tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17088003975782287672024-03-05T13:38:47.532-05:00Holdin' Mamas Handbecause mama needs a glass of wine and a few more hours in the dayAndreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-112677983455017402011-06-23T12:36:00.003-04:002011-06-23T13:51:31.588-04:00So fresh and so clean<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Did you notice anything different? Anything new maybe? ^^^^ huh, huh?<br />
<br />
Since I am no longer just a mama to a wild and crazy guy, who's daily antics test the upper levels of my patience, I feel my blog should reflect that change in my life as well. Now, I have TWO wild and crazy children who prove there is no better solution for being overworked, overstressed, underpaid and out of time than to self medicate with lots of wine.<br />
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In honor of my NEW changes, I thought I'd share an OLD story that still gets me and is still <i>hanging </i>around.<br />
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If four years of motherhood had taught me anything, it is that a quiet 3yr old means bad things are unfolding. I had foolishly thought I'd be safe doing a load of laundry and doing a quick pick up downstairs while Tyler played quietly in his room.<br />
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For anyone who has met Tyler, you know Tyler does not have a quiet function. Nothing about him is quiet, subdued or calm. He's a 24/7, high energy, keeping you on your toes, tornado of destruction. Remember this <a href="http://holdinmamashand.blogspot.com/2009/06/chicks-dig-scars.html">incident</a>? Or what about this <a href="http://holdinmamashand.blogspot.com/2010/04/when-it-doesnt-suck-dismantle.html">one</a>? Tyler being quiet means I'm in BIG trouble.<br />
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Trouble yes, but how much trouble I could not have foreseen on my worst day. <br />
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I climbed the stairs carting a basket of clean clothes. As I hit the top step I got a faint whiff of baby power. That's odd.... I did a quick sniff check of my own underarms. Negative. I'm not what I'm smelling. I headed down the hall towards Tyler's room, rounded the door frame and froze. My mouth hung gaped open. The laundry basket tumbled from my fingers and landed on my big toe. [thud]<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gJcm4zYC_m0/TgNphdOShjI/AAAAAAAAAZY/r8Pfk97_3wk/s1600/Brush-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gJcm4zYC_m0/TgNphdOShjI/AAAAAAAAAZY/r8Pfk97_3wk/s200/Brush-1.png" width="215" /></a>Tyler stood in the middle of his room, facing his toy bins with a hand me down make-up brush poised in his hand like he was a CSI: Las Vegas reject. Every surface in his room was covered in a layer of baby powder including himself. It was like it had snowed, but it was the middle of July. Clouds of baby powder hung in the air, leaving the whole room in a fog.<br />
<blockquote><b>Me</b>: "<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Tyler </span><span style="font-size: x-small;">WHAT </span><span style="font-size: small;">are </span><span style="font-size: large;">you <span style="font-size: x-large;">DOING</span></span>!" my voice going up an octave with each word<br />
<b>Tyler</b>: "I'm dusting mommy. See..." flicking a mess of baby powder in my direction with the make-up brush.</blockquote>I was so overwhelmed by the situation nothing definitive came out of my mouth<br />
<blockquote><b>Me</b>: "Wha, Uh, Ac, Umm, Huh, aah!!....humph" </blockquote>Feeling overly defeated, I turned and walked out of the room. Tyler called after me.<br />
<blockquote><b>Tyler</b>: "Where ya going mommy?"<br />
<b>Me</b>: "I'm going to get the vacuum" <br />
<b>Tyler</b>: "Yah!" </blockquote>My excitement didn't quite equal Tyler's.<br />
<blockquote><b>Me</b>: "<span style="font-size: x-small;">Yah</span>....." </blockquote>To this day, I still find toys that have baby powder residue in their joints.</div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-22265731990723883292011-06-21T08:45:00.008-04:002011-06-21T09:54:07.577-04:00FML, SMH, IRL....whatever!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72SB1z3sHNghGFgLlzcPZkGK2kDTM99aKF2ajHbtA0Gq7AW1Xoy8wxU4hZ3DLZtZkvS7WDhM23NqKnXTN54JkZpkH9DjUq1gFlvdbocC5p-c2_ut61Nyc9qmJPWbmP7l7f0KKkwGwuZZB/s1600/fist+bump.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 235px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh72SB1z3sHNghGFgLlzcPZkGK2kDTM99aKF2ajHbtA0Gq7AW1Xoy8wxU4hZ3DLZtZkvS7WDhM23NqKnXTN54JkZpkH9DjUq1gFlvdbocC5p-c2_ut61Nyc9qmJPWbmP7l7f0KKkwGwuZZB/s400/fist+bump.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620665747452280466" border="0" /></a>Fads/Sayings have a shelf life, so I've been told. When your grandmother gets in on the action you can officially say "<span style="font-style: italic;">that is so yesterday</span>..." But what happens when you're a 31 yr old woman who witnessed the birth of the information super highway, grew up in the dot.com age and still hasn't a clue about what's hip, cool or popular? What then? Am I fad roadkill? Did I metaphorically get run over by the short bus to popular town with grandma at the wheel?<br /><br />My glaring lack of hipness went all Chuck Norris on me last week when during a business luncheon with a potential client she fist bumped me across the table.<br /><br />"Ya girl, that was a good sales pitch!" [bump]<br /><br />The client was probably mid 40's and white. Not that it truly mattered, but it helps to quantify the situation. I hesitantly jerked my own hand into a fist, bumped her back and forced a smile. My face a clear signal I was befuddled while my head is screaming "What the hell just happened??"<br /><br />This unfortunately is not an isolated incident. I often find myself Googling stuff I come across because I haven't a clue what the hell someone is talking about. Google, being the trusted reliable friend it is, keeps my secret.<br /><br />The husband is even a constant reminder that I'm behind the times with my 2yr old blackberry. His "fancy" phone can do all sorts of things mine can't.<br /><blockquote><span style="font-weight: bold;">The husband:</span> "Check this out! I can text you without touching a button! Watch this, watch this! Did you get it?? Sweet huh??" [nodding]<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> [looking down at the text message] "Yea, whatever...."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The husband:</span> [baby talking] "Aww don't be sore that you're crappy phone isn't sweet like mine. You can have mine when I upgrade to the newest thing next year!"</blockquote>Not wanting to let the husband know I covet his "fancy" phone that plays angry birds; me, my pride and my crappy blackberry walked out of the room.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-85880334586038779362011-06-17T09:23:00.009-04:002011-06-17T11:49:24.286-04:00Here fishy fishy fishy.....They say women marry their fathers. And as true as this may be, to some women this may be an exasperated idea. To this I say, embrace this concept and revel in the idea that while your husband/father may have many differences, it is their similarities that will help to define your marriage and child rearing.<br /><br />In honor of Father's Day, I encourage you to stop and take a moment to reflect on how your own relationship with your father helped you find that perfect mate.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><u>Ways t</u></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><u>hat the husband and the father are alike:</u></span><br /><br />They both have a tendency to speak their minds albeit with a frank no bullshit mentality.<br /><br />Due to their frankness, you either love 'em or hate 'em.<br /><br />They are like a dog with a bone about ideas.<br /><br />They both do not have the natural "Mr. Fix-it all" gene.<br /><br />They are not sit behind a desk kind of men.<br /><br />Their ideal retirement location is warm and sandy.<br /><br />They would both gladly spend the rest of their lives on a boat.<br /><br />Golfing is a highly stressful highly rewarding pastime for each of them. When they find the time.<br /><br />They both have an extreme love of fishing. The fish however don't always love them back.<br /><br />and....<br /><br />They both have spent a majority of their children's early lives away from home, working hard to provide the best possible life for each of them. And to that I know we are all eternally grateful.<br /><br />Happy Father's Day to my 2 favorite Dad's.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DgKe5QUxcKI/Tft0dOtKscI/AAAAAAAAAWk/n4UWiNlB1Kw/s1600/ry%25253D400.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DgKe5QUxcKI/Tft0dOtKscI/AAAAAAAAAWk/n4UWiNlB1Kw/s400/ry%25253D400.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619213005587395010" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ExHSlmlAPco/Tft0X4HhUMI/AAAAAAAAAWc/_rcMbRdlhR4/s1600/Dad%2Band%2BTy%2Bboat.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ExHSlmlAPco/Tft0X4HhUMI/AAAAAAAAAWc/_rcMbRdlhR4/s400/Dad%2Band%2BTy%2Bboat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5619212913624568002" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-29216057167927305402011-06-16T09:45:00.006-04:002011-06-16T10:47:38.816-04:00Have I got a solution for you!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_V8p5bFKUVk/TfoU7KG8qmI/AAAAAAAAAVk/YYJtSF4aPCQ/s1600/SeenOnTV.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 166px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_V8p5bFKUVk/TfoU7KG8qmI/AAAAAAAAAVk/YYJtSF4aPCQ/s400/SeenOnTV.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618826491656448610" border="0" /></a>When you've got 2 kids, a full time career with many late nights and a husband who works 90+ hr weeks you learn to just roll with things. I've learned to lower my standards. 90 percent of the time my house looks like a bomb went off. Food stuck to the table, dirty dishes in the sink, drop pile by the front door, finger prints on every window, cheerios as far as the eye can see, toys strewn about, 3 days of mail piled up on the counter and laundry more than week over due. Does this bother me? Absolutely. Does this stress me out? You betcha. Can I do a thing about it? Not a chance.<br /><br />I've tried using "organizational guru" tips/tricks to contain my mess. None had staying power. My favorite is the <span style="font-style: italic;">Clean for 20 mins a day to make the work seem less</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">cumbersome</span> tip. See.....here's the thing. I'd have to actually FIND 20 mins in my day with nothing better to do than clean. And we all know that ain't happening! But what I could do is consult with my 4yr old, who apparently has a great idea on how to control my clutter.....genius!<br /><br />As my very best friend can attest, my son is a walking infomercial. It's comical his undying belief in products like <a href="https://www.happynapper.com/">Happy Nappers</a> and the <a href="https://www.buygyrobowl.com/">The Gyro Bowl</a>. Without fail he can recite commercial verbiage of the most current As Seen On TV product. He's the next TV Pitchman.<br /><blockquote>Tyler: "Mom! You need a space bag!"<br /><br />Me: "A what?!"<br /><br />Tyler: "A space bag, ya know....." demonstrating the item with square hand gestures and a hand pat for emphasis.<br /><br />Me: "I do do I? And why is that?"<br /><br />Tyler: "Because your closet is a mess, just look at this clutter! [hands extended out in display] The space bag helps organize your shoes, your sweaters, your coats. AND it's safe from dirt and bugs!"</blockquote>I guess that about says it all doesn't it.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-40281673623445442502011-06-14T09:31:00.003-04:002011-06-14T10:20:20.776-04:00We're gonna need a fork liftA while back it was mentioned to me that I needed to start writing again. Why? Because dammit apparently people like me. Aww, well....gee shuks thanks people. [blush]<br /><br />So here it is [drum roll] back by popular demand......The new! The improved! The blog! [cymbal crash]<br /><br />[crickets chirp]<br /><br />No seriously, let's be honest a hot minute. It's not new and it's defintely not improved. In fact it's probably just about the same, with maybe a bit more cynicism. Overworked with a serious lack of free time and sleep will do that do ya. But it still is a blog. So I guess 1 outta three ain't bad.<br /><br />To recap my life in the [cough] YEAR that it's been since I last wrote; I gained some weight, had a baby, lost some weight, got reorganized at work which equaled more work same pay, found a sincere love of wine (my Saturday night safety net) and am trying desperately to raise a 4yr old who out runs me, out smarts me and is generally funny as hell.<br /><br />Case in point: This morning, as I was getting dressed for work, I reminded Tyler that the play kitchen I ordered over this past weekend would be arriving today, at some point. Apparently he missed the "at some point" part and made a bee line for the front window to "stalk" the delivery guy. Kinda reminded me of <a href="http://caleodisfamily.blogspot.com/2007/02/its-like-christmas.html">someone else</a> who stalks the delivery guy<br /><br />[head shake] Dear God, have mercy on my neighbors. There he was at 6:45am, standing in my front window, in his pull-up and nothing else, bouncing, pulsating with anticipation over a to-be-delivered play kitchen. If little old miss Norma, who takes her morning walks, would have seen him she would have fainted right there on the sidewalk. Medic!<br /><br />Concerned that the delivery man was not arriving at that very moment, Tyler hollered up at me to "Call the delivery man! Find out where he is!"<br /><br />My reply that I did not have said phone number, was met with a thumping up the stairs and a prompt face to face conversation that I needed to get that number.<br /><blockquote>Tyler: "Mom, we need to get that number!" shaking his hands splayed out palm<br /><br />Me: "Sorry bud, don't have it. But don't worry, it'll be here today"<br /><br />Tyler: "Mom, I hope it comes with directions"<br /><br />Me: "I'm sure it will honey" returning to concentrate on my makeup<br /><br />Tyler: "Mom, we're gonna need a screwdriver and a drill and scissors and some tape and a fork lift!" his arms flapping around demonstrating each tool.<br /><br />Me: "A fork lift??"<br /><br />Tyler: "Oh yea, because the box is gonna be THIS big" with his arms stretched out in all directions.<br /><br />Me: "You're probably right. I'll pick one up on my way home"<br /><br />Tyler: "Ok, sounds good"</blockquote>And he walked out of my room and back to the window to continue stalking the delivery man. Like mother like son.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-42173962691309331292010-04-15T08:00:00.003-04:002010-04-15T08:36:26.561-04:00Lies my father told me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lakesideantiquestore.com/store/images/uploads/JCHiggins1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://lakesideantiquestore.com/store/images/uploads/JCHiggins1.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a>The husband and I have very different view points when it comes to food. He grew up in a family that ate everything. Right down to the brains of a cow. (that those crazy Greeks for ya) While I was raised on good, old fashioned comfort foods. If a recipe didn't include ground beef, cheese or butter, chance were it didn't belong in our house. That's not to say my mother couldn't cook. She was a fabulous cook, everything she made was my favorite. She just had certain likes and dislikes.<br /><br />Take fish for example. Fish was not something EVER served in my house. My mother didn't like it, my father still doesn't like it (unless that's the only food option, then he'll eat it to keep from going hungry). And my sister believes that if she doesn't eat fish, other little fishes all over the world will spread the good news of her sacrifice and they'll spare her when she chooses to swim in the ocean. She's got some crazy theories....<br /><br />The closest a fish ever came to being in our house was when my sister was 5. My dad went out fishing without her, which she was DEVASTATED about, and she made him bring home a fish for her to see. When he returned home he had a huge catfish (in retrospect, it probably wasn't all <span style="font-style: italic;">that </span>big) and he had it in his metal minnow bucket with some water. My sister was ecstatic. She was so proud of the fish dad caught that she announced she was taking it to show n tell on Monday. My mother, however, announced it would have to live on the back porch. Perfectly understandable. [nods] This was Saturday. And by Monday morning we discovered that we probably should not have let the fish live on the back porch. Because Sunday had been hot, and fish do not survive on hot days. In metal buckets. We now had a nice steamed catfish. Swimming belly up. It was end of my sister's world. She cried and cried and cried and cried some more. Over a fish. But to make matters worse, she demanded that my dad take the dead fish back to his family. At the lake. An hour away. Perfectly logical to a 5yr old. A fish has got family, a family needs to grieve.<br /><br />It can easily be assumed that my father was not about to drive an hour away just to throw a dead fish into a pond.<br /><br />My dad, however, being the crafty father he was, explained to my sister, that if we put him down the storm drain in the front of the house, it'll take him straight back to his family, and everyone would be happy.<br /><br />She bought it; Hook, line and sinker (pun very much intended).<br /><br />And she believed that fish had gone back to his family until dad dusted off this old story about 10 yrs later in front of a large family gathering. My sister of course was shocked to find out my dad had lied. How could he?!<br /><br />To which my father replied, "that's just what parents do..."<br /><br />And that statement has never been more clear than now. Now that I'm a parent, I find myself "lying" to Tyler out of pure convenience. Alot.<br /><br />"No, we can't go see the steam shovels at the construction site for the 5th time today, they're sleeping. We don't want to wake them up, right?"<br /><br />Right.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-63780030392679076012010-04-14T09:01:00.009-04:002010-04-14T09:55:10.862-04:00He was a visual learner<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://meta-dad.com/2008/01/18/pregnant-belly-celebration/"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 187px;" src="http://meta-dad.com/wp-content/themes/connections/img/pregnant_belly.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Ever since we got pregnant, people have always asked, "What does Tyler think of having a baby sister?" Since Tyler had still not processed this concept completely, I just smiled and reply that we're not there yet.<br /><br />Because if you ask Tyler directly does he want a baby sister, he'll smile his huge smile and shout, "I'm having a baby Emma!"<br /><br />You see in Tyler's life, he only knows 3 babies; 2 of which are named Emma. Therefore, by toddler logic this means all babies are baby Emma's. Makes perfect sense.<br /><br />Except that our baby girl's name will be Evelyn, Evie for short.<br /><br />And when you correct Tyler and say "No Tyler, we're having a baby Evie."<br /><br />He'll counter with "No, baby Emma!"<br /><br />Which just turns into a back and forth argument with a 3 yr old. And I'm ashamed to admit, but I have this argument at least once a week. Every time Tyler wins by default, because I forfeit, throw my hands up in the air, sigh my annoyed with everything sigh and stomp out of the room. No judging; an argument with a 3 yr old is way more stressful than arguing with the husband.<br /><br />Tyler even thinks <span style="font-style: italic;">HE'S </span>the one having the baby. If I point to my abdomen and explain that baby Evie is in my belly. He'll smile back at me, pull up his shirt, smack his belly and announce baby Emma is in his belly. [sigh, head shake] Rationalization isn't working, I will need to change strategies.<br /><br />Next, I tried showing Tyler how big my belly was getting. I'd stand and show him my profile, and outline the shape of my belly with my hands. Mind you, I was "fluffy" in my mid-section to begin with and up until several weeks ago, despite wearing maternity clothes for nearly 14 wks, most people (including all my coworkers) just thought to themselves that I'd just really let myself go. [humph] Well ain't that a kick in the crotch.<br /><br />Anyways....<br /><br />This tactic only backfired when Tyler pointed to the husband's mid-section, poked his belly button, and asked if he too was having a baby. The husband was not pleased.<br /><br />So I'd all but given up trying to explain to Tyler that he'd have a baby sister in 16 short weeks, conceding that he'd just never get it. When Monday, in a last ditch feasible attempt at understanding, I laid on the couch, pointed to my belly and told Tyler baby Evie was growing inside.<br /><br />He looked up at me, galloped over, looked quizzically at my belly, poked my belly once, while he announced "Baby Evie in here"<br /><br />I nearly leaped off the couch. Eureka! We have connection, the light bulb finally went off!<br /><br />I was so happy that it must have been obvious all over my face, because Tyler just smiled back at me and giggled.<br /><br />"Yes! Baby Evie is in my belly" I said still smiling.<br /><br />"And baby Emma up here!" he said and smacked both my boobs.<br /><br />[crickets]<br /><br />"Wha, What?" I asked, clarifying. Surely I'd heard him wrong.<br /><br />"Baby Evie down here" patting my belly "And my babies up here" smacking my boobs again.<br /><br />I was stunned, speechless, left without thought.<br /><br />I laughed nervously, and quickly changed the TV channel to <span style="font-style: italic;">Wonder Pets</span>. No sense talking about nonsense, right?<br /><br />When the husband got home later that night, I rehashed the story for him. He chuckled that fatherly laugh men get when their boys have done them proud. I frowned hoping to communicate my displeasure for our son taking ownership of my breasts.<br /><br />"That's funny" the husband said, still laughing "But tell him I'm not sharing"<br /><br />Oh boy.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-74290635254424151362010-04-12T08:44:00.006-04:002010-04-13T16:04:10.452-04:00When it doesn't suck, dismantle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.achooallergy.com/images/prod/1351.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 98px; height: 284px;" src="http://www.achooallergy.com/images/prod/1351.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Several years ago, the husband decided to go all out and buy me a Dyson for Christmas. It was WAY more than he should have spent, but who am I to begrudge his thoughtfulness. It was purple. Heavy. Had lots of gadgets and could suck an obscene amount of dirt out of my 30 yr old carpet. Enough to make Dear Abby faint. So I figured no one should return expensive, heavy, purple gifts that can dazzle and gross you out all at the same time. Right? It was Christmas, and my Santa had got it just right.<br /><br />Eventually, I discovered I wasn't the only one obsessed with my fancy cleaning machine from heaven. And for those of you who follow me regularly, you can probably guess who else in my house <a href="http://holdinmamashand.blogspot.com/2009/09/bissell-deep-down-clean.html">gets really excited when it's time to vacuum.</a><br /><br />Tyler loves the vacuum. It's his forever friend. He likes to drag it around the room. He likes to drape himself in the 30 ft cord. He likes to push the knobs, and to empty out the dust canister. He really likes to extend the 14ft cleaning wand and add the attachments and pretend he's sucking up bugs. He also, on occasion, like to give his friend a "snack". (more on this later)<br /><br />One of the many reason why I love my Dyson is no matter what I suck up, (dirt, wrappers, twisty ties, hair, M&M's, etc) it keeps on sucking. I can vacuum my entire house, fill up the canister WAY past the maximum fill line and I'd still be able to suck my curtains right off the wall.<br /><br />Now, Dyson advertisers claim: <span style="font-style: italic;">Instead of relying on bags and filters to trap the dust, a Dyson vacuum uses patented cyclone technology to spin the dirt out of the air. That's one of the reasons why it doesn't lose suction, picks up more dirt from your home and expels clean air.</span><br /><br />Conclusion: A Dyson doesn't lose suction.<br /><br />Analysis: Mostly true.<br /><br />But a better tag ling would have read:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A Dyson doesn't lose suction, even when clogged with batteries.<br /></span><br />Why? Because Tyler's vacuum snack was 3 batteries. Several conclusions I made from this fun filled experience.<br /><br />1) A Dyson's suction is strong enough to suck up 3 batteries shoved in the attachment hose.<br />2) Tyler's red fire truck is missing it's battery cover.<br />3) The opening to the dirt canister is not big enough for 3 batteries to pass through.<br />4) 3 batteries, rattling in the return compartment does not create enough noise for the Husband to be distracted from his ultimate goal. Finish vacuuming in order to watch golf.<br />5) The sound a Dyson makes when it finally loses suction, is loud enough to send the dog running for cover.<br />6) Time it takes to locate the noise and dismantle a Dyson in order to reach the resting location of the 3 batteries, 30 mins.<br /><br />You know you all want to try this little "field experiment" at home now don't you!Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-40361089211774343402010-04-12T08:00:00.004-04:002010-04-12T08:30:11.955-04:00Looked so bad I had to do a double takeI'm gonna need bigger pants. And longer shirts.<br /><br />My mid-term pregnancy belly is not nearly as "cute" as its predecessor was. The top half of my belly is starting to fill out and get that nice pregnancy round orb shape. <br /><br />My bottom half, however, is dragging ass, literally, and needs to get with the program.<br /><br />The bottom half is the floppy, jiggly, cellulite filled, discarded remains of my first pregnancy. The part where I may have gloriously returned to my pre-pregnancy "fluffy" weight [a choir of angels sing] but my lower abdomen didn't get the memo and decided to keep a souvenir.<br /><br />And now as my body is trying like hell to return to the glory days of a cute pregnant woman, my bottom half is resisting. It's sad, forlorn and insists on hanging out the bottom of my shirts. Making me look like a trailer trash redneck woman who refuses to admit she's gained <s>a few</s> 30 pounds.<br /><br />I suppose it could be worse. I could look like this.<br /><br />Gotta love <a href="www.peopleofwalmart.com">People of Walmart</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/?page_id=9798&paged=4"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuG8vjZpKSo4YKUir4H7TEYv94wTOsRA0vKMSbkS7UGbIHui4DmiffrRZwLCdk7E22bb-4L8AX0zaxor4Kyk2ixKe9_r-WCbic_vjPEsr5NDMbKOfbRxzlK_XfLhCdZ0bIo2B4G9J5Y0pD/s400/1197.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458151204450550594" border="0" /></a>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-11875946542687817072010-04-09T08:00:00.012-04:002010-04-09T09:16:30.291-04:00When shopping with a 2yr old, all bets are off<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.eysterengineered.com/gallery/eyeglasses.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 169px;" src="http://www.eysterengineered.com/gallery/eyeglasses.png" alt="" border="0" /></a>The husband has a cousin who lives here in the city and is an eye doctor by profession. Due to busy schedules on both sides, we rarely see each other outside of major family holidays, but on occasion we visit him for “discounted” services.<br /><br />The husband was in desperate need of new glasses. His current ones were going on 4 years old, whopper-jawed from too many wrestling matches with Tyler and had a wicked crack in the left lens near the bridge. If his glasses were a relative, they’d be the out of work, grabby uncle Moe no one wants to stand next to.<br /><br />We threw caution to the wind and dared to take Tyler, seeing as this was family, even though that little common sense voice in the back of my head told me I should seriously rethink that plan. Upon our arrival we began perusing the selection, trying on different pairs and eliminating ones that made the husband look too “nerdy”.<br /><br />Almost immediately I deeply regretted my decision to bring Tyler. Everything was at a 2 yr olds level; perfect for little grubby hands. I’d turned around and he would be double fisting two pair of glasses, clenching them tight, twisting them around. Crunching them between his little stubby fingers.<br /><br />“Ack! Tyler, put those down!”<br /><br />But as soon as I’d pry one pair from his hands, he’d yell, “How about these mommy?!” and wrench another pair from the display.<br /><br />The finale was when he knocked an entire display section of glasses off the wall, hurdling about 30 pairs of glasses onto the floor right in front of the sales person.<br /><br />My face turned 3 shades of crimson red. I was mortified.<br /><br />I quickly placed myself between Tyler and the temptation and began scooping up glasses, apologizing with every pair. The sales person, in all honestly, could have been a tad bit more forgiving, her icy stares and curt “it’s ok” communicated that it was anything but “OK”. Obviously she did not have kids of her own.<br /><br />After the clean up, I herded Tyler over into a corner with a few waiting chair and some out of date magazines. I resolved that we would both sit right here and wait for the husband’s cousin to avoid any further complications or embarrassing situations. I plopped him down in the corner chair and growled out “Sit!” through my clenched teeth. While I forced a smile and glanced around the store to see how much of a scene we’d caused.<br /><br />Too much.<br /><br />The husband moseyed over and took a seat to the left of Tyler, while I sat on his right; deploying a technique we had long since mastered. When waiting with a toddler, never leave an open avenue; surround him, block off all means of escape and remove any opportunity to cause trouble.<br /><br />Maybe we should add “avoid eyeglass stores” to that mastery list...Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-40662754162136203372010-04-08T09:40:00.004-04:002010-04-08T10:14:45.829-04:00Thar she blows!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:CZGag4dIicScnM:http://www.nationalparklover.com/images/wyoming-montana/Yellowstone/old_faithful254.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 170px;" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:CZGag4dIicScnM:http://www.nationalparklover.com/images/wyoming-montana/Yellowstone/old_faithful254.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I really should invest in pantyliner's.<br /><br />Or maxi pads.<br /><br />Or a really good laundry detergent.<br /><br />Or maybe even....[gulp] incontinence products. Oh my god, I'm gonna need adult diapers.<br /><br />I'm gonna be a 30 yr old pregnant woman, waddling around with a over sized squishy butt who makes a crinkle noise when she sits. I can hear me now. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />Swish, swash, swish, swash, crinkle</span>, <span style="font-style: italic;">crinkle.</span><br /><br />Why?<br /><br />Because every time I sneeze, I pee myself.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Aah! Aah! Ah-choo! </span>[trickle]<span style="font-style: italic;"> Damn it!</span><br /><br />There. I said it. I have bladder control issues.<br /><br />I go through about 3 pairs of underwear, and two pairs of maternity pants a day. Mainly because I refuse to admit that I am a grown woman who can't control her own bladder.<br /><br />Hell, my 3 yr old has better bowel controls than I do right now and he's still potty training!<br /><br />[sigh]<br /><br />It's even worse when baby girl wakes up and starts her running man impression on my bladder. <span style="font-style: italic;">Thump, thump, thump, tinkle....</span><br /><br />I wonder if Julia Roberts peed herself when she was pregnant? Nah...she's pretty woman. Pretty woman don't pee herself. She's got herself together.<br /><br />Although, it would make my situation a bit more glamorous. To think of celebrities also wearing adult diapers. We could all just sit around, in our pee-pee pants, sipping coffee and gossiping. Like we were all BFF's.<br /><br />Breaking News: It's the new spring trend! Neon colored pee-pee pants! Don't be caught without yours!<br /><br />.........<br /><br />Who am I kidding. It's not fashionable, It's embarrassing. Even the husband thinks it's hysterical.<br /><br />Makes me wonder if he'd find it so funny if the tables were turned. If he was the one wetting himself 3 times a day for the sake of procreation.<br /><br />I'd gather not.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-1593723240557886652010-03-23T14:49:00.006-04:002010-03-23T15:17:22.816-04:00Life with a 2yr old<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.marthastewart.com/images/content/pub/everyday_food/2007Q2/med102963_0607_pickle_l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 179px; height: 222px;" src="http://images.marthastewart.com/images/content/pub/everyday_food/2007Q2/med102963_0607_pickle_l.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Tyler has a small obsession with pickles. <s>He'd eat them at every meal if I let him</s>. Correction, he'd eat them FOR every meal if I let him. With ketchup on top.<br /><br />On average, I go through about a jar of pickles spears a week. The good refrigerated kind. Because, lets be honest, life's too short to eat crappy pickles.<br /><br />However, last night, it occurred to me that I need to seriously reconsider Tyler's pickle habits.<br /><br />It was the nightly diaper change that involved poop. Because my son is nothing if not regular, and fair. He poops once a day at the sitters, and once a day at home. Awww, how nice, he shares.<br /><br />The husband, being the dutiful husband he is, offer to "help" or hang around just in case I needed an extra set of hands. I sat on the floor, ripped the sides of the pull-up apart and exposed the nasal offender. I was speechless. Well, almost, the conversation went something like this:<br /><br />ME: "Good God! It's.....GREEN! [tipping the diaper back to inspect more closely] What did he eat yesterday?"<br /><br />HUSBAND: "Uhm....I gave him a pickle for lunch?"<br /><br />ME: "And he conned 2 outta me for dinner" [sigh]<br /><br />ME [@ Tyler]: "Buddy, I think mommy is gonna have to cut back on your pickle consumption, you're pooping pickles!"<br /><br />TYLER: [Pulling down the diaper to see for himself] "Is that my pickle poop?"<br /><br />The husband and I looked at each other, and fell to the floor laughing hysterically. I tried not to dump the diaper contents on the floor as tears ran down my face, and the husband had to leave the room. Tyler, realizing he'd made a funny, covered his mouth, snickered and said it again with more excitement.<br /><br />"Pickle Poop!"<br /><br />It was a good 5 mins before we'd regained our composure. Dear god, please don't let him repeat that at the sitters today. I'm not sure I could handle explaining to 6 other mommy's why my child thinks pickle poop is hilarious.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-60979834203855430752010-03-14T21:05:00.008-04:002010-03-14T21:11:55.274-04:00It was all hands on deck<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.mediconnect.net/images/newsletters/cheeseburger1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 195px; height: 177px;" src="http://www.mediconnect.net/images/newsletters/cheeseburger1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>When your pregnant, cravings can be very dangerous; for not only yourself but for those around you. Heaven help the man who chooses not to aid a woman during one of her many pregnancy induced food cravings.<br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Last night, that poor man was my son Tyler. At about 7:30pm, I became overrun by a burning desire for a cheeseburger, a get outta my way; I’m in a hurry kind of desire. But I didn’t want one of McDonald’s wimpy, limp, small, pathetic burgers. No I need me a CHEESEBURGER. <span style=""> </span>Why? Because some dumb idiot thought it’d be a GREAT idea to run a cheeseburger commercial during one of MY shows; A commercial that had all kinds of close-ups and panning of how hot and juicy it looked. With its melty cheese and crisp pickles and tomatoes. Stupid marketing ploys….</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Unfortunately, Tyler was too caught up in his play-dough building to be bothered by his mother’s latest insanity. So he protested, and I tried rationalizing, “It will only take a minute, we’ll be right back”.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Then he stomped his foot, so I tried bargaining, “Want mommy to get you a happy meal toy?”</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">Then he just shook his head no, so I tried pleading, “But mommy is VERY hungry”.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">When he shot back with a loud “NO!” I’d had enough.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I scooped him up in his pj’s, slung him under my arm, his slippers bobbing precariously on the end of his toes, threatening to slip off, grabbed my car keys on the way out and plopped him into the car seat.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I knew I’d regret eating anything this late. But I didn’t care. I was consumed.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I drummed my fingers on the dashboard impatiently as the guy in front of me dawdled and took his sweet time obeying the speed limit in our residential neighborhood. I fidgeted with my gear shift as I waited in the drive-thru line as the lady ahead of me leisurely pursued the menu. And nearly took a kids arm off at the drive-thru window as he handed me my sack and I stepped on the gas and hauled ass back to my house.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I savored every bite, even if they had screwed up my order and put onions on my cheeseburger. And just as I predicted, as I neared the end of my sandwich, I sorely regretted my decision.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">I.was.full.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">In that, stick-a-fork-in-me-I’m-done kinda way. And at that moment I could have doubled as a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon I was so bloated and full, but I didn’t care, I may have been miserable. But I was happy. At least, until the next out of control craving hit.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">So all persons living in a 5 mile radius of my abode be on the lookout for a crazy-eyed, curly-haired pregnant woman in a house coat. And keep a wide berth.</p>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-29044909507231687282010-03-10T11:29:00.009-05:002010-03-10T12:44:45.896-05:00Introducing Evelyn Lee.....The tech on Monday was "extremely confident" that there was no doubt we were blessed with a little girl. And so graciously provided us with a money shot, or a lack of money as the husband has already started lamenting about. The husband has, however, quietly admitted he's very excited to have a little girl, even if the thought of having a girl is already forcing him to loose sleep.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhz5gYuxcMgB4B-jn_zLNyNZlsJCDdTZgIchSaRbzMMobpVyQisktMiekR6BoNibgfLbZW5vSjkNymjZKeZFUVoILUchF3Tw0RsgS4jYPzpIgVclJKBWWbQ0wkj6jjbfOJ5tDgcIoIpCOn/s1600-h/2010-03-10+11%3B45%3B20AM.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 349px; height: 331px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhz5gYuxcMgB4B-jn_zLNyNZlsJCDdTZgIchSaRbzMMobpVyQisktMiekR6BoNibgfLbZW5vSjkNymjZKeZFUVoILUchF3Tw0RsgS4jYPzpIgVclJKBWWbQ0wkj6jjbfOJ5tDgcIoIpCOn/s400/2010-03-10+11%3B45%3B20AM.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447048567346184050" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_PztwoVbr34A/S5fN7XFA7xI/AAAAAAAAAS4/MsyTEqOVJ3I/s1600-h/Evelyn+Lee+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 349px; height: 334px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_PztwoVbr34A/S5fN7XFA7xI/AAAAAAAAAS4/MsyTEqOVJ3I/s400/Evelyn+Lee+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447048694018928402" border="0" /></a></div>With confirmation that my thoughts all along were correct, I have slept just fine and I have spent the past 2 days day-dreaming about the next stage of of pre-baby planning....the nursery. Because despite my best intentions with Tyler to create a "gender-neutral" nursery, I failed miserably. Blues, greens, turtles....not very "girly".<br /><br />My failure, though will allow me to flex my creative muscles and create a very girl-centric nursery, with lots of shopping as a natural byproduct. I've already got a good idea of what the room will look like.<br /><br />We'll do a pink and chocolate brown theme with lambs as accents.<br /><br />The walls will be soft pink on top, with a white chair rail and chocolate brown below.<br /><br />I found this reusable vinyl wall expression to go right above the crib from a good friend who sells <a href="http://tracibutch.uppercaseliving.net/Home.m">Upper Case Living</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3-GVyU4RX_YoDgfXORs_DH6DBWs1W8HPJwQW6bTb4Jd77grJzr-197aFKHjy9F2FKBbGnV1XpAZAJR5_e9B0SU-tncNwVM848QLSLIm5AUAKOwOxCNO3OWIdSDzKiZG9I1vryHRBkC0U/s1600-h/GeneratePicture.m.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 385px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3-GVyU4RX_YoDgfXORs_DH6DBWs1W8HPJwQW6bTb4Jd77grJzr-197aFKHjy9F2FKBbGnV1XpAZAJR5_e9B0SU-tncNwVM848QLSLIm5AUAKOwOxCNO3OWIdSDzKiZG9I1vryHRBkC0U/s400/GeneratePicture.m.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447050564694902530" border="0" /></a><br />So far that's all I've got, but it has only been 2 days!Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-71727499422321273202010-03-08T08:48:00.010-05:002010-03-08T09:30:56.583-05:00The BIG day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sillymomthoughts.today.com/files/2009/04/jpg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 146px; height: 168px;" src="http://sillymomthoughts.today.com/files/2009/04/jpg.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Today is the big day. The husband and I are heading this afternoon to our ultrasound.<br /><br />I originally told the husband that I didn't want to know what we were having. I wanted it to be a surprise until birth. I was met with mixed emotions from my family and friends. Most of my family was very supportive, my stepmother thought it was wonderful! My friends were slightly disappointed, but understood. My sister, however, was crushed. She felt I was personally punishing her, and spent much of that day ignoring me. She's made it well known that she "expects" a girl this time around. And has even had one-on-one conversation with the husband about his fate if he failed to produce her a girl.<br /><br />So when the neurotic planner in me started to realize that I'd have to wait till AFTER the baby was born to do any shopping, decorating, organizing, etc. I panicked. OMG! What about this, what about that, how am I going to...I had worked myself into a mad frenzy by week 14.<br /><br />It was then that my stepmother calmly mentioned maybe I should find out, for my own sanity. She said "if it will make you feel better, then it's no big deal." And she was right. Once I began to tell people that we were finding out, everyone seemed to draw a collective sigh of relief. As if there was a side bet going to see how long I'd last before I cracked.<br /><br />It also didn't help that when most people met me for the first time just assumed because my first was a boy I'd want a girl this time. Truth was, I didn't much care either way. I'd even fed my neurosis by making a mental pro/con list:<br /><br /><u style="font-weight: bold;">Pro Girl</u><br />1. The thoughts of cute little dresses, and ruffed socks, and hair decorations<br />2. The shopping that goes with #1 :)<br />3. The eventual joy of doing "mom/daughter" things like prom dress shopping and planning a wedding.<br />4. Giving my daughter a family name to help remember my mother.<br />5. Having more "back-up" later against the inevitable increasing testosterone level in my house<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><u>Pro Boy</u></span><u></u><br />1. I am in L-O-V-E with my selected boy name<br />2. The thought of having two boys, two brothers who will share a life long bond is amazing<br />3. The frugality of having the same sex and not having to buy another thing.<br />4. Boys are so much fun<br /><br />So today is the day. Today I'll feel 100% better, calmer, and more prepared. And either way I'll be happy. I do have my own theories about the gender, though I'll wait to share that tomorrow. But for today, you tell ME what you think? Boy or Girl?<br /><br /><br /><center><form method="post" action="http://poll.pollcode.com/5cE"><table style="background-color: rgb(238, 238, 238); color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: 'Verdana'; font-size: 13px;" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="150"><tbody><tr align="left"><td colspan="2" style="padding: 2px;"><strong>What is the Gender of Baby #2</strong></td></tr><tr><td width="5"><input name="answer" value="1" type="radio"></td><td style="padding: 2px;">Boy</td></tr><tr><td width="5"><input name="answer" value="2" type="radio"></td><td style="padding: 2px;">Girl</td></tr><tr><td colspan="2"><center><input value="Vote" type="submit"> <input name="view" value="View" type="submit"></center></td></tr><tr><td colspan="2" bg="" align="right" style="color:white;"><span style=";font-size:78%;color:black;" >pollcode.com <a href="http://pollcode.com/">free polls</a></span></td></tr></tbody></table></form></center>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-35487893989295074522010-03-03T14:58:00.005-05:002010-03-03T15:28:23.000-05:00Text from earlier today...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.anthony-thomas.com/shop/images/uploads/Products/FancyMixedNuts.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 237px; height: 203px;" src="http://www.anthony-thomas.com/shop/images/uploads/Products/FancyMixedNuts.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>The husband and I are apart a good amount of time during the week, so we have some pretty random conversations over IM on our crackberries. But these two convo's today were funnier than usual, we're in rare form today.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><u>Convo #1</u></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband</span>: Hey it's gonna be a late night, do we have anything at home to eat?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: Yes [running through the list of items in the fridge] but please let me know what you'd like to eat so I'll can try not to eat any of it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband</span>: Honey, eat what you want, I'll just find something when I get home<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: No, I'm not kidding, the psycho crazy food cravings have kicked in and I'm eating anything not nailed down.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband</span>: LOL!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span>: Wait! There's more, I had a bacon deluxe burger for lunch only about 1 1/2hrs ago and now I'm working my way through a can of mixed nuts.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband</span>: We have mixed nuts?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span>: Ya, I bought them last night, they were on sale. Along with some jelly beans.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>: Ooh I like jelly beans!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span>: Uhm, ya...those may not have made it through the night.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband</span>: [crickets]<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ><u>Convo #2</u></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span>: I screwed up<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband</span>: Why....?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span>: I had to take your mother to the airport, so I grabbed a $20 from our deposit stash for parking. But when I went to leave, I got stuck in the cash only automated teller machine line. So now I've got 18 gold dollar coins. I feel like a little old blue hair who just hit hit the jackpot in Vegas. [jingle, clink, jingle]<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband</span>: ROFL!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ME</span>: Ya I figured you'd find that funny. How am I suppose to put coins in the atm!?!Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-34617600620338904822010-03-02T12:35:00.005-05:002010-03-02T13:17:59.087-05:00Tap, tap, tap....remember me?So.....it's been like FOREVER since I posted.<br /><br />[slap]...Bad blogger....[slap]...Bad blogger...<br /><br />I kinda lost my momentum/inspiration and fell pathetically short of the unwritten expectations of a blogger. But I'm gonna give this another shot and try like hell to maintain a modest goal of 3 posts per week.<br /><br />Now that we've got that cleared up, I'm guessing a catch-up post would be appreciated. So let me see...what is new....<br /><br />Oh, yes [ding!]......WE'RE PREGNANT! However, I feel that's a bit anticlimactic since most of my readers knew that already. But hey, a good general announcement never hurt anyone.<br /><br />We're due with #2 in August, and honestly we're thrilled, we're ready for this next stage of our lives. Well, I should probably qualify the word thrilled* with one <span style="font-style: italic;">tiny </span>disclaimer.<br /><br />* <span style="font-size:78%;">8 weeks of all day, nauseating, porcelain throne praying, meat smell aversion, not tonight honey I have a vomit headache, "morning sickness" is more than necessary to remind a woman that this was her <span style="font-style: italic;">brilliant </span>idea, and that she should probably consider making this her last pregnancy.</span><br /><br />And...moving on to other things of importance worth noting:<br /><br />1) We're actively trying to potty training. Tyler, unfortunately has other ideas and is actively NOT potty training.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">"Tyler do you need to use the potty?"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />No</span> [grunts]<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Are you sure....wait! Are you pooping?!?"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br />No</span></blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br />2) The husband and I are planning a short vacation (which happens to coincide with a business trip I'm being forced to take) to the beautiful Bay Area. This will be our first "vacation" since we got married almost 4 years ago, it's highly deserved/needed, and will most likely be the last "couple vacation" we get until we're both grey, crotchety and contemplating dentures.<br /><br />3) We are spending an obscene amount of money finishing home improvement projects that were started over various periods of time, with good honest intentions, but for whatever pathetic reason were abandoned. We're forecasting that child #2 may be more than we bargained for and our spare time will become obsolete. <div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><blockquote>It was also determined, that future and forever New Year's resolutions for the husband will be: to NOT, under any circumstances, take the wife & the charge card to the Home Depot in the same trip, especially if she mentions "browsing", "getting ideas", "just looking" or any combination of those words.</blockquote></div></div>4) We are waiting, not so patiently for Monday's big event of the gender ultrasound. The husband is slightly excited, he can be very apathetic. I, however, have hung my very existence on this determination. In my mind nothing can move forward in our lives until we know. It's it a girl, boy, girl, boy, girl, boy.....augh!!<br /><br />I, although you'd never know it, bounce back and forth for weeks trying to decide if we'd find out or if we'd keep it a surprise. My sister unfortunately didn't find my indifference funny, she accused me of personally trying to torture her. She, is hanging her very existence on her sister providing her with a girl.<br /><br />So, if I still have any readers left, I guarantee you I'll be better this time around than I have been in the past four months.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-10505255464579302009-11-05T08:23:00.004-05:002009-11-05T09:06:51.035-05:00Damn that was fun, what's next?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/46345000/jpg/_46345342_005975023-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 182px;" src="http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/46345000/jpg/_46345342_005975023-2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I'm not really a post-coital cuddler.<br /><br />I'm more of a roll over and sleep or flip the TV on for some quick channel surfing kinda gal. I'm on the move, ready for the next best thing. [snap, snap, snap] Probably because late at night is the only time I can relax and hear my own thoughts without being drowned out by the unrecognizable chatter of a 2 yr old. It can be quite a distraction from my own personal reflective inner monologue.<br /><br />The husband however, likes to spend quiet quality time just hugging, listening to each other breath and having small conversations. It's not that I don't appreciate that I have a sensitive romantic husband, one who tries relentlessly to engage me in his small romantic gestures. I'm just not a touchy feely kinda person. I'm easily distracted and I love my husband, in my own weird way.<br /><br />But last night was too funny.<br /><br />After the obligatory marital act, the husband tried once again to be sweet by offering a loving kiss. I, too involved in channel surfing for something to watch for when he fell asleep, gave a quick peck out the side of my mouth without bothering to look. The husband balked; claiming that my attempt was half-assed and I needed to pay attention, be sweet and romantic in return. I sighed and turned to face him. He leaned over again, puckered up and pierced the silence with a loud fart.<br /><br />I froze, and cast him a glance with a wryly smile. His face turned crimson red and we both burst into laughter.<br /><br />"Honey, this is why we can't be romantic, because stuff like that happens!"<br /><br />Life is never like it is in the movies.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-82055123483007707472009-10-27T09:56:00.007-04:002009-10-27T14:41:46.449-04:00The weight of a conversationWhy is it that everything always comes easier to men? Or at least SEEM like it does? Especially in the weight loss department.<br /><br />My weight is the bane of my existence. I have battled with it for as long as I can remember. Up, down, up, down, up, up, up. The scale never moves in the preferred direction, and now thanks to motherhood, it's perpetually stuck at a very scary number.<br /><br />I still daydream about losing weight. I imagine what my body would feel like to loose just 15-20 lbs. How sexy I could be. <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, you like what you see huh?</span><br /><br />I'd probably still have my mommy pooch but at least my ass wouldn't spread out wider than the seat of a normal size chair.<br /><br />My daydreams have a material connection. I still cling to a pair of skinny jeans in hopes that one day I'll return to that size. A pair of jeans I've owned since pre freshman-15, pre sophomore 15, pre newly-wed 9, pre I'm in a comfortable loving relationship and I've stop worrying about what I look like naked therefore I gained 20 lbs.<br /><br />Oh who am I kidding, I still worry about what I look like naked. <span style="font-style: italic;">Lights off please</span>. I gained the 20lbs because the husband and I have a mutual love of food.<br /><br />But yesterday was too much. Yesterday, was the cherry on my whipped cream pie of a life.<br /><br />The husband texts me to make a casual observation. Really I think he was just trying to poke me when I was down.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband: </span>"Damn, I've lost 10lbs since I went to the doctor last" (which was just 3 weeks ago)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me:</span> "I hate you"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband:</span> "No really, I weighed myself on the scale in the back of the warehouse."</blockquote>Long pause as I consider the mental picture of the husband standing on what I'm sure is a giant industrial scale used to weigh pallets of dog food.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: "Congratulations."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband</span>: "Thanks"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Me</span>: "You missed the sarcasm"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Husband</span>: "Oh"</blockquote>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-55257848141881852492009-10-26T09:40:00.006-04:002009-10-26T10:49:43.434-04:00Who, what, where, when & how?Holy Toledo Batman!<br /><br />Has it really been almost 4 weeks since my last post!?! I guess am the epitome of a slacker, but I promise I've got good reason.<br /><br />It's been a rough several of weeks around our house. Illness, home renovations, personal pleasure, personal strife. We've had it all.<br /><br />Tyler got sick in early October, runny nose, hacking cough, getting up several times a night. The usual MO for his colds. I followed suit shortly after thanks in part to many mommy hugs accompanied by a cough in the face and a snotty nose tracks on my sleeve. Gotta love toddlers. Round 1 lasted about a week and a half.<br /><br />The husband was lucky enough to be taking his "vacation" right smack dab in the middle of round 1. I'll put "vacation" in quotation marks because we didn't really go anywhere, it was more of a mental vacation for him. My loving husband actually sacrificed his remaining 1 week vacation time to strip, sand & repaint our lower level. <span style="font-style: italic;">I knew there was a reason I loved him</span><br /><br />The downside was, I was sick and the project was taking over the house. It was a disaster, and I didn't have the energy to clean up behind him. But it didn't much matter because the husband was home for an entire week.<br /><br />I love it when he's home. I love having a normal home life, where we have dinner every night at 5pm as a family, I have an extra set of hands in the morning to wrangle and dressed a fickle toddler, not having to have normal marital conversations via text and just relaxing, watching TV and being content knowing my husband is in the same room with me.<br /><br />What I don't love is my snoring, flat on his back, pillow stealing, blanket hogging, diagonal spread eagle sleeping husband. He is the WORST person to sleep with.<br /><br />So sleep was very elusive that week he was home.<br /><br />At the tail end of the husband's vacation he started to show signs of getting sick. Just as Tyler and I were starting to feel better.<br /><br />But 3 days later Tyler got hives, again. The second time since August. Then he started running a fever, had a cough, a runny nose and had an earache. Begin Round 2. I freaked, all I could think of was Tyler had H1N1 (a quick shout out to the national media for their expertness in fear-mongering and their ability to make this normally sane, easy going mommy a nervous wreck). Even the nurses were thinking H1N1. Hence the lovely face mask.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLa_CrRbXRnYSPxynDrC2GCO-3fnthMMGZFR4S-EQZ2qYmMQMgYzSEktmwDLam6eugYqzidJRtnA2JgNYoWaEAuqK7NQquhj-seYYoMJdE5mPBmI43r9VWo0mkpf6QPL37uZCS8_-2ri5/s1600-h/IMG00099.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLa_CrRbXRnYSPxynDrC2GCO-3fnthMMGZFR4S-EQZ2qYmMQMgYzSEktmwDLam6eugYqzidJRtnA2JgNYoWaEAuqK7NQquhj-seYYoMJdE5mPBmI43r9VWo0mkpf6QPL37uZCS8_-2ri5/s400/IMG00099.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396913357529791538" border="0" /></a>The doctor, thankfully said it was just a sinus infection, prescribed some antibiotics and said he should be feeling better in about 48hrs. Whew!<br /><br />That was Tuesday. By this past Saturday, I also began round 2 of sickness. This time, it was more sinus pressure than the achiness I had last time. Thank you Tyler. Mwah!<br /><br />So, needless to say, our family is living in one giant petri dish of germs, just passing the ickies back and forth to each other.<br /><br />Illness, however wasn't the only reason I failed to post. There is also an emotional factor involved.<br /><br />While all of the lovely germies were being passed around and we were wallowing in our misery. The husband and I <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">were </span>pregnant.<br /><br />I stress the were in that statement.<br /><br />After a week and a half of dealing with a sickness, what I thought was a UTI and an early lackluster period, I tested positive on a Saturday morning.<br /><br />The husband and I were ecstatic, because it is no secret that we've been trying since late July for #2. And despite all the signs that it might not look promising, we were giddy with excitement and could barely wait for the doctor's office to open Monday morning. We even called and told the husband's sister, my dad and my step mom.<br /><br />However, after some blood work, a doctor's visit that she said everything looked great, and some more blood work it was determined that I was in fact miscarrying.<br /><br />It was early. I was maybe 3-4 weeks. Barely pregnant, what doctors would call a "<a href="http://www.babyhopes.com/articles/chemical-pregnancy.html">chemical pregnancy</a>". There is no pain or discomfort, only the inconvenience of having a 3 week long period. But the emotional pain is not easily observed.<br /><br />Due to personal family issues, our plans of trying for #2 had been put on hold for nearly a year. So by July, when I felt we were comfortable enough to begin trying, I was in full blown baby fever mode. The kind where your biological clock is beating you over the head with a hammer and you feel pangs of jealously for every woman you see lucky enough to be pregnant.<br /><br />So I grieve. silently. Because I know this isn't the end of the road for us, it's just the beginning. But it doesn't lessen the pain. Just enforces the fact that we must start all over.<br /><br />Ok, pity party for one over. There's my update. Onward and upward. And I promise to post again tomorrow. See you then.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-30334768774310085882009-10-02T08:49:00.010-04:002009-10-02T09:49:19.755-04:00Maybe yes, Maybe no<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Kjz0QwHStjI/SjmzoiYKP6I/AAAAAAAAC2g/2HKh7iQ1P2U/s400/phineas-and-ferb-300a071708.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 221px; height: 295px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Kjz0QwHStjI/SjmzoiYKP6I/AAAAAAAAC2g/2HKh7iQ1P2U/s400/phineas-and-ferb-300a071708.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>It's happening.<br /><br />The incessant demanding of material items viewed on television, specifically marketed to young children at a time in which is most likely to result in a favorable manner for the child and the toy manufactures.<br /><br />The evil ones know my weakness. You can requests just about anything from me (<span style="font-style: italic;">flame thrower maybe?)</span> before 8am and several cups of coffee.<br /><br />Today, at 7am, I was forced to turn on non-commercial free cartoons because Blues Clues and Mickey Mouse just weren't cutting it for my fickle toddler. After multiple trips through the cartoon channel line-up, we decided to go with Phineas and Ferb. Not a bad show in it's own right. Kinda cute actually, and a nice alternative to the typical toddler shows that make me want to beat my head against a wall repeatedly. Anyone who's sat and watched hour after hour of Little Bear, Little Bill, Franklin, Max n Ruby, or Ni Hao Kai-Lan can attest to my pain.<br /><br />It also wasn't Spongebob which I detest. So a small personal victory. <span style="font-style: italic;">ya</span>!<br /><br />The first commercial was for a Barbie princess castle. It was bright pink, Barbie was wearing a ball gown similar to Cinderella and small plastic heels. I knew instantly this would send the husband into hysterics that would result in a downward spiral of self doubt about his ability to raise a masculine son.<br /><br />Immediate veto.<br /><br />Next was a commercial for Handy Manny's fix-it motorcycle with side car. The tools would ride along enjoying the breeze on their steely faces and could at a moments notice hop out, do their tool thing, detach the side car and Manny could have a chopper. Nice! [nodding in approval]<br /><br />I turn and glance at Tyler, smile and give a thumbs up. Nothing. Bummer.<br /><br />And moving on to the next commercial.<br /><br />Bakugan. The next commercial was for Bakugan. The small battle <del>robots</del>, <del> transformers</del>, <del>action figures</del> heck I don't know what they are but Tyler lurched forward and stared with his mouth half open. The commercial continued to suck my child in with his pointing, and head nodding and constant <span style="font-style: italic;">Ya, Ya, Ya, Ya, Ya's</span>. Then it came.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">I want!<br /><br />Mama, I want!<br /></span></blockquote>I looked back at the screen and all I could see in my mind were these small things taking over my house, being flung at me in fits of rage, and strewn all over the floor with their sharp pointy edges just lying in wait to poke me in the foot in a darken hallway after accidentally stepping on them for the 100th time.<br /><br />I made a cringey face. I don't want to step on something pointy, it'll hurt.<br /><br />So I turned to Tyler with a compromise.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">How about a nice stuffed Elmo doll? Wouldn't that be a nice safe toy to play with?</span> [nodding]<br /></blockquote>I got a short, curt NO response and a head shake to my obviously ridiculous question.<br /><blockquote>[embarrassed laugh]<i> Silly mommy, what was I thinking.</i></blockquote>So I busted out the mommy secret weapon.<br /><br />The "maybe" response. The "maybe" response is genius because we mommy's can give our child hope without looking like the bad guy. We can escape sticky situations while diverting attention away from the item in question. But our "maybe" response is not delivered with qualifications therefore the promise can be recalled later and blamed on disapproving behavior of the child. It's fool proof!<br /><blockquote style="font-style: italic;">Maybe, buddy. We'll see. Let's go get changed for the sitters now.<br /></blockquote>Tomorrow, it's back to Noggin.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-62540494956219315542009-09-30T08:44:00.006-04:002009-09-30T09:18:10.420-04:00Appreciate the handy workThere are women in this world who are more creative than I. Heck, probably everyone reading this blog entry is more creative than I. My creative skill set is well not developed, I am truly a right brained person. Sadly, I much prefer staring at spreadsheets, playing with numbers and problem solving a client's issues. That's right, I am unexciting, uneventful and I have no life. Maybe I should have been an accountant...nah, too <span style="font-style: italic;">much </span>right brain thinking.<br /><br />But this doesn't mean I don't appreciate and stare in amazement at the crafts of those who are very creative. In fact, below are two women who constantly astound me with their ideas and creative flare. And as an added bonus, they each are giving away several of their creations to lucky readers who choose to follow them and appreciate their gifts.<br /><br />While many of my readers I'm sure are all aware of these two ladies, I thought I'd help by promoting their awesome work to those few readers I have who haven't been exposed to their creative abilities. Good luck everyone and happy fall!<br /><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote>1# - <a href="http://www.jannypie.com/">Jannypie Crafts</a><br />A scientist by day a blogger/crafter/digital scrapbooker by night.<br /><br />In honor of her blog's 2nd birthday, she is giving away a slew of fun Halloween items to anyone who starts following her blog, her on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=home#/pages/jannypie-crafts/66839041884">Facebook</a>, or her on <a href="http://www.twitter.com/jannypie">Twitter</a>.<br /><br />Click the image and follow the link to more details about her fun give-away.<br /></blockquote><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.jannypie.com/2009/09/bloggy-birthday-contest.html"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 376px; height: 282px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2605/3903510741_6e396eb6af.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><blockquote>#2 - <a href="http://stephm0188.blogspot.com/">Mada's Place</a><br />A work from home mom who excels at amazing things with fabric.<br /><br />To showcase her latest creation, a rockin Coloring Tote, and reward all the love she's been receiving lately, she is giving this item away at random to a lucky person who starts following her blog, her on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=home#/madasplace">Facebook</a> or on <a href="http://twitter.com/madasplace">Twitter</a>.<br /><br />Click the image and follow the link to her blog entry about her contest.<br /></blockquote><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://stephm0188.blogspot.com/2009/09/giveaway-time-coloring-tote.html"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 376px; height: 282px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB_0a8V44dI3QrKRvYGvbkJ66yU2Z2lNOWEKFa-fN5fbcVqWYes9zVrtUGAZzW_fTLi3NRD5RxfpEj3GNFHiNIqHxvGRNZzvfxvoJXPXYWScPmL0fXhp8xeu02dVpGPKVzBvnto06Z0z8C/s400/009.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-61342597494044349432009-09-29T09:20:00.005-04:002009-09-29T10:48:52.942-04:00Be warned; Buckeyes are poisonous to Wolverines<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://nowlist4less.com/_wizardimages/Buckeye%20Nut%20in%20Grass.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 143px;" src="http://nowlist4less.com/_wizardimages/Buckeye%20Nut%20in%20Grass.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>[scrape] [scrape][scrape]<br /><br />[thump][thump]<br /><br />Ahem!<br /><br />People. I am getting out my soapbox and climbing aboard. I need to vent and this is the only place that I can effectively reach the masses to satisfy my displeasure.<br /><br />The husband, unfortunately has become immune to my bitching, probably due to over exposure, and he is not an acceptable alternate vehicle to voice my concern. Besides, he's a Penn State fan and could care less about my thoughts.<br /><br />Now, where was I. Oh yes...<br /><br />People, IF you choose to live in the college town of one of the largest universities in the country, you must accept two very obvious facts:<br /><br /><blockquote>#1 - This town has THE most loyal fans known in college sports<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">AND<br /></div><br />#2 - These loyal fans are <u><b>OBSESSED</b></u> with college football, specifically Ohio State Football.</blockquote>Now that we're all clear of my intended subject. Lets get down to business.<br /><br />Fans from up north, are not welcome, in our town. And for those of you readers who aren't familiar with who I mean by "the team from up North" brush up on your OSU football history <a href="https://bucknuts.com/osuhistory/coachhayes.htm">HERE.</a><br /><br />The only day in the entire year that we allow fans from up north to penetrate our borders is on the last game of the season of alternating years. And we only allow this to occur, long enough to stuff the football down the throat of Rich Rodriguez' and send them back on their merry way.<br /><br />Our rivalry is deep seeded. We do not like each other, this is a plain fact. We do not take kindly to locals offering their loyalty to the enemy. We view them as traitors and secretly hope they will move North and take their dirty favoritism with them.<br /><br />So after all of that, if you still chose to live in this town and worship the enemy, do not. I repeat. Do not harass an avid Buckeye fan, in her town. You will lose.<br /><br />Certainly do not trash talk with the loyal Buckeye fan the day after we<a href="http://www.10tv.com/live/content/osufootball/stories/2009/09/26/story_osu_illinois.html?type=rss&cat=&sid=102&title=Buckeyes+Shut+Out+Illini+In+Big+Ten+Opener"> shut out a Big Ten team</a> who cost us dearly the year before. Especially coming from you, who barely escaped embarrassment from the perennial <a href="http://www.clickondetroit.com/sports/21125803/detail.html">last place team in the Big Ten</a>.<br /><br />Do not threaten to not ring up the Buckeye fan's purchase just because she is wearing an Ohio State t-shirt. Do not claim that you are unable to touch her purchases just because she is wearing said t-shirt. Do not attempt to start a debate, at the convenience store, regarding her loyalty. If you are working at a convenience store, chances are her purchase is your livelihood.<br /><br />And certainly do not joke, laugh, bob and weave like a gangster just because you are a fan from the team up North. This does not make the Buckeye fan idolize you, it just makes you look like a blithering idiot.<br /><br />Enough said.<br /><br />Thank you, I am finished.<br /><br />[thump][thump]<br /><br />[scrape][scrape][scrape]Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-4607381792824591372009-09-25T09:12:00.009-04:002010-04-13T15:54:03.357-04:00Bissell: Deep down clean<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.bissell.com/assets/0/132/133/243/244/f85d6d3a-aed0-46ad-8692-0a59a4cdeb04.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 120px; height: 260px;" src="http://www.bissell.com/assets/0/132/133/243/244/f85d6d3a-aed0-46ad-8692-0a59a4cdeb04.png" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Kids put the strangest things in their mouths. Boys especially.<br /><br />I know a gal who's son has a fascination with eating mulch. Every time they're outside. Poor gal can't even get a moments peace without a little munching. Sadly, this is also the same kid who horked a dead baby bird. His mother was beside herself.<br /><br />My son is no exception. He has an unhealthy obsession with vacuum cleaners. It's like Christmas every time I get the Dyson out with it's clear tornado like dirt chamber and all of it's fun attachments. This inevitably leads to him bringing up his play vacuum cleaner to push along side me. Which he received as a gift from my bestie who thinks his love of vacuum cleaners is hysterical and could not resist the opportunity to torment me.<br /><br />But yesterday, the mother of all vacuum cleaners came to visit. A behemoth of a carpet shampooer, courtesy of my father. He felt my house smelled a bit too much of dog/cat.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Gee thanks dad, passive aggressive much?<br /><br /></span>Well, now that you mention it and since you went to all that trouble, there are a few areas that could benefit from a good cleaning.<br /><br />When I was finished, due to my lack storage space and the sheer heft of the machine was too much for me to lug anywhere else, I left it sitting in my living room; where Tyler was sure to see it when he came home from the sitters.<br /><br />And as exactly as predicted, when he came home, he freaked.<br /><br /><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">"Waz at? Momma, Waz at? WAZ IZ AT!?!" </span>He squealed as he danced around it, pointing.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"A carpet cleaner, do not touch</span>"<br /></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote>But after about 2 hours of walking by it, seeing it out of the corner of his eye, and not being able to touch it, the temptation was just too much.<br /><br />He kissed it.<br /><br />He bent over and planted a big ol' sloppy kiss right on the front of the carpet cleaner.<br /><br />I nearly fainted.<br /><br />When I had finished shrieking the laundry list of unsanitary complications of his actions, he giggled back at me and kissed it again.<br /><br />This was too much for <span style="font-style: italic;">ME</span>. I had to sit down.<br /><br />Tyler, detecting my frustration, scurried over to console me. He presenting me with an equally sloppy kiss on the lips. Now we were sharing the dirty carpet cleaner germs. Aww, how nice.<br /><br />[sigh]<br /><br />I shook my head. I suppose a dirty kiss is better than no kiss at all.<br /><br />But just to be safe, Tyler and I marched right upstairs to brush our teeth.Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1708800397578228767.post-37793822536438880502009-09-22T15:14:00.005-04:002009-09-22T16:19:56.721-04:00Yes, this is my poker face.<BlogMetaData>Convincing a toddler to do anything can be an uphill battle.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Let's put on your shoes. </span>No!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Let's take off your shoes.</span> No!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Let's brush your teeth</span>. No!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Lets pick up your toys.</span> Silent treatment.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Let's go get a bath. </span>Runs screaming in the other direction<span style="font-style: italic;">.<br /><br /></span>The exceptions in my house is if the request involves ice cream, Noggin, Elmo or choo-choos. Then anything is possible.<br /><br />These tiny daily battles leave me feeling defeated, unproductive and relatively exhausted.<br /><br />No, your right, it shouldn't take me 15 minutes, 3 laps around my house, a wrestling match, and a quick game of <span style="font-style: italic;">pick-up what I drop mommy</span> every morning to get socks and shoes on my child, but it does. And yes, this qualifies that as my cardio for the day.<br /><br />But I have a confession; one I am ashamed to admit out loud. Sometimes I yell, and sometimes it actually works.<br /><br />However, as became demonstrably clear the other night at bath time. I apparently yell more than I'd like to believe.<br /><br />Scene:<br />Tyler, for the third time, has jumped up and slammed his bottom down into the tub causing a tide wave of water to slosh against the side of the tub while he flings his washcloth like a whip sending a spattering of water onto me and the wall adjacent to the tub.<br /><blockquote>Me [snapping]: "<span style="font-style: italic;">Tyler! Stop that! Look what you've done!</span>"<br /><br />Probably louder than I meant to.<br /><br />Tyler [pointing]: "<span style="font-style: italic;">Ooooh, Mommy you mad</span>"<br /></blockquote>I froze and looked at Tyler puzzled. He giggled back at me as I launched into a hysterical laughing fit and fell off the toilet. Which he also thought was pretty funny.<br /><br />And this is why I am a pathetic excuse for a parent when it comes to doling out punishment.<br /><br />Because I can't stop laughing long enough to keep a straight face.<br /><span style=";font-family:";font-size:11;" ></span>Andreahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05964347077493435586noreply@blogger.com2