Eureka!

I know why people have nannies. It's so they can complete a thought or task without interruption. NOT just for manicures and long lunches. I'll take a lunch where I'm not bending down to pick up cups and spoons off the floor every 2.5 seconds.

H is still plugging away at the bathroom renovations. There has been some yelling and the toilet is the culprit. It's now taped shut and the door to the bathroom is closed tight. We are not to discuss the toilet or the bathroom right now.

While he diligently and tirelessly worked on that project I just tried to stay afloat, finish a bear of a project that has me feeling slightly insane, and running interference between the dog/kid war of '07. It's on!

Am I the Only One?

Who can no longer tolerate Rosie and Oprah? I wish someone would put the two of them on a deserted island so they could just talk each other into oblivion. We could probably still hear them.

I used to like them back in the day, truly I did. Rosie's first show, her foray into movies. I enjoyed that. I hated the koosh balls, but I survived. Oprah, I was a certified junkie, minus the sappy book club. I watched for as long as I could remember. I figured being at home I would probably take that Oprah break during the day. Yet, it was while I was on maternity leave and bed rest that I found I could no longer tolerate her ways.

I realize that they have both done heartfelt and generous things numerous times over the years, but I find, and especially with Oprah that they have now become bloated and insufferable. Oprah can't interview someone without interrupting them and relating it back to her. She gives away tons of money and then spends millions on a birthday? Stop showing us your 'Favorite Things' that include $400 slippers and $750 blankets for dogs! Get back to the reality of your viewers. Stop inviting your friends on the show and fawning on them and then having someone you aren't friends with (Faith Hill) on and looking like you are about to fall into a coma. Not everyone has to stroke your ego girl.

Rosie is a windbag much like a talking politico head. She's easier to turn off as she is more explosive and obvious. I do like her skirmishes with Elizabeth as that chick is way too easily provoked and it slays me. Her misspelled blog incites me however and she just seems like some like the toddler at the party no one can control.

But I wonder, am I the only one who finds these too nerve gratingly annoying? Share please.

A Little Bit of Green

Green with Envy.

I like to say that I work "really hard" on how I look. Except I don't. Oh, I may put in more than some people- I until recently kept my hair and highlights in check. I put on make up daily. Moisturize. I work out too. Except I work out sometimes sporadically or don't push myself hard enough and as I said before it's my own fault if I don't look the way I REALLY want to. I like to eat too much and I like to eat some pretty "bad for you" foods on a too frequent basis. I berate my thighs daily but so far that hasn't galvanized them to depuff and shed some poundage.

Then today I found out that the oh so cute girl at my gym who I always see in practically every class has two kids. Yup. Two. She's a stick and oh by the way, she gained 60 lbs with each one. That last kiddie is all of six months old if that. Sigh... Now she's teaching a class.

I'm just a little bit green. Green with Envy that I don't have that motivation to rock a body like that. Geez... Though after hearing that I did put in an extra ten minutes of cardio going really really fast and then did a full round of weight training. No more 30 minutes for me! I'm now munching a salad.

To make it worse I took a trip to that oh so fun Safeway. I will now refer to that site as the 13th Ring of Hell. Seriously. Again, I dashed into the place after the gym for a gallon of milk. Annoyed that the Safeway organic kind was past expiration date again, I bought the name brand. I sweating, arms tired from lifting, thought that I would be in and out of the store lickety split. I didn't get a cart. It's just a gallon of milk I thought. Ha. Ha. I'm not really laughing. I again mistakenly thought the 'express' line was meant for fast people. Those of us who enjoy a quick trip. Standing in line behind Mr. I HAVE NO EARTHLY CLUE I felt my arms begin to quake and shake with the weight of T.D. I struggled not to just throw her on top of the conveyor belt. This guy. I just...no words. He has no earthly clue and I really have NO clue as to WTF he was doing. Neither did the cashier.

He had a debit card or a rebate card or SOMETHING. Whatever it was, it wasn't working. He started with an $8 purchase and went down to $4 and nothing would go through. I began to feel bad for him thinking he has that little amount in his account. After fifteen minutes of fiddling though he pulls out a wad o' cash and easily peels off enough money for the entire purchase. WHAT?! Why on earth did we just go through this? At this point T.D. is wiggling and wrangling to run and make a mad dash for some display. I am still sweating, in pain, and feeling the beginnings of a migraine. I just want out! STUPID STUPID SAFEWAY. Not even good enough to make it to the 7th Ring of Hell, but hellish just the same.

Nankeen Style!

Mummy's Product Reviews has new stuff up! Check it out on Friday for Fun Finds Friday too! Beautiful bags and pillows here! Or click on the beautiful link in green to the right.


As an aside thanks to all those of you who pointed out that what my Mom was saying was a compliment. I know. I just thought the whole delivery was funny. Almost a Whew! from my mother as in, "Thank God you are actually talented and not just sitting there at home fooling yourself. I'm relieved." Because until recently I never let anyone read anything I had done unless is was academic.

Overheards

Scene: My house. Me on the phone with my Mother.

Mom: You know that email you sent with the link on that piece you wrote?

Me: Yes....

Mom: Well, it just brought me to the main site. There were tons of them. I didn't know which one was yours, none of them had a name to them.

Me: Oh. I thought I sent a link to my latest article. Just that one. Not to the main site. Hm....I could have sworn...well it was the book review, 'Bright Lights, Big Ass'.

Mom: That one? Oh! I read that one! Well, that one was quite well written! I didn't know you wrote that one!

Me: Thanks! (Mentally banging head down on table or other hard surface.)

A Case of the Binks

I tried. I tried hard with H's advice yesterday to "take it easy." Never something I normally do without about 2-3 days of practice beforehand.

I cleaned my shower stall. I wiped the newly lain grout off the bathroom floor. I organized a bathroom cabinet. Made the beds. Dusted the entire upstairs and tried to put our guest room back together. All while following a toddler around who was trying to lay tile, eat spacers, shake tiny bags of screws and throw them around various rooms. Did I mention we've been re-doing our bathrooms? Yup. I was so tired and feeling quite under the weather so I did manage a good dose of book reading and some napping during nap time.

I also broke the blue blanket out mid-day after feeling particularly crappy. How sad is it that I took out my security blanket? Really nothing else was working so why the hell not? Now my daughter and I schelp around the house each with our blankets in tow. H came home and said, "Ooh the blue blanket is out. You must be feeling bad."

So I'm off to curl up with the blanket and rest some more. In the meantime VOTE FOR ME!!! I'm trying to win the chance to be a paid blogger for a year. HELP A GIRL OUT!

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Urgent Smurgent

Why do they call it Urgent Care... if.. well you get my drift. It's NOT!

Urgent for those of us using it. Not so for the people working there. Maybe it's just the place I went to but it was a two hour wait for four people. Just for the waiting room. Where no one had any outward appearances of being sick. They must have all gone in for a UTI like me.

Yesterday, I found myself suffering from some burning lower back pain. All too familiar to my kidney infection two years ago. I procrastinated in a state of denial all day until H came home. Then feeling slightly dizzy I decided to join the oh so happenin' party that is the Urgent Care waiting room. The possibly pregnant teen with her mother. The movie the 'Little Princess' inexplicably playing on the VCR. The weird guy next to me who kept locking himself in the bathroom only to emerge after his name was called three times with soaking wet hair. I mean dripping. When I went to pee in my little cup later? That's right, urine all over the floor. WTF? Was the guy pissing on the floor or showering with it?! I felt sufficiently diseased after that.

After reading almost half a book I was finally called in. I dutifully peed in my cup and handed it over. There was no direction as to what I was supposed to do with the cup or myself afterwards. The entire waiting room saw me with my cup o' pee since the bathroom is in there and not behind a closed door. I didn't feel compelled to join them again. So I stood around the back area awkwardly waiting for my cue. Five minutes later a mumbling nurse ushered me into a room that might have seemed fresh in 1986. Was that when beige sponge paint was all the rage? I cracked open my book again as I listened to the doctor berating a pregnant woman next door. Seems they did a bunch of tests before she revealed her pregnancy. I felt like I was listening to an incredibly bad and old soap opera next to me. The ones with the organ music added for dramatic emphasis.

Finally it was my turn. Five minutes with the doctor gave me an instant sample of anti-biotic, two scripts for pain killers and a diagnosis of- nothing. Seems I peed it all out? Huh. Anyway, the test strip I could have bought at my local CVS told them nothing. To send it to the lab would be against my insurance policy. Nice. When I asked the doctor about that- how can it be that no lab work could ever be done? She promptly snapped, "Go yell at your insurance company then." Because we all know that will solve EVERYTHING.

Tired, in pain, and now mad at the U.S. Health care system, I drove to CVS praying that my two plus hours at the Not-So-Urgent Care would not leave me stranded with no pain meds. An hour later, with two pill bottles, a bag of freetos and a new plastic shower curtain (I got bored!) in hand I left CVS to head home.

Today I am tired. I've already said things like, "Well, stop feeding Lex (the dog) your Cheerios and then you can eat them" about a bazillion times and I just want to crawl into bed and see everyone later. Like tomorrow. Just be sure to slip my meds under the door every few hours.

Dear Nice Lady Whom I Now Loathe

To the Woman in Front of Me at the Safeway Checkout,

Hi! Remember me? The woman dripping in sweat because I was at the gym right before I dashed into our local Safeway? I also had the cranky toddler who everyone smiled at when she pointed to Matthew Mcconaughey and proclaimed, "Daddy!" Yes, that was me.

I thought you were a nice smart lady. I thought you had your shit together when I got in line behind you. It was the express line after all. Fifteen items or less! You had more kids than groceries piled in your cart. We were simpatico. You were already sliding your credit card through the scanner when I dumped my greeting card and jug of organic milk on the conveyor belt. Easy peasy. Then you got confused.

It wasn't the credit card processing. It was the coupon on the receipt. I know. They are awfully colorful aren't they? It's hard to ignore them. However, when you asked the nice cashier if you could use it right then and there, well, we all know that isn't possible. It's NOT POSSIBLE because you DIDN'T PURCHASE THAT PARTICULAR ITEM!!!

That's the tricky thing about coupons. You have to actually purchase the item and THEN present the coupon before you slide your handy piece of plastic through the card reader. So when the cashier explains that to you for the fifth time just go with it. The six people now behind you all carrying gallons of milk do not have the time or patience to have you ask for the sixth time. We may be smiling a tad through bared teeth but we really mean MOVE YOUR BUTT WOMAN!!! GET OUT! YOUR TIME IS UP!! WHAT IS SO HARD TO UNDERSTAND?! Besides the screeching from my child should be more than enough to drive anyone away.

I have to say though, good job on confounding even me. When you asked that question about whether or not you could scan the coupon in at your own home and get money back, well I was just flummoxed. I had no idea that was possible. You must have a truly special type of scanner and computer that the rest of us don't. Dare I say? Magical. Funny, that the cashier didn't understand you either. Now please kindly get your cart away from the register. No, no, don't try to fold the coupon up nicely in your wallet. JUST GO! The cow I outsourced while waiting is already producing milk faster than this line is moving.

Can We Just Not?

Fred Thompson is no Ronald Reagan. Enough. It's all I'm sayin'. I understand that it would be just so sweet for the Republican party to have someone who could galvanize them like Reagan did back in the day. But, Fred Thompson? Huh.

Yes, he's an actor. Just like Ronnie. They are affiliated with the same party. Great. Yippie freakin' skippie. George F. Will wrote a piece in Newsweek a bit ago about the "phenomenon" that is Thompson. He likened him to the tulip craze that hit Holland in the 1630s. When it was over no one ever knew what it was about (thank you Ashley Wilkes) and thus good ol' Fred for the Republican party. Here's an excerpt-

Republicans have scrutinized the current crop of presidential candidates and succumbed to the psychosomatic disease Reagan Deprivation. It is, however, odd that many Republicans who advertise their admiration for Reagan are so ready to describe Thompson as Reaganesque because he ... what?

Exactly. He ...what? He's Southern. He acts well. Because.... he's an actor. I just want to add this into the supposed frey- there is a Fred Thompson bubble happening? Really? Since when? Since Newsweek's last printing or from the one before that? I am starting to think it's just a media/only Newsweek thing. They mention him continuously and now they mention him akin to Ronald Reagan about once a week. I largely ignore it or I read on only for mere Reagan era mentions.

Then today, NPR burped out this blurb... "Fred Thompson visited London this week and met with former Prime Minister (I waited with baited breath and blurted out- Please! Let it be TONY BLAIR. sigh...) Margaret Thatcher." Ugh. ENOUGH! He visited Thatcher, for what? Tips on how to be more Gipper-like? For the mere mention of the connection?! No Fred! No! You can't not become more Reaganesque just by sitting near people who were his friends.

I'm just sayin.. is all...Enough. Thompson's basset hound face does not at least resemble the Great Communicator. That can't be faked into existence.

What If I Said It's Your Own Fault

What if I said-

It's not the media that kills and distorts our image of a healthy woman's body. What if I said it's us. Ourselves. We just aren't working hard enough. We skip the gym, eat a donut and then feel guilty. Is that the media slapping your wrist or yourself? Are we just using the media as an excuse for our own lack of motivation and what we see as our own failure to achieve a certain look? The body image in our brain or the one in US Weekly? Which comes first?

We choose to look the way we do. Cellulite can't always be helped. Neither can stretch marks or breast shape. The extra 10-50 lbs you are carrying? What if I said that is on you. If we are unhappy with how we look the onus is on us to change it. I hate my thighs. I could change them if I worked hard enough, ate better and such. I CHOOSE to skip the gym or eat that fourth slice of pizza. I choose brie. When I bitch and moan about the state of my rear, it's on me. My fault if I don't like it or can't accept it. It's all on me as to whether or not I LET that bother me. I'm not blaming Hollywood for making me feel bad about my ass.

Should the media play up all those "healthy" women and capture more images of stick figures with huge breasts? No, but mainly because we're sick of it. Then again, we CHOOSE to buy those magazines and watch all those brain-rotting shows. If we chose not to, well they would have to go somewhere like the closest landfill am I right?

Less bitching, more choosing I say. Oh yeah, and pass me more brie my ass is hungry.

Thoughtless Thursday

Also known as my lazy self doesn't feel like working. So enjoy the randomness of this post.

Overheard: My house last night-

Me: Why is the water running?

H: Because I want it to get cold... just like your heart.

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Listen up! I was on Blog Talk Radio- hear my voice and Kristen's now!
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And now for a little funny...

When this first aired I literally laughed for an hour straight. I was oh, about, 15? I continue to use the last line dialogue in many of life's situations.

Bye Bye Couch Potato Life, Hello! Family Outings

I don't normally talk about my marriage/relationship with H on the blog. It's the one thing I try to keep to myself. Yet, somehow I will be talking about it on the radio tonight? Hmm...

Things have changed A LOT since we had T.D. We're more serious and less spontaneous. Gone are the days of watching Real World marathons while noshing on Doritos for sustenance. That's not unusual for new parents. We've calmed ourselves with the thoughts that we didn't just have a child that first year but career changes for both of us and a new business. Are we crazy? Yes, sometimes I think we are. Then again, that is one of the main reasons I love H. He's just as bat-shit weird as me sometimes, just without the PBS Obsession. Honestly though there were some incredibly hard times. Babies quite literally bring you to your knees in many ways. They pull out your hair and you pull out your own hair in frustration. It's a big overhaul and can really place a magnifine glass on your relationship with your partner. When they say the three hardest things in life are death, taxes and moving they need to add a fourth- having a baby.

SO- What are the changes YOUR marriage has experienced since baby?

That's the topic I'll be discussing with Kristen tonight on her Blog Talk Radio show. The Parrotts, the couple and psychologists behind EHarmony Marriage will be on. BE THERE - 9 p.m. Tonight!

The Amazing Race

The moments between nap time and wake time always seem precious and few. We Mom's cherish them. Rarely though do we take time out for ourselves. Instead, it's a race against the nap clock with an ear always listening for the sounds of our waking child.

11:34 a.m.- T.D. is down! What should I do first? Shower? Clean? Work? I'm dirty-shower!!

11:36 a.m.- In shower- Still hear T.D. babbling- that buys me another few minutes. Let's get crazy and shave pits and legs today! Sure it could be a few minutes wasted, I'll think about that later.

11:45 a.m.-Emerge from shower fresh and clean. Silence in the house. Ooh she went down fast. Must work faster! No hair drying today. Apply fun new self-tanner though and dress quickly. Must clean floors!

11:51 a.m.- Dump baking soda and vinegar into toilet- let sit for half hour. (No, I do not use toilet bowl cleaner in the actual bowl- I'm greening people!) Let sit for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, I dash about the house changing over laundry, picking up toys on the floor, and dragging the vacuum out of it's hiding space in the hall.

12:10 p.m.- Vacuum comes crashing to the floor. Double Mother Fucker. I wince and wait for sounds of crying. Hm.. nothing. Saved. I turn on vacuum hoping it's not really as loud as I think it is. Quickly and hopefully efficiently vacuum main floor of house managing to vacuum up part of 'Blanket' (the blanket- thankfully the spare). Vacuum shudders and makes extremely loud grinding noise. I shut off. Remove offending pink fabric known as Blanket Two. Vacuuming ensues. All graham cracker detritus, pet hair, and stray raisins are eliminated in my super suction Dyson pathway.

12:42 p.m.- Run back to basement to get mop. Check on laundry. Augh! Still damp. Re-start dryer. Run back upstairs. Figure I didn't make it to the gym today so I shouldn't complain about all the stair climbing my ass needs it. Puffing back into the kitchen I begin mopping bathroom, foyer, and then kitchen. I slip on kitchen floor. Loud banging and swearing erupts. Still silence from the upstairs though. Saved. Dog gets in way of mop thinking it's fun to stand and stare wherever I'm cleaning. Knock dog off her feet to mop that area. Oh well. I don't have time for pathetic doggy stare downs. I'm running against the nap clock!

1:06 p.m.- Floors are done!!! I am dripping in sweat. Awesome. I only showered an hour or so ago. Rock on. I swipe all ABC magnets off fridge and spray it down. There is some gray matter crusted on it. WTF? I scrape. I clean some more. I wipe paint right off fridge. Make mental note: Buy appliance paint in ULTRA WHITE. Think about blog piece. Blog Blast on Tuesday or no Blog Blast? Nervous about radio show Wednesday. Think about it and want to puke. Must get over fear of speaking to smarty, snarky Kristen.

1:15 p.m.- Check email. Annoyed by lack of feedback from query. Sigh at computer. Glance outside at plants. What am I doing?! Nap Clock! Nap Clock!

1:22 p.m.- Generally tidy house. Organize non-essential items that annoy me. Glare at bathroom that is still unfinished. Stupid tiles stuck in Customs. I mean really! I know the box sounds all "Venetian" on the front, but I don't really believe that. I'm sure they are made in Ohio or something. Is there a Venetian, Ohio?

1:53 p.m.- Rub on new perfume stick I'm reviewing. Mmm...smells light and jasmineny. Sit down to computer. Open email and begin responding to clients and vendors. Find fun things on You Tube to distract me. Generally mess around with Blogger for way too long.

2:24 p.m.- Wait. What was that? Did you hear it too? Yup. The cry of a tiny dictator. Wails, indignant wails, really. Juice will satiate the beast for a few minutes. Nap clock has run out.

3:11 p.m.- House is destroyed. Blueberries are mashed into the floor. Toys are strewn about as if an explosion has occurred. Neatly folded laundry is unfolded after I place it into basket....

Break Out Your Paint Knives

When I was a kid I would literally zone out to Bob Ross. I would yell to my Mom in the other room, "Mom, please stop me, I'm watching Bob Ross and I can't change the channel! Help Mom! Help!" Really. I would be physically unable to change the channel. For all you Bob Ross lovers out there-Enjoy the video.

In an Instant

While H, T.D. and I were enjoying a rather carefree Father's Day yesterday another section of my family was dealing with tragedy. As we strolled through the wetlands near our home taking photographs of birds and other assorted wildlife, an accident occurred that caused that branch of my family to lose a loved one.

My mother sent me an email this morning detailing the awful event and while I probably only met this person a handful of times in my life I cried. It's just so damn awful. It breaks my heart. This accident, an ATV one, happened so fast that there was nothing anyone could do. I don't know how else to describe it all except to put in an excerpt of the email-I took out all names-

Upon my brother's arrival, he could see that the victim was having great difficulty breathing and was in tremendous pain. He (my uncle) had already called 911. The victim's wife also rushed to the scene with my uncle. While there, the victim mustered enough energy to tell his wife he loved her, and that he was very sorry about what had just happened. He died after that due to internal injuries. A lifestar helicopter had been called, but the call was later cancelled as the ambulance attendees noticed he had already died and took him to the hospital where he was officially pronounced dead. He is survived by his wife and two children. Apparently he traveled over a bump which threw him over the handle bars and after falling to the ground the ATV ran over him and crushed him.

What was a fun family afternoon instantly turned tragic. I've spent a good portion of the morning thinking about how it can all change in a single moment. Morbid perhaps, but if that is not a dose of reality to shock you I don't know what is. My mother commented that she had just been seated near this man and his wife at a family wedding (I never make it to these things in N.E.). She kept saying that it was crazy to think back to that time and realize there were only sixty days left in that man's life. Who knew?! It sucks that it is these types of moments that makes us slow down, think, wonder, and study our lives. I took T.D. to the library versus sticking her in the daycare at the gym. I enjoyed watching her check out the turtles in the tank and the new bulletin boards in the kid's section rather than ellipticalling my thighs away.

I can't wait to hug H when he walks in the door. I'm glad I felt him kiss me goodbye when he left for work this morning.

New Reviews

New product reviews up now! Click here NOW! lest you be deemed uncool.

A Few Things

I consider myself a new writer. Just trying to make it in the world today. Yes, sometimes it takes a lot.... Really, though I'm not. I've been doing the whole writing thing for quite some time. I just never had it technically published or was paid for it outright. I did a lot of technical manuals in my day. Data sheets, course catalogs and generally dry stuff. Before that, I wrote some pretty serious papers on the life of your average gilded age princess, the civil war and how it affected women, and the every day life of the 19th Century person. I wrote some pretty kick ass stuff as I was told in not those exact words. I have talent. A passion and gift for writing.

Ok fine. So here I am actually trying to make a living from it and I'm pissed. I get really angry when I see ads on job boards for things like this-

"need 30 (yes, 30) 500 word articles with extensive research done (no topic given) in 8-10 hours. No errors, must be perfect for print. (hmm... so what if it's not on the topic that isn't even assigned?) English MUST be native language. (ooh bonus points for me! I talk me some good Unglish!) Will pay $1 per article."

WTF!!!!! First I'm asked to write on whatever. I'm going to go with how a banana ripens quickly. That seems fair. I'll write 500 compelling words on that and do 29 more pieces exactly like that. I'll just stick with fruit. Why the hell not! I must do all these with extensive research going into them in 8-10 hours. Whew!

Writing sweat shop anyone?! Because that is exactly what these ads are. 8-10 hours of work for thirty puny ones. I can't even buy an outfit at Old Navy for that. That won't fill the tank of my car! It enrages me that there is a system out there that reduces the craft of writing to that type of shit. Why not just say, "write for me for free dumbass". I'm not even going to go into the ads on Craigslist that ask for full feature articles for magazines with no compensation. They always advertise that they are great for new writers.

This "new" writer thing can really suck when it's put to you this way. It more than sucks. It pisses me off to no end. It is an act of futility that sucks the life out of my writing mojo. Now I'm going to go about my business of querying magazines and newspapers, you know places that actually pay, because they know that not just anyone can be a writer. Especially with a screaming banshee of a toddler racing around the room at ninety miles an hour hurling hard plastic objects at you. Thirty my ass, I should get combat pay.


Check out this post here for a laugh and some added venom. I agree.

Ah! The Excitement of Youth

I was feeling sort of pissy today what with the oppressive humidity, lack of sleep (ambien? anyone?), and general feeling of doom I sometimes have (I blame it on the fact that I'm from New England and thus partly Puritan or that French gene in me -we piss on a lot simply because we're Frrrrenccch). ANYWAYS....

Then, I got this email from my cousin. Her daughter is going into the big pond of middle school next year. When Mom asked her how it went this is what came out.

"AWESOME!! Their computers are soooo much better than ours and the teachers are all really nice and the principal Mrs. Shaver-Hood, is really cool too!! I can't wait to go there next year and the lunch room is set up really cool Mom, they have snack huts, but good snacks, like yogurt and nuts and cereal and some junkfood but not too much, and you get to choose from 4 different lunches everyday!! Then there's the lockers, they're not very big but I think big enough to hold all our books, I can't wait!!! I already have my schedule for next year, want to see it? I have it right here look!! See? I even have summer homework to be ready for next year, I don't like homework but I like this."

That's straight from the babe's mouth. All in one breath I might add. It made me laugh and smile and remember how exciting making that transition was. Going into the "big" school. Having lockers. Eating with older kids. It seemed so exciting and as if anything could happen. All good of course. Like at any moment there would be dancing in the halls like Fame! I'm so old.

I just have to add, like my cousin did, what middle school teacher keeps that name? Shaver-Hood? Eeesh. That's brave.

White Picket Fences

I'm not a white picket fence girl. I'm more of a wrought iron woman or a tall solid stone wall that would surround my compound. You know my compound. The one I'll have someday when I actually complete my book and sell it. Anyway, back to that stereotypical dream of the white picket fence.

I had a conversation recently with a friend who stated, "I'm not about the white picket fence, that whole suburban thing with kids. It's not what I want." I detected a note of disdain in her voice. She might as well as said, "Blech!" and spit after that sentence. At first it made me angry because after all I live in suburbia and I tote T.D. around on a daily basis. I go to the community pool and take walks on the trails in my 'hood. I took what she said personally. As if it's ok for those other people who aren't smart enough to live that life, but it simply was not for her. She is above that. After a bit I caught myself. It's not me either. While I live in suburbia and I'm probably judged as a "oh she's just a stay at home mom" meaning I must be boring by some people out there (which really just gets in my craw) it's not me.

That whole tiny sentence that didn't even pertain to me but it got me on a whole track of inward thinking. I don't respect what I do. I have issues within me about my status as a mother. I feel that in one instance if I were to just give myself over to motherhood I would be lost in the mire of the mundane. Because let's face it motherhood can be pretty boring at times. I would lose myself. Only to be seen as another capri pant wearing, Old Navy shopping, organic food shoving suburban Mom. To quote Jerry Seinfeld, "not that there's anything wrong with that." There isn't. I just can't give myself over to it. Only on alternate Wednesdays or something.

I've often felt that if I just stopped questioning my roles in life it would all be so much easier. Stop thinking of how you look as a mother who doesn't really feel like she should be a mother, it's all an act. I'm not old enough or fun enough. Stop thinking that if I quit running my mouth about my staunch beliefs I would be a lot more rested. What if instead of going into mourning for the world as a teenager I just sat back and hung out? Maybe it would have been a more fun existence. Maybe if I didn't yell expletives at the University President in college and constantly fought against that system I would not have been called "Psycho Girl" by my classmates. Could I just give myself over to what I percieve to be a simple, complacent and mediocre life? Because that is what society seems to believe family life and the suburban lifestyle is about.

They plug it and disdain it at the same time. You move out to the burbs. You pop out some kids. You lose perspective and become a drone. A slave to the machine of wanting more and judging others by what they have and you have not. A cynical view perhaps, but in essence it's what I believe we are really saying in our whole media blizted mess. City people are cool, edgy, open-minded and worldly. The excitement never stops for them. You know just like it does for singles? The country/suburban folks stop reading and become mush. We only care about how shiny are car is or something. I HATE THAT IDEA.

I HATE that it's come into my way of thinking. I hate that I ponder my role as a mother so much. I chose to do what I believe to be the best avenue for our family and for me and I know I'm judged on that. I'm perceived in a way I abhor. There really is no point to this whole mish-mash of ramblings. It's just me getting out my own junk and trying to sort through it. I clearly have issues with how I think I'm judged by others. Which shouldn't even matter. I never thought about any of this until I had T.D. Now I wonder all the time if I'm going soft. If we should move out of the burbs and into the city. If becoming a mother has sucked away parts of me. Because sometimes I'm too tired to fight anymore and that makes me a bit sad. My passion for things is a tiny bit less because so much of my energy goes into being a mother.

In some ways though I guess it also keeps me questioning things. Just instead of questioning the outside world it's more questioning the inside me. Who really wants to go there on a regular basis?

Bloody Pillow

I love this! Great gift for that person who either has everything or just likes something a bit "different". Or if you just want to freak people out. I'm considering it for throwing on the sidewalk and freaking out some nosy neighbors. It's vehl-veht too... aaaah...Check it out on Etsy here.

All Things Considered

Something to contemplate. The following is an excerpt from NPR last week. I myself have always been one to NOT settle. Settle for the guy who doesn't fully believe in me or my dreams? Not going to happen. I don't settle for wearing clothes that don't fit right. I don't settle for a mediocre hair cut. However, I really love this piece. It made me reflect and think harder than I normally do on a random Tuesday morning. So go forth-read.

All Things Considered, June 4, 2007 · My husband is not my best friend. He doesn't complete me. In fact, he can be a self-absorbed jerk. We're nearly polar opposites: He's a lifetime member of the NRA who doesn't care for journalists, and I'm a lifelong liberal with a journalism degree. On the other hand, he doesn't beat or emotionally abuse me. He doesn't drink or chase other women. He's a good provider. So I'm sticking with him.

Some people would call that "settling," like it's a bad thing. But I believe in settling.

The Random House Unabridged Dictionary defines "to settle" as "to place in a desired state or order; to quiet, calm or bring to rest; to make stable." In short, it means that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

Alas, too many of us buy into a different adage: that the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. From movies to magazines to commercials, we're told we should demand more from lives that are, for many of us, pretty good. We're supposed to look better, eat better, find better jobs, be better lovers and parents and workers. A stable marriage isn't enough; it's supposed to be a fairy tale. Perfection is the goal.

But at what cost? Would I really be any happier if I took up yoga and ate more soy? If my spouse wasn't just my partner, but also was my soul mate? I doubt it.

Settling, in my sense, is about acceptance. I'm a pretty happy person, in large part because I'm honest with myself about what I have. My body isn't bikini-worthy, but it's healthy. I'll never write for Rolling Stone as I once dreamed, but I am making a living as a writer. I yell at my sons and let them play too much Game Cube, but I'm still a good mom.

Of course, some situations are worth improving. If your weight jeopardizes your health, exercise and change your eating habits. If your job makes you truly miserable, find a new one. If your marriage is toxic, end it. Chances are, though, you probably have what you need: a roof over your head, food on the table, a job that pays the bills, and family and friends. If you're unhappy, ask yourself: Am I unhappy because I really don't have what I need, or because I just want more?

So, yes, I'm settling. Sure, I wish my husband would kiss me more often, tell me he loves me every day, and get as excited about my accomplishments as I do. Emptying the dishwasher without being asked and giving me unsolicited foot massages wouldn't hurt, either.

All that would be nice, but it's not necessary. I'm happy with my husband who, despite his flaws, is a caring father, capable of acts of stunning generosity and fiercely protective of his family. Thinking about him may not set me on fire as it used to, but after 17 years and two kids, our love is still warm. And I believe that's good enough.

Independently produced for All Things Considered by Jay Allison and Dan Gediman with Viki Merrick.

PBS Obsessions

I love television. As a kid I ate nearly every meal that I could get away with in front of the tube. I dressed for school while watching 'Heathcliff'. I watched Love Boat and ate cheese sandwiches. Charlie's Angels and Dukes of Hazzard? Accompanied with Doritoes. The Muppets were after Saturday night bathtime with a bowl of popcorn and juice. I've been told that I watched almost an entire day of the Carter Inauguration. I was a year and a half. I was apparently so fascinated my mother couldn't break me away. As an infant I fell asleep on my father's chest to the evening news. I clearly remember watching 'War and Rememberance' and each segment of 'North and South', a series I annually annoy H with.

There's a theme here. I love TV and I especially love historical TV dramas. So is it any surprise that through the glory of Netflix I cannot stop pillaging the PBS dramas set in historical times? It started off innocently enough with 'Manor House'. I was feeling nostalgic and got H hooked on the adventures of a modern day English family being sent back in time to live the life of Edwardians. The show followed the family and the staff for three months. It was like crack. I couldn't stop myself from watching it. From there I progressed with great excitment to '1900 House'. My specialty when I studied History. Another British family experiments with life at the turn of the century. Fascinating! Can they survive a diet of almost no fruit and only starch? Will the fires go out on stove their only heat source? While it's not all dire situations and tropical settings like Survivor or full of the bickering spats that many reality shows are known for, these shows hook me from the very beginning. I get so sucked in I watch them while I cook, load the dishwasher, or write. 'Regency House Party' is on right now!

From '1900 House' I immediately jumped to '1940s House' the story of a family forced to live in war time England complete with food rations, air raids, and a bomb shelter. I cannot break away. 'Regency House Party' the story of British singles sent to live in a country house and "party" for nine weeks is rife with love triangles and spats like any other reality show except for the roast pigs, jaunts in the fields, and chaperones making love matches for thier young charges. Hunting, drinking port, and using chamber pots is all the rage. Once this show is over I'm at a lost. I'll be forced to watch 'Sweeney Todd, the Demon of Fleet Street' or something.

Where's my 1920's house? I need my stories from WWI or how about forcing some Americans to live the fifties again with sock hops and percolating coffee. How about opening up one of those Newport, RI mansions and pushing the limits of the digestive systems by living in the Gilded Age.

These shows aren't non-stop action. They exude a quiet elegance that is often lacking in today's television. They are educational in the socio-economic sense. Plus who can resist such odd bits of information like this- Regency Men were often bulimics. A Regency cleansing complete with up chuck coach and all is on schedule after too many weeks of country house eating and living. Smashingly good stuff watching those men puke up their pork and port.

No Rachel Ray's Allowed

The air is thick with humidity today. As I stepped out on the front steps this morning, somehow the concrete managed to feel damp and spongy. Thankfully my mind is clear. My outlook better today. I have possible sticks or long branches or whatever in the fires.

Thursday night. Girls Night on my block. I called my neighbor to see what the plan was an she answered on the first ring. As I said hello I realized she was already talking to someone else and saying, "I don't know about you, but this pregnant woman is done! I need a Bellini. A Leaning Bellini from Macaroni Grill!" I kept saying her name but she didn't hear me or my laughter. No, this is not some bad mother drinking on the job. She's at the end of her second pregnancy and apparently last night suffering some serious "let's just call them Braxton Hicks." In the end she couldn't get out that night so I called my next neighbor on the list.

"Sorry!" she says over the din of a crying baby, "it's just insane over here just like it is at so and so's house (the Braxton Hicks lady), it's not a good night." I hung up the phone.

It's all ok though, don't think I missed out, because I was sitting on a nice brick patio by a trickling fountain in a quiet garden sipping wine. My old neighbor, good friend, and T.D.'s guardian is in town for a few days and we were having our own girls night. It was what I had needed and missed just a tad too much. We spent hours laughing so hard we couldn't breathe (fellow Rachel Ray haters unite!), drinking wine and then comically enormous cups of coffee, noshed on good food, and just spent time catching up like we used to when our decks were connected.

The sun set and we didn't notice. The restaurant emptied and the staff cleared the tables and we still didn't notice. Finally, we realized that it was indeed pretty dark out and oh yeah, everyone else was gone. Our waitress shot us a look and we got up to leave. I breathed a sigh of relief as I dropped my friend off because suddenly my world felt much brighter. Mean Mommy had left the building.

And guess what? I get to do it all again tonight! I don't even care that I woke up with a pounding headache today (dreaded chardonnay) because the healing power that a friend can have extends pretty far.

The rose bush is saved... for now.

A Vodka on the Rocks please, hold the Rocks

Beware of Mommy. Or just be weary of me. It should be a sign I wear around my neck today. Front to back -please read before approaching- Be weary of this woman. She's twitchy evil today.

Hormones? Yes.

Lack of sleep? Check.

Sick of "Big, Big World" playing on the TV? You betcha! Dawson's Creek is now playing in the background only slightly more tolerable. Which one is worse is a toss up at the moment. Joey Potter always irritated me a tad bit more than ginormous head Dawson. Currently Dawson and his giant head seem to be having some sort of existential crises.

Things that disturb me today and have furthered this 'woke up on the wrong side of the bed' syndrome.

Rachel Ray's Voice and all her "cute" little catchphrases. EVO is going to put me into a blind rage one day. Am I the only person on the planet who finds her voice and her to be more annoying than a hemorrhoid? I loathe that she is now endorsing the Nut.

Does America really run on Dunkin? I hope not. That slogan instills fear in me regarding our country's future. At least with John Goodman as the celebrity voice it was credible if not slightly comforting.

Ooh a fight just broke out on Dawson. At a school dance no less complete with punch bowl and everything!

The fact that the spiffy new vegetable peeler works for H but not for me disturbs me. It's a vegetable peeler for God's sake.

My den smells like fifty cats pissed in it and we don't own even one cat.

I have now cleaned my kitchen floor a minimum of five times, really five times, in less than 24 hours. Ah life with a toddler, a still asleep mommy, and a dog.

Ok, someone tell me why no one says what they are actually thinking EVER on Dawson's? Instead they just sit in angst looking puzzled and then jump off a dock.

The 'findafuckbuddy' spam in my inbox. No strings attached the ad promises. Awesome. Now get the fuck out of my inbox fuckbuddy. I'm too evil for you.

I'm feeling crazy like Crawford today. I gotta go find me a tumbler of vodka on the rocks before I hack apart the rose bush.

Summer Crap and a T-Rex Invasion!

You can tell it's a slow news day when...

There are numerous stories not just about Paris Hilton's venture into the klink, but that her extensions were tightened before she went to the pokey. I'm scintillated with the thoughts.

They are still talking about A-Rod and his blonde bimbo and their fantabulous elevator ride. Silly me thinking there was actually real baseball to be talked about during baseball season.

The beaches are reported to be unsafe again this summer- Beware of the E.Coli on that pretty beach glass kiddies! For cripes sake people you can get E.Coli almost anywhere in this global hodge podge we call earth. Can't we just all watch 'Jaws' and think chummy thoughts?

Here's a real newsflash people, T.D. isn't harboring spirits of long dead dictators in her tiny soul, she is just breaking in three new molars. She also says Niet now. I'm worried. I fear a gulag might be constructed in our basement soon.

And finally, my house was invaded by tiny T-Rex's yesterday. I realized this when I was watching T.D. crash and burn throughout our house with another child from the 'hood yesterday. Little arms flailing, teeth gnashing as they careened precariously throughout the house screaming. They were like tiny T-Rex dinosaurs staking out their territory in the wilds of the living room. All small arms gesturing, teeth bared, and giant heads. "My farm! Not T.D.'s!" wailed one T-Rex, her short arms waving. Lunging forward head first and swinging, T.D. roared her incoherent baby babble back at this other T-Rex declaring the Little People farm hers. Actually she could have been yelling about needing a diaper change, but her English is a little unclear still. I learned that one T-Rex is enough for me especially when more than one diaper change is involved.

Tales from the Cafeteria

Like chicken nuggets in an industrial-sized oven and limp green beans sifted through a giant steam tray these are the days of our lunch time.

At fourteen, I was a reserved kid prone to shyness, except when it came to matters of the heart. I could be quite expressively volatile and didn’t suffer fools easily. So when the boy I had a crush on for what seemed like forever asked me out (you know “going out” where you don’t actually go anywhere because you can’t drive and well, you’re fourteen so really your life consists of movie nights with friends and such) I was ecstatic. When he dumped me the next day in fourth period French, I got pissed. He sent me a note from across the aisles. It was lame just like him. I had to send a message that this type of weenie-ass behavior would not be tolerated.
At lunchtime that day I stood up at my table clearing my throat. I asked for the surrounding table’s attention and all eyes were on me. My 24 hour ex/McDonald’s drive-thru boy was sitting at a nearby table chocked full of his little skater friends. I opened the note and began to read. Like a bad actor from a low-budget hack Shakespeare Company, I read the note loudly and with great exaggeration. At the end when I got to the part where he stated, “I can’t be tied down despite how I feel. I guess I’m just a loner, a rebel.” I placed the back of my hand to my forehead and pretended to faint dead away in my cafeteria style orange plastic chair. His friends broke up with laughter and he slunk to almost floor level in his seat. The surrounding tables exploded into laughter and thus my reputation was born. No longer quite so reserved I had become daring.

This true cafeteria/lunch time story was brought to you by School Menu and Family Everyday. Check out School Menu and its parental counterpart Family Everyday, two sites that work together with School Food Services Directors to provide and promote healthy eating and physical fitness for kids and their parents.

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Nap Situation- Critical

"Ooooooh. Uuuhhhh Oooooh."
I turn and see apple yogurt glopping off T.D.'s foot and onto the floor. More importantly though a whole mess of it has splashed onto the dogs back. The dog knows it's there and is desperately twisting and turning to lick the heaven sent yogurt off her back. It's Morning in my house!

The day progressed with me thinking I had to watch a neighbors kid and then realizing I got the day wrong. Tomorrow. No gym time for me either day. These pasty thighs aren't going to be summer ready until October at this point. Five bathing suits have been bought, five sent back. I'll have the perfect suit by December.

Deadlines to meet. Must work! Except I can't work. T.D. won't nap. No matter what I do she just cries and cries. She's cranky. I'm cranky. The dog grumbles in a hidden location. I fold laundry to at least get something done. I sweep the kitchen floor begging my zombie child and dog to just move from the spot I am trying to sweep. Why must they stand in the exact spot I'm trying to clean EACH and EVERY time?!



The nap situation has turned critical. After not napping in the morning she refused to eat lunch. Not even her beloved cheese. She gnaws on her thumb instead crying. She's teething. I attempt to get her to nap again. Nada, zilch, nothing. Hours tick by. We head out to run errands. Maybe nap time in the car? Sure I'll drive around for a bit while she sleeps! As my neighbor suggested- "Can you find a shady parking spot and read if she falls asleep in the car?" Maybe.

Nope. Never happened. We head home. Blanky in hand and an overtired toddler leaning into me I trudge upstairs to put her back in her crib. It is now 4 o'clock. She's usually napped twice by now. I'm at my wits end. My brain is fried. My new laptop arrived around 10 and I couldn't even open the box it was so nuts in the house. H calls and I am audibly drained.

Wait. What is that? It's silence. It's 4:30 and the tiny dictator has passed the hell out. Sweet Jesus thank you! I creep to my computer box and crack it open. Sigh.

PBN-'Get a Hobby!'

“Discover your hobby personality!” This is what ‘Get a Hobby!’ by Tina Barseghian proposes. My husband and I could not wait to tear into this book and figure out our most ideal hobbies. We’re always looking for something else to cram into our already overblown schedules. We carefully read the Foreword by Miguel Figuerra, M.D.; learning that hobbies can create a more relaxed you. Excellent! Let’s get crackin’ shall we?

We sat down and diligently took the quiz that would help match us up with our hobbies. Right away, I found myself getting frustrated. The questions were so absolute. I love history yet somehow it didn’t factor in because I didn’t know the answer to the question. Maybe that was me reading it wrong, but a ripple of annoyance spread through me. After taking the quiz, I was all set to find out that I indeed like historical type hobbies, blogging, journal keeping, and such. Nope. I don’t according to the book. I like Falconry. Did you know that with Falconry, the top piece of equipment you need is a falcon? My husband about peed his pants when I read that off the list. I’m also prone to enjoying caving, scuba diving, and a host of other hobbies that scare the living daylights out of me. I threw the book at my husband in disgust. It was time to let him give it a try.

His answers matched his personality better, which is indeed adventurous, outdoorsy, nature loving and sporty. That is totally him in a nutshell. A giant nutshell, but all the same the book nailed him. He liked the hobbies matched to him, even the idea of a soapbox derby and fly tying. Treasure hunting especially intrigued him. A smug justification came over him when fantasy sports leagues joined the list.

Over the next few days, I perused the book again. While I am not about to strike up an interest in bee keeping, and I am not sporty or outdoorsy in the least bit, I did try my hand at African violet cultivation and herb gardening. I had no idea how to cultivate a violet from a leaf. Once I started reading that section I realized just how much information the book contains. Beyond the directions, lists, and helpful hints about each hobby, there are great websites listed on each page directing you to further information. Being the history nut that I am, I started leafing through the book just to read the historical sections listed with each hobby. Did you know a toy manufacturer created the ant farm in the 1940’s? I didn’t.

‘Get a Hobby!’ retails for $19.95. It contains lots of interesting tidbits of information, but I won’t be starting any new hobbies from this book, and I probably won’t be recommending it to anyone either. The quiz really turned me off initially and I found the overall look and feel of the book to be drab and not conducive to continuous reading.

Parent Bloggers is giving away a copy of the book (which MANY people really loved) and a $100 Michael's Arts & Crafts gift card. Just go to their site and leave a comment!

Officially? Officially I'm Old

My house last night. H and I settle in for a little TV time. The channel changing stops on the Mtv Movie Awards. Remember those? Remember when they used to be funny? When the whole point was for funny clips to be shown and ridiculous moments to occur? Not just cheap shots of people making out for even cheaper laughs. Incredibly done and unoriginal. As H and I stared at the screen, our eyes glazing with boredom, he said-

"It's official. Mark the calendar. June 3, 2007. I'm officially old. I don't find this funny. How did this happen? When did this happen? I just think this is stupid. I only just turned 30!"

Scrambling I sputtered out-
"It's not us! It's that this is so incredibly lowbrow. It's beyond unfunny."

It's also sadly catering to a much younger audience who I can't believe finds this crap amusing. Does that really make me old or just have better taste? I'm opting for the better taste. Everything was just incredibly done already. There was not an ounce of quirky originality there. Even the audience who was mostly older except for an incredibly blond and tanned Amanda Bynes (Et tu Amanda? Why? You were cute as a brunette with natural coloring.) seemed bored.

-Sarah Silverman panning to an audience out there in TVland who would never normally get her usual stuff so all she had was her awkward posture and whiny voice to seem funny.

-The almost kiss between Silverman and Jessica Biel. Almost funny, but like a late 90's SNL skit it went on for just a smidge too long.

-Sasha Baron Cohen grappling with Will Ferrell in a most embarrassing embrace. I find Cohen funny. Ferrell too. When they aren't desperately seeking air time. I could see the white knuckles on Cohen as he gripped Ferrell's back. Come on boys! No longer funny. Leave the stage.

-The giant fat guy with the way to obviously fake back hair and unibrow. I really feel that Mtv just phoned the whole thing in.

-And the last reason that I'm officially old- Rhianna's remake of the 'Umbrella' song. Well, that should have never been a song in the first place much less remade.

I did find it mildly amusing that Paris looked like she had other things on her mind though.

I'm off to read 'War and Peace' or some other adult novel that makes me boring too the under 25 crowd.

Photo Contest Winner!

The winner of The Mummy Chronicles photo contest (because yes, someone actually guessed this correctly) is CHARLOTTE. She guessed- two peas in a tube sock. Yup.

After a fun day of scattering clothes around the room, running at top speed while crashing into blocks and assorted loudly falling toys T.D. ate some peas for lunch. I can only guess that as these are her favorite food she had tucked them into her sock to save for later. If you had asked me two years ago if I thought I would find pretty petite peas in a purple tube sock I would have looked at you like you were a total loon. Now I would just say, "Heh, I would be surprised if I didn't."

Charlotte look for your prize pack in the mail sometime soon!

Saturday in the Park

What am I talking about? I'm in my cave blogging on a perfectly sunny day while waiting for H to measure out our bathroom so we can make yet another trip to Lowe's. I need some SBUX stat after working all morning at an event and trying to write about it. How observing a room full of investors could wear me out I have no idea, but I feel like dead skin.

Anyway, now that you are sufficiently disgusted and want to run from this blog, go to this blog and check out the new products I've reviewed.

Blog Blast! You Need a Date When....

When... you wipe your partner's hands down after they finish eating.

When... you no longer kiss goodnight, but instead say, "nigh, nigh."

When... your life is scheduled via emails.

When... the only conversation you have all day is as you are drifting off to sleep and it's 8:45 p.m. That conversation? It involves mumbling, something about an oil change, and then snoring.

Keeping the fires burning always involves some sort of wine imbibed on my part. Actual dinner and conversation without chicken being thrown, the waiter smiling through his teeth, and having to pick up a certain plastic spoon off the floor for the millionth time are definitely NOT involved. So a glass of wine, perhaps dining al fresco, and actually piecing together a full string of sentences together with my husband is enough to make us happy at this point. Throw in a movie or any other event without lugging a stroller around and we are literally skipping down the sidewalk hand in hand.

It's a Friday Blog Blast over here in bloggy land. Stop looking at me with that weird puzzled look. Simply put you could win and ALL EXPENSES PAID DATE!! That is a $100 Amex Gift Card for dinner with your special someone and $100 to pay for a babysitter! Really? I about peed myself when I saw this. It's all brought to you by the ever helpful, fun folks at Parent Bloggers and E-Harmony Marriage (They have a snazzy new alternative to marriage counseling now-check it out!)

So head on over to PBN and read more funny "You know you need a date when.." and enter to win and feel free to post your ideas!



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