I'm really to busy this week to be posting, but since I have received some requests for misadventures of the Dayton family, I will oblige.
We drove to Philadelphia. Or, if you're HB, Philadeedelphia. Kind of like Scarlett O'Hara and her Fiddle de dee, that's where we are.
To get here? Drove down I-81. That is a mistake. If you plan to drive in the SOUTHERLY direction on I-81 from the NORTHERNLY part of Pennsylvania (let's talk about spelling... how did Pennsylvania ever happen?) you should really reconsider. I will sum up the experience this way: Traffic was stopped so often and for so long, I taught my children how to do Chinese Fire Drills. And they all are in car seats. Also, Miss O drove for six miles.
Just kidding.
Or am I?
No, really, I'm kidding.
Honest.
Anyway, we have been hanging with the Well-Read Family. Everyone's in love. Miss O and the Well-Read Son are now betrothed. They were walking around Philadeedelphia holding hands and it's just wicked cute.
In other Philadeedelphia-related news, I was not surprised to learn that it costs $2 to visit Ben Franklin's grave. Also, not surprisingly WHATSOEVER, I learned that shooting in broad daylight with the aperture WIDE FREAKING OPEN is a mistake. I'm talking about shooting with a camera, too, for the record. And OF COURSE I learned this lesson after we had gotten back on the train to return to the Well-Read Household, and I saw that all of my pictures of Ben Franklin's grave were so overexposed that I could barely tell what they were. I took them to show to The Mister, because he likes Ben Franklin. Sorry.
I brought bread and pickles and jams to the Well-Reads, and for the other bloggers who came to partay on Sunday. I gave some to HER and HER and HER and HER. But? No bread for Bossy. She didn't come to the party. The Mister was disappointed I didn't get to meet Bossy.
And as disappointing as it is to be ignored by Bossy, even worse?
Please sit down. Really.
We lost Beloved Blanket. Wee Man's Beloved Belovey is gone. There is no sign of that thing. We're still in shock.
Condolences can be emailed to: thedaytontime (at) gmail (dot) com, Dear Wee Man in the subject line.
Thanks for your support.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
it happened one sunday
Hotslings aren't just for infants.
In fact, HB was having acolossal temper tantrum little moment after church a week or so ago, and I put his punk ass my darling third-born son in the Hotslings while The Mister carried Sweets home.
I should have photographed that. Or caught some video. Because that kid was out of control.
It's not often that a two year old being special can be used as a marketing tool. Parishioners stared as I tossed HB up on my shoulder and slipped him down into the sling.
One kindly granny shook with fear for my life and shouted a warning, Look out for his pointy little elbows. Want me to whack him once with my cane?
Never fear, kindly granny, I replied in a most nonchalant fashion. I've got Old Bessie, my trusty Hotslings, at my side.
But it's just a piece of fabric! she shouted, unconvinced of the power of the Hotslings, What good can it possibly do for you in this moment of grave peril?!?!?!?
WHAT? I called back to her, unable to understand what she was saying over the din that was my son. What did you say?
IT'S JUST FABRIC! A PIECE OF COTTON!!! YOUR DEMISE IS IMMINENT!!!
Oh, no, Kindly Granny! The secret is in the... oh, never mind, I'm not telling you what the secret is! Then it wouldn't be secret any more.
And while we were shouting at each other, in a most neighborly way, I had arranged the padded rail comfortably behind the screaming person's knees. I pulled the sling tight, over my right shoulder, to lock that little snot my charming son in place.
He kicked and he screamed and still he could not escape the clutches of the Hotslings.
Yet still he flailed.
Still he screamed. He was dedicated.
He tried to kick me, but he couldn't.
He tried to punch me. MUAH-HAHAHAHA.... I laughed my I'm The Mama And I'm Winning Laugh.
A gaggle of kindly grannies gathered and gaped as we gregariously gabbed about my great garment. (Okay, it's not technically a garment, but I wear it so often, it might as well be one. And also? I had a great thing going with that alliteration there.)
Then we got tired of the screaming, and I walked home. The sweet, darling, light of my life had fallen asleep in the two minute walk up the street.
And that is how Hotslings saved Sunday.
In fact, HB was having a
I should have photographed that. Or caught some video. Because that kid was out of control.
It's not often that a two year old being special can be used as a marketing tool. Parishioners stared as I tossed HB up on my shoulder and slipped him down into the sling.
One kindly granny shook with fear for my life and shouted a warning, Look out for his pointy little elbows. Want me to whack him once with my cane?
Never fear, kindly granny, I replied in a most nonchalant fashion. I've got Old Bessie, my trusty Hotslings, at my side.
But it's just a piece of fabric! she shouted, unconvinced of the power of the Hotslings, What good can it possibly do for you in this moment of grave peril?!?!?!?
WHAT? I called back to her, unable to understand what she was saying over the din that was my son. What did you say?
IT'S JUST FABRIC! A PIECE OF COTTON!!! YOUR DEMISE IS IMMINENT!!!
Oh, no, Kindly Granny! The secret is in the... oh, never mind, I'm not telling you what the secret is! Then it wouldn't be secret any more.
And while we were shouting at each other, in a most neighborly way, I had arranged the padded rail comfortably behind the screaming person's knees. I pulled the sling tight, over my right shoulder, to lock that little snot my charming son in place.
He kicked and he screamed and still he could not escape the clutches of the Hotslings.
Yet still he flailed.
Still he screamed. He was dedicated.
He tried to kick me, but he couldn't.
He tried to punch me. MUAH-HAHAHAHA.... I laughed my I'm The Mama And I'm Winning Laugh.
A gaggle of kindly grannies gathered and gaped as we gregariously gabbed about my great garment. (Okay, it's not technically a garment, but I wear it so often, it might as well be one. And also? I had a great thing going with that alliteration there.)
Then we got tired of the screaming, and I walked home. The sweet, darling, light of my life had fallen asleep in the two minute walk up the street.
And that is how Hotslings saved Sunday.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
on father's day
I wonder about you.
I wonder what you've been doing for the past eight years. I wonder if you were ever happy. I wonder if you'll ever be happy. I wonder how you can live with a person for so long, and then just walk away. I wonder how it's possible to (and I'll use your words here), Just not think about them, part of the them being me.
I wonder what happened to you that getting involved with another woman, an inmate especially, seemed like a good idea. I wonder why you talked about the guards who screwed the inmates in such derogatory terms, while at the same time, you were falling into that. You knew the statistics about STDs and AIDS and all of the versions of hepatitis that fester in a state prison, and you subjected my mother to the danger.
You know that I've been a parent for over six years now, and you never bothered to contact them. Which is fine with me, because really? Explaining to a child a) that there is another grandpa; and b) that he just up and moved away one day... well, it's not easy and it's not fun. Also? It doesn't make sense.
Nothing you have done has been easy. And yes, I could make a list, but what's the point? It matters, but it doesn't.
I wrote you a letter and told you that I couldn't have a relationship with you if you were going to lie to me. And I haven't heard from you since. I don't even know what it means, that you haven't tried. Are the lies better? Or is it something else?
Here's what I want you to know: I'm great. Really, I am. My husband and kids? Also wonderful. We are happy and doing fine. I forgive you for the way you treated me, my mother, and my brothers. But I don't miss you, and I don't want to talk to you.
Sincerely,
your daughter
I wonder what you've been doing for the past eight years. I wonder if you were ever happy. I wonder if you'll ever be happy. I wonder how you can live with a person for so long, and then just walk away. I wonder how it's possible to (and I'll use your words here), Just not think about them, part of the them being me.
I wonder what happened to you that getting involved with another woman, an inmate especially, seemed like a good idea. I wonder why you talked about the guards who screwed the inmates in such derogatory terms, while at the same time, you were falling into that. You knew the statistics about STDs and AIDS and all of the versions of hepatitis that fester in a state prison, and you subjected my mother to the danger.
You know that I've been a parent for over six years now, and you never bothered to contact them. Which is fine with me, because really? Explaining to a child a) that there is another grandpa; and b) that he just up and moved away one day... well, it's not easy and it's not fun. Also? It doesn't make sense.
Nothing you have done has been easy. And yes, I could make a list, but what's the point? It matters, but it doesn't.
I wrote you a letter and told you that I couldn't have a relationship with you if you were going to lie to me. And I haven't heard from you since. I don't even know what it means, that you haven't tried. Are the lies better? Or is it something else?
Here's what I want you to know: I'm great. Really, I am. My husband and kids? Also wonderful. We are happy and doing fine. I forgive you for the way you treated me, my mother, and my brothers. But I don't miss you, and I don't want to talk to you.
Sincerely,
your daughter
Thursday, June 18, 2009
week in review
nurse the baby...82% of the time
wear something other than pajamas...2% of the time
eat proper meals...4% of the time
have inane phone conversations...2% of the time
twittering my life away to win the Sling and Swaddle Journey...10% of the time
wait... where does sleep fit in my schedule?
oh. i see. so *that's* the problem.
**********************************************
if you people would just please follow me on Twitter, my game id is @Mom_17, maybe i could take a nap or something. i'm not winning. i want to win. and remember, if i win, i will donate all the prizes to Teen MOPS (except the camera, which i will give to mah mama).
i'm seriously considering sending bread to anyone who does a blog post about the contest and sends their readers my way. and you can ask irish gumbo or joce or manda or julia or steph or jill or the mister about how freaking yummy good the bread is. and in a few days, my friend k from down in philly, yo, will know about how freaking yummy good the bread is. because i'm bringing it. because she told me to.
see. *i* follow directions.
will you follow directions, AND ME ON TWITTER????? @Mom_17.
be there or i will lose and cry forever and blame you.
wear something other than pajamas...2% of the time
eat proper meals...4% of the time
have inane phone conversations...2% of the time
twittering my life away to win the Sling and Swaddle Journey...10% of the time
wait... where does sleep fit in my schedule?
oh. i see. so *that's* the problem.
**********************************************
if you people would just please follow me on Twitter, my game id is @Mom_17, maybe i could take a nap or something. i'm not winning. i want to win. and remember, if i win, i will donate all the prizes to Teen MOPS (except the camera, which i will give to mah mama).
i'm seriously considering sending bread to anyone who does a blog post about the contest and sends their readers my way. and you can ask irish gumbo or joce or manda or julia or steph or jill or the mister about how freaking yummy good the bread is. and in a few days, my friend k from down in philly, yo, will know about how freaking yummy good the bread is. because i'm bringing it. because she told me to.
see. *i* follow directions.
will you follow directions, AND ME ON TWITTER????? @Mom_17.
be there or i will lose and cry forever and blame you.
Monday, June 15, 2009
phone conversation in which i ask about raising "pets" in my yard
We are thinking about increasing the critter population in our yard. And by critters, I mean useful ones, like some hens and a little goat to mow our lawn for us. And by us, I mean The Mister.
Her: Hello? Is someone there?
So I called the Woman Who Has Access To Such Info.
Me: Hello, this is Pamela Dayton. I'm wondering what the ordinances are about pets in the village.
Her: Hello? Is someone there?
Me: Yes, I'm here. This is Pamela Dayton, and I'm calling to find out about what kinds of pets we can have in the village.
Her: Oh, yes. Hello. You want to know about pads in the village?
Me: No, I want to know if I can raise some hens and a pygmy goat.
Her: Do you mean, have animals?
Me: Yes. That is what I mean.
Her: Well, I think you can raise pretty much anything except goats and chickens and animals like that.
Me: That is why I am calling. I want to raise a few hens and a pet goat.
Her: Hello? Are you there?
Me: Yes, I'm here. What are the ordinances regarding pets?
Her: Well you can't raise a cow in the village.
Me: That's alright. I just want a pet goat.
Her: I'll check on the rules about chickens.
Me: We aren't going to have roosters, just a few hens. And a pet goat.
Her: Hello? Hello? You can't have roosters. It's just not allowed.
Me: I understand. I just want to know about hens and goats.
Her: I'll call you in a few days about the chickens. But I know you can't have roosters. Why would you even want to have hens?
Me: We eat a lot of eggs over here.
Her: I'll call you to let you know about the chickens.
Me: And the goat.
Her: I'll call you to let you know about the chickens.
Me: And also the goat.
Her: I'll call you to let you know about the chickens.
Me: We want to get a pygmy goat, too. Will you look into that?
Her: In a few days.
Me: Chickens AND A GOAT.
Her: Okay, then, so I'll call you back about the chickens.
Me: Awesome. Have a great afternoon.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
p;eople in my house are drunk. maybe. or not
i'm having a little typing problem.
the problem is that my fingein
fingers are a little tingly.
and that's okay.
also
my face itches when i have drunk too much.
which may or may not be happeing
happenine
happening rith
right now.
a friend of amanda's from college got herself knocked up.
oh yes she did.
good work, amanda's frine
friend.
my fingers are getting faster but i have to reallyreallyreally concente
concentratet
con c
concentrate.
hz.
no[
n
nop[d
nop
nope.
finally. nope.
i win?
Thursday, June 11, 2009
lesson of the week: in which i lecture on blog etiquette to an absolute moron.
If you're following me on Twitter...
WHAT? You're not following me yet? Come ON people. The month is one-third over. I need your help here.
You may have seen my tweet about my Very Special Visitor, Anonymous Troll-type Person. Or Jackass. I'm just tossing that out there so you have a choice in the matter. Choose away.
My VSVATTP/J did some digging... all the way back to March of last year, long before most of you experienced the enlightenment that is the dayton time. Or whatever it is I've got going on here.
And it must be that my VSVATTP/J has not ever encountered a Mama Bloggah before, because this is his/her response to a post about the barfing flu:
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "not so much with the sharing":
umm gross... y would u make a blog about this?
VSVATTP/J, there are a few things we need to discuss if you are going to be allowed to "make a comment" on the dayton time.
1. The usage of text message slang is prohibited at the dayton time.
2. My entire blog, contrary to what you may have read between the months of November, 2008 and April, 2009, is not all about the barfing flu.
3. The little bit you read? It's called a post. Here's a little SAT analogy for you: post is to blog as chapter is to book. Does that clear things up for you a little bit? No? As I re-read your highly intelligent commentary, it occurs to me that you may have never read a book. And that's okay. If you're two days old.
4. You make potholders. And birdhouses. One does not make a blog.
5. The usage of text message slang is prohibited at the dayton time.
And despite being whatever it is that my VSVATTP/J was after reading that post, he/she KEPT ON READING.
Yes, I'm scratching my head over that one, too.
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "because you should know the truth":
pooop
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "because you should know the truth":
...
This post? Was a review of the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. No, I didn't get paid to do it, I just reviewed the thing because I expected it to suck, and it lived up to my expectation.
Friend? Poop only has 2 o's. And the comment with the three dots? What does that even mean?
This last comment (if you're counting, we're up to FOUR comments by my VSVATTP/J now) shows that VSVATTP/J has fallen right off the silly wagon into a vat of stupid.
The post was short, so have a quick read:
re: why?
The decision to keep Jayci Yaeger's dad in jail raised a lot of attention, and prison officials let him visit with his daughter earlier this week. It was a short visit, and Jayci passed away Friday morning, March 28th.
Join me in saying a prayer (or two) for this family, and for the myriad other families around the world who are separated from the ones they love and are suffering, because no matter what the cause of the separation and suffering, it's just plain awful.
And kids don't need to know about either one.
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "re: why?":
heyy u should send that girl some pickles and send me,anonymous some cash haha jk
My dear VSVATTP/J, you truly are a jackass. I cannot send that girl some pickles because she is dead. And they don't FedEx pickles to heaven. Also? I'm not sending pickles out any more. Please know that if you choose to return to my blog and leave comments that reveal your level of jackassery to my readers, you will be mocked. So be sure to bring your big boy pants. Or your big girl pants, if you're into that sort of thing. We embrace everyone here, except for the obviously stupid. Have a nice day.
WHAT? You're not following me yet? Come ON people. The month is one-third over. I need your help here.
You may have seen my tweet about my Very Special Visitor, Anonymous Troll-type Person. Or Jackass. I'm just tossing that out there so you have a choice in the matter. Choose away.
My VSVATTP/J did some digging... all the way back to March of last year, long before most of you experienced the enlightenment that is the dayton time. Or whatever it is I've got going on here.
And it must be that my VSVATTP/J has not ever encountered a Mama Bloggah before, because this is his/her response to a post about the barfing flu:
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "not so much with the sharing":
umm gross... y would u make a blog about this?
VSVATTP/J, there are a few things we need to discuss if you are going to be allowed to "make a comment" on the dayton time.
1. The usage of text message slang is prohibited at the dayton time.
2. My entire blog, contrary to what you may have read between the months of November, 2008 and April, 2009, is not all about the barfing flu.
3. The little bit you read? It's called a post. Here's a little SAT analogy for you: post is to blog as chapter is to book. Does that clear things up for you a little bit? No? As I re-read your highly intelligent commentary, it occurs to me that you may have never read a book. And that's okay. If you're two days old.
4. You make potholders. And birdhouses. One does not make a blog.
5. The usage of text message slang is prohibited at the dayton time.
And despite being whatever it is that my VSVATTP/J was after reading that post, he/she KEPT ON READING.
Yes, I'm scratching my head over that one, too.
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "because you should know the truth":
pooop
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "because you should know the truth":
...
This post? Was a review of the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. No, I didn't get paid to do it, I just reviewed the thing because I expected it to suck, and it lived up to my expectation.
Friend? Poop only has 2 o's. And the comment with the three dots? What does that even mean?
This last comment (if you're counting, we're up to FOUR comments by my VSVATTP/J now) shows that VSVATTP/J has fallen right off the silly wagon into a vat of stupid.
The post was short, so have a quick read:
re: why?
The decision to keep Jayci Yaeger's dad in jail raised a lot of attention, and prison officials let him visit with his daughter earlier this week. It was a short visit, and Jayci passed away Friday morning, March 28th.
Join me in saying a prayer (or two) for this family, and for the myriad other families around the world who are separated from the ones they love and are suffering, because no matter what the cause of the separation and suffering, it's just plain awful.
And kids don't need to know about either one.
Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "re: why?":
heyy u should send that girl some pickles and send me,anonymous some cash haha jk
My dear VSVATTP/J, you truly are a jackass. I cannot send that girl some pickles because she is dead. And they don't FedEx pickles to heaven. Also? I'm not sending pickles out any more. Please know that if you choose to return to my blog and leave comments that reveal your level of jackassery to my readers, you will be mocked. So be sure to bring your big boy pants. Or your big girl pants, if you're into that sort of thing. We embrace everyone here, except for the obviously stupid. Have a nice day.
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