking news, this intrepid researcher has found out that they are a pest! Apparently, they have been evicted from numerous homes for defoliating the landscaping, having loud and noisy parties, and generally loitering on scenic walkways and fruit trees. Once they have all that parting out of their system, they curl up for a long siesta and become nasty moths!
Unfortunately, I have learned that I can't use insecticide to kill them, as this is generally ineffective. So murder seems to be out of the question. Maybe I’ll just ask them quietly to keep the noise down. If that doesn't work, maybe a relocation program may be in order. Click here for more fascinating information about the Eastern Tent Worm.

1st Birthday and Beyond

We celebrated our son's first birthday the other day. We had some good friends visit with their little boy, and hilarity ensued.
The boys had fun playing outside. The picked grass, and my son tried to eat a handful of dirt.
The carrot cake was a big hit. Our son loved the frosting.
For his birthday, he got a rocking horse, which he hasn't quite figured out yet. As long as you’re making it bounce, he's happy. He also got the book Green Eggs and Ham from his Grandpa. It's one of my personal favorites, and I'm sure we will enjoy reading it together.

After our friends left, we were all tired and feel fast asleep. So much for the party! Yawn! Snore!

To see birthday pictures, click here.

Dirty Little Secret

I have a dirty little secret I want to tell you about. You see . . . SOB SOB; I'm addicted to SOAP! No, not the stereotypical stay-at-home mom soap addict who has to watch Guiding Light, Passions, or General Hospital, but the liquid kind that comes in a bottle.

It all started as a child. My parents would only buy generic Suave shampoo, you know the kind, and you have probably bought this brand in the past or have some on your shelf right this moment. The "flavor" my mother preferred was the Strawberry scent. I can still remember the lingering odor of vine ripened, chemically created, juicy pink fruit fantasia.

As a child, we had hair shampoo (not usually conditioner), Lux bar Soap, and Dawn dish soap. My parents could use these soaps to clean anything. For example, stain in your shirt? Use the bar soap to pre treat. Car needs washing? Pull out the Dawn. Floor need mopped, a squirt of Dawn in the mop water would do the trick. If we ran out of shampoo, we used Dawn or Lux on our hair. It would leave my hair feeling like straw and a dry unmanageable mess. I wouldn't recommend it. If we ran out of Dawn, then we used the Suave to wash the dishes!

The funniest use of household chemicals came when my dad tried to make his own car windshield wiper fluid. I believe he used a concoction of Dawn and Bleach. To this day, I don't know why he just didn't spend the .99 cents on a jug of the blue stuff, but I think he was trying to be thrifty. Needless to say, his concoction had disastrous results. It smeared the windshield, leaving it impossible to see out of. This was not helped by the fact that the wipers on our maroon 1982 Ford Escort were probably original to the car. The rubber edges had peeled off, and the sharp pointed edges dug into the glass, making a horrible screeching sound with every pass. This concoction etched the glass, made a soapy nasty mess, and then stained the hood paint. For years after that, I would look at the ruined hood and shake my head. We still tease my dad about this to this day, although sometimes he pretends he doesn't remember!

I expressed my early love of soap by making my own shampoo formulas. When we had hair conditioner (usually also Suave), I would mix it with the shampoo, making my own early shampoo/conditioner formula before the big brands even did this. I think I should be getting some money from somebody!

Once, we moved into a new house that had a dishwasher! Someone in my family put Dawn into it. (Everyone had done this at some time or another I think), and the kitchen was overrun with bubbles. Someone in my family also tried Dawn in the washing machine, with the same results. After that, we actually bought dish soap and laundry soap.

As a child, I think I was a bit of a handful. I remember one time when my mom was punishing me. I was grounded to my room or something. Maybe I was standing in the corner. That was always a big punishment in our house. I was mad, so I took the container of Dawn soap in one hand, and then started yelling, "I hate you, I hate you!" to my mom. I know, I know, it wasn't very nice, but I was a willful child. Before she could do anything, I announced that I was going to punish myself, and squirted the soap in my mouth for "punishment". I don't know if my mom was madder at me for screaming at her, or for being so cheeky with the soap, but needless to say, I was in even more trouble.

So that's where my addiction to soap started. Once I grew up, and started buying my own groceries, it seemed like I couldn't stop buying soap. Especially shampoo. I don't know what it is. I get bored with one brand before it is used up, and then will buy another bottle. I end up with four or five half used bottles kicking around. Then I have to suck it up and finish them before I let myself buy any more.

I think the back of soap bottles actually make interesting reading. For example, the back of my body wash bottle says: "When your skin looks and feels beautiful if shows -- You are radiant. Caress Glowing Touch Body Wash gently cleanses and moisturizes for beautiful, silky soft, glowing skin. The luxurious lather . . . leaves you looking radiant." Wow! It can do all that! Amazing. Forget the tummy tuck and face-lift! Just buy this soap! Also, the name amuses me "Glowing Touch!" I'll let you make the connection! Just remember, you can use sex to sell anything, even soap.

I also have an unhealthy collection of household products. At the moment, I probably have 20 different household cleaners. The problem is, nothing seems to work as well as I want it to. I like my tub spotless, so I have about four different products for that. I have several different kinds of floor soaps, and three different kinds of counter top cleaner. I tend to buy things in big bottles from the wholesale club, because it's a good deal, but then I have these huge bottles hanging around.

Every new soap/household product I have to try. I have two Swifters, a mop, two brooms, and associated laundry products. I'm hopeless!

Finally, I decided that enough was enough. I have put myself on a ban from buying any more soap. I'm not buying another one until it's all used up. It's been six months since my last purchase of household soaps. You know the funny thing? I still have lots left. Maybe I can get out a jug and whip up some windshield washer fluid or some car wash -- or maybe not!

April 2nd, 2006

The daffodils nod their heads with queenly grace,
While Robin's twitter and hop from place to place

The springtime breeze warms the land
While mother nature plots and plans

The trees awake with joyful green
While neighbors start to tend and preen

J Miller 04/02/06