Ringworm or Puke in the Pool. Take Your Pick.

Today's mission should you choose to accept is to guess which story is true and which one is the April Fool's. It's all part of April's Blog Exchange, though um, we're not really exchanging any one's blog this time... See more stories true or false here.

During my freshman year of college a group of girls and I, OK about half my hall, would regularly hang out at a nearby fraternity house. Friday night? We were at the house. Saturday afternoon? Probably playing flip cup and eating pizza at the house. Saturday night? Still at the house. The wee small hours of the morning? You got it. We were at that house. It's not that the guys were especially hot or that they were even that charismatic but for some reason we all took a liking to each other. Then one day as I was sitting on my bed I noticed a little dry patch on the back of my upper arm. Scaly even. Huh. What could it be? I scratched. I showed it to my roommate. She skeeved out completely and scrambled across her bed away from me making a yuck face. "Ick! That's sick! You have ringworm!" Ring what? Never heard of it. Puritanical New Englanders do not get worms. Even those that come bearing rings.

The next morning as I walked down the hall I noticed something. My friend had a big red scaly patch on her cheek and her neck. Uh-Oh. So did her roommate. And another girl. And another. That's right. About half of us had either a mild (me) case or totally flamboyant (cheek girl, it was almost six inches of worm) degree of this nasty thing called Ringworm. Lest, you think we were all a bunch of ho-bags living in some seething nest of nastiness it boiled down the some particularly nasty couches that we all sat on, passed out on, or simply squished our then tiny butts on for hours on end. A little bit of anti-fungal cream and we were all better but it sure tainted our view of that house and for the most part none of us ever went back.

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In high school, I had a pool. It wasn't some ginormous Olympic-sized thing but it served its purpose and was great to hang out around in the hot summer months. Almost every day E and I would lounge by the pool reading Seventeen, Glamour and Cosmo talking about her weird shedding skin ailment, drinking on the sly and soaking up the suns weak New England rays. E would get this amazing tan and I would look tan only if I stood next to a white wall.

We spent a lot of time experimenting with the likes of our friends vodka, gin and rum. Vodka we quickly realized was highly versatile and we could make these fun little drinks called, Chi-Chi's. We felt so grown up using the blender, crushing ice sipping Chi-Chi's, Cape Codders and Greyhounds by the pool. Until one day we uh, did all three. Back to back on empty teen stomachs. There might have been a few other suggestions from our friends rum and gin too. Not the best idea at the time or in hindsight but when A-ha, Annie Lennox and some gem of a mix tape or two are blaring away and the sun is shining by the glistening pool it all seems in good fun.

It's all fun and games until someone pukes in the pool isn't it?

They puke in the pool and you try in vain to clean it up fast with a mixture of throwing it over the side, using the skimmer and just shoving water into that thingy that collects leaves and frogs. Then you try to act sober and not horrified when your Dad comes home from work early and decides to take a dip in the pool. Which on the surface looks clean but well, we all knew better.

*If you guessed the ringworm story then you are correct! While I did have a pool growing up and I did drink by it with E, no one ever threw up in or around it.

A Riddle for You

So what do you get when you take a cranky toddler who will only nap because when she wakes up Daddy (who has been gone 3 weeks) will be home and then Daddy decides to go to the Nationals Opening Day game first so he's not home when she wakes up?

You get dinner thrown at you by a toddler.

That's what.

You get an egg salad sandwich hurled at your face by one red-faced, crying with her mouth open and full of egg goo, hurt little toddler screaming for her Daddy.

Fun times. Fun times, indeed.

Then you realize that you have eaten about 12 eggs in three days and that pregnancy does indeed make you eat weird things. Maybe sky high cholesterol makes toddlers behave more like indignant monarchs?



*We have a due date...November 28! More on this melodramatic saga later.

Earth Hour- TONIGHT! Are you Ready?

Maybe you have heard of it, maybe you haven't but tonight all over the world between 8-9 p.m. we are powering down. For one solid hour there will be no lights on in my house. Just candlelight.

Earth Hour is a great way for your whole family to get involved and learn about conservation. While T.D. will be in bed by that point, the dog and I will sitting quietly.

On March 29, 2008 at 8 p.m., join millions of people around the world in making a statement about climate change by turning off your lights for Earth Hour, an event created by the World Wildlife Fund.

Earth Hour was created by WWF in Sydney, Australia in 2007, and in one year has grown from an event in one city to a global movement. In 2008, millions of people, businesses, governments and civic organizations in nearly 200 cities around the globe will turn out for Earth Hour. More than 100 cities across North America will participate, including the US flagships–Atlanta, Chicago, Phoenix and San Francisco and Ottawa, Montreal, Toronto and Vancouver.

We invite everyone throughout North America and around the world to turn off the lights for an hour starting at 8 p.m. (your own local time)–whether at home or at work, with friends and family or solo, in a big city or a small town.

What will you do when the lights are off? We have lots of ideas.

Join people all around the world in showing that you care about our planet and want to play a part in helping to fight climate change. Don’t forget to sign up and let us know you want to join Earth Hour.

One hour, America. Earth Hour. Turn out for Earth Hour!

Angsty Blogger Seeks Advice

I have to admit that lately this whole blogging thing has been getting me down. When I started blogging it was a way for me to get the nuts up to write and have people see it. Prior to that I never let anyone read anything I wrote. I did it as an outlet to in my journey as a new mother who was returning to work and dealing with post-partum depression. The blog helped immensely.

Then I got hooked. I got a few readers. The idea of becoming a writer like I had always dreamed seemed a bit closer to reality. Especially when I realized that others were reading the blog too. What an amazing and addicting high!

Lately though I'm having a hard time. I feel dried up. Tired. Haggard. Spent. The feeling has been there for a few months so it can't be blamed on pregnancy mojo. I just wonder if it is worth it anymore. What am I doing and why am I doing this? Does anyone get anything out of this blog because right now I wonder if even I am.

I wanted too much and I spread myself too thin. It is time for me to step back and figure out what I really want out of this (a book deal? that would be nice and truthfully what I do actually want.)whole thing. What do I cut out? I'm not sure. In some ways I enjoy it all- the writing on different sites, collaborating, etc but somehow I'm lost and what I have going on isn't working. It's too much. I need help.

I'm wondering if it is time to throw in the towel and figure something else out.

On a much lighter note- if you are looking for a taste of pure heaven read this.

The Wait Begins

There I sat. Tapping my feet, crossing and re-crossing my legs thinking how cruel the whole situation is. No magazines to read and distract me. What kind of doctors office has no magazines?! Relaxed low lighting and the tinkly, tinkle, tinkle sound of muzak plays in the background.

"Dear God! I hope they call my name soon!", I thought.

This is torture! There is nothing to distract me from my incredibly full bladder except John McCain on CNN droning on about the irresponsibility of people who bought homes beyond their means. He sounds like some old crone yelling at kids to get off his sidewalk or else. Every time he opens his mouth I truly try to listen and then realize, "Wait. I don't have to!" Besides he just sounds like a cranky old person who is always pissed about something. He looks like he would yell at you for touching the produce too long at the grocery store.

I look across the room at an old man as my molars begin to float away. He is on oxygen and cannot walk without the assistance of a person and a walker. OK, so maybe simply having to piss my brains out is not such a bad thing I think as I wonder if I have a case of the Jimmy legs. Maybe if I use that bathroom right next to me and pee just a little it won't matter. Maybe no one will know.

Finally, my name is called and I practically sprint after the woman realizing that we pass no less than three restrooms as we walk down the corridor to the darkened ultrasound room. "Poor thing, you look like you might have overdone it. You really have to go don't you?" Uh yeah lady. I really do and if we stop and chat in this hallway I might flood it soon and your leather loafers will be the first casualty so can we just get on with this?!

It is painful just to lie down at the table and I look at my swollen stomach thinking, "Yes. I definitely drank more than 24 ounces in an hour. Damn! This is its own form of water torture." Almost as soon as the warm goo is applied the tech declares me ineligible for this type of ultrasound. We need to do an internal. Kick ass. For that my bladder must be emptied. Faster than a cat on crack I jump off the table and run to the nearest bathroom. I think the entire office building heard my sighs of relief.

Back on the table and back in business my uterus pops up on the screen. There it is the tiny little egg sac. As small as a pencil eraser. It's too soon to tell if it is one or two which is partly why I am here in the first place. My due date? The other reason I am at this appointment, "Oh I'm sorry. I can't tell you that information", says the tech. "You'll have to wait for your regular doctor to give you that information..."

Now I just want to pee on her shoes in pure frustration and spite. I have two weeks until that appointment. Two weeks of wondering if it will be a Thanksgiving or a closer to Christmas baby.

Ladies Please! Enough is Enough!

I'm a bit too fired up today for this to be Book Tuesday. The Secret Life of a Soccer Mom on TLC. Have you seen it? I've watched a few DVR'd episodes myself. I even wrote about it at DC Metro Moms a few weeks back. Now Newsweek has picked up the scent of this latest 'clash of the mommies' and as I read the article I just pretty much flipped out. There was under the breath muttering as I got breakfast together. I completely forgot about my pounding headache and just wanted to spit venom.

I am all for everyone having their own opinion. Everyone does things differently but I really take offense when I hear other women saying that, "there is no reason for you (that would be us women folk) to be at work. If you didn't want to raise your children, you should not have had them. It's child abandonment." As a work at home mother, whose salary could be a whole other post entirely, I take offense to this. I worked out of the home for much of my daughters first year of life. We needed to pay our bills, I needed to work to feel complete. Yes, there I said. The 'C' word. Complete. Simply birthin' a baby did not complete me. And you know what? It doesn't have to. That is the beauty of being individuals.

Yes, my job is to raise my child to the best of my abilities but why can't that include me working? Some women love their jobs and need them for their own happiness. As a mother and woman I feel that is truly an important lesson to teach and show my child. It's not selfish. Some people need more. Just like some people like grape jelly and others like strawberry. A trivial comparison I know but bear with me. Some people like their jobs and having them makes them feel complete too. It's not feminist crap being shoved down our throats. It's about who we are as people and if it works for our families then so be it. Stop judging the crap out of each other and go back to work or tending to your children. Why not show some support for families of all types and maybe then we as a country could finally get some decent healthcare.

My issue when I watched SLSM was the follow-up. TLC simply glosses over the fact that after the cat/secret is out of the bag the family has some very real decisions to make. I for one do not know of one daycare that has immediate openings. Without knowing a jobs benefits or salary how can one accept a job? There needs to be a lot of discussion about a family member going back to work just like there would if one changed careers. It took months for H and I to iron out all the issues around me quitting full time out of the home work to do this writing thing. It was not easy by any means. SLSM made me mad initially for not addressing the real issues that families face. Today, I can't seem to get over how incredibly judgy we women get and how unsupportive we are of each others choices. It makes me angry and sad to see these women lambaste each other in comment sections.

It makes me wonder if these same women think it is selfish for Mom and Dad to hire a sitter, a friend, family member or neighbor to watch their children for an evening so they can go out and have some alone time. Is it? I for one don't think so. Then again, I am of the school of thought that the marriage is the foundation on which we build our family. If Mom and Dad need to have dinner alone to talk finances or blockbuster movies for a night to keep sane and happy then so be it. Maybe then we wouldn't be keeping secrets from our families about our dreams and how we see ourselves.

If TLC really wants a show about the Secret Life of Moms (I eliminate 'soccer' because it's so over and nichey) why not have a show where women have the opportunity to do something they have secretly always wanted to do but never dared to try much less utter to another human soul. Skydiving anyone? Homicide cop for a day?

Confessions

1. I hide candy throughout the house. Not even my husband knows where it is. Sometimes I get up late at night and eat it. Just a piece. I'm no binger alright?!

2. I'm a terrible Back Eater, though I swear it gets harder to do by the day. Toddlers are clever and wily little sons of a guns.

3. I haven't cleaned my diaper bag in only God knows how long. That and I still carry that damn thing around despite T.D. being two. I can't downsize for the life of me and I want to. If some company wants to send me something cute and small that doesn't look like a diaper bag I'm all for it! And to think when I first had T.D. no matter how cute that d.b. was I still made others carry it because I was too embarrassed to be seen with a diaper bag at all.

4. I still think the deep end of a swimming pool is slightly ominous and scary.

5. The idea of adding another child to our lives sometimes makes me feel claustrophobic in terms of house and well, everything! I think we'll never find a sitter again. I know it's irrational but it paralyzes me with fear at random moments. I like my freedom too much.

6. I actually like going to the gym.

7. I secretly wonder if blogging is on its way out.

8. I've been drinking decaf coffee lately.

9. Some days I get a little Pinky and Brain. Yes, I admit it. I could be Brain.

10. I actually really like this song. That video is shameful. Yet, still. It's on the pod and in heavy rotation. The horror.

Not really a confession but Egads! I found this on my friend Steph's site. I couldn't even bring myself to watch the whole thing. I just bit my nails and cringed. This song better get out of my head fast!

Yo! I'm faded.....

TG (mother f'n)F!

When I opened the door to T.D.'s room this morning she threw a heavy sippy cup at me. I dodged it otherwise I would have gotten socked clear in the gut. I immediately thought, "So that's how it's going to be today...thank God it's Friday!"

Oh wait.

No H.

The weekend is just a regular set of days with no relief. No sleeping in. Oy.

I think at that point I just blocked everything out and began fantasizing about this impending new show and all the reports of leaks, gossip and such that have been circulating the last week or so. It was my 'Calgon Take Me Away' moment. Either that or I was hearkening back to a time when children who threw heavy cups of milk at me were not even blip on my radar.

Speaking of which, I really need to clean my bathtub. Is 9 a.m. too early to begin swilling vodka without the rocks? Can you mix Grey Goose with 7th Generation Tile and Tub cleaner and not get hurt?

You Know It's Been A While

When the act of someone rubbing your earlobes almost brings you to tears.

H has been gone a week and me, the non-touchy feely person, wants to be touched.

Spooning the dog? Hugs from T.D.? Just not cutting it. I miss big hugs. I miss hearing someone breathe next to me as I sleep. Because the dog sounds like a 98 year-old man with a serious sinus condition and has restless leg syndrome.

I had a facial today (it was free people!) and I fell asleep. I barely remember the face mask part but I do know that drool was wiped off my slackend jaw. I might have snored a bit too. My hormones are so jacked up that I want to sleep during the day and almost cry when someone puts a frothy egg-white encrustation solution on my face (it is just me or does the encrustation part make you mildly gag but become all at once even more fascinated with it?) and I am up in the middle of the night brewing with ideas.

You know it's been a while when you actually enjoy watching episodes of the Bachelor. I'm ready for H to come the hell home.

Thank God I didn't have a massage because who knows what the hell would have happened.

*Be sure to check out the fab coupon for Afterglow Mineral Cosmetics (all natural! and divine!) on MPR now.

New Experiences with a Toddler-#41

The annual exam at the OB-GYN.

That's right. I took T.D. with me yesterday never giving it a second thought that the last time she went was in her carrier at that lovely 6-week post-partum check-up. She was angelic and sweet. She was asleep.

This time?

We packed toys, books, toys that needed to be reviewed and lots of praying to the toddler good behavior gods. Please let her not touch anything icky, specimen-oriented or longer than the average-sized q-tip. Please.

We had a narrow miss in the bathroom when she discovered the fun little cabinet that people leave their urine samples in. Just as I was washing my hands I saw from the corner of my eye her little fingers opening the door and reaching in. "NO!", I yelled. I think the waiting room and the office next door to the OB-GYN heard me. Her fingers flinched back and almost tipped the cup of very yellow urine. That would have been fun to explain. And clean.

Next, we waited. And waited. Me in my salmon colored gown. T.D. on the blue chair, next to the brown door and near the pink wall. We did colors to pass the time. We looked at anatomically correct statues and I tried in vain to get her to play with her cellphone and MP-3 player. No dice. It was all let me get my hands on the K-Y and extra long q-tips please! When the doctor came in and I went up, in stirrups that is, T.D. was all eyes. The answer would be, no. No, I did not consider this most important aspect of the visit. Or a toddlers innate curiosity. Behind the sheet she went right along with the doc. Every once in a while she would peer out at me with wide eyes. It is still too early to know if I scarred her for life. She was fascinated and the doctor gave her a blow by blow of everything that was happening to Mommy at the time. She may be a doctor yet!

When it was all over? T.D. got a snack pack of Chex Mix and I was left with the co-pay and a wad of tissues.

It's Book Tuesday!

Casey did not notice the group of boys congregated at the end of the hallway by a section of lockers. Her 5-foot tall frame was scrunched up into a corner of the hallway as tight as she could make it. Casey’s clear green eyes were downcast as she chipped the light peach nail polish off her fingernails. If she had noticed, she would have seen the tall, athletic looking boy with dark hair sneaking glances at her scrawny frame. He was nonchalantly studying her. She looked sort of like a drowned rat, he thought to himself as his friends continued to talk about the new kids on their track team. They were going to be late for practice, he was thinking. There was nothing special about her, he thought with her glasses and braces and limp, mousy dark blond hair. He had never seen her before and he could not stop looking at her. She seemed so frail and lost.

The dark haired boy nudged his friends and said, “Let’s go guys! We’ve got practice and we don’t want to be late the first day.” Casey looked up and locked eyes with the boy. He smiled. She blushed. His friends noticed and briefly looked her over. They ran by her as they headed toward the gym’s locker room not bothering to give her a second glance. Casey continued to chip at her nail polish and silently fume about having blushed so deeply in front of them. She did not even think that boy was cute. Why did she always do that? She hated being so shy.

The small town where Casey lived consisted of a dark and brooding winters. The black, bare trees reached out starkly into the stone cold winter sky. It was gray for about four months out of the year. The light in the fall is not what one would call spectacular in fact, Casey and her friend Sarah have always joked that it is a cheap on-sale light. A blue light special if you will. The harsh dimness of the afternoon light in the fall is abrasive and only serves to spell out the long winters that will stretch out menacingly.

Summer, is the main reason people chose to live in this town. It is also the only thing that Casey finds redeeming about it. She loves summer more than anything and not just for the Alice Cooper schools out forever feeling. Here in her seaside town lay beautiful, undisturbed beaches with pale yellow sand. Sand so soft one does not mind the searing feeling it gives your feet on a hot July day. Sarah and Casey would bike around town stopping at little stores to grab junk food and stare at the natives, never once stopping to consider the fact that they themselves were natives too. They would sit, plan, and stew for hours. Talking, always about one thing. How they hell they were going to get out of this one horse, one trick pony of a town. They would while away the long summer days on the beach listening to the gulls and the deep green sea pounding into the sands. They spent numerous nights camping out on the dunes and building campfires with their friends. Sarah and Casey felt they had big plans.

It's a Freakin' Bonanza Today. OK I Lie.

Without getting all Debbie Downer on you all I'm keeping this brief. I'm going on a return visit to the collision center with my car. I have a bone to pick with them and they better let me bend their ear. Seems that my shiny new high gloss bumper (that got rear-ended a month ago) is now permanently ATTACHED to my gate latch. That would be the trunk on my SUV. Yup. Can't open it. At. all. Is Stuck.

Am. Livid.

Was really pissy on Friday night when I was out in the rain trying to crawl around feeling for the emergency latch to open the gate and put the stroller back in while T.D. cried and then poured milk on herself. Awesome times indeed.

Add to that the fact that now the car thinks a door is open continuously and I am hating my car right now and can frequently be heard mumbling about the Murphey's Law of it all. I feel like I'm miming for my neighbors about how to open a trunk each time I go to my car.

So I'm pulling a Sarah today. Answer the following questions in the comment section below.

1. Where was your first date?

2. Worst movie ever?

3. Favorite television show as a kid?


GIVEAWAY time on MPR. Find out what a PakNak is and head on over there to win a cool prize!

The State of Things

Maybe it's the fact that I walked ten miles today and got up at the butt crack of dawn.

Maybe it's that H is gone and T.D. and I have ensconced ourselves in some silly dream world where we no longer live in the world of responsibilities and adult behavior but in lax land where everyday is man 'n' cheese day and pajamas are de rigeur. We've rocked out to 'Slow Ride' by Foghat more times than I can count. Toys are piled on furniture. The television is always on in some room if only for the noise. Last I looked some constant loop of 'Lost' was playing in the kitchen.

I can't even bring myself to look at laundry monster that is lurking, growling and taking over the upstairs of my house.

A zit has taken up residence on my face the size of Bolivia and if it doesn't go away soon I might take a blow torch to it or start teaching it French. Either way would be an improvement. I swear it has its own personality and it's an ornery bastard.

I've bit off more than I can chew in the work department and I'm feeling sorely underpaid. I guess that happens when you get paid zada. There I just made up a new word. I'm wicked smot!

Maybe my creative juices will actually start up again and I can stop feeling sullen and dried up like some old crone who has nothing good to say but decides that talking about anything, even if it the topic is the squirrely manager at the Safeway, it is better than talking about nothing. Though it would be infinitely more interesting to talk to the mean old bat (probably my age) at the brand spankin' new Panera this morning, but I won't. I'll save that for later I think.

Despite the fact that I'm a single parent for a while I'm not having a day like this one. Because here's the thing- for some reason all this concentrated T.D. time has not made me insane yet. I think I've actually fallen for my little dictator just a bit more the last few days. Her newly acquired evil laugh and all.

Confirmed! Am Not Crazy!

After polling my neighbors and pestering them with questions (because that is not crazy lady behavior)yesterday about strange rattlings, tremors, and general thumps and bumps in the night I found one neighbor who confirmed that the house did shake and there was a tap, tap, tapping sound. Or as he put it, "as if someone was moving furniture in front of the house but outside..."

Yup.

So glad it was not a poltergeist or something full of fun like that. Heh.

Now I'm off to suck down coffee in large gulps and munch pastry while listening to songster Mr. Skip and hopefully see this fun lady.


Giveaway on Mummy's Product Reviews in effect! Visit NOW for a chance to win a set of DVDs or toddler wash today!

While you are procrastinating from life, laundry, work, listening to your boss or just getting off your butt go ahead and take this survey for BlogHer. The more the merrier!

Things That Go Bump in the Night

H had to go away for the night and while I'm not the best sleeper I particularly dread sleeping alone. Even with an alarm, dog, close neighbors and more. Chalk it up to bad experiences and I'm a safety freak. However, last night I was calm. I went to bed early, all sleepy and ready to snooze away. I shut off the light, tucked myself in and burrowed under the covers with the dog. I was relaxed. I was tired and ready to drift off comfortably.

Then IT happened.

The bed began to shake. I heard a weird rapping sound as the entire bed shook.

WTF?!

I lay still and figured it was the dog shifting in the bed. She was after all still snoring loudly next to me. I closed my eyes and started to drift off again.

The bed shook harder and my bedroom doors began to rattle. There was that tapping/knocking noise again too!

Seriously.

WTF?!

I waited a beat for Ashton Kutcher to come out from somewhere telling me I'm being punked.

Nothing.

I turned on the light, sat up in bed and just sat as still and quietly as I could and listened.

Nothing. Not a sound.

Quietly, I got up, left the room and the still snoring dog and went into T.D.'s room. Sound asleep. I checked the guest room, bathroom, looked out at the front yard and then the back yard. Nothing. Total darkness on my street save for the lone lamp posts in all our yards glowing steadily. Was I the only one who felt this and heard that? It was like an earthquake. Except for that rhythmic tapping freaky thing.

With my pulse racing I plodded downstairs to check things out further. I crept around the house and found nothing amiss. I heard nothing. I went back upstairs and stole into T.D.'s room again. I watched her sleep and contemplated having her sleep with me. Something she has NEVER done no matter how hard we have tried. Never. Even as an infant she just wouldn't sleep with us. I quietly scooped her up blankets and all and carried her to my room. Somehow, I managed to tuck her in with me and the dog without waking her too much. After I turned off the bedroom light and turned on the bathroom light I settled in. For a very long night.

While the shake, rattle and roll portion of the night was over I could not get back to sleep. I lay there for an hour before drifting off into a very fitful sleep. Around 3 a.m. I got socked in the head by a flailing T.D. At 3:34? Head-butted. Twice. The dog kicked me. T.D. kicked me. Many times. I finally drifted off around 4 only to be woken up bright and early with, "HI MOMMY!" from my well-rested daughter.

The day had begun.

And to think I'm hosting Girls Night tonight. Maybe I can score some uppers from some other sleepless woman at the gym today.

That Damn Dog

Indeed. The other night as I drifted off to sleep H toiled with the taxes, gathering evidence (heh), er I mean papers, in the room below me. I was alone in our room save for one other being. Our dog. That damn dog as I referred to her shortly.The dog would not rest it seemed without us both in the room. From her crate began a small whine. Then it got louder. Longer. She shuffled in her bed and cried. Couldn't she, this small helpless being also be in bed with me too? NO! I'll be sharing the bed with her enough in the next few weeks. She must have both of us in the room or she will not sleep. It's maddening!

The relentless whining went on until in a fury I whipped off the bed covers and banished her from our room.

Scratch

Whine

Scratch, scratch

SLAM!

Now pissed off and exiled the dog tries to destroy our bedroom door. H is oblivious to this commotion. I rip off the covers once again and stalk over to the bedroom door my blood pressure rising as I fumble in the dark. I whip open the door and before that dog can even squirm her way back into the bedroom I push her further into the hallway yelling like a cave woman or a toddler take your pick, "NO! YOU GO! erekgh kableaklkeeh aaughhee TIRED!!!!"

Finally, around midnight everything settled down. H came to bed (an hour to do his taxes! Ha!) and the dog settled in her crate for the night easy peasy. I was so wound up though I could do nothing but think about my precious sleep time evaporating, did I in fact want to eat a snickers bar and what the hell was I going to blog about the next day.

THE NEXT DAY

I ignore the dog for much of the day which isn't too hard when she mainly sleeps in one dog bed or other throughout the house all day. Ah, the life of a dog. To look at her makes me incensed over the lack of sleep I've gotten. Sleep is my precious and I've gotten precious little of it lately.

On my way home from returning my crumb-free rental car (the collision place that repaired my car cleaned the inside and out making it crumb free for at least one day! THEY ROCK! Huzzah!!) my phone rings. It's H. It seems the dog has gone missing.

H: Hon? Where are you? On your way through the neighborhood could you drive around looking for Lex? She's gone. The front door blew open and I didn't know. She took off. T.D. and I have been out looking for her but we haven't seen her.

V: WHAT?! Sure.... (my stomach drops and my heart begins to beat fast. Lex is missing?! Oh! My poor schmoopie! Does she have her tags? Check. How long has she been gone? We don't know. Cue ominous music)


I immediately roll down my car windows and begin a slow crawl with the car. I yell out the windows calling Lex. I stop everyone I see and ask if they have seen a black and white Boston Terrier. I creep myself out when I realize I'm hanging out the car window asking some little kids if they have seen my lost puppy. "Excuse me little kids, I've lost my dog... could you help me find it?" I feel like I could be on an Oprah hidden camera. I tell the kids where I live and to bring the dog by if they see her.

As I drive/creep onto another street I see a flash of black! Could it be?! I hear a group of people say, "Oh she must be looking for that loose dog!" YES! I realize I'm nodding my head vigorously to no one as I speed down the dead end street. Another streak of black darts by. As I park the car I hear barking. Lo and behold, there is Lex. Her little spunky self barking away at two giant labs who only want to play tug of war with each other and not her shrimpy terrier butt.

I thank the owners who have had no idea she was missing and scoop her up saying, "Get your butt over her missy! We've been looking for you everywhere! We've missed you!!" I cover her in kisses and hugs and plop her into the car. It is then I see the mud.

My nice crumb fee car? It still is crumb free. It just has mud all over it now.

This Is So Not Me

I don't normally do this type of thing (cue music from the Pet Shop Boys now) but seeing as I've done enough shameless self promotion for myself on this here blog for a variety of reasons I direct you to this fine cause.

It's a plea really. For a friend of mine. When I say friend, I'm not covering for myself either. It really is for a friend of mine. True, you don't know her but just visit her site here and get to know her a bit. She's a newbie to the Avon Walk and in desperate need of some coinage and good will. She needs know that she CAN do this fundraising thing. She's fearful and beginning to doubt herself and I can't let that happen. She's a wonderful, kind, caring person who is always willing to help out a friend or neighbor at a moments notice. She's a pretty mean baker too. The woman baby-sits T.D. with good cheer and she would probably baby-sit your kid too if you lived near her. A person like that deserves to be thrown a few dollars. If I had extra money I would donate to her right now, like you can. But I'm still fundraising myself.

So Internets, dear friends, faithful readers take a moment and say 'hi' to my friend Sam. She needs your help. Think of yourself as Obi-Wan Kenobi if needed - you are her only hope.

Book Day! Entry 3

Once again, saved by the book. After a sleepless night convincing me that there is indeed no rest for the wicked (another post entirely) and the wicked not being me but our dog, I am grateful to be have the book. You'll notice this part goes back a few years in Casey's life and this part is really just setting the scene for later things. I'm toying with this idea of going back and forth in her life.


The 90s

Casey slid down the wall, hugging her notebook to her small frame and feeling the hard books in her backpack dig into her back. She slumps down beneath the front office window of her new school. Who knew that high School was the gateway to hell, she thought to herself. Certainly not her parents who had decided that public school would be a good change for her. She had her doubts, but never thought it would be this bad she mused as she thought back to through her day.

Earlier that morning her mother had sent her out the door saying cheerily, “Have a great day honey! You’ll be just fine. You know Peter and Sarah and I am sure Peter will show you around. You’ll be in the same homeroom.” OK, sure she thought. She knew Peter, her next-door neighbor, for as long as she could remember. That did not mean he was going to be all buddy-buddy with her at school. They were too different. She knew that already. Sarah was still on vacation with her family and would not even be at school this first week. “Lucky girl”, she thought. Casey got on the bus that morning, another foreign thing after years of private school. She felt as if she was floating above her body. Buses really smell she thought as she plunked herself down onto a green vinyl seat and tried not to breathe in the scent of gas fumes, rubber and other people’s lunches. Being so small she had to sit on the side of the bus that held the middle school kids. The bus driver glared at her from behind her purple tinted sunglasses and barked at Casey, “B-8!” “Assigned seats on a high school bus? Who does that?” Casey thought. The driver explained gruffly that until she had her school ID card she looked just another "middle school punk".

Casey’s first day passed by in a blur. Peter was in fact in her homeroom but he immediately deemed her ‘uncool’ in the frightful plaid skorts ensemble that her mom had picked out for her. He completely ignored her and in fact did not even look at her when she slunk into her seat. Her head was beginning to throb and she just wanted to sleep. To dream this day away and out of existence. She became hopelessly lost in the hallways not understanding the standard issue a.k.a. neon sign denoting her freshman status map and got jostled in the unfamiliar streams of hallway traffic. At one point, a purple haired kid growled at Casey from beneath his shaggy mane of hair. She had jumped back startled only to bump into lockers and more people who just tossed her back into the throng of quickly moving students. Lunch was even worse. Casey, knowing no one, had to sit alone and she decided was not even remotely hungry and threw out her sack lunch.

The day seemed as never ending as the maze of hallways in the school. By the time, the last bell rang at two o’clock Casey flung herself out the first exit door she could find only to realize too late that it was all together the wrong door and her bus was nowhere in sight. There were three lines of buses behind the school. Each one looking the same as the one behind it and the one in front of it. Casey could not remember the number of her bus. Was it 2, 3, 24 or 25? Maybe nine? She broke out in a cold sweat and dashed back inside for some help. By the time she found the front office, it was too late. Her bus had left. The school secretary wordlessly handed her the phone peering down at her from her red squared shaped glasses and told her to call her parents. As Casey dialed her parents she wondered what the deal was with secretary's and those red glasses. Was she in some 80s high school movie? Casey went back out into the schools front hallway to wait for her parents. Sitting there she could feel her brand new algebra book making a nice spinal bruise in her back.

Proof of My Bad Mothering Skilz

It is a bad way to start the week when it is noon and your child is still in their pajamas, bed-head in full effect. Did I mention that her pajamas do not even match? Nope. One half is purple and brown toile the top half beige and pink flowers.

A round of applause for all you other mothers out there who are having a day like this as well.

Now seriously, go check out the giveaways over here!!!

Things I Will Never Understand- Part 67

I'm saving you from having to read all about my wacky hormones, my bad mothering skills and need for sleep today by giving you this- Part 67 or maybe 5 of Things I Will Never Understand.

1. Keds. Those white, no support offering, Keds. Ladies, if you are wearing these take them off right NOW! They are only showing your age.

2. Better yet those white canvas shoes with the elastics on the side (you know the ones that look like they could be cool Vans if only they had the black and white check patter, but they don't) that you can buy at Wal-mart and are the only shoe worse than Keds. They make you look like a grandma.

3. Angel Cats. In the front yard. Why? Does it mean there is a cat buried there? I think that is against HOA rules.

4. Why Ryan Seacrest has a job.

5. The 'Old-Fashioned' part of Wendy's hamburger joint signs. In the olden days did they not know how to make circular burgers? Is the square shape what makes it old-fashioned? Alls I knows is that the words 'old-fashioned' makes me think old and musty and therefore not want to eat there.

6. Pimento Cheese Loaf. Enough said.

7. Customer Service people that think their job involves saying absolutely nothing. Hello? Enterprise Rent-a-car? I'm talking to you.

8. The popularity of Nickleback. Dude... please your music sucks! Just go back to being a bar band that we all like to ignore while you scream and croak into your mike in the corner.

9. My hormones and the panel of doctors that decided what is "normal" for women and what isn't. Seriously. Is anyone out there actually "normal"? I want to meet you.

10. Why the person who does Britney's hair extensions still has a job.


** Head over to Mummy's Product Reviews for a chance to win this week's giveaway! It's a beauty prize pack chocked full of goodies and one amazing book!

Mummy out....

What is Pink and Squishy and Family-Friendly? BARBAPAPA!

Sure you have your Cabbage Patch Kids, The Golden Books, your Strawberry Shortcake, throw in some Winnie the Pooh or Where the Wild Things Are and you have yourself many childhood favorites. All things many of us look back on with happy nostalgia. However, it was while I was visiting Paris during my pregnancy that I discovered a toy in a French department store that brought back much of my childhood to me. It was Barbapapa! I knew instantly I had to have him. Excited and in utter disbelief (this toy is still popular?!) I had him rung up at the register and brought him home to await the arrival of my daughter, T.D.

As a kid Saturday morning cartoons dawned early in my house. Barbapapa (the cartoon is based on a series of book by Annette Tison and Talus Taylor) started at 6 a.m. on some public television station. It's New England we received a lot of Canadian public television in the 70's and early 80's. It was my favorite cartoon and I couldn't think of anything better than bouncing along to the theme song in the darkened living room. The glow of the screen and the Barabapapa family was all I needed for the next hour or so.

When T.D. began to teethe I handed over this precious new Barabapapa. She gummed his soft squishy pink body and I happily began reading her all the books in the collection. I had saved them through numerous room purges from elementary school, high school and beyond. As I read the books to her now I began to notice just how much this pink blob and his colorful blobby children and wife shaped me. Barbapapas are all about innovative thinking, gentle manners and protecting the earth they live on. They solve problems using the talents each family members possesses, change shapes and have the most vivid and brilliant imaginations. I love reading the whole series of Barbapapa books with T.D. just as much as I loved having my Mom read them to me.

While my collection of Barbapapa books has grown ratty over the years(I've met only one other soul who remembers Barbapapa.) I still cherish them and hold them close to my heart. The bright illustrations of the Barbafamily building a home together, helping sick animals and creating a school for their community always remind me what is truly important in life. That sense of family, community building and celebrating everyones natural talents is what makes me, well, me. I love sharing it with my daughter and hope that despite all the scotch tape on the binding and pages the colors of the characters will still be bright enough to share with her children some day.



This post was brought to you by a PBN Blog Blast and Highlights Magazine (now in its 60th year!). It's all about sharing too! Visit the site (comment here too!) about what favorite things from your childhood you like sharing with your children and you could win a free subscription to Highlights new magazine, 'High Five'.

She's Crafty

THUD!

CRASH!

BANG!

Footsteps can be heard running overhead with the sound of hysterical Joker-esque laughter following it. Yelling quickly ensues.

It sounds like an old Adam West Batman episode is at play in my house.

Aah, nap time!

That crash was her pink plastic pig. The thud? A pile of books she has unceremoniously dropped from her bed.

The bang is new. I'll have to investigate.

Some people remove all furniture from their toddler's room when these things occur. I've seen many a bare toddler room. I wonder where they put all the kids stuff. Her grandparents freak out and fear for her life and I do too a little bit but I feel that even if we removed all T.D.'s furniture she would still find some way to climb, jump and make quite a commotion.

I would have to rip the windowsill off the window and just put a bare mattress on the floor if that were the case. Her room would look like a prison cell and I would feel like the warden.

Books would be banished. Drawers would have to be emptied of all clothes, shoes, socks and diapers.

Removing the furniture would just make her more creative I fear. Her dare devil feats would take on new heights and see no limit.

My mother once described me as wily. My father's nickname was 'The Sneak'. H once popped the tire on a school bus with his head and was completely fine, he just wondered what that hissing sound was. T.D. is doomed.

She was born to be a wild child and I can do nothing but embrace it. I will remove the night stand though. The girl has to have some limits.

Well! Don't I Just Rock?!

To keep up with the pace around here and the use of "rock", "rockin'" and "rockin' it hard", which H used last night like repeatedly until at one point when I heard him ask T.D., "Are you rockin' that water?" I decided he must not be allowed to watch Brett Michaels and 'The Rock of Love' EVER, EVER again.

But I digress...

I feel like I kind of do rock this week. Yesterday, ConnectingMoms put up their interview with me and introduced me to the whole CM crew as their new Mom Contributor. I'm elated! I get to raid discussion boards, promote this here cute blog and all my others while interviewing other amazing working mothers. I feel blessed to be in such good company and to be able to do such cool things.

Then, if you will direct your attention to the right of this blog, you'll notice a new button. It's the Graco Monthly Nod! Graco has a fantastic and fun blog of its very own and I was awarded two nods by them this month. Once for the Evil Knievel post and the other for a party piece on did on DC Metro Moms. It is the first month they do this and I'm honored. I'm touched. I might have even blushed a little bit. OK a lot.

I feel like today, it does not even matter that I downed all that buttery biscuited chocolate yesterday and then some Girl Scout Cookies. Nope. It only matters that, you like me. You really like me.

Thank you.

In Which Target = Happiness

What happens when you go to Tarzhay with low blood sugar and massive amounts of hormones sweeping through your body? You end up with a bag full of stuff like this-

One Method lavender disc deodorizer which for some reason you felt you could not live without. After all you could not sleep last night because your house smelled like chicken soup or some other such phantom smell.

An entire bag of mini Ritter Sport Butter Biscuits. Which you then ravenously ate a few of before even leaving the parking lot. There is still chocolate under your nails.

One carton of full-sized cadbury cream eggs. You will hide them away and eat them in secret later, preferably in bed.

A bath mat. Why? Not sure. It looked very soft and fluffy in the store. Its pristine whiteness calling to you. It makes the old bath mat look like it hangs out in a sewer.

An ovulation kit. I have to know if this is the reason my hormones are so crazy and since no company makes the, "Why am I a crazy bitch today" kit this seemed the next best thing.

Book - Part Deux

Well if it isn't perfect timing- Mummy has quite the migraine today and would rather be lying in bed in the fetal position than doing anything the resembles going through a normal day. As promised, another entry from the book. For the first entry click here.

Anyone else smell ammonia?

* * * * * * * * * * *

In her mind, though Casey began to think back. Hit me? No. Rob had never hit me. Sure, there was that time that he twisted her arm a bit. When he would forcibly make her do things but that was not hitting. Besides, she was small and he was so big. He did not know his own strength. He always said he was sorry afterwards too. That she was weak and she was so small she needed to toughen up and he was just helping her. It was true. She was small and weak. She wanted to be tough. That was not hitting though. That was not what Candi was asking, was it? Was it?

Casey finished relaying this story to Elaine and then just stopped. She had no idea what to say next. She looked at Elaine. The silence in the room was palpable. Elaine uncrossed her legs, smoothed her skirt and looked at Casey for a minute before she spoke.

“Well, I was wondering when we were going to come to this.” She said. “We’ve only been dancing around it for the last year and a half in these sessions.” She said it easily and in a measured tone. She looked like she was gauging Casey.
“What?” Casey asked. She began to feel like she could not breathe. Her chest was tightening and the room narrowed just a bit. She dug her nails into the couch and looked into her lap. “What do you mean? You know why I come here. My problem is that I am having trouble with being away from home and my friends. I am concerned about my friends. I just like this outlet to talk about it. It is not any real problem. Do you think I'm just having a hard time dealing with the break up from Rob? I don’t…” She stopped. Her face grew sad. She knew. In just this instance, it was clear to her finally.

All those years with Rob. All those times he was “toughening her up”. They were not the typical easy-going, normal moments teen-age girls have with their high school boyfriends. It was more than that. Elaine was right. This was why she came to these sessions. It was not that she was homesick. It was that for the last five years of her life she had a secret so deep inside her that she herself had been blind to it. She never saw it for anything more than what Rob told her it was. She began to cry. Sobs quickly consumed and racked her body. She shuddered and grasped at the tissues Elaine offered her. She began to scream. Normally quite shy and reserved Casey no longer cared that someone was watching her howl like a wounded animal. She did not care who heard her. At last she was finally being heard.



Until next time...

How The Washington Post Peed in My Coffee

There I was, sitting at the kitchen table, not fully awake but trying to read the Sunday paper before all two year old hell broke loose in my house and sipping some coffee when I saw it. By it, I mean, the front page article in The Washington Post's Outlook section, 'We Scream, We Swoon, How Dumb Can We Get?', by Charlotte Allen.

Ugh.

Read it now. Get back to me.

Are you angry? Or do you just feel "dim" as Allen puts it and you don't quite understand all the fuss?

Why is an article such as this the one that gets the front page? Why an article about how women will always lag behind men, are the worst drivers, love romance novels and are only smart enough to remember where the berries are, the type of piece that ends up on the front page?

Reading Allen's piece I not only got angry but I started thinking of the many times I've met women who think this way and how I wanted to throttle them. I'm all for using your talents in life. If your talent is cooking or baking or writing romance novels so be it. If it is being a big-rig driver. Go for it. But DON'T dumb it down no matter what it is simply because you have been labeled by some old, long-dead man, as the 'fairer sex'. Don't put yourself in the backseat because you are a woman and prone to emotions which must equate to you being some sort of gooey mess. Does anyone read this blog? If they do, they know that despite my pieces of sap I am not overly emotional. Yet, somehow I have the X chromosome and a va-jay-jay (yes, I just used an Oprah term and in Allen's world this means I'm dim. We women loves us some Oprah right?! Blech.).

I must admit that in reading the first few paragraphs I was not terribly offended. I kind of agreed with Allen. I don't get the whole women swooning over political candidates. Sure, I backed Edwards but it was not because of his fluffy hair. In fact, the whole issue of his hair bothered me. I wanted the facts, the beliefs, the stances on issues. Screw the hair! Leave the hotness factor to Hollywood and the likes of Christian Bale and Johnny Depp. The more of Allen's piece that I read it soon became clear that it was not even about celebrating what makes us women. It was not about promoting our own strengths as individuals either (forget promoting our strengths as a sex even!) but just about how we as females should just sack it all in and admit "we are...kind of dim." My thoughts? It isn't "we women", it is just you honey. The Washington Post too for displaying and perpetuating this kind of 17th Century crap. Ms. Allen? The Washington Post? Do the rest of women a favor and leave the rest of us out this.




Want to know more about finding your own strengths? No matter what sex you are? Read this PBN book review here.



I'm also awarding Lattes and Life the February Perfect Post award.

Her post 'Don't Let Them Fool You' just tells it like it is and really rings true. Congratulations! For more perfect posts go to Petroville and Suburban Turmoil.