Tears in Heaven

It's the first of the month so you know what that means. No, I'm not handing out any free cheese or anything like that. It's Blog Exchange day. This month, I'm working with Des of Diggity Des. The theme is to take a song and write about it. Welcome Des!

What would you do if your small child plummeted out of a window to his death? If you are Eric Clapton, you write a song about it and share your grief with the world.

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong
And carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven.
Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven?
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven?
I'll find my way
Through night and day,
'Cause I know I just can't stay
Here in heaven.
Time can bring you down,
Time can bend your knees.
Time can break your heart,
Have you begging please, begging please.
Beyond the door,
There's peace I'm sure,
And I know there'll be no more
Tears in heaven.
Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong
And carry on,
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven.
*Lyrics from http://www.eric-clapton.co.uk/ecla/lyrics/tears-in-heaven.html”>
Eric Clapton’s Lyric Archive

This song is extremely moving to me. Not only because it is about the death of a child (which is one of my greatest fears even though I don’t have any children) but because it raises some interesting issues.

This is heaven in a non-religious sense. This heaven assumes that you are more than just a corpse rotting in the ground when you die; there is some other time or place that you will go and meet up with your loved ones. But will your loved ones recognize you? Will you recognize them?

Many people just assume that when you go to heaven, you remain exactly as you were when you die. In Eric’s case, his son would remain 4 years old for all of eternity. And Eric, when he finally meets him in heaven would have aged significantly. Would they recognize each other. No doubt Eric would remember his son at 4, but would the boy know his father so many years later? Many 4 year olds don’t remember their extended family unless they see them often.

This view is a bit pessimistic (I know, it’s a depressing topic, so of course it seems negative.) But there are other views. For example, Mark Twain’s short story “Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven” reveals that once someone gets to heaven, they can be any age they choose. Most people eventually choose an older age, because youth is too immature and naïve. Would this happen to Eric’s son?

Another view is presented in “Wristcutters: A Love Story in which there is a special place set aside for suicides. It’s not exactly heaven, but it is an afterlife of sorts. There, you remain exactly as you were when you took your own life, including any resulting scars or disfigurements. There is a character that flung herself off a building, and thus walks with a limp and cane in the afterlife. Eric’s son was not a suicide, but if he had been he would presumably also walk a little funny. (Nobody has a 53-story fall without a few broken bones.) But maybe the continued disfigurement is a form of punishment. If heaven is really Heaven in the traditional sense, there would be no reminder of how one died. If you get to choose your own age, why would you not also get to choose your own physical state? And who would choose a state of anything less than peak?

“Life” in heaven is a topic that is discussed frequently, but unfortunately can only remain as speculation. There is also the possibility that heaven will meet whatever standards you set for it, be they angels with wings and harps, or continuing to “live” the way you are accustomed to. It may also be that Eric will see his son as the 4 year old he lost, while the boy has become a middle aged man. It is all about perception and expectation. I hope that for Eric’s sake, he is able to reunite with his son in heaven, knowing each others’ names and faces, and that all of us may have the same reunion with our own loved ones.


des usually is not this serious or forlorn. You can check out her regular selfand Vicky's song at the wonderful world of des, and a big thanks to Vicky for letting me depress you all just a little bit, and to the blog exchange for making it all happen.




It's also time to award a Perfect Post. I'm giving Sarah from Hollywood Flakes the February Perfect post for this entry. It made me laugh so hard at the accuracy of the third trimester of pregnancy. It's a great perspective. You can see other Perfect Post winners at Suburban Turmoil or at MommaK's site. Enjoy!

On My Mind Today

I have 66 days left to go until the Washington, DC Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. Sixty-six days and $700 to raise. It's a daunting task. It is my third year doing the walk and my reasons why vary all the time. I know way too many people who have survived breast cancer, more who have past on from cancer than I care to count, I like the personal challenge of walking a marathon each year and getting the message out that this is a disease worth fighting. It's a cause that I hold very close to my heart. I was feeling a bit panicky today about my lack of fundraising (bake sale and Coldstone Creamery fundraiser in the works) and my missing training due to our insane schedule. Then I read this in the Washington Post today. I viewed the pictures and realized once again there is so much more to do. Generation X Meets Cancer indeed. I was touched by the story, laughed out loud and remembered parts of walks in the past that I hadn't thought of in years. The people who support this cause are fighters. We do it for our own reasons, all of them different, but we all hold this cause and fight close to hour hearts. I am now more excited than ever to get out the word, raise more money and hit the pavement.

If you want to more about the Avon Walk in your area, visit here. If you want to help me out and be a kind and generous soul, email me at veamason at gmail dot com and I'll send you in the right direction.

Bone Ass Tired

I am tired. Bone Tired. I can't understand it. T.D. actually slept through the night sans pacifier. We've gone two days now and counting and it's getting easier. I'll admit that today when she started a meltdown at the grocery store I almost dug out the emergency bink from my purse. I didn't though. I stayed the course. I'm the "decider" you know. Instead I tossed her a McCall's seasoning packet to gnaw on and it was all good. Really. I'm amazed myself. I digress though. Back to me being bone ass tired. Somehow between sleepy time last night and now I feel as if I got hit by a mack truck.

I might be that hour and a half long Power Sculpt weight class I took yesterday. Oh yeah. That's right. It seemed only semi-difficult at the time. Ha. I'm not even that sore. I thought my body might turn to jello right afterwards but somehow I pulled through despite the 50 tricep reps inflicted on me. The crunches. On the ball. Off the ball. Pick up your weights. Change your weights. Get the bar (I need a bar!). Steady those arms. Lots of work. I didn't think I would be able to wrestle T.D. into her car seat afterwards. So today I'm knocked on my ass. I have no desire to do anything, but read and sleep. I am at home...

I leave you with this picture. Maybe after tomorrow's Power Sculpt class I'll start to feel more bad ass like this.

Cold Turkey

For some weekend fun H and I decided that maybe T.D.'s sleep problems wasn't just a malicious form of torture on her us, her subjects. Maybe it was the pacifier. Bink, Binky, Never a Pacy, a Tun, whatever you want to call it. It was driving a wedge into our family. It had to go.

To be fair it wasn't until lately that the kid seemed to have an addiction to the pacifier. It started out small. They always do don't they? Just a few short months ago she didn't care which one she had in her mouth. As long as it worked. Then she started favoring certain ones. A tiny part of my brain said, "Warning! This could be bad! Watch out!". Did I listen? Nope. I just kept using it and aiding in her addiction. Panic would ensue when her favorites couldn't be found. Mayhem and swearing occured at 3 a.m. as we searched for the Holy Grail of pacifiers under the crib. That right there should have been the second warning sign. Pfff... We did not heed it.

She used to be able to find them on her own too. No longer. This is where the real trouble began. She started waking up at night and standing in her crib. The better to yell at us, Move it!, she would scream. We would find the pacifier and stick in her little puckered piehole. With great relief she would lay back down. Sated at last. Until it popped out again a few hours later. Sleep deprivation can make you stupid. I know this now because it took us about two months to figure out that it was probably that evil little rubber and plastic device that was making our sleeping hours a living nightmare. Yesterday, H & I declared marshall law on the pacifier. No more. All are hidden. They will be dropped off at an undisclosed location later. I had reduced the use of these "pacifiers" only to sleep time, but it wasn't enough.

How did last night go? She took a while to settle down without her bink. About 30 minutes of screaming. She woke up once last night. Once. She put herself back to sleep after five minutes. Heaven. Naptimes are still to be determined.

A Fred Flintstone-Mr. Spacely Moment

It's cold in the house, the wind is whipping it up good outside. I keep finding myself being inexplicably hot today, just sweating for no good reason. A hot flash really. Then the next minute I'm chilled to the bone. Is that complaining? Am I being negative saying that?

This post may not make sense to some, but think back to the old cartoons The Flintstones and The Jetsons. Fred would get mad and he would mutter to himself a bunch of nonsense. Mr Spacely would do the same thing until he finally would lose it all over George. I'm kind of like that. I realized I strongly identified with these two cartoon characters and their dealings with frustration and anger when I was about eight. I get frustrated, hot and bothered (literally today) and I mutter. I make loud declarations to no one in general just aloud. To some it sounds negative.

I wish I could figure out how to break that habit. Maybe I need a collar like a dog and need to be zapped each time I'm about to blurt out the obvious in disgruntled tones such as, T.D. is cranky. The dog is needy. I am afraid I'll never get another writing job after each job ends. I feel sometimes that just simply selling Arbonne, cleaning the house, throwing parties, running errands, writing, and raising our kid I'm still not on the same level as someone who works outside the home. There I said it. I feel that way everyday. Go ahead other Mom's lambast me. I don't care. It's how I feel. If feeling that way is wrong then I have to figure out how to get past it. I'm trying to do that. It's reconditioning my brain though and that takes time.

Yet, being told that I need to change how I am naturally is a bit hard to do. That is why I think shock treatment might work or a vow of silence unless I just talk about the weather. That might be wrong too though. I am not sure where the line is that I'm crossing continuously that makes me negative. I am a sarcastic person, I don't wear rose-colored glasses. This is not a news flash. Saying it's cold outside isn't complaining. Saying it even in a less than happy tone is just my way of proclaiming the obvious. It's cold outside.

I'm already donating ten cents for each swear word I use to Avon Walk for Breast Cancer during Lent. I'm giving up a favorite past-time of mine for Lent and so that I'll be more of the positive, less of the negative. I feel happier and less stressed normally than I have in years. This week though I admit has been hard. I am very muttery and frustrated. That is what having three parties does to me, plus cleaning, working, the kid thing, and oh yeah, my cousin going back to Iraq, and my grandmother being in the hospital for a week with no word on how she is doing does to me. Sue me. I'm harboring some inner stress and turmoil that I'm TRYING to NOT unleash but I guess it's not working.

I'm done now. I'm in the doghouse. Is that negative? I honestly don't know anymore.

Nosferatu! That's Me!

Every dictator has his thing. Some bomb their own people. Others choose to pillage or starve their people. T.D. she likes sleep deprivation. Stupidly I used to be able to smile and say, "Oh, T.D.? She sleeps through the night." Oh for days gone by.

Since Christmastime that child has probably managed three measly full nights of sleep. They are random and not being conditioned to them I still wake up fitfully through the night listening for the sounds of a cry. Last night though, was the last night. I can't deal with it anymore. The people of this land, all two of us, are taking back the night! After spending two hours trying to put her overtired ass down for the night, another new ploy she's using on us, I just decided I couldn't take it. Then the midnight hour tolled and she woke up. Same thing at 3 a.m. and then again at the lovely hour of 4 a.m. Why? Who the hell knows.

What I do know is that I feel like Nosferatu. The Willem Dafoe one, all twitchy and snarling. My shoulders are hunched, my eyes complete with dark circles. I snap and whine and have a tendency to cram odd foods into my piehole are random moments. This is what sleeplessness can do. During the night my overtired mind becomes wired after being awakened and it whirs to life with random thoughts. Whatever happened to Toaster Streudel? Who eats Elio's pizza anymore? Why are soccer balls black and white and not say gold and magenta? Do we have enough toilet paper in the house? What time does the city bus begin to run? Why is America running on Dunkin? When I do sleep I hear crying in my dreams. I can't quite tell if it's my sleepy spirit crying for more sleep or just the insessant sound of T.D. calling.

The thing is. There is NOTHING wrong with her. I go in there and sometimes she laughs at me. LAUGHS! Cruel dictator. Just cruel.

NaNoMoDumbStarlet? NaNoMoCrazyPopTartlet.

Watch out America Ms. Spears is on the run again. For the second time in one week she's taken herself out of rehab. I have tried not to comment on this whole debacle as it ranks up there with the mess that is now Ms. Anna Nicole Smith's world. Eesh. Who knows what that story really is about. She's destined to have many, many, many processed and regurgitated books written about her just like Marilyn. Sigh.

Britney though, really people, her handlers need to watch her more closely. I know her bodyguards are run ragged by her late nights and her family is probably equally as tired emotionally, but can't someone get to this girl and take care of her? She needs some help it seems, otherwise soon we'll see her on CNN as cameras follow her LIVE! and barefoot, in a bathrobe walking around a grocery store (my guess is a Ralph's) while cramming Twinkies and pinto beans into her slack jaw all the while muttering about the price of marshmallows and maxi pads. The girl needs help.

This Writer's Life

It's no surprise that working from home is a daily and sometimes minute by minute juggle. Each day I wake up with an idea in my head as to what I want and need to accomplish. I make lists. Endless lists somedays. Those are the dangerous days. When more than one list has cropped up at various locations around the house I know I have too much going on. It doesn't stop me though, I just pile them on top of each other and hope for peace. Ha.

A typical day runs through like this:

7:30 a.m. The czar awakens. I'm usually up before this, though sometimes by only mere miliseconds. Other days I've already got my shit together and have at least thrown out the trash or started a load of laundry. Sometimes I've eaten Gasp written something.

8 a.m. T.D. has breakfast and so do I. The radio is blaring some NPR junk in the kitchen, I'm skipping around the dog and toy obstacles while dodging cheerios or a banana piece or two. We do a bit of clean up and the wild countdown to daycare time at the gym begins. At this point I usually run around the house getting ready for the gym, getting T.D. ready and hoping against hope that nothing derails me from this much needed "me" time. It's a 50/50 average I have to say.

9 a.m. (IF THINGS GO ACCORDING TO PLAN) Ha Ha! We're at the gym. Time to sweat. I wish daycare opened earlier or the classes I wanted to take didn't start just as my kid begins a massive "I need a nap!" meltdown chant.

WhatevertimitisI'vedecidedtostopsweatingorT.D.getskickedoutoftheplayroom a.m. NAPTIME!!! WHOO HOO!! I silently pray that the dog doesn't spaz out and bark at a leaf for a full five minutes waking up T.D. and I get shower and writing time in. Naptimes are goldmines for working.

The rest of the day is an assault of possible errands, playdates, Tot Thyme (why must kid stuff be spelled wrong? Isn't that the absolute wrong message we are sending their little sponge-like minds?), lunch, snacktime, clean up, cleaning out refried beans with hot sauce out of T.D.'s eyes, some Hausfrau work until the next naptime/worktime.

By the end of the day I think I've run a marathon. Some days like today I drink too much caffiene and not enough water or forget to shower until 5 p.m. Ok, to be fair that only happened once and that was yesterday. I was just so pre-occupied with the three parties I'm hosting this week too. Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that? Yup. There will be three parties at my house this week. I swear I need a electro-shock treatment to stop me from saying, YES! I can do that too! Let me just add it to my day planner.

Product of the Week!

So it's not really a product and more like a useful tool. One of my readers mentioned it in an email to me last night. Seeing the words 'Makeup Alley' made my eyes shine and spirits pick up a bit. What is this 'Makeup Alley'? Is it some seedy underground world where people trade illicit beauty secrets and regimes? I had to check it out.

It is not some dark, underworld order for make-up alas. It is however a great website full of reviews on virtually any product you can think of. Want to try a new concealer that you've heard a lot of magazine raves about but are still unsure? Head to Makeup Alley and get the skinny. This is truly a site for product whores and make-up junkies such as myself. They even feature some really solid reviews on Arbonne products. So the next time you are jonesing to try something new and there's a tad of nagging doubt, head over to Makeup Alley and see what other folks have to say.

Fear

Franklin Roosevelt said it best, "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." I hate using a quote like that but it's true. It's what keeps me from doing things all the time.

The subject of fear has been on my mind a lot these days. It's pretty damn scary and daunting to start a new career, being so green and all, and to just chuck my old life. I had three months of build up and doing preventative things to make sure we would be ok once I left my job, but the fear was still there. All the what if's. They consumed me. Sometimes, I admit, they do still keep me up at night.

Then, this morning a friend wrote to me about all the things she fears. Losing loved ones, old age, illness, financial crises and fear of getting fat. I have to say these are the basics. We all fear these things at some time or other don't we? I am afraid of all these things too. It's natural I think. However, I realized that I cannot let them stop me or get in the way of my everyday life. For a decade plus I was afraid to begin writing. Why? Fear of rejection. Easy as that. Blogging was a freakin' godsend. What better way to test out the waters than a blog. After a few months of feedback from readers I had the courage to start thinking of myself as a writer and then actually apply for writing jobs. Guess what happened? I got a few jobs. Small ones, but I'm getting there. Each one just propels me further away from the fear of rejection. I know that it's real in this business and pretty much a daily thing. I can laugh it off usually. I don't take it to heart so much anymore.

I told my friend that releasing and overcoming the fear is much better than holding on to it. The freedom that comes with not just figuring out what I needed to do but actually doing it has been pretty mind-blowing. I feel much more open and happy. There are so many more pure moments of joy in my life now it's really quite unbelievable. Yeah sure there are days of tedium, the laundry monster makes a weekly looming visit. I already have an easy banter with the grocery baggers going as does T.D., but I've overcome one of my biggest obstacles I've had to date and it's feels fan-freakin-tastic.

So I say, tell me your fears readers. Even if they seem small. Figure them out and make a pact with yourself that by putting them out there on the comments section you will take one step no matter how small it seems towards releasing and overcoming that fear. Fear of spiders? Fear of the dark (oh that is me big time, but that's what you get when someone likes to lock in you dark spaces for a laugh), or fear of losing a loved one? Figure out what you need to do to let it go and give it up to something higher than you. Even if it's pure air.

Old Man Winter- Your bags are packed and ready to go

It is precisely during this week each winter that I decide, Enough is enough! I'm through with you Old Man Winter! Scram! You gots to git! Last year I was a bit preoccupied being in the throes of labor and all and was able to delay the winter doldrums by a week. I remember being home, oh about one day, and looking out the window in T.D.'s brand new room and seeing the snow, the cold gray sky and starkly black branches against the wintry landscape and feeling despair. Seasonal Affective Disorder loomed large on my horizon. The winter blues had officially set in.

In 30 degree weather I started walking. This year I come back from my sun-filled trip to snow, then slush, then ice. Then more snow. Then some more ice. Ha Ha Old Man Winter. Ha Ha. Real cute. I'm sick of cold feet and hands and piling on the blankets. Drinking cocoa and gazing out the window at the white landscape holds no charms for me. I'm sick of cocoa and hot tea. I want to sip and iced drink and not feel that my innards are freezing over. No amount of gym time or getting out of the house does the trick. I just can't shake this irritated itchy skin feeling. I do not enjoy spending two hours outside in freezing temps shoveling out my car and walkway. Nor do I enjoy trying to chip away at the 1x1 foot slice of icy mess my neighbor (Yes, the poop ones who recently got another lovely package on their front step courtesy of H.) felt compelled to leave. That's right, they couldn't find the strength apparently to shovel one more shovels-worth of snow. Now each time I walk to my mailbox I almost kill myself on that patch. I curse them daily. I stare at their house and simoultaneously try to melt that patch of ice/snow with my heated gaze. I loathe their extreme laziness in all things. Loathe it.

It does not help my wintry mood. I swear if I have to heat up the tea kettle and dash outside to dislodge my tires one more time this season I just may decide to never leave my house again. I'll just wait out Mr. OMW. That's the thing about the winter blues. It wraps it's icy grip on you and won't shake free until the first set of crocuses appear. It leaves you with a boredom induced patience to ride it out though or it you go crazy. Either or. One of those two will happen soon.

New Venture

Some exciting news here people! I've been asked to join PBN, Parent Bloggers Network. What is PBN you ask? Quite simply it's exactly as it sounds and more. It's a diverse group of parent bloggers- male and female with different aged children who are asked by company's to review their products. I'm really happy about this whole new venture and where it could lead, as well as how it will let me further excercise my love for writing product reviews. I've already received two sets of toys for T.D. to try out and I'll be putting up my reveiw in early March here on this site as well as on PBN. You can find other interesting and fun bloggers there and some innovative and fun products. Check them out today and stay tuned!

For today click on the Baby Proofing Your Marriage clip on the sidebar. This is truly a wonderful book that has some incredibly good and insightful advice for anyone married with children.

Uncharted Territory

It's not some hidden secret that I'm hoping that T.D. won't turn into a Disney Princess-loving, glitter-encrusted, tutu-wearing girly girl. She doesn't have to turn into some meathead bruiser or anything. I really just want a balanced kid which is what any parent wants. Right? I'm fine if she wants to sport boy clothes and wear a tiara at the same time. Can that tiara be a skull and crossbones made of rhinestones?

Yet I just found myself doing something scary. She's about to turn one this week and the little czar saw me applying lip gloss and reached out her tiny pudgy hand asking, "Na?". Na, translates into, I want that too. NA! I want that too NOW! We're working on patience right now I promise. The kid already gets her hair combed each day and sees me applying all manner of creams, lotions, make up and God only knows what else in my morning ritual. Do I really want to Na her with the lip gloss already? I did though. I put the freakin' pina colada flavored gloss on her unchapped bottom lip. She loved it and squealed in girly glee. I might be on the verge of creating a monster. She's already way too interested in how I curl my eyelashes.

Only in Americone~

Many of you know that I enjoy crushing on a certain Mr. Stephen Colbert. So I have to say that this little article just made me squeal and smile stupidly for a while. Yes, he now has an ice cream flavor named after him, the Stephen Colbert Americone Dream, thanks to the guys Ben & Jerry.

My first thought was that vanilla obviously had to be incorporated into this treat and then strawberry. Blueberry too perhaps? Make it all American flag stripey, little chocolate flying eagles perhaps? Sadly, no. It is vanilla with some fudge and caramel mixed in. Next time you are strolling by your grocer's freezer case try some Stephen Colbert- it's like having, "The sweet taste of liberty in your mouth."

The Trip/I Heart My Friends

Ok, ok already the trip. I hear you people. Seriously. I've dragged it out long enough.

The trip to Los Angeles started off with this, "Excuse me, Ma'am? Is anyone sitting there?" This said by the twenty-something girl with boyfriend sutured to her side. Sigh... no one was next to me. They plopped themselves down and instantly the row reaked of pastrami and old sweat. Ick. Why? I huffed a bit and wanted to ask in a snooty voice, "Excuse me, but did you just get off a 12 hour shift from some all night Chicago deli? Do you work at D'anjelos? You smell like a D'angelo's. You stink! Both of you! Git!" Instead, I took out my tiny red leather book and started making notes. This seems to creep some people out and sure enough the old meat couple left. Aaah, a nice whole row to myself. Lovely.

The time in L.A. was fabulous. There is really nothing like seeing an old friend that you can pick up with as if you never left them. We had dinner in a foggy Santa Monica the first night at a great sushi place called Monsoon Cafe. The second day we hit the Getty Museum. The Gardens there are amazing, very zen. So check it out and get a moment of zen for youself. We saw some incredible photography exhibits as well including one solely done about Wonder Valley and Twentynine Palms, CA where I lived for two years. Odd to walk in a room and see that place. Instantly without reading a description I knew those shacks and methlabs. I could smell the desert earth and feel the hot sun. A tiny bit of longing wedged in there too. Strange. I digress though. After a few hours trolling the museum we hit Malibu for lunch on the ocean at Gladstones. It's right on the beach with an impeccable view. Too bad it was a bit chilled and we couldn't sit outdoors. No matter, I did half expect to see Jennifer Aniston walking the beach though with her dog, Norman. I took a few photos for prosperity and we headed home. E took me on a scenic drive through some canyons which I loved. All those houses sitting precariously on the mountainsides, it all feels a bit dangerously beautiful. Dinner that night was at Taxco in West Hollywood. My first time having a prix fixe Mexican meal. We headed to O-Bar for drinks later. The rest of my time in L.A. was spent in the sun exploring the Garment District and just doing girly things. It's what I miss most about my normal everyday life.



Onward to New Mexico I was immediately whisked from the airport to dinner with my friend Charlotte. We hit a cute French place where I had some incredibly divine chocolate mousse. Next up was the ballet. We took in a showing of Sleeping Beauty which was beautiful. Watching those dancers I never stop being amazed at what the human body can do. It was a great night! Eager to show me around Albuquerque, Charlotte took me to the Old Town area. I stuffed myself with even more French food at lunch. Crepes trois aux cremes. Mon Dieu! We shopped a bit, hit the Rattlesnake Museum and headed to dinner. In any place I visit I like to eat some regional fare. So umm... the green chile cheese fondue please! Throw in some spicy peel and eat shrimp and that was dinner. Oh and did I mention we hit the movies after and I had popcorn too? Eesh. No gym for two weeks and all that? My body was not loving me and I was not loving it. Someone thought I wasn't too rough looking though and Charlotte and I got hit on at the theatre by some 21 year old. Really.

Who hits on someone at the movies? His line? "Excuse me, but could you tell me what movie I'm seeing?" as he shows me his ticket stub. Riiight...I looked at him and said, "That's a credit card receipt, so no, I can't tell you. Nice try." I have to give him credit he didn't act embarrassed but instead pressed on asking us if it was 'ladies night' and could he and his friend join us in our chick flick. Hm... have to pass as I showed him my ring and said I had one of him. One who looks a lot cleaner too. After he left I tried to extract myself from my seat. I was stuck. Is my ass really that big already? No. I sat in typical movie theater scum. Gross. Everytime I sat down for the rest of the night I stuck to the chair and then made a nice sticky/suctiony sound as I got up. Lovely.

We decided to take it easy my last day and just did some mall shopping. I scored some super cute jeans that made me feel my rightful size and shoes. We did a night in at Char's house and that was that. Back home the next day.

So I'm home and already my office is strewn with envelopes that T.D. is throwing helter skelter. The word Da? is asked continuously. Translated Da? means, "what's that?", then DA?!, "TELL ME NOW MOMMY!" The ground is covered in ice, snow and more ice and it's a typical week in my house. T.D. just pulled the laundry lint out all over the floor. Got to love it.

Back to Reality

How is it that in span of less than 60 seconds the phone can ring, I burn myself with hot wax (and sadly nothing even remotely kinky was going on), T.D. falls off the bed and manages to eat a nice mouthful of diaper cream? How? I guess it was just the universe's way of welcoming me back to reality. Whoo hoo!

It slushed here today which just makes me want to stay under the covers of my own bed even more. It was so nice to get into MY bed after a week away. I'm a weirdo about my bed and sheets so it's always the one thing I miss the most when traveling.

I have to say it was nice to be away and feel like me again. Not someone's Mom or wife. Just me. I shopped without time limits, ate whatever, got hit on a few times, and ingested far too much salt and sugar than should be allowed. I'm nice and bloated like a puffer fish from a week of sushi, wine, mexican prix fixe meals, cadbury candy, popcorn, soda, chocolate mousee, crepes avec trois aux cremes, no caffiene or little to speak of and a cigarette or two. There's more but my lips are puckering just thinking about it all. Airline food and airport food has been eliminated to avoid further grossing out of my readers. I guzzled water like mad all to no effect.

I also noticed while in Los Angeles and even in New Mexcio, it must be some sort of SouthWest thingy, that people out there are really into their colons. Yes, you heard me right, their colons. As in squeaky clean ones. It's not just the colonics and the fact that it's perfectly fine to chat up someone about their intestinal health, it is like a past-time out there. Talking about it, buying products to make it cleaner, what have you. It's almost fascinating. It's also precisely how I came to find out about this little gem. Colon Blow. Oh yeah, that's right. Go check that beauty of a site out. It is indeed for real. The testimonies, the pictures are legit. My friend's husband sports the t-shirt. It cracked me up for a good half hour or so. If you buy it and try it, let me know. I'm in awe of how into this stuff people get. It almost sizes up a majority of my trip but there's more later.

The Product of the Week!

Yes, it's a shameless plug as I do sell this stuff myself, but I have to admit I sell it only because I love it and it works! That being said, the product of the week is the ArbonneBaby line. You can buy pieces individually or in a set. As I have used T.D. with her ultra sensitive excema prone skin as my guinea pig, I know it's good stuff. Arbonne Baby producst are all natural, 100% Vegan, and have no dyes or perfumes in them. It took care of T.D.'s lizare back leaving her no longer looking like an alien baby, but instead with the rightfully smooth skin she deserves. The wash, lotion and herbal diaper cream all sell for $12.50 each, while the sunscreen in spf 30 is $19.50. I love the set ($73.50) which contains all of the above plus body oil for a soothing baby massage and a nice vat of Intelligence Rejuvenating Cream for Mom. It's a great baby shower gift or a nice introduction to the products themself. Try it you just might love it and if you don't, you get your money back!

If you're interested email me at veamason@gmail.com as I'm placing the order on Friday the 16th!

Home Again, Home Again

Jiggity Jig! Corny I know, but it really is so good to be home. I was so sick of hearing that same monotonous voice declaring, "Caution! Moving sidewalk ends." as I went through various airports. It's the same voice. Over and over again. Didn't help that I was sitting near it at my gate in Chicago today.

I'll do more on my trip later, all the little overheards from the airport, my take on L.A. another time around, and what Albuquerque is really like. Better than I thought I can tell you that, with the best Rattlesnake Musuem in the country I'm sure. Now I can say I've officially been there. There was something interesting I heard today while lounging at gate A11 in Midway airport. I was subjected the Maury Povich show and heard this tidbit. Apparently there is a rise in Hit Men being hired to kill people's spouses. Really. I mean I knew it was done. A rise though? Huh.

Maury goes on to state that the going rate for a kill is about $100K, which is not small change to most of us regular folk. It got me thinking though- who are these people that are running around hiring Hit men. If there's a rise is their a rapid rate of retiring hit men out there? Do they have a union? If there are so many hit men out there, how do you find them? Really, this whole thing just took up space in my travel addled brain for a good 15-20 minutes. Granted I was then boarding the plane and incredibly bored, but who are these people who have that money to throw around. How good are these hit men anyway? Maury only had botched cases which leads me to believe you could just offer money to the bagger at your local Safeway and probably be done with it. Scary.

Mountains of laundry await, as do piles of oh so scintillating junk mail. Actual trip stuff to follow.

News!

I'm on my second leg of my trip. Left sunny LA yesterday and flew to New Mexico. I'm having a blast! If you click on the title of this post you can view my latest bit of news- my feature story for Hot Mom's Club. Enjoy!

Introducing...The Product of the Week!

My friend Stephanie and I have decided to create a new blog, Flaming Tulle. It's a wedding planning website for those brides who believe that while the wedding is important and fun, it's not the be all and end all of their life. It's the marriage that is actually important. NaNoMoBridezillas. So check it out, Flaming Tulle. We're still working on it but we predict exciting things!

I'm off to L.A. now so you might not here from me for a bit. Ta!

Mommy's Time Out

We Mom's sure are in the news these days. The cocktail playdate debate continues and just yesterday the Washington Post ran this article about Mom's playing Bunco on 'Mom's Night Out' and having a sip or two of chardonnay. The wine shown was actually the wine pictured above. Yes, ladies it really does exsist. Isn't it fabulous? First, 'Mad Housewife' wine now this one. I love it. It's kitschy yeah but who cares. It's like the perfect joke gift to give a Mom on your block.

Anyway, I digress, sort of, this whole debate about Mom's drinking on playdates or even drinking after the wee ones go to bed is so hot right now and I think it's nuts. It's as if women should be above drinking and we should always comport ourselves in some unrealistic stepford type way. I don't know about you, but the mere inkling of that idea makes me not only shiver in replusion, but suddenly feel hot and itchy. I run away from those types of women and fast. They creep me out with their expectations and ideals on what a woman's place is. A woman's place is whereever she feels it should be and not confined to one location or ideal. I'm not judging that type of person, it's just not for me and I don't like being squashed into a box or judged in turn because I'm not that kind of mother. So really who cares if you have a sip or two of shiraz while out with the girls. What's up with the Mommy police these days anyway?