Because It's My Blog so Listen Up!

Since we are not going to talk about how depressed I am about the election today due to some sad news yesterday. And since I won't be complaining about H, even though he does get me mad comments when I do, here are some things that my brain dead mind is pondering today.



This SBUX freak is happy. How else do I get over my candidate dropping out of the race? By downing caffiene and alcohol in one fail swoop! SBUX knows how to make Mummy happy.

I'm sending some bloggy love to Sarah today. Not that she needs it. She asks questions and gets 62 comments. 62 people decided to answer on what their favorite soup is. I get excited about 11 comments. A girl can dream though.

I've met Sarah and she's cute and funny and I loved her post about being in a garage band in high school. I wasn't in anything like that but I did consider myself deep and dark enough to wear black many days out of the week and scrawl insipidly bad poetry on my bedroom walls. I even painted a giant urn of wolfbane in my closet. Because you know, vampires usually come at you in a walk-in in the 'burbs and the only thing that will save you is an urn painted with watercolors.

And now for some Hollywood Schmollywood

Damn girl! Ain't your momma in town?

I had a cousin who used to go around looking like this. She reads tarot cards from her attic now for money and can be frquently seen sitting on the curb in front of her house with a half-full glass of cheap wine yelling at the crows, grass, and detritus at her feet. She now looks more like this.


True story.

Alright- here's something for you- H once didn't bother with using tape to wrap my Christmas presents. He just balled up the paper around my gifts and twisted the ends so that my pile of presents really looked more like a pile of trash.


Thanks to Izzy for fixing my header. Girl you iz magix.


I leave you with this- it still brings tears to my eyes.

"It's hard to speak out for change when you feel like your voice is not being heard."

Like Edwards himself- Do NOT give up!

I say this, in the words of Stephen Colbert, I'm putting you ON NOTICE Obama and Hillary. I'm watching you. You better pick up that torch and actually do something with it. We don't want words or placations. We want action and results. Stop yelling at us and grand-standing. Don't think a softer television ad is going to whoo me either. It won't. "We're mad as hell and we're not going to take it anymore!"



Crazy how relevant this can still seem today. Still. I'm not going to leave you alone either Internets. Who is coming with me?

Welcome to McDonald's. May I Help You?

There I was running errands and so hungry I was about to chew my arm off. Either that or eat some of the tasty stuffing that Nissan has lovingly provided. I looked at the dashboard clock and realized it was close to dinner. I was in no mood to cook for just T.D. and I. I decided to grit my teeth and not think about the harm I was doing to myself or my child and just suck up the fact that tonight we were doing the drive-thru. I needed fries. Twice in one month mind you. I am hanging my head in shame right now. Do you see the grease dripping off it?

As I pulled in I noticed that America does not run on Dunkin', at least not after 5 p.m. No, it runs on McDonald's. The line of cars at the drive-thru was long. At our turn I placed our order and proceeded to sit. And sit. We sat at the speaker box for quite some time until we were able to allow someone else to order some fat-tastic food. As we waited I heard this tiny cheeping sound coming from the back seat. T.D. was talking in a soft questioning voice.

"Chi-chi nugget?"

"Chi-chi nugget?"

"Did you just say chicken nugget", I asked.

"Yes! Chi-chi nugget, apuhl and nuyk?"

"Did you just say chicken nugget, apples and milk", I asked.

"YEAH!"

I cringed and sank in my seat. My kid knows her McDonald's order. We come here maybe once a month. MAYBE. In the last month it has been twice due to a trip and complete exhaustion on our parts. As I am pondering this scary fact I hand my card over and pay at the window. The cashier hands it back with a receipt. Hm... two meals for only $2.82? Is this 1950's pricing day? Is Mickey D's doing some founding father commemoration for good ol' Ray? No. I seem to have only ordered a chocolate shake. The window now slammed shut in my face, I bang on it a bit and tell the kid my order is wrong. He asks if he can give me cash back. No, I explain, I paid with a card. There is a heavy sigh and he disappears. The line for the drive-thru is now that much longer.

There is a flurry of commotion as two managers, the cashier and who knows who else cram themselves in the tiny window whispering and looking at papers, using keys to unlock secret McDonald's register draws and quietly upbraiding each other. I look in my side mirror and see the woman two cars back is now enraged. Her face is contorted in an ugly grimace. (Ha-ha! Grimace! Get it? Ok bad joke.) "Hold on lady, you'll get your ass-fat in due time. This isn't my fault", I feel like yelling to her. Finally, the issue is resolved. I sign forms. FORMS people and I am on my way.

Ten feet later I arrive at window two. The trough. A bespectacled man hands me my order. Coke and a tiny kiddie Sprite. WTF? NYUK. I ordered nyuk! I politely ask where my milk is and the dude almost cries as he hands me my milk, apologizing profusely. I take my greasy bags of sodium and incidentally pure-fried goodness and pull away. As I drive away I notice. No apuhls. Just fries.

I am never going there again. I am cured.

Bill Clinton is on the phone. Will you take the call?

Overheards from our house last night. Scene: Dinner at our house, H & I are conversing about our day. I am discussing the 'Open Letter' to the Presidential candidates on DC Metro Moms.

V: It seems that we can't get the candidates to talk to us. Their people keep volunteering their wives instead. Well, that's sweet and stuff and no offense, but we've already talked to some and now we are screaming, "NO! We want YOU, the candidate."

H: So you guys won't talk to Bill then, huh?

V: Ugh. No, Mr. Smarmy-pants is a spouse too. Besides, I'd probably have to put a dental dam on the phone just to take the call.

Later in the evening....

V: You are watching what?! I didn't quite hear that correctly.

H: Colorsplash. COLORSPLASH!

V: Excuse me, what?! You mean the Design Star winner who is always painting bold streaks on the floor on HGTV? The guy you mercilessly mock at every HGTV chance you get?

H: Uh, yeah... he's creating a library and I think I can use his ideas.

V: Oh. (now grumbling to myself about not having a library nor the forethought to use mahogany plywood on the walls like David is using which turns out so nicely that it looks like buttery leather on the walls) But I want to watch Scott Baio!

H: No. Colorsplash!!

V: I NEED MY SCOTT BAIO!

It is clear that we have horrible taste in television shows at this point and we both shut up and watch the end results of Colorsplash. Besides I had already realized what horrible taste in music I had when I visited Jennsylvania last night and found so many fantastic songs from this post. So really? How was another viewing of Scott Baio going to harm me?

The Two E's-Edwards and the Economy

Allow me to get a little political here for a moment. In the past I've talked about a few of the candidates and how important it is to get the vote out. Super Tuesday is fast approaching and now more than ever the election is on my mind. Daily we are bombarded with news and updates about this electoral race. Both sides are playing hard and fast and in some cases there is more of a buzz about one or two candidates over another one. I'm talking about John Edwards people. Allow me to bend your ear a moment. Just excuse the page and come back tomorrow if you aren't a Democrat or an Independent like me, who wants to give some Edwards love.

You might wonder why I favor Edwards over Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. Quite honestly it is gut instinct feeling. When I compare my beliefs and feelings on certain issues at this site the tally is a three way tie for me each time. However, for me Edwards is the only one truly talking about the one issue that is on the minds of US citizens the most these days. The economy. When asked during exit polls or just off the street what concerns us the most, we don't say it is the war in Iraq anymore, we are yelling in a resoundingly loud chorus that it is the economy we think and worry about the most. Many of us can't sleep at night because of it. I'm there with you.

While I love the idea of a woman president (the feminist in me REALLY wants to) I just can't fully engage myself in Hillary. I was a teen in the 1990's. I remember so much from that time. I remember the feelings of disappointment I had when I voted in my first election and had to choose between Mr. Smarmy pants and Dole. I know she isn't her husband by any means but I just can't trust her. I give kudos to Obama for his speech patterns too. He sounds very familiar and people like that. He is not a bad candidate. However, the two of them have had enough publicity and I'm sick of listening to them argue and I don't like smear campaigns. Realize this- they are so wrapped up in bringing the other down they are not talking about the issues. Got that? I know it is how the game is played but I like a candidate who is above the fray. One who is the grown-up. Not just someone who is a great historical candidate.

My vote goes to Edwards. He is the strongest Democratic candidate, despite what the media is selling you. He is the contender people. This little independent is concerned with the issues not the person. Since the 1980's the middle class has been in decline. I had a cartoon making this statement on my wall as a junior high kid. In it a limo representing the wealthy was being held up by an ever-narrowing group that was once the middle class. That year was 1988. This is not a cartoon anymore and Edwards main goal is to tear down and fix what is become a reality. The issue of the decline of the middle class and economy go hand in hand. Are the other candidates concerned with this issue? Only when they see Edwards getting media attention about it. Only then do you hear them speak about it.

In the end I still vote with my gut no matter what some online match-up game tells me. I do my research and I know what concerns me. You do too. America is screaming for a second chance and I believe Edwards is the only one listening. If you don't believe me, read this letter.

Really it doesn't matter how you vote. Just that you do vote and that you vote for the candidate YOU believe in. Don't vote for the person you think will win, vote for who you want to see in office. Let's rally ladies and see what we can do with our immense voices too! Head to this open letter and make yourself heard today!

This Isn't a Restaurant Buddy

Don't you just love it when you try to put something on the table for dinner and your met with the yuck face?

For the last three nights I have prepared healthy meals, that we as a family chose, only to see a dissatisfied face looking at me from across the table. Food is pushed slowly around the plate and then tentatively tasted and tested. Faces are made that are usually only seen when confronted with something rotten or raw sewage. Utensils clank on dishes and sighs are uttered.

Then, a declaration is made. H is going out. So long family, I'm getting different food. That's right. It wasn't T.D. that was putting up the fuss but H. To say that I was mildly peeved would be an understatement. Seeing as part of my "job performance" now is getting dinner on the table I come to view this as a moment where I am not "exceeding expectations". I have failed in the duties within my job description. He leaves to find better fare and I am left insulted and hurt. He waves at the kitchen as he leaves saying, "Don't worry, I'll clean up when I get back." At that point I just up and left the table as well. T.D. toddled off to play with baby and I guzzled a beer that I almost sent flying across the kitchen in a rather childish angry moment.

When H arrived home I looked at his meal. Thai food. A personal fave of mine. Now if I wanted to I could have easily chucked making dinner that night. Or any night. I could have said, "We're eating out!", but I didn't. I'm trying to stick to the rule we established of eating out less. Being more conservative and less frivolous and impulsive with our money. I thought we were in it together. It appears the rule only applies only to me.

Seriously people I'm trying not to be mad about something that seems so small, but when a couple makes a decision I think they/we should stick with it. I can't help but feel that since I'm not bringing in the cash right now that this rule only applies to me and not to H. That Internets makes me angry and I feel it speaks volumes.

Am I wrong here? Am I being totally irrational? Simply put I feel like it was just plain rude.

Check out my latest at DC Metro Moms here.

Damn this Consistency Thing Called Parenting

I knew it would be hard. I knew there would be sleepless nights, bad diapers, crying jags and sickness. I knew that some days I would just want to throw in the towel. That I would flop down on the couch too exhausted to even watch 'The Riches'. But really? I just never knew parenting could be this hard. This exhausting. That the amount of consistency that is needed would be this constant.

Call me a moron right now ladies and gentlemen, but damn toddlerhood is tiring. Parenting is exhausting. The energy factor alone can be daunting but when they get in that Rain Man mode of repeating things with the exact same pitch in each word each and EVERY time they say it (which would be 80 times in a 30-second span) no one told me that you would want to run screaming out the front door.

No one told me that my daughter would say to me, "NO! MOMMA! STAY BYE BYE!" as I re-enter a room. That hurt. She actually tried to push me back into the bathroom and kept telling me to "stay bye-bye". Then shut the door in my face. Sure, I knew there would be meltdowns and she would form her own style of resistance but not every day all day. I sometimes feel like I'm in some government test where I'm in the race of my life and behind some mirror in my house scientists and behaviorists are observing just how far I can be pushed.

She is not only a rambunctious little girl prone to black eyes, cuts and other assorted scrapes but she has a set of vocal chords on her that sometimes make the neighborhood dogs begin to wail. It probably wasn't the best idea to teach her what a dolphin says, I realize that in hindsight. She loves to tell me 'No!' and throw fits when she doesn't get her way. All normal toddler behavior. I suppose I could just let her go too. I could give in and give her what she wants and feed her that third cookie just to keep her quiet. I could buy her the little crap toys she wants just to shut her up when we are at that big beautiful red box of a store and all I want is to look at a set of sheets longer than in drive-by mode. I suppose I could do all that. Yet it makes my blood boil when I hear parents say, "In our house, No, is negotiable." That is madness right there. Madness.

Except then she becomes an adolescent, a teen, and then an ever-more free-loading bratty young adult who wants to move back home. Who expects us to pay for EVERYTHING. One who demands it all for nothing. Who thinks the world owes them when all they did was simply wake up another day and put clothes on that they didn't even earn. Hells NO! I cannot be that type of parent. I can't be a push over parent. I can easily say that I agree with Lindsay and this post of hers.

While sometimes it is harder (who am I kidding?! It is always harder) to be tough and not give in all the time. I would rather be sweating bullets in the grocery store dealing with the death looks of other patrons as my child melts down because I won't let her lob cheese at passersby than give in. Being tough now is way easier than being tough later when your child looks at you with little to no respect.



Doing my part in consistent parenting I am having a giveaway on the reviews site. Check it out now!

Bugs Crawling Under My Skin? Nope, Just Hormones

Ever have one of those days where you actually feel the hormones pulsating through your body? It is like there are bugs crawling under there or quite possibly your skin is about to jump off your body because it is on fire? Really? You too huh?

Yesterday was one of those days. I classify a day like this when the following symptoms occur. If and when three or more of these traits show up on my door step I basically have to just ride it out. Ride it out and tell everyone else to just take cover.

1. The creepy crawly skin feeling. Also accompanied by hot flashes and waves of nausea. If you speak to me when this is happening I just may flip out on you in a Tom Cruise scary fashion. Not the fun couch jumping Tom Cruise either. The Gawker displayed type with the nutty eyebrows and crazy fist pumping away. My eyes may seem like they are spinning too. Just quietly back away.

2. Suddenly Mummy begins to sound like Clint Eastwood. The low whispery growl that comes from my mouth is calm and measured but in reality it is at the breaking point. Don't mess with me punk! Because you my dear are never lucky when I begin talking like this. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Don't speak. When I'm trying to buckle you into your car seat please don't buck and scream into my right ear drum like that. Mummy can very quickly go from Clint Eastwood to Joan Crawford when she is in this state. Clint Eastwood is much nicer.

3. Narcolepsy or lethargy akin to almost going catatonic. Selp explanatory and it just comes over me. Then it's gone and I'm wired again because the bugs! The bugs! are back and worming around my body.

4. Eating everything in sight and then hating everything I just ate. This includes eating things like, well, everything in sight. Don't make me talk about it. I might bite off a finger if you try and make me share when I'm in this mode. If you like your digits then get away from my plate.

5. Consuming too much caffiene to counteract the intense lethargy only to have it be counterproductive causing me to go into a state of what I can only deem close to 'roid rage' but I'll call it 'sbux rage'. In the event that I begin downing cups of caffiene in this manner just chuck the Senseo over the side of the deck or lock it in a trunk in the basement for a few days. When the shakes stop I'll understand why you had to do that.

6. Unabashed buying of chocolate products. "Hey! We're at Trader Joes buying organic foods. Organic chocolate. Chocolate covered caramels and butter biscuits covered in chocolate. Oooh! How did that pound of brie just get tossed in the cart next to the canisters of chocolate cookies sprinkled with caffiene dust?"

There are many more symptoms that are smaller but just as lethal when my body decides to flood itself with hormones. It doesn't happen often but when it does even I can't stand being around myself. I just want to ball up in the fetal position and stare at the tube. Then I realize that the writer's strike is still on and the only thing to watch is a show about Redneck Weddings and I go balistic and almost rip the stuffing out of the couch with my teeth.

Let's hope today is better. Make your day better and visit the reviews (that green spiffy bar to your right!) section for a chance at a free Senseo coffeemaker!

In case you were wondering...

Just in case you are not familiar with Susan she is the reason for the Why Mommy button you see on the right side of this ol' blog. Susan is in a fight against IBC (Inflammatory Breast Cancer) and today (right now as I type) she will be having a double masectomy.

Kristen, over at Mommy Needs a Cocktail, put it better than I can. I'm no good with this feelings thing. I get all finger-tied and can't think of a thing to type except pray. Pray for Susan today to give her strength. Send her good vibes if praying is not your thing. Wish her a speedy recovery and that her doctors perform to the utmost bestest today. I know that I am thinking of her constantly because even though I've only met Susan once she was so bright and cheerful. Her smile lit up the room and you could feel the goodness radiating off her. People like that are few and far between Internets. It is for people like Susan that I walk each year.

So go ahead and visit her site today. Read her thoughts and send her a million and one comments and wishes of good health today. Be part of Team Why Mommy and support Susan.

The Final Countdown (Could you stop with the music by Europe now?!)

Fine. Here. Have your music and let's get on with it.

I hurt. Many, many places today.

Ow.

My armpits are sore. I think I may have pulled an ear muscle. My obliques are shaking. Did I mention that I'm in pain? All over.

I finally kicked started myself into going to the gym. I've been about once a week this month if that, excluding the week I was projecting mucus from my lungs. I decided that I needed more motivation than just howling at my saddle bags while I stand naked in my bathroom in the morning. They just sort of laugh at me now and it isn't enough to keep me going. I laugh back at them and we have started calling it a day.

That being said I developed a plan (if you are picturing me rubbing my hands together like some Duddly Do-right villain you are spot on.)that combines me staying motivated while getting someone else to hit the gym as well. My friend is getting married soon and wants to do that whole tone-the-arms before the wedding and get a little more svelte before that final fitting thing. Armed with an excel spreadsheet we'll track our progress over the next ten (yes, 1-0) weeks and whoever comes closest to meeting their goal wins. The loser buys dinner. There should probably be penalties too if we skip gym time or drink too much soda but we haven't gotten that far. It is enough that we are going to the gym right? Right?!? Right.

I leave that part up to you dear readers (twisting my long handlebar mustache and grinning wickedly now). Send me your ideas for penalties and punishments for my friend and me. I'll sift through them, get scared at some of your sick ways and pick a few along with my friend. So go ahead, tell me. If I skip my weights class on Wednesday what should I have to do? If my friend drinks too much Diet Coke do I get to wake her up at 3 a.m. and make her drop and give me 100?

I'll keep you posted. You can read about our progress in the next 10 weeks over at Flaming Tulle.



In other news, check out my review of the Britax Marathon here at Autosavant. It is safe to say that after spending an hour or so with owner and editor of this site I have developed a growing interest in the car industry. I had no idea it could be so fascinating or soap opera like. I don't need TV. I can just read about concept cars and the differences between the US and the European auto industry.

House Flippin' Gets Me Hot

Many of you know that H & I have a side business where we flip houses. Go ahead gush about how much you love to watch HGTV and TLC home shows. That's right. Uh-huh. Yes, we do love to watch those shows too. Oh you want to do it too? Really? Yup, it is just so much fun. Did I mention though how freakin' hard it can be? That sometimes you can't get an investor to save your life. Or you have one lined up and then poof! no property! How about the fact that banks own many, many, many properties but hold on to them tighter than that elusive diamond up Cameron's ass.

Somehow though the whole thing gets me hot. I don't know if it is the paint fumes, the carpet glue or picking out cabinets and tile that does it but there is definitely some freaky mojo at work. So when H asked me to cancel our lovely winery tour scheduled for Saturday and instead spend the day poking around vacant properties I jumped on it. The opportunity not H.

When you visit these properties you find many things. You realize that no matter what you think destruction of a kitchen looks like there is always a new angle. Want to be freaked out? Enter a home that has been vandalized by a gang. See counter tops with the word 'pussy' written on them. Now that is what I want on my counters. Geez. Be prepared to take in the deep scent of urine and black mold. Feel the chill from broken windows or master bedrooms with no roofs. It's not all bad and you can see and find the beauty in most places. I took the liberty though of putting up some photos that well weird or freak me out vs. getting me in the mood to make out.


Something tells me Lucky wasn't actually all that lucky. Yeesh!


This little fixer-upper is great! If you have no problems with having a bathroom in your garage which is half caved in and the neighbors can see you all the time!


Now where did I put that knife? Oh that's right! I left it in the driveway! Let me just go get it!


Not much can be said for the sardines except that I found them in between the garage-bathroom and a broken down hot tub. I guess that is why the knife was needed in the driveway?

We saw about 12 properties on Saturday. This was just from one.




Congratulations to this fine blogger! She'll be adding a new addition to her family soon.


Also, congratulations to Lauren. She won last week's giveaway on Mummy's Product Reviews. Lauren, you'll receive your ying shortly!

This Bloggers Life

A year ago today I packed up my gray wall-carpeted cube, handed in my work laptop and said farewell to the corporate world. No more daily Starbucks trips. No more commute. No more guaranteed paycheck.

Already a year ago. Unreal. I was elated. I was done with the frustrating situations like this. I was dumbstruck, gobsmacked and terrified. For months and weeks H & I planned how this transition would all go down. We couldn't do moments like this one anymore. They were happening all too often and we as a family unit were unraveling fast. The 'D' word was getting thrown around a bit and I think thought about even more.

This blog served as my release, as it still does, but for my work tensions and its going ons. The working mother thing worked but only as far as the blog was concerned. I wrote about asshats, smarmy bosses and all manner of tedious and heinous office moments with some black humor thrown in. Did I poison the office coffee? No. Did I want to? Sometimes. Who doesn't. Misery loves company too because my numbers just climbed. People begged me to quit my job. Then the blog got leaked at work and hate mail began. I had to write posts such as this to get my point across one last time. Then I was done. I turned to my new life and began to figure it out.

In the past year I have reviewed countless products, met amazing people, traveled and had time to reflect on our life and begin to live it the way we want to. As I write this I am almost brought to tears at how blessed I feel we are. How happy I am because I took the time to think and realize that my dream didn't have to be just a dream. Maybe I'm not a best selling author- yet. Maybe I'm not making the cash I once was and we aren't globe trotting anymore- yet. Maybe my life isn't your life- that's fine. But it works for us. A year ago I couldn't see two feet in front of me. My life was a mess. Our world was falling apart. Now we are hoping for an addition to this family and I'm continuously challenging myself and I don't have to ask permission to do it. It's of my own choosing.

If I can do it. So can you. I was never more afraid than in those first few weeks. I felt like I had been shot out of an air gun and who knew how or where I would land. And you know what? After an initial dive in the numbers and the hate mail, the numbers are up. I'm more aware of who I am today than I was a year ago. For that I can never complain. For this life? I can only be happy.

Thank you all for reading, sending encouragement, participating in my giveaways, supporting me and just being there. I look forward to so much more of it.

Tarzhay Drapes = Freedom

T.D. has been at Nana's since Tuesday. It's always weird when she is gone. The days fly by. H & I don't know what to do with ourselves and the house feels too quiet. At the same time though I've had concentrated times to work and download useless songs on my Ipod (I went a little Depeche Mode crazy yesterday). We miss her but there is something to be said for all this-

Wandering through Target with only my purse. I spent twenty minutes just looking at drapes. I wandered through every department actually looking at things and processing information. The light I want for our bathroom? I STILL remember the price and I didn't even have to write it down! What's more? I didn't buy a thing! I walked out of Tarzhay with nada. That is a feat or a miracle unto itself!

Ulta. Found some fun things for giveaways. Actually took the time to browse and find items that weren't junk. Kick ass!

Tweezed eyebrows. Removed nail polish. Applied face mask (it's work I'm reviewing it!) and listened to a book on tape all at once. It's like a fantasy is taking place in my house.

The ability to make unlimited and banal calls to make appointments without a screaming child in the background.

Picking up and just leaving to work somewhere other than the dining room table, floor, couch or bedroom.

Where was I at 6:35 on a Wednesday night? The movies. Seeing Juno. Bliss!

OK. I'll stop. I miss my girl. I miss her funny little dances and her propensity for running in circles and barking orders at the dog. Yet, I need this time. I am working like mad and it feels great!




I'm in a generous mood today so I'm giving away a Nankeen Ying bag. Head on over to Mummy's Product Reviews to find out the details on how you can get this incredibly cool and enviable bag with a computer sleeve.

H & the Unholy Trinity

There is a reason I normally do the grocery shopping in our house. H just gets too fired up while he is there. It takes me about 45 minutes to calm him down after each excursion. I must admit that I often agree with him but once I walk through those automated doors my mind shuts off and I am all about the list and getting the heck out of there in record time. If I can do a weeks worth of shopping in under 30 I am a happy camper.

H's top three reasons he isn't allowed to go to the grocery store.

1. The beige factor- It gets to me too. For H, it's worse. He will rant and rail against the fact that the frozen food section consists of food that is one color only. Beige. Why? Because it's fried carbohydrates or some type of processed food that sends him into a nauseated state of despair and anger. H hates processed foods. They are the devil.

2. The choices- It is illogical to H that companies like Chef Boyardee make 25 varieties and sizes of ravioli. Do we really need a fajita-pizza flavored ravioli? "How about vomit-in-my-mouth flavor!", he yells at the stacked cans. In jumbo size and mini? Who comes up with this crap? Who says, "Why isn't that just a flavor sensations!" Why is this the choice instead of something that actually sounds good which is now impossible to find? H sees red and has to exit the aisle quickly before he begins marking up the cans with nasty flavor-filled comments.

3. Other people- I know. Sounds harsh but H, like me, likes to zip through a store. The grocery store for H is like Michael's is for me. He is convinced that he shops in the store at the same time that zombies do. No matter what time he goes, there they are slowly strolling the aisles, jamming their carts together without a care in the world.

This last time he met up with a sweet trio. One man, with two women, who was pushing the cart so slowly through the three mini aisles of organic food he was aging before H's eyes. One woman on the cell phone yapping away but in a hushed tone. The other eating a jumbo size bag of potato chips so slowly H wasn't sure she was chewing. The glazed eyes he met scared him. The man was holding a calculator but seemed to not know what to do with it. He claims he was too distracted by them so he bought the wrong milk.

His latest adventure? It got him so crazed because this unholy trinity occurred all at the same time. Poor guy thought his head might explode. At least he had the wits about him to bring the re-usable bags.

Not in My House

Never. Queen of Spain says it best in her post here. Creepy. Just creepy.

Would you want any of these dolls in your house?

I didn't think so.

You thought that was weird? Check this out.

I love you, I hate you, I can't quit you, but I must

Cross-posted from DC Metro Moms-


Like everyone else I adamantly proclaim each year that I do not make new year's resolutions. No way. Not me. Never. Even this year as the clock struck twelve I denied making any. Except I lie. I have a secret. I made a resolution. I am a cliche. Call it a pact, if you will, with my spouse. We have decided to quit smoking.

It is one thing to quit smoking because smokers are now deemed social pariahs. Yes, we do know it is quite unhealthy. Deadly I hear. Smoking kills more women than it does men. I know this fact as well. I also know that is incredibly hard to be a runner and smoke. Trust me on that one. For all my gym time and morning jogs I'm sure more than one neighbor has seen me hack up a lung in the bushes on an otherwise pleasant Saturday morning. Smoking is costly too. The amount of money you save when you stop buying even generic cigarettes could take you on a vacation. For some that might be the only incentive they need to quit the sticks.

For me, it is not that easy. I have seen family members die from lung cancer. I have watched them suck oxygen and extract deathbed promises from me to quit smoking. I quit for a year or two, one time it was even four years, only to find myself yearning for that blue haze that only a cigarette can produce. I no longer feel cool when I smoke. I know it only ages me that much faster. It stains my fingers and makes me smell undesirable. The crows feet around my eyes are deeper and my skin does not look as good as it does when I'm not smoking.

When I quit smoking at 26, I thought it was for good. I realized I had been smoking ten years and that seemed far too long. I wasn't a kid anymore I told myself. I must kick this filthy habit. Living in California made quitting a bit easier as well. I think smoking is akin to murdering puppies on the street there. Then I had my daughter and a nasty spell of post-partum depression settled in. What was the first thing I did? I lit up of course. I just went right out there and bought a pack of cigarettes after being clean for four years. They say that women smoke or relapse due to negative emotions and stress. If that isn't post-partum depression in a nutshell I don't know what is. Smoking became my break from motherhood, work and the all encompassing responsibility that parenthood brings on. It was my release yet it shackled me real quick. I would say, "It's just recreational, man. I don't do it all the time." Except, that I did. I smoked more often than I realized and became cranky when I didn't get my regularly timed fix (nap time anyone?!).

I wanted to give it up so many times but it always reeled me back in. I wanted to quit for my health, my future, my child and for vanities sake. I felt like a leper as I smoked on my back deck and the winter winds blew around. I kept my habit a secret from my friends and neighbors which just shows how addicted I really was. Am. Really am. Always will be too. Despite knowing all that I know about how terrible smoking really is, it is more than a habit. It is a toxic love affair that I have a hard time breaking up with. I love you, you filtered little bastards. I do. I love everything about you except that you will kill me. So now I must hate you so I can quit you and be free.

Eight days and counting people. Eight days and counting. Thank the high heavens that it is hard to get to the movies and television is awful right now because the amount of smoking on both of those mediums these days is maddening!

Update- It is now 15 days and counting. I've made it past the two week mark. Though I have to say if someone said, "Hey, it's the city of lights! Light up mon cher!" I would be hard pressed not to grab the first Gauloises I see. I'm a work in progress, what can I say?!

Weekend Update- Slip ups, Gross outs and More!

It was a busy weekend (with less hacking up of the lungs) here at Mummy's place. We traveled to far lands, OK so it was just to Maryland, but for a baby shower? That is a trek.



I supported Kristen from a distance as she swagged it up at the Golden Globes. Billy Bush's crazy hair and awkward moments aside was anyone else lovin' the way the Globes went down? An hour? It was fab! Sure I missed the dresses and such but I just liked the zinging through of the awards with little commitment.

I remained steadfast in my New Year's resolution despite H's slip up. Three times. Ahem!

Waited in the 'burbs for some hot Italian (twice). I confess it was just Carrabas (I'm more of an Adrien Brody/Christian Bale type of girl) but I got to hear my friend use this eloquent sentence while we sat car-side to go, "I want my freakin' f*ckin' food!" Plus spending time with her sans kiddies was a blast. I was forgetting what that was like.

The sheer fact that this aforementioned baby shower did not consist of my imbibing strained carrots, gazing at "poopy" diapers or having to use safety pins or toilet paper on the mother-to-be deems it a success in my eyes. BTW, the mom-to-be scored some serious loot (hello! Kate Spade diaper bag!) and looks fantastic!

Wrote some reviews, tips and trends. Fascinating stuff people. I'm giving away a Ying this week so get excited and watch Mummy's Product Reviews for more information.

H got disgusted at the grocery store. Per usual in our house. There is a reason I normally go each week. The story will follow.

DC finally decided to get a little down and dirty. Well, not really. Just pantless.

Finally, T.D. has decided to create a new way to eat fries. Yes, I gave my daughter french fries. She's fine. She made it through the night. There was no break-out and we've been checking her BP and cholesterol every hour and it is in the clear.


The fry stands alone.


We've got milk.


The art of dunking.


A taste sensation has been created.

What can I say? She clearly has a refined palate.

Toddlers Love Nixon- Go figure

Motherf'er still sick.
This is getting old.
Real old.
Older than the scary banana that I found in the toy chest that was beginning to fossilize. I didn't even know that was possible.

I'm not one of those people that refuses to go to the doctor either, but when my HMO tells me it is going to cost more to visit the Urgent Care than my monthly Neiman Marcus bill and my primary care physician's dragon lady of a receptionist won't get me in until next week I'm less inclined to see the doctor.

So I'll do what H tells me and rest. As hard as that is for someone like me with Bree Van de Kamp tendencies and a two year-old daredevil who bores easily. To aid my resting I picked up a few books this week. I'm so excited about all three of them that I can't just read one at a time either. In no particular order- my stellar reading list.

Richard M. Nixon: A life in full

The Pleasures of the Damned, by Charles Bukowski

Edith Wharton

Reading one of these books has produced one of the cutest things I think I've ever heard uttered from T.D.'s lips, "Mo' Nixon? Mo' Nixon!". I know. Precious isn't she?

Truthfully, I think I'm getting better each day. It is just one hell of a cold. The cough alone is enough to have H sleeping in the guest bed each night away from my ever present force field of germs that continually tries to sway him over to the dark side. The man is imbibing orange juice and airborne on the hour. I've sucked the juice out of about nine lemons this week and eaten a gallon of honey. I've seen plaid spots on the bathtub.

Now if I could just get an adult-sized one of these I would be all set.

Fun Finds here! Get them while they are hot!!

What the Hell are You Waiting for?

See sign above? Yup. Really nothing more needs to be said but sometimes I find myself in conversations with people who talk as if they have no control over their lives. It baffles me. I'm not saying I'm some life coach or guru of sorts. Far be it from me to dispense any real advice but uh... I'm about to. Why? Because when I hear people talk like this I get mad. Damn mad. So mad I think of this scene from Network.

Your life is your own. Yours. You have to live it as if each day were your last (that doesn't mean quit your job or rob a bank either). I know real pearls of wisdom right there. But seriously, if you are waiting for some big moment in your life to happen to make it all amazingly better (to bring romance into your life, adventure, fix your spouse, or even you) it is not going to happen unless you take action. Stop living passively and begin to live actively. Ask for what you want. Don't just wish! Demand it! Make it happen! Stop putting off things like dream trips for when you are old and retired and start saving and creating them today.

I say this not because it is a new year, though it is a good time to put it all in perspective, but because as I draw closer to my one-year mark of trying to live my dream of being a writer I realize the milestones, achievements, failures and what I did to get here. What I sacrificed and won. It wasn't always easy or fun and sometimes it was downright petrifying filled with sweaty nights of no sleep and endless worry. BUT. It's been one of the best years of my life. I asked for it, I created it and I got it. I asked for support from my family and friends and I got it. I'm living my life authentically and it hasn't been as earth-shattering as I thought it would be either.

It is just change. Change is good. Change is needed. It isn't some life threatening illness or accident that should finally push you to evaluate your life. There is no big crescendo of music and sappy photo montage that will play before your eyes. Life doesn't work that way as much as we might want it too. Your life is in YOUR hands. If you want things to be different it is up to YOU to change them. Join a group, join a freakin' gym if that is all it is, volunteer, contribute to something that is greater than yourself. Change careers, change vacation plans, change your kitchen if that will help. Just stop being afraid, get off the bench and do something!

You only get one life. There are no re-dos. Please stop and think. Should you really be a passive watcher of your own life or should you be actively participating in it? It is a whole lot more exciting when you decide to participate.

And I'm spent...


*This post was brought to you by lots of expectorant and other assorted decongestants, cough supressants and caffiene. Also known as Mummy's sick bed.

**Poster by Linzie Hunter.

Cough, hack, wheeze. Sorry that's just a piece of my lung

H is barring me from work today. Sigh. He says I need to rest.

I suppose when you wake up in the wee dark hours of the early morning because mucus decides to projectile out of your mouth and you haven't even coughed yet it is time indeed to give yourself a bit of a rest.

Have a good day Internets.

Wine, Women and one Incredible Baby Soothing Machine

Three years ago I didn't even know what a blog was until this woman decided to write an insanely funny book that lead me to her blog.

A year ago I never would have believed that I would belong to such a great group of writers who continually inspire and amaze me. There I was last night at the Le Chat Noir talking to marketing people from Graco about their new product, sweetpeace (which I must say is quite possibly one of the coolest baby products I've seen to date. Hello! Graco! If I get knocked up this year can I review one?!) and surrounded by incredibly fun, smart and driven women who do the same thing as me and more.

I love being able to talk shop without having to explain a million bloggy things and share experiences, tips, talk about Thayer St. and new ventures. I always learn so much. So I have to say that without a doubt, last night was a success and a whole lot of fun. A big THANK YOU to Joanne (who is so cute and petite and doesn't look at all like her crayon drawing and who I'm so in awe of that I didn't actually talk to, envision Vicky smacking herself in the head a la Chris Farley) and the hilariousDevra for organizing it all and allowing me the opportunity to see the awesome Golden Globe trottin'Kristen again, meet Sarah, Jean, Susan, pink hairedSusie, Jim, Kimberley (a fellow transformed blond herself), there are so many others like Sandie who actually got to take home the sweetpeace because she is in fact ready to pop soon, Robin a fellow N.E.'er who won a trip to NYC for a day and all the other wonderful women I met last night.

It was a blast! I won a trip too, which others volunteered themselves as my plus one, if H decides to forgo it. I never win anything either and now I have a new book and slippers to boot. A year ago I never saw this coming.

Did someone mention a bloggy sleepover?

You want to see pictures of the event? Go here. I'm in the striped sweater forever emphasizing random unimportant points with my overly long hands.

It isn't January without the crud

Every Christmas I get sick. If it isn't Christmas, it is right after New Years. One year I even managed to contract Legionnaire's disease. Don't ask. This year I felt I had knocked it. No office time to me meant no germs. Ha! Ha! Suckas! I quit you, you blasted sickness! I dare to dream that I had defied the odds.

Then I got sick. Then I got better. Then I am sick again. That is my current state.

Can I say this really blows? I've been looking forward to the DC Metro Moms Launch party for a month. It is tonight and there is french food involved and I'm feeling half alive at 9 a.m. That's after two cups of full strength espresso and a shot of dayquil. But you know what really bites my balls (if I actually had them)?

I just can't get into the New Year when I feel this way. I start out feeling way behind. The longer I'm sick the slower I am to get to work, crack down on some overdue projects and get back to the gym. Oh the gym...that is a whole other post right there. I think of timely topics only to go a whole day in bed or laying on the couch watching bullshit shows like Spice Up My Kitchen and poof! another day is wasted in a sea of tissues, contaminated glassware and soup bowls. I think I'm half chicken soup right now and half mucus.

So in lieu of a snarky or educational post I leave you with this- Jean from DC Metro Moms writes about how I think many Americans feel right now.

Edgar Allan Poe and Warren G Collide. In my basement.

I am crouched in a corner of the house, my laptop balanced on my knee caps. I figure if I stay in this spot and type quietly enough everyone will forget I exist and I can escape the onslaught of January cleaning that is H.

Days.

Days have gone by and my house has systematically grown more chaotic and messier with each passing second. Mix tapes from 1993 have been unearthed and dear God must I admit it... they have been played. Cathy Dennis anyone? Plastic margarita glasses from parties that were eons ago rolled along the basement floor as H lugged bag after bag of detritus out of the room. Somehow we still have too much stuff. Do we really own all those board games? When did we acquire that many DVDs and brands of car wash soap? Is that Diet Coke from the party four years ago? Because that is the last time I remember buying cans of DC.Should they be stored side by side or should we just buy a whole new shelving system all together?

H went with the later. Excellent (note the drips of sarcasm oozing off this word). I knew he would. Yesterday, just as I was beginning to feel better from the sludgy crud of mucus that encrusted me. I had also stopped reeling from the mess that is Christmas taken down, when H brought in the new shelves. People, the man woke up at 6in the morning to buy these shelves. He means business. Boxes lay around the entrance to the downstairs in a fashion that OSHA would not approve of. I was lethargically fingering holiday garland and red ribbons while he muttered about closet space and DIY projects that involved tiny Alice in Wonderland type doors being constructed in the den. I had to step in despite myself. I loathe this type of cleaning.

This type of cleaning is more than that. It is a PROJECT. It is dirty, time consuming and only results in many wasted hours of me reading journals chocked full of poems with titles like, 'The Blood Tells All' and the ever original, 'Young Heart'. An amateur Poe I so wanted to be. Then H gets mad, yells at me like a Drill Sargent to get back to work and focus on the task at hand, and I'm left in a sea of old history papers and Warren G recordings to sift through. After that I get ferociously hungry and eat some old candy I find in the mixing bowls in our cupboards (dictators can't see through steel), I add in some port wine cheese log leftovers and some butterfly crackers to tide me over and I slowly will return to work. I swear.

Now on Day Four of this mass cleaning. Boxes that were stored upstairs have gone downstairs. Boxes that were downstairs have gone upstairs. Boxes that were once treasured have been trashed and the wooden community drinking trough from the Philippines remains in the house. Damn! So do the matching drink cozies. My 1996 mix tape with Ronald Reagan on the cover does not. Do I feel like the house is cleaner? I'm not sure. I still have some old Styrofoam cups (who bought those?!) to deal with and four unused dog costumes to bemoan.

Do I need to give this a title?

Ladies, how many times have you gone out with your friends or even your spouse, just a night out on the town (oh that blissful freedom!) only to be groped by some guy at the bar or in passing? Does it happen often? Is it commonplace?

How many times have you spoken up and either yelled at the guy or even (gasp!)hit him?

How many times have you told your friends that this event just took place? Did they offer up that it happened to them too?

Now answer this. How many times did you tell your spouse right then and there or wait until the next day?

If you are me, you tell your spouse later. Sometimes, because he isn't out with you in the first place, and sometimes because it is just not worth what might happen after you tell him.

How many of you have actually filed a report?

I'm curious to know your answers on these questions readers. To know that I'm not the only one who has to inform the police that this happens every night in every bar and we don't always speak up because, it's dark, it's crowded and you can't always be sure who might have grabbed you. Or your husband might punch the guy because the guy did it right in front of him. And if you are sure, the repercussions that could occur. Like the police never being able to work another case because they are so busy with ass-grabbers all the time. Among other things.





Other news: The Christmas tree is FINALLY down in our house. It no longer looks like Santa invaded our house with his merry band of troops, had a party, got sick and puked up his entire toy factory on our living room floor. Thanks be to H for that.

I spent all of yesterday slowing sipping the same glass of juice while I battled some cruddy sludge of a cold and it's tiny army of mucus from entering my body. Yeah, fun times. I look and feel like the Swamp Thing.

Overheards

Scene: Casa de Parents (yup, still here). H & I dorkin' it up on our separate laptops as we sit side by side on a couch. My mother walks in with clean sheets.

My Mother: Where are the red sheets?

Me: Huh? Oh. I brought them down to the laundry room.

My mother: There were only two pillowcases. What happened to the sheets.

Me: Silence. Huh. Oh. (the longer I'm here the more my verbal skills decrease by sheer lack of routine and the ability to watch massive amounts of HGTV) We only used two pillowcases, not the sheets.

My mother: OK. (exits the room)

Me: (very late on the uptake) I ate them.

H: Well, you never know with you. You are married to a criminal after all.

Me: (Hugh sigh of anxiety and stress exudes from me)

H: Not funny yet?

Me: No.



Still want to puke. Want to curl up into a ball and wake up like Dorothy back in Kansas and not this strange Oz-like existence that has become the new year, CT and my life.

I Want to Puke. Just Puke.

So it's 2008. How was your New Year's? Did you get all jiggy and have a blast with friends and loved ones? We did. It was a blast. And then it wasn't. Then it all just turned incredibly bad. Really bad. So we're still here and biding our time. I have to go and deal with some police issues today. Oh yeah it was that kind of night.

Since I really can't talk about it I just ask that you keep us in your prayers. Most of the time? I love being a woman. Then it's nights like that night that make me feel not so much. If I was a man it wouldn't have happened. If I was a man I wouldn't be having to deal with this.