Because I'm still in RI

and lazy...




Thanks Liz.

Ovaherds, ahem... Overheards Rhode Island Style

"Keep my NAME outta ya mouf!" I said, "Keep my NAME outta ya mouf!"

"You know just because something's been buried, doesn't mean it stays buried."

"It's the BIG DUH sale!"

"Just Remember, it's CHOWDAH and Lobstah, Lobstah and Chowdah and you'll be fine. Welcome to Rhode Island."


I'm stewing in massive amounts of fried food. I've ingested grilled cheese, french fries, too many clamcakes to count, and a lot of caffiene. The horseflies are biting and I'm catching up on tunes with VH-1 Classics. Limelight by Rush anyone? I had forgotten how oddly rural and uh charming this place can be. Especially when that first overheard was as I walked onto a tranquil beach. Gotta love Rhody.

Lucky Me

Thank God that you can't kick people off a plane mid-flight. If you could I'm sure the woman in seat 15F would have thrown up the side door and ousted T.D. and I somewhere over Jersey. Seeing as opening that door would have killed everyone else on board or at least sent them into a drooling mess with them crapping their own pants her only alternative was to suck it up. Along with everyone else including me.

Oh yes. I have THAT kid. The one who hates flying and screams during much of the flight. I should have known it was not going to be a barrel of fun when she woke up at 5:30 a.m. the day of the flight. Two hours before her normal time. She barreled around the gate making friends and flirting. She was just sooo charming. Who could resist such an imp? I was hoping that she would just keep it up or fall fast asleep in her spiffy airplane seat. Heh.

Silly Mummy. I was fooled by the take off as she chomped on raisins but soon into the flight all baby dolls, blankets, books and other kid paraphanalia literally tried to go out the window. Or on the floor. Then demanded once more. I pulled a shoulder muscle trying to pick up something off the tight spot on the floor. As I winced and my stomach burned from the stress and screams I thought, "only an hour, only an hour...and THIS SUCKS!" I'm eloquent. What can I say? When the woman in 15F reclined her seat so T.D. could have easier access in kicking her tray table I wanted to scream myself. The woman was now asking for it. The glares I got from her were on par with a pit viper. All I could think was, "Just try me lady, just try me. I've got ninja skills." It all came to a nice head as we descended into Lil'Rhody and T.D. began to scream and screech in blood curdling, blood pressure raising wails. I wanted to melt into my seat and tried everything I could to calm her. She was literally foaming at the mouth. She managed to remove all her straps and belts in the process.

At the end, I decided to wait until the plane was empty to deboard. I didn't to look anyone in the eye. I had THAT child on the flight. I am incredibly grateful to the Army General two rows in front who made a point at the end of the flight of saying T.D. was "precious" with a total lack of irony.



**Blogher starts today. I'm a bit sad I'm missing it. Next year I swear! As God as my witness, if I have to live through fifteen more T.D. filled flights, I will get to Blogher next year.


CHECK OUT THE NEW FINDS AND REVIEWS on Mummy's Product Reviews.

Moronic Parenting Moments

"Time to make the vittles", I thought yesterday evening. Ok, so I don't actually use the word vittles. Reminds me of entrails or something equally grotesque. Rocky Mountain oysters perhaps?

As I got started on dinner, T.D. started to do the witching hour dance of "FEED ME WOMAN or Suffer my wrath!" Seeing as I don't like suffering at the hands of a two foot tall being with minimal teeth and less than stellar coordination I gave her a bit of a snack. Ok a treat. Really? I was just simply not thinking. Maybe I grabbed the treat for myself and ended up giving it to her. Maybe not. All I know is that a few minutes later I hear grunting and squeals of delight coming from a corner of the kitchen. The dog is licking something off the floor. That something being brown. Huh. I look at T.D. and she is happily sucking the life out of a tiny Dove square of chocolate. WTF was I thinking?!

Her little face is smeared in chocolate. Chocolate drool is running down her chin. Her hands? Completely brown. I shrieked. More out of "how could I?!?" than anything else. However, it was the wrong move. T.D. wipes her hands on her shirt thinking I'm upset with her messy state. "NO!" I yell. Again, not smart on my behalf. T.D. begins to wail. Her mouth in a chocolate-stained pout. I quickly wipe her face and hands as she cries harder. Then, guess what I do next. I grab the offending chocolate piece out of her hands to squelch further damage and mayhem and I pop it into my own mouth. Again I ask, "WTF is wrong with me?!" I thought the cries were bad before. Now they were downright screams.

Enraged that I ate her delicious treat she continues her cries of outrage as I scoop her up while simultaneously wiping the floor and shooing the dog away. Upstairs we change shirts and do a once over to make sure there isn't anymore melted chocolate to be smeared anywhere else. Clean.

All I can say in my defense is low blood sugar equates to completely moronic parenting.

Old Biddies Need Not Apply

Dining out with kids. It's a tough situation. There are two sides to it and I'm always torn. In my pre-kid days I was less than tolerant to screaming children in restaurants. Running around? That was a definite no-no. Control that child.

Then, I had a kid. I realized that they are less than controllable 100% of the time. However, it doesn't mean that I believe that kids should be able to do or say what they want when in a public place like a restaurant. That being said, when you have five kids ages six and under (also known as not the best idea) plus four women who lunch at one table. There will be noise. You put four ladies who lunch together and there will be a downright ruckus. You add wine and you might as well shut the whole place down.

So lady with the helmet head much like ol' Mummy up there don't you be passive aggressively walking over to our table that is TWO rooms over from the main dining area of the restaurant (SEE we were thinking of others and stayed far away from the actual dining room)and glare at us and then just leave. I knew you weren't looking for a table. You just wanted to put in your two sense in, but your old biddiness didn't allow you to even crack a steely gaze our way. Then sending the poor harried restaurant owner over to say they had complaints? I understand, except that we were TWO rooms away from your secretary's butt. TWO ROOMS. TWO ROOMS with lots of shushing on our part and kids that were yes, rambunctious at times, but that doesn't mean that we should be relegated to fast food chains for life. It's a freakin' lunch cafe with grilled cheese on the menu and a side of chips is served with every meal! Drinks come in paper cups and plastic utensils are used! There are picnic tables involved! Fine Dining it is not.

I myself still can't grasp how I feel on this whole thing. If it had been me being the old biddy, I would have been annoyed, except that I couldn't be really because I would have realized that they women with kids had taken precautions. They had removed themselves from the main dining room. There were five kids involved (and I for one will NOT be doing that again unless it's at a Chucky Cheese type place-whew!) and after seeing all that I would have eased up. I also would not have blocked the exit way before hand when a woman with two kids and a diaper bag walked up to the entrance. Nor would I have blocked the stairway and sidewalk out front. Seriously. I'm not saying it because I have kids. I'm saying it because it's RUDE.

Don't mind me people I'm just pissed that parents are made to feel like dirt when at some point we all were kids. Parents who let their kids run wild in public have given those of us who don't a bad name and reputation. I have to fly with T.D. for the first time this week and I'm scared to death some old biddy will have us kicked off the plane because I haven't given her 'ludes before the flight.

Fetid Waters

A dictator stands on a platform red-faced and screaming.

Cut to five minutes before.

H standing at the kitchen sink and says, "The sink is clogged." Uh-Oh. "Oooh, I say, the sink is clogged? (long sigh)." As if this is the most interesting news all day. Oh the excitement.

H begins to fix the clog. I haul out everything from underneath the sink and he places a bucket under the pipes. Rockin' good times in our house. T.D. grabs a seat. Front and center. She gets comfy Indian Style right in between the bucket and H. I lean down to see her rapt little face. H unscrews the pipe and does a little tap.

Suddenly, a whoosh of water is heard and I am doused from the knees down with disgusting, putrid, baby-vomit looking drain water. I am wearing sandals. I can feel the gritty squish between my toes. Blech. H and I step back from the minefield. He has gotten sprayed too. Sickening. We look at at a stunned T.D. She is DRENCHED. The rank garbagey water has splashed right into her face. Smelly drain water drips from her wispy hair into her eyes and down her face. The front of her clothes are soaked. Her pink shoes with the flower-shaped cut outs already reek of fetid water. They make a sucking sound as she stamps her feet in anger. We cannot help but laugh. The dictator's lower lip puckers out and she runs from the room incredibly fired up that such actions have occurred. She climbs to the landing in our staircase and glowers down at us. Red-faced and pissed she lets out a shrieking scream. The screams continue full-on until she is placed in the bath. Dictators love rubber duckies and soapy water.

H and I are still snickering over the whole ordeal.





****Where was this when I needed it? I could have burned up the boards as some of my past office jobs. Initech? Yeah, I worked there.

Blog Blast! Join the Fun and Do Some Good!

Tell me about your favorite charity, or better yet, head to PBN and post it there. If you are like me there is an organization that you hold near and dear to your heart. Maybe you know someone with cancer and you want to help in anyway you can so you donate to the American Cancer Society. Maybe you love animals and want to help out the local shelter.

For me, it is a deeply personal reason that I donate to this one particular organization. They helped me out in so many ways during such a dire time in my life. A time that if they had not been there I would have probably remained broken for years to come if not forever. My life would not be what it is today nor would I. I was in an abyss with no way out and felt completely isolated and alone. The Domestic Violence Resource Center of South County, RI was there for me. Their weekly group therapy sessions, the resources and support they offered made it possible for me to see a life beyond what I was currently trapped in. They gave me the courage, guidance and support to know that I could and would be whole again someday. I owe them such a debt of gratitude. That is why I joined iBakeSale.

iBakeSale allows me to donate anywhere from 20-100% of the amount I spend in online shopping on their site to the organization of my choice. Here's how it works-when you shop online via iBakeSale you can earn cash back (by percentage of purchase) that can be donated to various charities, as well as local organizations such as little league, schools, shelters. EVEN yourself. It's FREE and EASY to sign up. You can help donate to my cause or add your own.

Click here to sign up or get more information. If you would like to help out a great RI resource look up The Domestic Violence Resource Center of South County. I thank you in advance. While you are at it- TELL YOUR FRIENDS and have them sign up. You won't be sorry!

NOW SHOP, SHOP, SHOP!

Backlash?

This recent entry in Newsweek's 'My Turn' section made me pause. Could it be that there is a backlash forming against 'extreme parenting'? Read the article before delving further into this post or it won't make much sense.

Done reading? Ok, good.

First, I would like to say that I could not agree more with what Ms. Friedman has to say regarding people backing off women's biological clocks. It is no one's business but the couple or the woman's. Stop asking that question people! Stop touching pregnant and not-pregnant belly's! I'm still amazed at how it's even done to us folks who have already reproduced. Maybe we want to hang out in the 'only child' club for a bit longer than others. And that's just fine. My uterus doesn't work well under pressure. No one's does.

Second, Friedman talks about the her friend's kid punching her in the face... please. Sadly, haven't we all had these situations? WTF is wrong with parents today? "You really shouldn't talk down to kids." is what the mother told Friedman. Seriously? Maybe someone should stop talking to the kid and start talking to the mother. Hand her a copy of this book.

I suppose I'm doing a little bit of judging here on other parents which I try not to do, but sometimes I just get so angry that we parents can get such a bum rap as being extreme zombies hell bent on not eating brains but having the smartest, most talented kid in the hemisphere. I know for me I didn't want to have kids partly, because like Friedman, I didn't want to become one of those extreme parents, overbearing mothers, or worse the parent who becomes blind to anything and everything their "little angel" does. The 'kid can do no wrong' syndrome. Does anyone really set out to become that type of parent? Probably not. Does it just happen over time and you don't see it happening? Do your friends become like-minded and not see it either? Then before you know it your kid is the playground bully, or future drug ambassador of their school and you still think they are a straight A report card carrying boy/girl scout. Or is it really just as simple as figuring out what type of parent you want to be before baby and then sticking to your guns and not caving to neighborhood/mom group pressures?

I'm not entirely sure. I just know that despite being a parent, I am still on the fence. I'm stuck between the land of the parent/child empathizers (yes, it would be really nice if men's rooms had changing tables. No, I do not think babies belong in movie theaters) for a more child-friendly world and with those who do not have children and feel that they are being pressured into having kids regardless of their situation or desire for children.

I do know one thing- somethings brewing out there and it just might be a backlash. There's a quest for a return to modesty so why not less extreme parenting, more minding our own business?

Barbapapa Lives!

On YouTube. Anyone else watch this show as a kid? It was on a Canadian channel when I was growing up in N.E. If I didn't have the books to prove it no one would believe me when I talk about this show. It was a favorite of mine and T.D. loves the books despite them being ratty and almost thirty years old.

The Heaven's Sing!

Alleluia!!! My bathroom is caulked. The floor is done. The nasty old shower curtain is down! All is fixed! The new hardware has been installed.

What we thought was a weekend project turned into a month long one. The toilet sat for a week or more on the floor, hardware, screws and other assorted home renovation tools lay about all over our upstairs driving me slowly batty. Ok, not slowly.

Now though, it is Finished! All I have to do is clean it. And you know what? I'm damn excited about that fact too. A NEW bathroom and it will be clean. No more tile grout dust, dry wall patch dust, and just dust in general. Fresh towels on the the new racks. New bins for tip top organization. The only thing missing are H-proof towels. Does anyone else's husband destroy towels in record time? H does. What he does to them I'll never know but he has his own "special" towels because they get worn out so fast.

My inner and not so subtle Bree-like tendencies will be in overdrive today as I whip that new bathroom into shape. Scrubbing to my hearts content and make it all sparkly and shiny.

Yes, I just did a whole post on my new bathroom. I don't care. I will sit and stare at all it's pretty newness when all the cleaning is done. All thanks to H and his master grouting and tiling abilities. Thank you H for not throwing the bowl out the second story window or taking a sledge hammer to it though I know you wanted to.

The bathroom is perfect.

Creepy Man Freaks Local Mom While Shopping

News at 11.

Well, not really. Here it is though. While trying to avoid/not get sucked into the 13th Ring of Hell that is my local Safeway, I decided to make a trip to a different grocery yesterday. It's where I do all my "big" shopping since Safeway seems to think its quite alright to take half the GNP from my wallet each time I visit. Seriously I sometimes think I'm funding some small nation with the amount of money I spend there.

While perusing the goods, and incredibly rotten strawberries I might add, this older gentleman approached my cart. "Helloooo", he muttered a bit lasciviously. Ick. I breezed past not making eye contact and barely said a small 'hi' back. He turned around as I whizzed by and said, "I said HELLO!" Ok. Thanks. Creepy. I say Creepy because it wasn't just a friendly thing, there was definitely a dark, ominous feel all of it. He looked at me like I might end up in his crawl space later and he liked that. I seem to attract this type of behavior. I ignore it but the freaks come out when I do. Hmmm... does that mean I'm a freak too? Don't answer that.

As I finished up our shopping and checked out at the register I noticed him hovering. He was behind me in line about two people back. Holding nothing. WTF? No cart. No basket. Nothing in his hands. Not even a pack of gum. I'm not one of those 'excuse it away' girls either. This man wasn't buying a pack of Marlboro's. He kept mumbling at me too. Now incredibly creeped out I skedaddled myself out of there right quick. Only to have him nab me at the door. There he was less than 8 inches from me asking if I needed help to my car. Seriously? Dude was not an employee. I told him, "No, I'm fine." He asked again adding the, "Are you sure you can handle it?" Yup! Yes, I can handle the toddler in an animal cracker induced coma and my cart chocked full of environment killing plastic bags (forgot the cloth ones!) on both racks of the cart just fine thank you. NOW BACK OFF!

He followed me out of the store fora a ways all the while mumbling. I suppose I could have looped back into the store to complain, but I honestly didn't think about it at the time. My only thoughts were "Get away from me Creep!" and "Stupid plastic bags! Hate you!"

Later that night I told H about the whole incident. Normally not much phases H. When I tell him about things like men making comments to me or groping (eons ago I swear and it was usually in a bar) he doesn't do that customary riled up thing. Sometimes this perturbs me but now I'm just used to it. Last night though he made the requisite shocked face and seemed truly disturbed that some weirdo is following his wife and kid around the local grocery emporium. But it's not as if he can do anything at this point so we moved on to watching some banal show on television.

What would any of you have done in this creepy situation?

Yet Another Open Letter

In the same vein as another smarty pants blogger I'm putting out this open letter.

Dear Hungry Hippo Crowd at my Local Farmer's Market,

The Farmer's Market. Just saying it brings to mind fresh produce, the open air, and a fun, relaxing way to spend a morning. I go often and always feel happy for the rest of the day. I have locally grown, pesticide-free food in my house and it usually still has the dirt on it from the farm. I love that, I really do. I even love the little bread company that draws such immensely huge crowds that buying a snickerdoodle takes fifteen minutes.

The immensely huge crowds with the cantankerously rude and impatient Sunday ogglers. I'm drawn to the big loaves of bread, rustic and charming. The giant cookies and tasty muffins just baked that morning. However, like any good little addict once I head to my dealer problems can arise. Problems like you annoying Hungry Hippos who knock a woman with a full stroller out of line. You people (oh yeah, I just said you people) who push your change heavy fanny packs into my back to get me out of your way. The woman who feels it's perfectly ok to suffocate my kid by shoving her plastic bag in my kids face. As my Mom would say, "Watch it Buster!" Oh lady there's a special place for you and it's NOT the front of the bread line!

What I really love the most about all you "little" Hungry Hippos is how helpful y'all are. When the nice lady trying to pay, you know the one who didn't knock anyone out of line, has her stroller fall backwards onto the hot asphalt nearly knocking her child senseless you should STOP AND HELP instead you just gasp and nudge me out of line. Gee thanks! I appreciate how you failed to see my fruit rolling to your Ked ensconced feet. I love how I really felt the community love when I simultaneously uprighted the stroller, my kid, and our purchases and no one even asked, "Is she alright?" as she wailed on and on. Nope. You only asked, "What's in the apple cookie?"

Hmmm.... maybe APPLES?!

I know you saw me, I was scrabbling at our ankles picking up my patti-pan squash. I know that next time I see you in line and your melon rolls out of your bag or you drop an ear of corn I will graciously pick it up and help you. I'll even smile. Why? Because I'm trying to make this planet better even if I had to write this open letter to vent. That is after all the point of the Farmer's Market. Now go by your cookies at Safeway where you belong!

Squeee!

WELL! Look at that! Isn't she pretty? Isn't she divine? Do you not love the gorgeous blue background, the stylized and organized new me?! I DO!

All thanks to Izzy Designs! THANK YOU IZZY! I simply love the whole damn thing!

What the Flaming Tulle?!

Flaming Tulle?

Have you heard of it?

It's oh just a fun little ol' blog brought to you by two fabulously opinionated wedding bloggers, named Vicky (yes, me) and Stephanie. We're here to help. We don't want you to go Bridezilla on everyone while you are planning your 'magical' day.

Flaming Tulle is also on the lookout for a bride-to-be. We feature a bride or two continuously and since Stephanie herself just got hitched last month we're looking for someone new. We have ONE slot to fill right now. Want to fill the slot and join the ranks of other Flaming Tulle Featured Brides? Fun stuff is involved! Contact me or Stephanie at flamingtulle at gmail dot com and tell us why you should be one of our Featured Brides!

mm'shpphh Schleepy

Scene- Our house, birds just chirping early. I come downstairs for the nectar of the lost sleepers.

H:"If someone is tired today, I don't want to hear about it."

Me: Yes, Daaaad. (What I was thinking) What I really said: "I knooowww."

Girls Night in our 'hood last night. We welcomed the new neighbor and all clamored for her villa in Italy that she rents. It will be interesting to see if anyone makes it there besides the one woman is is leaving. I'm sure she'll get there. Whether or not she rents that place remains to be seen.

I drank too much. Not enough to get sufficiently silly or puke later on, but enough to have a nice dull ache behind my tired, puffy eyes. Pinto Grigio my downfall. Large bottles of Pinot Grigio are deadly.

That being said "y'all I'm tyerd!" That was me impersonating Britney Spears. Laugh. Laugh or I'll come over and hang out at your house today with my loud toddler and insane dog. I won't shower either. I'll make sure I'm still sweating from the gym as I lay all over your couches. I'll rub cheese curl stains on our furniture and walls. Then I'll open all your cabinets, rifle through your bathroom, and eat out of your fridge. I'll throw some food on the floor for the kid and the dog. Don't worry I know how to treat my family right!

Check out the new reviews and Friday Fun Finds on the review site here. Don't forget got to VOTE for me to Blog for a Year either! Link to the right!

Mwah!

Just Eeww!

Has anyone else seen the promos for Bret Michaels (he of big hair in years past and more eyeliner than I'll ever know) show on VH-1? Oh yeah. 'Rock of Love' and it starts July 15th. The key phrase?

Who will rock his world?

Just eewww. Ick. I'm not even going to go into what two things those lovely young ladies have in common... just watch the promo.

It's from the creators of Flavor of Love so do I really need to say anymore? The cheese factor of this one is going to be astronomical. I predict lots of licking.

On a much less squicky note there's another new show that I'm dying to see. This is aging me but yeah! for 'Scott Baio is 45 and Single'. It's too much. While I never had an all out crush on Baio this promises to be good. The man did episodes of 'Arrested Development' he has to have a good sense of humor. It could be a fun train wreck as he sifts through the 'wreckage of his past' and all those ex-girlfriends. Seriously. The man has dated a lot of Hollywood's bombshells. That one starts July 15th too..

Set your TIVO's and DVR's.

House Flipper Fantasy

H and I flip houses. We find real estate a fascinating affair. It took me a bit, but I can get just as a excited as he can when it comes down to it. I love the idea of picking out cabinets, flooring, and paint for a house that I will never live in. Seeing how a putrid piece of property shakily standing on its last leg can almost overnight come together into something beautiful makes me proud.

We really think of it as a service we are doing for the community not just a job. A beautification of sorts. Though sometimes we get obsessed. We talk about houses and various properties continuously. What's the deal with this one or that one? Have you heard back from the so and so. What contractor are we going with for the bathrooms and so on. I swear one day we will find we talk only in "house speak".

At night we watch the Home and Garden channel learning, absorbing and alternately yelling at the screen as someone does something incredibly dumb during a flip.

We brush our teeth and discuss over mouthfuls of foamy spit how to landscape a property.

We peruse the paper over Sunday brunch and talk about drywall.

I would not be surprised if one day we find ourselves furtively whispering into each others ears, "oak cabinets...yeah.. teak floors, oooh baby you know how I love backsplash tiling..."

It's like a disease. I often wonder this as I watch other house flippers on TV if they have become such a product of their environment and jobs. I fear we are becoming like people abducted by the planet HGTV and Designed to Sell.

Scary Even to Me

Sometimes life just gets to be too much. No amount of wine or cigarettes (I wish!) will do. A nap, a good book, or a time out just isn't sufficient.

Pedicure? Yeah right.

What you need is a good crying jag. Or a meltdown of such epic proportions that has built up for so long that you scare even yourself back into normalcy. Your kid? Well, I feel I have scarred mine for life now and spent a good half hour apologizing to a child who just looked up at me with huge eyes.

How did this happen?

1. Lack of sleep. Sleep has been positively elusive to me the last few days and now weeks. Each day it gets worse. (Do NOT suggest Tylenol PM or some natural remedy for sleep the do NOT work on this woman) That does not make for a totally sane Mommy.

2. Ongoing and unfinished house projects. Debris in various areas of the house. 'To Do' lists that just won't die.

3. The Mole (more on that later)

4. Heat. Temps in the 90s and humidity were just keeping us inside with the A/C when what we really needed was room to roam.

Add in a dose of everyday life and a possibly teething toddler (molars are hell!) and you have yourself a set up for a scary situation right off the Hollywood screens.

When did it happen?

Yesterday. After a morning of constant whining and more whining from T.D. and an already exhausted me I knew a storm was brewing within me. She refused all food all day and just continued to cry. I could not figure out what on earth was wrong! I was getting close to the edge. A doctor appointment later with some not so fun news (the mole indeed) I picked T.D. up from the sitter and put her down for a nap. I worked for longer than I intended becoming mesmerized and repelled by my computer screen. I just needed sleep. I tried to nap to no avail. I just tossed and turned and became increasingly surly.

When T.D. awoke I was already starting dinner. Dinner that would not cooperate. A toddler that gripped my legs refusing to be soothed by toys, music, books, being read to, held, and baby Tylenol and Orajel. I broke out a wet washcloth figuring she needed to be cooled down? She wasn't sick. I gave her some snacks and a drink. No change. The diaper was changed. Nothing. Just that incessant "eeeehheeeh, eeehheeehh" whine. About the time I tried to start dinner for the fourth time I could feel myself going over that cliff. The edge was gone and I had fallen down the rabbit hole into meltdown land.

I threw a portion of dinner across the room. It went in two totally separate directions and I screamed. I later found more of it behind the phone and attached to the spice rack. Yum! I glared at T.D. with blazing eyes, tears starting to brim over, and begged her to stop crying. Begged. I begged my 17 mos. old child. A new low. She just kept going. I lost any amount of calm left and scooped her up fast and with tears streaming down my face, jagged sobs escaping me, I put her in her crib and slammed the door. I just couldn't take it. Eight hours of incessant whining with no stop and no cause I could find was too much. I was beyond tired and had slipped in the mode of being a cranky toddler myself.

Back downstairs trying for a fifth time to concoct dinner I could hear the whines turn into downright screams of fury. Blood curdling. Except my blood just boiled and I began screaming. Crying and screaming and hic-coughing. I ran up the stairs and threw open her bedroom door a la Jack Nicholson in 'the Shining' and bellowed, "JUST BE QUIET!! STOP! STOP CRYING!!" The look on her face said it all. Startled and thrown off from crying her eyes became saucers and she just gulped. A little like Shelly Duval I suppose as she watched her husband axe his way into the bathroom.

For about the longest two minutes of my life I just gripped the edge of the crib all white knuckles and panting. I was eye level with my daughter as we both tried to control our rasping breaths and lip trembles. I wanted to die. Outside of post-partum depression where I lashed out at others and not my child, I had never had such a desperate moment with her. It was terrifying. I picked her up and just hugged her to me. We sat for a bit just staring at each other. Me in a quite voice apologizing for yelling and losing myself. She just asking me questions such as, "Dat?" as she gripped my necklace and smiled at me.

How could she just forgive me like that? I can't.

Things That Make You Go Hmmm...

I am a New Englander at heart. While I love DC and call it home, there is something about the old N.E. that makes me proud to hail from there and hold it close to my heart always.

It is particularly at this time of year that I miss the RI beaches, Del's (featured on unwrapped again this weekend!) and clamcakes from the Hitching Post the most. I sort of even miss the tourists that clog up Newport from Memorial day to Labor day.

I think back to summers spent at Burlingame State Park swimming in my own underwater world. Back roads traversed on my pink and grey ten-speed bike with my best friend, E. and actually being able to see fireflies at night. I know that each state and part of the country holds its own charm, but for me, Rhode Island, New England and all it's quirkiness resides in my soul and makes up a large part of who I am and how I relate to life and other people.

So it's with great interest that I noticed a rather large spike in my site's traffic hailing from that very state and area's nearby. How did you get here? It cannot be that my mother has started shouting from her front porch for you all to read the blog. I sincerely doubt that my father is going to work everyday passing out blog cards to fellow coworkers. Somehow I just can't see middle age men who work in defense being all that interested in this here blog. Then again...there was that week back in January... My family isn't that large either.

So speak up, tell me who you are, and how you came to find this site, introduce yourself. Lastly, Welcome.

New Reviews

Check out the new PBN review over at Mummy's Product Reviews. Body, Soul, and Baby is now up! More to come this week including Custom Clothing!

The Good Ol' Days

Back in the days when I was "with child", "preggo", had a "bun in the oven" or was just plain pregnant I had a lot of people say some pretty bizarre or just plain rude things to me. They feel it's perfectly ok to not even say 'hello!' or even smile at you, but just okey dokey to touch your belly or poke your button. It gets pretty damn annoying.

Here are a few of my faves- AND- things I wish I would have said and sometimes did.

-"Are you allowed to eat that?" as I chomped on a Brownie. "Uh.. yeah..Why not? Are they special Brownies? If they are special Brownies I'm eating the whole pan."

-"Will you be breast-feeding?" Blurted out in the middle of a meeting. Asked by a man who I barely knew. Talk about creepy. I had no reply for that one and still don't. Just YICK!!!

-Me in my office: "Son of a Bitch!" Guy in office: "Sssh.. the baby can hear you!" Me: At the time I just grumbled to myself about how annoying it was to be pregnant and have everyone offer "helpful" advice. Now I wish I had just said, "I KNOW that, I was TALKING to the baby. Duh!"

You think it ends after you actually have the baby. Oh no it does NOT. That's where the judging comes in, more advice, and the sketchy questions about your labor, after-birth, breasts, and chotch. As if you really want to talk to the grocery store cashier or guy at Lowe's about all that, much less the creepy lurker dude in your office's hallway.

It's BLOG BLAST FRIDAY asking "What's the most annoying preggo or new mom question you've ever been asked -- AND -- what's your best, snarky "wish-you-could-have-said-it" answer" (in post and comment form -- we can all say "F-off" -- let's hear a mouthful and then some). PBN is putting it all together for their new campaign for Dr. Tracy Gaudet's new book, 'Body, Soul, Baby' which can be found by typing in the title here. Don't you wish you could have just handed those people with all their advice this type of book?




Check out the other sites doing the blog blast here for there are FABULOUS prizes!

Challenge!

Some people do thirty day challenges (what crap!), others don't even bother. Not being a competitive person myself (unless it involves something like a reading contest) I'm reluctant to even consider doing any sort of "challenge", but when H brought up the easy peasy '5 Day Workout' challenge (say it like the french!) I said yes.

Rules: Individual must workout (break a sweat) for at least 30 minutes each day for five days (M-F). Loser does whatever the winner has chosen as a prize.

Prizes: If I win, H has to paint my bathroom. The tile is in. It's oh so pretty, but it needs a new coat of paint which is languishing in my bathroom being used as a toilet paper roll holder. All hardware will go up then too. THEN I won't have to use the paint can to place my toilet paper on. What luxury.

If H wins, I have to perform certain services a certain number of times a week. Men. They are all the same. Each time we hold a competition? The prize is the same.

Day 1- Monday. Hit the gym running. Literally. I do 45 minutes of cardio and all the weight machines. Whoo hoo! Feel the burn baby! H also makes it to the gym.

Day 2- Tuesday. Gym again! Tried to persuade my neighbor to walk with me but she was having nothing to do with it. More weights, stretching and 35 minutes of cardio.

Day 3- Wednesday/4th of July-Holiday. Gym is closed. Booo! Take the dog for a run while H uses new jogging stroller to take T.D. out on his run. See each other mid-run and wave amicably. Each of us thinking, "I'm so gonna whoop your ass!"
Discuss challenge with girlfriends over 4th of July bash. Hoots of laughter make the men question our sanity. When I describe H's prize they all agree they will get me out the door each day no matter what. They all agree. Men. They are all the same.

Day 4- Thursday. Bit of a snafu. Powerwasher guys coming at 9. Gym only open with daycare at 8:30. Will never make it. Wake T.D. up early, shovel breakfast in her piehole and strap her into stroller. I trudge along the neighborhood streets without caffeine, sweating and silent. It's too early for even me. I did it though. Take that conference calling husband already at work, not the gym!

Tomorrow is the final day. I'm so gonna win! I'm actually quite enjoying this Challenge! (say it like the french!) and would even like to extend it another week. Who knows what I could get done then. Perhaps request my prize to be a pedicure and eyebrow waxing? Lord knows I need it!

Rock On With Your Bad Self!

The lovely, talented, and savvy Mama Saga has awarded me the 'Rockin' Girl Blogger' award! Thank You!!! I am so thrilled!



Right back at ya babe! I'm passing it on to five fabulous females too.

1. Stephanie, my fellow Flaming Tulle blogger for her blog, Where in the World.

2. Siobhan, the crazed knitter of One Knit Two Knit Red Knit Blue Knit.

3. Sarah, blogging over there in sunny SoCal at Hollywood Flakes.

4. Susan, who digs a drink and vacuum and always makes me laugh on her site, Friday Play Date.

5. Last but not least, Lauren, from Catalog of Bitch.

In a Child's Eye's

Smiling Mom is on vacation. Here is my version for July's blog Exchange.


In a child’s eyes she was more than the woman who could scarily flip her eyelids inside out she was the one and only person who I would eat Total cereal and unsalted potato chips for.

In a child’s eyes she made ‘Mystery’ just as much fun to watch as ‘Love Boat’ and the Sunday night Disney movie.

In a child’s eyes she made swinging on the porch the only way to spend an afternoon, going to the grocery store an adventure with special treats, and she instilled the fine art of French cooking even the dreaded Buche de Noel.

In a child’s eyes she would play endless kiddie bits on the piano for a concert of one. In a child’s eyes it was all in good fun and not the glass ceiling breaking concert pianist that she actually was. Her records were more enjoyable to dance to rather than listen to with awe and admiration.

In a child’s eyes she was and is Memere, the woman who gave me the sense to understand why good manners are important and not just needed. That living is an art and a skill to be acquired. Lipstick should always be worn when leaving the house and your purse is meant to bring a smile to your face not just for carrying your wallet. Aprons are a must. Simple food is just as good as the fancy stuff and a clean kitchen is the key to household organization. Decorating your kitchen with roosters is just an added bonus we both share.

In this child’s eyes she cracked me up when she would take out her false teeth and brush them in front of me. Her pink floral bathroom with its special and equally pink soap enchanted me. The black tiles and tiny medicine chest gleamed and always held interesting treasures like powder puffs and perfume in old fashioned bottles.

In this child’s eyes now a woman with a child of her own, I can only look back fondly and with great love and admiration for what an incredible woman she was and is today. At 87, she is still beautiful and her smile can light up a room. Despite age and its maladies she still dazzles with the piano. I wish I had spent more time simply sitting and listening when I had the chance. She is more than Memere. She is Beatrice, one of the role models and mentors in my life. A woman I respect, love, and can only hope to be even a smidgen like one day.



Vicky, is a freelance writer and WAHM, who resides daily at her blog,The Mummy Chronicles and Mummy’s Product Reviews. Her daughter, T.D. (shown above with her great-grandmother Beatrice) has the middle name Beatrice.

Do You See What I See?

Welcome Smiling Mom to my site today for July's Blog Exchange.

I thought a lot about July 1st's blog exchange topic, "In my child's eyes." The reality is my life is so busy and fast paced that I often don't slow down and allow myself the time to see, I mean really see, what is important to my kids.

So I decided to hand my son a camera and let him take pictures of anything important to him.

This is what he saw.

Our dog Kayla, one of the most important things to him.



His Sister, eClaire. They live to disagree, with moments of pure love and tender moments interspersed.



What boy doesn't love his Mac truck?



The racetrack. Oh the racetrack.



The blanket, "It has big holes and little holes. It' s my blanket."



This about sums up my son's favorite things. If his Grandpa was here, he'd of photographed him too. Life at three is sheer excitement.

All play and no work.

Life is good.

Smiling Mom is a stay at home mom 1/2 the week and a teacher the other half. She's been blogging since February and has a particular interest in collecting and reviewing easy & healthy recipes for a busy mom on the go. If you'd like to submit a recipe. It will be reviewed and posted on her site.

I'm over at Smiling Mom today so check out my post there!