Holdin' Mamas Hand

So fresh and so clean

2011-06-23T12:36:00.003-04:00

Did you notice anything different? Anything new maybe? ^^^^ huh, huh?

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.

In honor of my NEW changes, I thought I'd share an OLD story that still gets me and is still hanging around.

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.

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 incident? Or what about this one? Tyler being quiet means I'm in BIG trouble.

Trouble yes, but how much trouble I could not have foreseen on my worst day.

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]

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.

Me: "Tyler WHAT are you DOING!" my voice going up an octave with each word
Tyler: "I'm dusting mommy. See..." flicking a mess of baby powder in my direction with the make-up brush.

I was so overwhelmed by the situation nothing definitive came out of my mouth

Me: "Wha, Uh, Ac, Umm, Huh, aah!!....humph"

Feeling overly defeated, I turned and walked out of the room. Tyler called after me.

Tyler: "Where ya going mommy?"
Me: "I'm going to get the vacuum"
Tyler: "Yah!"

My excitement didn't quite equal Tyler's.

Me: "Yah....."

To this day, I still find toys that have baby powder residue in their joints.

FML, SMH, IRL....whatever!

2011-06-21T08:45:00.008-04:00

Fads/Sayings have a shelf life, so I've been told. When your grandmother gets in on the action you can officially say "that is so yesterday..." 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?

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.

"Ya girl, that was a good sales pitch!" [bump]

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??"

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.

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.

The husband: "Check this out! I can text you without touching a button! Watch this, watch this! Did you get it?? Sweet huh??" [nodding]

Me: [looking down at the text message] "Yea, whatever...."

The husband: [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!"

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.

Here fishy fishy fishy.....

2011-06-17T09:23:00.009-04:00

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.

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.

Ways that the husband and the father are alike:

They both have a tendency to speak their minds albeit with a frank no bullshit mentality.

Due to their frankness, you either love 'em or hate 'em.

They are like a dog with a bone about ideas.

They both do not have the natural "Mr. Fix-it all" gene.

They are not sit behind a desk kind of men.

Their ideal retirement location is warm and sandy.

They would both gladly spend the rest of their lives on a boat.

Golfing is a highly stressful highly rewarding pastime for each of them. When they find the time.

They both have an extreme love of fishing. The fish however don't always love them back.

and....

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.

Happy Father's Day to my 2 favorite Dad's.

Have I got a solution for you!

2011-06-16T09:45:00.006-04:00

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.

I've tried using "organizational guru" tips/tricks to contain my mess. None had staying power. My favorite is the Clean for 20 mins a day to make the work seem less cumbersome 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!

As my very best friend can attest, my son is a walking infomercial. It's comical his undying belief in products like Happy Nappers and the The Gyro Bowl. Without fail he can recite commercial verbiage of the most current As Seen On TV product. He's the next TV Pitchman.

Tyler: "Mom! You need a space bag!"

Me: "A what?!"

Tyler: "A space bag, ya know....." demonstrating the item with square hand gestures and a hand pat for emphasis.

Me: "I do do I? And why is that?"

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!"

I guess that about says it all doesn't it.

We're gonna need a fork lift

2011-06-14T09:31:00.003-04:00

A 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]

So here it is [drum roll] back by popular demand......The new! The improved! The blog! [cymbal crash]

[crickets chirp]

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.

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.

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 someone else who stalks the delivery guy

[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!

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!"

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.

Tyler: "Mom, we need to get that number!" shaking his hands splayed out palm

Me: "Sorry bud, don't have it. But don't worry, it'll be here today"

Tyler: "Mom, I hope it comes with directions"

Me: "I'm sure it will honey" returning to concentrate on my makeup

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.

Me: "A fork lift??"

Tyler: "Oh yea, because the box is gonna be THIS big" with his arms stretched out in all directions.

Me: "You're probably right. I'll pick one up on my way home"

Tyler: "Ok, sounds good"

And he walked out of my room and back to the window to continue stalking the delivery man. Like mother like son.

Lies my father told me

2010-04-15T08:00:00.003-04:00

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.

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....

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 that 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.

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.

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.

She bought it; Hook, line and sinker (pun very much intended).

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?!

To which my father replied, "that's just what parents do..."

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.

"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?"

Right.

He was a visual learner

2010-04-14T09:01:00.009-04:00

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.

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!"

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.

Except that our baby girl's name will be Evelyn, Evie for short.

And when you correct Tyler and say "No Tyler, we're having a baby Evie."

He'll counter with "No, baby Emma!"

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.

Tyler even thinks HE'S 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.

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.

Anyways....

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.

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.

He looked up at me, galloped over, looked quizzically at my belly, poked my belly once, while he announced "Baby Evie in here"

I nearly leaped off the couch. Eureka! We have connection, the light bulb finally went off!

I was so happy that it must have been obvious all over my face, because Tyler just smiled back at me and giggled.

"Yes! Baby Evie is in my belly" I said still smiling.

"And baby Emma up here!" he said and smacked both my boobs.

[crickets]

"Wha, What?" I asked, clarifying. Surely I'd heard him wrong.

"Baby Evie down here" patting my belly "And my babies up here" smacking my boobs again.

I was stunned, speechless, left without thought.

I laughed nervously, and quickly changed the TV channel to Wonder Pets. No sense talking about nonsense, right?

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.

"That's funny" the husband said, still laughing "But tell him I'm not sharing"

Oh boy.

When it doesn't suck, dismantle

2010-04-12T08:44:00.006-04:00

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.

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 gets really excited when it's time to vacuum.

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)

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.

Now, Dyson advertisers claim: 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.

Conclusion: A Dyson doesn't lose suction.

Analysis: Mostly true.

But a better tag ling would have read:

A Dyson doesn't lose suction, even when clogged with batteries.

Why? Because Tyler's vacuum snack was 3 batteries. Several conclusions I made from this fun filled experience.

1) A Dyson's suction is strong enough to suck up 3 batteries shoved in the attachment hose.
2) Tyler's red fire truck is missing it's battery cover.
3) The opening to the dirt canister is not big enough for 3 batteries to pass through.
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.
5) The sound a Dyson makes when it finally loses suction, is loud enough to send the dog running for cover.
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.

You know you all want to try this little "field experiment" at home now don't you!

Looked so bad I had to do a double take

2010-04-12T08:00:00.004-04:00

I'm gonna need bigger pants. And longer shirts.

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.

My bottom half, however, is dragging ass, literally, and needs to get with the program.

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.

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 ~~a few~~ 30 pounds.

I suppose it could be worse. I could look like this.

Gotta love People of Walmart

When shopping with a 2yr old, all bets are off

2010-04-09T08:00:00.012-04:00

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.

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.

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”.

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.

“Ack! Tyler, put those down!”

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.

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.

My face turned 3 shades of crimson red. I was mortified.

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.

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.

Too much.

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.

Maybe we should add “avoid eyeglass stores” to that mastery list...

Thar she blows!

2010-04-08T09:40:00.004-04:00

I really should invest in pantyliner's.

Or maxi pads.

Or a really good laundry detergent.

Or maybe even....[gulp] incontinence products. Oh my god, I'm gonna need adult diapers.

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.

Swish, swash, swish, swash, crinkle, crinkle.

Why?

Because every time I sneeze, I pee myself.

Aah! Aah! Ah-choo! [trickle] Damn it!

There. I said it. I have bladder control issues.

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.

Hell, my 3 yr old has better bowel controls than I do right now and he's still potty training!

[sigh]

It's even worse when baby girl wakes up and starts her running man impression on my bladder. Thump, thump, thump, tinkle....

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.

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.

Breaking News: It's the new spring trend! Neon colored pee-pee pants! Don't be caught without yours!

.........

Who am I kidding. It's not fashionable, It's embarrassing. Even the husband thinks it's hysterical.

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.

I'd gather not.

Life with a 2yr old

2010-03-23T14:49:00.006-04:00

Tyler has a small obsession with pickles. ~~He'd eat them at every meal if I let him~~. Correction, he'd eat them FOR every meal if I let him. With ketchup on top.

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.

However, last night, it occurred to me that I need to seriously reconsider Tyler's pickle habits.

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.

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:

ME: "Good God! It's.....GREEN! [tipping the diaper back to inspect more closely] What did he eat yesterday?"

HUSBAND: "Uhm....I gave him a pickle for lunch?"

ME: "And he conned 2 outta me for dinner" [sigh]

ME [@ Tyler]: "Buddy, I think mommy is gonna have to cut back on your pickle consumption, you're pooping pickles!"

TYLER: [Pulling down the diaper to see for himself] "Is that my pickle poop?"

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.

"Pickle Poop!"

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.

It was all hands on deck

2010-03-14T21:05:00.008-04:00

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.

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. 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….

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”.

Then he stomped his foot, so I tried bargaining, “Want mommy to get you a happy meal toy?”

Then he just shook his head no, so I tried pleading, “But mommy is VERY hungry”.

When he shot back with a loud “NO!” I’d had enough.

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.

I knew I’d regret eating anything this late. But I didn’t care. I was consumed.

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.

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.

I.was.full.

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.

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.

Introducing Evelyn Lee.....

2010-03-10T11:29:00.009-05:00

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.

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".

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.

We'll do a pink and chocolate brown theme with lambs as accents.

The walls will be soft pink on top, with a white chair rail and chocolate brown below.

I found this reusable vinyl wall expression to go right above the crib from a good friend who sells Upper Case Living.

So far that's all I've got, but it has only been 2 days!

The BIG day

2010-03-08T08:48:00.010-05:00

Today is the big day. The husband and I are heading this afternoon to our ultrasound.

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.

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.

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.

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:

Pro Girl
1. The thoughts of cute little dresses, and ruffed socks, and hair decorations
2. The shopping that goes with #1 :)
3. The eventual joy of doing "mom/daughter" things like prom dress shopping and planning a wedding.
4. Giving my daughter a family name to help remember my mother.
5. Having more "back-up" later against the inevitable increasing testosterone level in my house

Pro Boy
1. I am in L-O-V-E with my selected boy name
2. The thought of having two boys, two brothers who will share a life long bond is amazing
3. The frugality of having the same sex and not having to buy another thing.
4. Boys are so much fun

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?

Text from earlier today...

2010-03-03T14:58:00.005-05:00

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.

Convo #1

Husband: Hey it's gonna be a late night, do we have anything at home to eat?

Me: 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.

Husband: Honey, eat what you want, I'll just find something when I get home

Me: No, I'm not kidding, the psycho crazy food cravings have kicked in and I'm eating anything not nailed down.

Husband: LOL!

ME: 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.

Husband: We have mixed nuts?

ME: Ya, I bought them last night, they were on sale. Along with some jelly beans.

Husband: Ooh I like jelly beans!

ME: Uhm, ya...those may not have made it through the night.

Husband: [crickets]

Convo #2

ME: I screwed up

Husband: Why....?

ME: 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]

Husband: ROFL!

ME: Ya I figured you'd find that funny. How am I suppose to put coins in the atm!?!

Tap, tap, tap....remember me?

2010-03-02T12:35:00.005-05:00

So.....it's been like FOREVER since I posted.

[slap]...Bad blogger....[slap]...Bad blogger...

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.

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....

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.

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 tiny disclaimer.

* 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 brilliant idea, and that she should probably consider making this her last pregnancy.

And...moving on to other things of importance worth noting:

1) We're actively trying to potty training. Tyler, unfortunately has other ideas and is actively NOT potty training.

"Tyler do you need to use the potty?"

No [grunts]

"Are you sure....wait! Are you pooping?!?"

No

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.

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.

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.

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!!

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.

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.

Damn that was fun, what's next?

2009-11-05T08:23:00.004-05:00

I'm not really a post-coital cuddler.

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.

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.

But last night was too funny.

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.

I froze, and cast him a glance with a wryly smile. His face turned crimson red and we both burst into laughter.

"Honey, this is why we can't be romantic, because stuff like that happens!"

Life is never like it is in the movies.

The weight of a conversation

2009-10-27T09:56:00.007-04:00

Why is it that everything always comes easier to men? Or at least SEEM like it does? Especially in the weight loss department.

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.

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. Oh, you like what you see huh?

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.

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.

Oh who am I kidding, I still worry about what I look like naked. Lights off please. I gained the 20lbs because the husband and I have a mutual love of food.

But yesterday was too much. Yesterday, was the cherry on my whipped cream pie of a life.

The husband texts me to make a casual observation. Really I think he was just trying to poke me when I was down.

Husband: "Damn, I've lost 10lbs since I went to the doctor last" (which was just 3 weeks ago)

Me: "I hate you"

Husband: "No really, I weighed myself on the scale in the back of the warehouse."

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.

Me: "Congratulations."

Husband: "Thanks"

Me: "You missed the sarcasm"

Husband: "Oh"

Who, what, where, when & how?

2009-10-26T09:40:00.006-04:00

Holy Toledo Batman!

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.

It's been a rough several of weeks around our house. Illness, home renovations, personal pleasure, personal strife. We've had it all.

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.

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. I knew there was a reason I loved him

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.

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.

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.

So sleep was very elusive that week he was home.

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.

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.

The doctor, thankfully said it was just a sinus infection, prescribed some antibiotics and said he should be feeling better in about 48hrs. Whew!

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!

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.

Illness, however wasn't the only reason I failed to post. There is also an emotional factor involved.

While all of the lovely germies were being passed around and we were wallowing in our misery. The husband and I were pregnant.

I stress the were in that statement.

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.

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.

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.

It was early. I was maybe 3-4 weeks. Barely pregnant, what doctors would call a "chemical pregnancy". There is no pain or discomfort, only the inconvenience of having a 3 week long period. But the emotional pain is not easily observed.

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.

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.

Ok, pity party for one over. There's my update. Onward and upward. And I promise to post again tomorrow. See you then.

Maybe yes, Maybe no

2009-10-02T08:49:00.010-04:00

It's happening.

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.

The evil ones know my weakness. You can requests just about anything from me (flame thrower maybe?) before 8am and several cups of coffee.

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.

It also wasn't Spongebob which I detest. So a small personal victory. ya!

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.

Immediate veto.

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]

I turn and glance at Tyler, smile and give a thumbs up. Nothing. Bummer.

And moving on to the next commercial.

Bakugan. The next commercial was for Bakugan. The small battle ~~robots~~, ~~transformers~~, ~~action figures~~ 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 Ya, Ya, Ya, Ya, Ya's. Then it came.

I want!

Mama, I want!

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.

I made a cringey face. I don't want to step on something pointy, it'll hurt.

So I turned to Tyler with a compromise.

How about a nice stuffed Elmo doll? Wouldn't that be a nice safe toy to play with? [nodding]

I got a short, curt NO response and a head shake to my obviously ridiculous question.

[embarrassed laugh] Silly mommy, what was I thinking.

So I busted out the mommy secret weapon.

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!

Maybe, buddy. We'll see. Let's go get changed for the sitters now.

Tomorrow, it's back to Noggin.

Appreciate the handy work

2009-09-30T08:44:00.006-04:00

There 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 much right brain thinking.

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.

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!

1# - Jannypie Crafts
A scientist by day a blogger/crafter/digital scrapbooker by night.

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 Facebook, or her on Twitter.

Click the image and follow the link to more details about her fun give-away.

#2 - Mada's Place
A work from home mom who excels at amazing things with fabric.

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 Facebook or on Twitter.

Click the image and follow the link to her blog entry about her contest.

Be warned; Buckeyes are poisonous to Wolverines

2009-09-29T09:20:00.005-04:00

[scrape] [scrape][scrape]

[thump][thump]

Ahem!

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.

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.

Now, where was I. Oh yes...

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:

#1 - This town has THE most loyal fans known in college sports

AND

#2 - These loyal fans are OBSESSED with college football, specifically Ohio State Football.

Now that we're all clear of my intended subject. Lets get down to business.

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 HERE.

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.

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.

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.

Certainly do not trash talk with the loyal Buckeye fan the day after we shut out a Big Ten team who cost us dearly the year before. Especially coming from you, who barely escaped embarrassment from the perennial last place team in the Big Ten.

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.

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.

Enough said.

Thank you, I am finished.

[thump][thump]

[scrape][scrape][scrape]

Bissell: Deep down clean

2009-09-25T09:12:00.009-04:00

Kids put the strangest things in their mouths. Boys especially.

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.

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.

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.

Gee thanks dad, passive aggressive much?

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.

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.

And as exactly as predicted, when he came home, he freaked.

"Waz at? Momma, Waz at? WAZ IZ AT!?!" He squealed as he danced around it, pointing.

"A carpet cleaner, do not touch"

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.

He kissed it.

He bent over and planted a big ol' sloppy kiss right on the front of the carpet cleaner.

I nearly fainted.

When I had finished shrieking the laundry list of unsanitary complications of his actions, he giggled back at me and kissed it again.

This was too much for ME. I had to sit down.

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.

[sigh]

I shook my head. I suppose a dirty kiss is better than no kiss at all.

But just to be safe, Tyler and I marched right upstairs to brush our teeth.

Yes, this is my poker face.

2009-09-22T15:14:00.005-04:00

Convincing a toddler to do anything can be an uphill battle.

Let's put on your shoes. No!
Let's take off your shoes. No!
Let's brush your teeth. No!
Lets pick up your toys. Silent treatment.
Let's go get a bath. Runs screaming in the other direction.

The exceptions in my house is if the request involves ice cream, Noggin, Elmo or choo-choos. Then anything is possible.

These tiny daily battles leave me feeling defeated, unproductive and relatively exhausted.

No, your right, it shouldn't take me 15 minutes, 3 laps around my house, a wrestling match, and a quick game of pick-up what I drop mommy every morning to get socks and shoes on my child, but it does. And yes, this qualifies that as my cardio for the day.

But I have a confession; one I am ashamed to admit out loud. Sometimes I yell, and sometimes it actually works.

However, as became demonstrably clear the other night at bath time. I apparently yell more than I'd like to believe.

Scene:
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.

Me [snapping]: "Tyler! Stop that! Look what you've done!"

Probably louder than I meant to.

Tyler [pointing]: "Ooooh, Mommy you mad"

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.

And this is why I am a pathetic excuse for a parent when it comes to doling out punishment.

Because I can't stop laughing long enough to keep a straight face.

She's got legs

2009-09-21T08:49:00.004-04:00

More things I love.

These Christian Louboutin heels. They are fabulous. These are the kind of shoes that I day dream about.

In my day dream, I'm a svelt 20 something with impeccable taste and style. No longer the little girl who plays dress up in her mommy's clothes and heels. I am a fashion icon.

I spend my days shopping and my nights dressed to kill out to see and be seen. There is no work in my day dreams, and money is just a credit card swip away.

I'd wear my dream heels with this dress, minus the tights. Because in my dreams I could totally pull this off.

I imagine myself all dressed up for a great party, with the perfect purse and killer accessories. I pull up to my destination. I swing my great legs out, unfold myself from the car, take one fierce step away from the car, snag my toe on a rock and face plant into a puddle in the parking lot.

This is my subconscious trying to tell me to wake the hell up and come back to reality. Supermodel I am not. Rightfully so, but doesn't mean I wouldn't try to wear these shoes.

Forward Friday - New State Slogans

2009-09-18T09:19:00.003-04:00

New State Slogans

Alabama: At Least We're Not Mississippi

Alaska: 11,623 Eskimos Can't be Wrong!

Arizona: But It's a Dry Heat

Arkansas: Litterasy Ain't Everything

California: As Seen on TV

Colorado: If You Don't Ski, Don't Bother

Connecticut: Like Massachusetts, Only Dirtier and With Less Character

Delaware: We Really Do Like the Chemicals in Our Water

Florida: Ask Us About Our Grandkids

Georgia: Without Atlanta We're Alabama

Hawaii: Haka Tiki Mou Sha'ami Leeki Toru
(Death to Mainland Scum, But Leave Your Money)

Idaho: More Than Just Potatoes... OK, Maybe Not, But The Potatoes Are Real Good

Illinois: Please Don't Pronounce the "S"

Indiana: 2 Billion Years Tidal Wave Free

Iowa: We Do Amazing Things With Corn

Kansas: First Of The Rectangle States

Kentucky: 5 Million People; Seven Last Names

Louisiana: We're Not All Drunk Cajuns

Maine: We're Really Cold, But We Have Cheap Lobster

Maryland: A Thinking Man's Delaware

Massachusetts: Our Taxes Are Lower Than Sweden's

Michigan: First Line of Defense From the Canadians

Minnesota: 10,000 Lakes and 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 Mosquitoes

Mississippi: Come Feel Better About Your Own State

Missouri: Your Federal Flood Relief Tax Dollars at Work

Montana: Land of the Big Sky, the Unabomber, Right-Wing Crazies and Very Little Else

Nebraska: Ask About Our State Motto Contest

Nevada: Whores and Poker!

New Hampshire: Go Away and Leave Us Alone

New Jersey: You Want a F**kin' Motto? I Got Yer F**kin' Motto Right Here!

New Mexico: Lizards Make Excellent Pets

New York: You Have the Right to Remain Silent, You Have the Right to an Attorney...

North Carolina: Tobacco is a Vegetable

North Dakota: We Really are One of the 50 States!

Ohio: We Wish We Were In Michigan

Oklahoma: Like the Play, Only No Singing

Oregon: Spotted Owl -- It's What's For Dinner

Pennsylvania: Cook With Coal

Rhode Island: We're Not Really An Island

South Carolina: We Have Never Actually Surrendered to the North

South Dakota: Closer Than North Dakota

Tennessee: The Educashun State

Texas: A Whole 'Nother Country!

Utah: Our Jesus Is Better Than Your Jesus

Vermont: Yep

Virginia: Who Says Government Stiffs and Slackjaw Yokels Don't Mix?

Washington: Help! We're Overrun By Nerds and Slackers!

Washington, D.C.: Wanna Be Mayor?

West Virginia: One Big Happy Family -- Really!

Wisconsin: Come Cut Our Cheese

Wyoming: Wynot?

Turn it like this, stand on your head and close your eyes

2009-09-17T07:00:00.004-04:00

I am not a geek.

I am not technologically savvy, I do not subscribe to wired magazine, I do not drool at the latest windows whatever release, I do not contemplate the efficiencies of a dual monitor workspace, I do not know the difference between a digital coaxial audio cable and a RCA cable, and I certainly do not know how to make a TV work without the remote.

I know just enough to get by. Which is to say, just enough to convince myself I can fix things and then proceed to royally screw them up. It's a gift.

So when our purchase of a new flat screen HDTV included a complementary visit from the "Geek Squad" to set up, unpackage, install and make everything all pretty, I all but squealed of excitement.

The guy came, he fixed, he left. Relatively uneventful.

The next day, the husband comes home, brushes a kiss across my cheek and deposits himself in the recliner in front of his new TV. Sometime later than night between re-runs of Backyardigans and watching a new episode of Ghost Hunters (excellent show by the way) the remote stops controlling the TV.

We try everything. we power off everything, reboot the receiver, change the batteries, switch remotes, switch boxes, switch positions and stood ridiculously close to the receiver, but nothing works. We were stuck with a brand new giant TV and a remote that isn't even worthy of being a paperweight.

I called AT&T technically support 3 times in 3 days. Every time, I spent 30 mins chattering with someone who's probably half way across the world, getting the scripted answers to my problem and no solution. On the third attempt, I finally talk with someone who actually speaks English as their native language and seems as if he just might be geeky enough to solve my problem.

I run through my issues and he stops and ponders what I've just said.

"Sounds like it might be an issue with your backlight"

really? that's what I thought [eyeroll]

"Ok, your gonna think I'm crazy..."

doubt it

"But my buddy told me about a trick to try."

I love it when geeks have buddies, they always have the answers.

"Turn the TV away from the receiver, put the receiver behind the TV, and try putting a blanket over the screen"

your right, I think you're crazy

But it was worth a shot.

So there I was, cordless phone perched on my shoulder, the TV sitting whopper-jawed on the blanket chest, a waffle weave blanket draped over the screen, Tyler vehemently protesting against his ability to sit within a foot of the TV and watch Diego, the dog barking at the commotion, trying persistently to point the remote and make the menu button work, and the AT&T techie barking directions over the chaos.

Then it happened. The menu popped up.

My hands instinctively raised above my head in my own personal celebration. I had never felt more satisfied. I fixed something! Hallelujah!

I was giggling as I relayed my success to the techie on the other end of the phone. He congratulated me, requested that I respond favorably to the "customer service survey" I'll receive via email, and hung up.

Then it hit me. One can't possible watch TV with this set up.

What the hell am I going to do now?!?

By now, Tyler had figured out that he could stick his head under the blanket, lean on the blanket chest and watch Diego even closer. I pulled the blanket off his head, scooped him up under each arm and plopped him down about 3 feet from the TV.

"Stay" I motion to him.

I turn around to survey the situation and took a deep breath.

About 3 hours later, I had unstrung, unplugged, restrung, plugged in and shifted just about every component in our entertainment center and finally had a working system.

It looked like a hillbilly trailer park mess. Wires hanging everywhere, speakers propped up, nails punched into the walls and a plastic ficus tree attempting to hide a power cord.

But....it still worked.

I felt invincible.

Tyler and I celebrated my success with a bowl of pretzels and a cold glass of apple cider.

Take a stand

2009-09-16T07:00:00.000-04:00

September is National Ovarian Cancer month, and as many of you are already aware, Ovarian Cancer is something very emotional for me. It pains me that there is no effective screening method for early detection, and that nearly 22,000 women this year alone will be diagnosed with Ovarian Cancer, and 15,000 of those women will die from the 5th deadliest cancer to women (1). Every woman has a 1 in 67 lifetime risk of ovarian cancer.

Non-profit organizations such as the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund (OCRF) and the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition (NOCC) have made it their mission to fund research, raise awareness, promote education, improving the survival rate and helping women cope with their diagnosis. So in order to do my part to help raise awareness, I've listed ways for you to get involved. Regardless of your level of commitment, there is something for everyone, because this is a disease that "whispers, so listen"

Ways to get involved:
1) Visit the websites of OCRF or NOCC to educate yourself on early signs and detection.
2) Visit Loreal Color of Hope, share your story or purchase their Color of Hope collection - $29.99, $5 of which will be donated to OCRF
3) Visit Kelly Confidential during the month of September to make a $5 "text" donation, send virtual t-shirts or purchase a Kelly Ripa designed t-shirt.
4) Visit Seventh Generation's Let's talk period website and register - $1 will be donated to OCRF.

5) Donate directly to OCRF or NOCC

6) Participate in a walk to support ovarian cancer research - Central Ohio 2009 Strides for Hope
7) Volunteer at any number of local organizations.
8) Search out your own way to get involved.
9) Ask your gynecologist to evaluate your risk factors and openly discuss prevention methods.

1 - Loreal Color of Hope website - "The Facts"

The untitled

2009-09-15T07:00:00.002-04:00

For some time I have kicked around the idea of writing a fiction novel. Not really for the sole purpose of getting published, more so to see if I could actually do it. If I could actually write something of that volume and have it make sense and keep a readers interest.

I love writing, but often struggle with what to write about, so the problem for a long time was what an idea. I didn't have clue 1 what this "novel" should be about.

Below is my current idea. A novel told from a male perspective about a man, who after the death of his mother, struggles to grasp reality, cuts ties, leaves town, ventures half way across the country, is haunted by memories of his mother and then realize his life is missing the one thing he was running from; family.

I thought I would put a section of what I've written so far and see what you think. Boring, bland, unoriginal, read-it-all-before? Let me know! I really, truly would love to hear what you think!

It’s at Christmas time that I miss home the most. Probably because Christmas time always reminds me of my mother.

The smells, the sounds, how the tree lit up the darkened living room, the way mom would make everyone sit, nestled together on the sofa, quietly listening to the Garth Brooks Christmas CD she loved so much over and over again, all while “appreciating” the soft glow of about 25 strands of multi-colored Christmas lights on a 7ft tree. It was a miracle every year the tree didn’t go up in a ball of flames. She would tell us spending moments like these as a family brought us closer together and we should feel blessed.

For my brother Parker, and me, we were close enough sitting next to each other on the sofa. It would take an immense amount of self restraint not to poke, prod or whack the back of each other’s heads.

But my favorite memory of my mother at Christmas was her cookies.

My mother would spend an entire day baking, and rolling and pressing, and decorating. She would make pies, and cakes and cookies and candy. All the while my father, a notorious cookie hound, would wait patiently for the first batch of cookies to be ready. He’d find reasons to walk by the kitchen to check on their status. He’d peer around the corner of the hallway and look for a batch cooling on the table. Then he’d wait until her back was turned, cautiously sneak into the dining room and pluck a cookie off the wax paper. The crinkle of the paper would always give away his position and my mother would come round the corner covered in flower and shoo him away.

Spending an entire day baking required proper planning. So she would gear up for the “great day” about a week before. She’d start washing her cookie sheets and cooling racks and checking her pantry inventory. She’d alphabetize her recipe cards, pulling out new cookie recipes she wanted to try. The night before she’d bundle us kids up and load us into the car for a trip to the grocery store for supplies.

She’d diligently write down every item that needed purchased, she was meticulous like that. Parker and I always wanted to help so we would each get our own lists of items she needed. We’d make a contest out of who could complete their list first, running up and down the aisles, grabbing bags of sugar, cans of condensed milk, and jars of peanut butter as we rushed by. We’d lap back around to the cart and deposit our items when our arms got too full for one more item.

I was 21 when my mother passed away in her sleep.

My aunt called at 8 the next morning. The phone rang while I was dressing for my morning class. I heard her words, my mouth fell open, and words failed to form. The phone dropped to the floor.

Aneurysm; the doctors would later tell us. No way could anyone have seen this coming. The abruptness of their declaration felt cold, impersonal. As if to say her death was inconsequential to them.

Losing my mommy gold star

2009-09-14T09:03:00.004-04:00

So it's been awhile....

Andrea, meet your readers. Readers, meet Andrea your blogger who fell of the blogger wagon and got road rash.

Even the husband was questioning why I haven't written in a while. That's when I knew it was time to light a fire under this extra wide booty. So I promise to find something to write about this week.

But my absenteeism isn't without good reason.

First there was my extremely busy two weeks of work. Deadlines, proposals, meetings, etc.

What do you mean I don't paid to sit around and blog all day?!? Whatever!

These two weeks were probably the busiest I've experienced since joining the company back in February. And no, don't ask me to explain what it is I actually do. I've been trying to explain that to the husband, sister, father, stepmom and besties for 6 mos, and they still don't get it. My sister has admitted she just stops listening after I say "ancillary revenue sharing programs".

We'll just call me a "consultant".

But to make the two weeks even more fun, Tyler, sprouted hives. Everywhere. On Sunday morning the husband and I thought chickenpox. [Insert freak out episode here] But when the tiny red dots started merging into huge red patches on his arms, legs, chest and feet, we knew it wasn't chickenpox.

Is it bad we were almost relieved? Reason #1 why I've lost my mommy gold star.

So off we went to the doctor Monday morning. The doctor checked a few things, examined the patches and explained it was probably just a reaction to a virus. Nothing to be overly concerned about, that it should clear up in 5-7 days, and advised that we should provide Benedryl every 6 hours and Zyrtec every 24 hours.

So Tyler spent the better part of 5 days in a pharmaceutical drug haze. Fiending for his next fix, and making "slurp-slurp" noises when ever I mentioned his medicine. They really shouldn't make the stuff bubble gum flavored.

Reason #2 why I've lost my mommy gold star.

But the sicky gods didn't feel I was juggling enough, so they topped off my hell week with a cherry when Tyler started having "digestive issues".

It was days like these that I'm glad my 2 1/2yr old was refusing potty training and was still in diapers. Whew! Dodged a messy bullet there.

Aaand reason #3 why I've lost my mommy gold star

By the end of the 2nd week, Tyler and I had our poop commands down. I'd inquire if he'd "bad pooped" and he'd look at me deadpan, reach behind him a pat his diaper.

Hold that thought, let me break out my bio-hazard suit.

He looked like he was auditioning for Pepto-Bismol's open audition for macarena rejects commercial.

Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea!

Ya, like there's any reason to get excited about explosive diarrhea, blech!

18 going on 30

2009-08-25T09:25:00.005-04:00

As a 29 year old woman, I'm caught in this weird place of don't remind me I'll be 30 in 3 months, but also don't card me for alcohol or I'm gonna huff, pout and fling my drivers license at you.

I also keep trying to avoid conversations with my besties about a "big 3-0" birthday party in November. Honestly I'd much rather just celebrate with a card, a nice present, some cake, lots of alcohol and then head to bed.

I'm exciting like that.

Who knows, maybe I'll "be with child" and this will all work itself out. I just don't feel like being reminded that I'll be "over-the-hill" this year.

30 is the new 50 ya know.

Especially, when the husband is 3 years younger than me. Well, technically between June 26th and November 1st, he's 2 years younger, but for a majority of the year he's 3. He loves to remind me of this any chance he gets, especially at birthday's. For the past 2 years he's given me a "Happy Birthday you're 30" card. I'll open it and grimace. He, of course, throws his head back and cackles, because it's SOOO freaking funny.

Some days I just want to poke his eyes out.

However karma returned the favor and bit him in the butt the other day.

He got carded for trying to buy a mega millions lotto ticket, in a liquor store, at 1pm, with 2 day old stubble.

I laughed so hard I almost peed.

Maybe for his birthday next year I'll get him a binky and a bottle. The man does have a baby face.

I bet he'll find it just about as funny as I find the inappropriate birthday cards.

Monkey see, Monkey do

2009-08-24T08:58:00.007-04:00

I'm gonna have to start watching what I say and do. Tyler is much more impressionable than I ever imagined.

On Sunday morning, I was lucky enough to con the husband into watching Tyler while I went to the grocery store. Usually I drag the husband in tow, to avoid the otherwise inevitable complaining about what I buy.

Why did you buy this kind of bread....I don't like diet pop....You bought the wrong kind of granola bars....But I don't want this kind of cereal this week, yes I realize I ate it last week, but I wanted something different.

To this my standard response is "I had a coupon, it was on sale, live with it"

So on Sunday, he promised not to complain about anything I bought and allowed me to venture out on my own. It was blissful, even if it was 9am on a Sunday, I hadn't bothered to brush my hair, and threw on the first thing that looked half way clean.

I took my time driving to the store. I paused early at the stoplights that began to turn red. I used my turn signals, I parked a few rows away from the entrance for the extra exercise, I even bought a $4 cup of coffee at Starbucks because I knew there wouldn't be anyone to knock it over while he threw a hissy fit because mommy wouldn't let him eat the whole bag of grapes while we shopped.

I checked prices against my coupons, I evaluated the best buys with the cost per ounce sticker on the shelves. I even made a few personal phone calls while I leisurely walked the quiet, empty aisles. I was almost a little sad when I realized my shopping list was completed and I had to checkout.

But all good things must come to an end, so I drove back to the house, slowly, trying to formulate a plan that allowed solo grocery trips every week. Shouldn't be too hard. Men hate the grocery store, right?

The husband and I unloaded the car, dragged the bags inside and plopped them down on the counters. Because we'd rather cut circulation off to our fingers then make more than one trip, it only took a minute.

Tyler, eager to help out, grabbed a grocery bag off the counter and began pulling it's contents out and whipping them onto the kitchen floor. Once that bag was finished, he stood and reached for another one. In an effort to avoid a great mess, I handed him the package of diapers and asked him to go put them in his room.

He smiled his huge smile and quickly turned and ran for the stairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, planted his feet, leaned back, swung his arms behind him and tried to chuck the diapers up the stairs.

I laughed. I laughed so hard I almost cried. Because for all the times we've gone to the store, all the times I've come back realizing that the trip took longer than it should have and it sent me into turbo mode. All the times I would quickly de-bag the items, slamming them down on the counter, rushing around and then stand at the bottom of the stairs, hurling baby and bath products up the stairs into the hallway to "make-up time". It never occurred to me that this might not be a great example to set.

It never occurred to me that this would be something he'd pick-up on. Of all the things he could learn, he could copy, he decides my bad habit of "out of sight, out of mind" was the one he'd take. Figures.

I guess he's his mother's son after all.

Forward Friday - Caption This!

2009-08-21T09:47:00.004-04:00

Truth may be stranger than fiction, but trying to guess the truth can be even funnier.

This Forward Friday is courtesy of AwkwardFamilyPhotos.com a stich of a website that is addictive and hilarious. Especially when the author adds his own captions to the awkward photos.

So I thought we'd try a bit of fun of our own. Ya! Post a comment for your best caption for this photo....

I'll start:

The director told them to think Bob Fosse "jazz hands" meets Alice Cooper. Maybe they took him a bit too literal.

My kid can do that!

2009-08-18T09:29:00.001-04:00

There are days when I think Tyler is holding out on me.

I think the kid can do more than he leads on.

Prime example, Sunday evening:

I walked down the stairs after changing my clothes and stopped in my tracks at the next to last step and stared blankly at my 2 yr old son. He stood fiercely, in the living room, chest puffed out, arm extended high above his head, proudly waving a peeled banana as if to scream Ta-Da! Look what I did Mommy! He smiled widely with a mouthful of banana and a that's when it occurred to me, he climbed up on the counter, got the banana and peeled it himself. I leaned out, peered around the corner of the stairwell and saw the banana peel perched on the edge of the trash can. My mouth hung open. I blinked. Then blinked twice again, quickly.

I turned back to look at him.

"Hold that thought..." I held up one finger as if to pause the scene.

I backed slowly up the stairs, turned into the bathroom, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, rounded the corner again and descended back down the stairs. I opened my eyes and there he stood, still in the middle of the living room, banana in one hand, with half of it gone now, eaten.

I was speechless. My 2 yr old had peeled his own banana.

I sat down on the bottom step, placed my forearms on my knees, lowered my head, shook it side to side.

What was next; tieing his own shoes, combing his own hair, walking the dog, taking out the garbage, doing the laundry, fixing dinner, washing the dishes?

This growing up thing is progressing much too quickly for my taste, I want my baby back. I demand my baby back!

Oh wait, did you say washing the laundry? Uhm....well, maybe growing up isn't so bad after all.

Tomorrow's to-list:
#1 - Teach Tyler to sort the laundry

The do-it-yourselfers

2009-08-17T10:27:00.002-04:00

I think I know why people get divorced.

They buy a 30 year old house that needs a lot of cosmetic updates. Then attempt to make said improvements, together, on a Saturday, that is 90 degrees, while their 2 yr old son runs around wreaking havoc in the garage, and their basset hound, who suffers from extreme separation anxiety, howls, cries and scratches incessantly at the front door to be let out.

This kind of situation leads to lapses in judgment, injuries and the husband growling every 10 mins under his breath that "We should have just hired someone".

Perhaps, but I'm too cheap.

So after 5 hours, 2 re-dos, a 100+ curse words, three head injuries, 2 marital spats, one inquisitive neighbor who just smirked and calmly walked backwards out of the conversation, and a very large gap, we still do not have a fully functional screen door.

I may have ultimately resisted saying "I told you so" about the molding, but he did get his way and called "the guy".

The good news is we're still married. And the door will be fixed by Friday.

Forward Friday - Happy Drinking

2009-08-14T09:29:00.004-04:00

Most of the jokes I hear from the husband are kinda vulgar and unappealing. Then again, we also have very different opinions on what is funny. I prefer slapstick, physical Will Ferrell humor. While he prefers the typical male dick jokes. His favorite movie is Super Troopers....he's a guy what, do you expect [shrug].

But bottom line who doesn't love a good joke? Especially a drinking one on a Friday.

Here's hoping your weekend is enjoyable, and happy Forward Friday!

The Moral of the Story Is:

The teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment: Get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it.

The next day the kids came back and one-by-one began to tell their stories. ”Johnny, do you have a story to share?”, the teacher asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Johnny replied. “My daddy told me a story about my Aunt Nancy. She was a pilot in Desert Storm and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a small flask of whiskey, a pistol, and a survival knife. She drank the whiskey on the way down so it wouldn’t break, and then her parachute landed right in the middle of 20 enemy troops. She shot 15 of them with the gun until she ran out of bullets, killed 4 more with the knife till the blade broke, and then she killed the last Iraqi with her bare hands.”

“Good heavens,” cried the horrified teacher. “What kind of moral did your daddy give you from this story?”

“Stay the hell away from Aunt Nancy when she’s drinking.”

Wanted: A shopaholics support group

2009-08-10T08:40:00.004-04:00

Most people have hobbies.

Activities or projects that they find soothing, relaxing and enjoyable. Sometimes these hobbies are simple and inexpensive and other times they are intricate and costly. But regardless, the cost is usually seen as an investment in a persons happiness.

I don't have any hobbies. I have shopping. It makes me happy.

It's my ~~obsession~~ passion. I can shopping for hours looking for the best deal on stuff. Occasionally on items I really don't need. But I can't pass up a great deal. It's these times when I'm tempted to hide my purchases from the husband and lie about what I've just bought.

It's not buyers remorse, it's the fear of being caught.

These are the times when I get a glimpse of the fact that I may have a problem.

I never have a problem, however, convincing the husband that my purchases for Tyler are in his best interest. See how happy it makes him?

The husband just shrugs and remarks "No wonder he loves his mommy best, she spoils him rotten"

Perhaps. But I don't see "Over-enthusiastic provider" listed on the 7 deadly sins, so I'm thinking I'm in the clear.

Take for example my latest trip to Target (always dangerous). I was on a mission to find bugs. The small little life-like plastic toys that little boys love to gross-out adults females with. I'd gotten a tip from my mommy underground sources (the nesties) that there were some cheap $1 ones at Target. So off I went, immediately after work.

What I found in the clearance section was perfect. A small tube of butterflys, lady bugs and dragon flys for $1. I even found a "bug house" to keep them all in for $3. I'd really hit pay-dirt today.

As we turned to leave, we rounded a corner and saw it. On the end cap. A 42-piece, Black n Decker tool set. Complete with hard hat and tool belt. It was awe inspiring.

Tyler currently had a 7 piece set with a little tool box that he carried everywhere we went. He'd gotten it for Christmas and would even get it out and attempt to help when Daddy did small home repairs.

But THIS set was different. THIS set dwarfed the other set by a mile. It had a hammer, 2 screwdrivers, a drill, a hack saw, a level, a speed square, a wood shaver, a c-clamp, a socket wrench, a pipe wrench, a ratchet set, a tape measure, pliers, and a million little bolts, nuts and nails. It was everything a little boy needed. He HAD to have it.

And Mommy was happy to oblige. So in the cart it went, along with the bugs and bug house. No sense in putting back a great deal.

We got it home, unwrapped all the piecey parts and splayed them across the living room floor. That's when it occured to us that they all wouldn't fit in his old tool box. We were gonna need a bigger box.

The husband just shook his head when he came home that night and saw the carnage. Because sadly the bugs were a distant second to his new tool set.

See even Fred the dog is concerned my shopping habits may have gotten out of control.

Good thing I don't listen to the dog.

Forward Friday - Top Ten List

2009-08-07T09:10:00.004-04:00

I'm no David Letterman, but I sure do enjoy a good "Top Ten" list. Sometimes they're pretty lame, but then other times they're down right perfect.

My personal favorite is the "Top Ten messages left on Al Gore's answering machine", with #6 and #4 - utterly hysterical.

So I thought I'd give a shot at my own Top Ten List (borrowed, of course, I'm not this witty) That and I apparently can't count.

Top Ten Lessons women have learned about their men:

1. Don’t imagine you can change a man - unless he’s in diapers.

2. What do you do if your boyfriend walks-out? You shut the door.

3. If they put a man on the moon - they should be able to put them all up there.

4. Never let your man’s mind wander - it’s too little to be out alone.

5. Go for younger men. You might as well - they never mature anyway.

6. Men are all the same - they just have different faces, so that you can tell them apart.

7. Definition of a bachelor; a man who has missed the opportunity to make some woman miserable.

8. Women don’t make fools of men - most of them are the do-it-yourself types.

9. Best way to get a man to do something is to suggest they are too old for it.

10. Love is blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener.

11. If you want a committed man, look in a mental hospital.

12. The children of Israel wandered around the desert for 40 years. Even in biblical times, men wouldn’t ask for directions.

13. If he asks what sort of books you’re interested in, tell him checkbooks.

14. Remember a sense of humor does not mean that you tell him jokes; it means that you laugh at his.

Did you see that?

2009-08-05T09:26:00.008-04:00

I love people watching.

I especially like people watching at new and strange places where alcohol is involved. The true crazies always come out in places like that.

Take for example my Saturday night out at the new piano bar in town with our close group of friends for one of my bestie's birthday. It was a great evening that ended with 4 of us mildly intoxicated on a mission to satisfy our hankering for pizza (who's Saturday night doesn't end this way?)

Granted my group of friends is perfectly capable of making our own fun but it was the people we observed while there that really made the evening.

Let me sum it up in a simple mathematical equation.

Alcohol + Piano Tunes + 10 bachelorette parties = One funny evening

Some of the women we observed were just too funny not to write about.

Crazy Women:
#1 - a middle aged woman who felt compelled to dry hump every man that dared walked by her table (although she did seem to pay particular attention to one guy)

#2 - a 20-something blonde girl who was never without a drink, wore hot pink sunglasses all night, high heels, a too short balloon mini-dress and would randomly stopped dancing to strike a pose.

#3 - another middle aged woman who hurriedly ripped off the bar t-shirt she'd been sporting and inadvertantly removed her slip dress as well in the attempt.

#4 - a 20-something bride-to-be who had an unhealthy obsession with a banana.

#5 - Drunk bachelorette's with penis accessories: a Glitter penis headband, a light-up penis necklace, penis name tags.

#6 - the same middle aged woman in #1 hiking her skirt up, laying on her back on the stairs, leg pumping to the song and flashing half the bar.

#7 - Numerous women (and men) sporting bar slogan bumper stickers on their chests, legs, backs, heads and butts alerting passer-byers of their availability. Demonstrated here by my bestie:

It is also important to note that the above picture is the last known shot of my bestie as a single woman.

Her boyfriend of 4 years asked her to marry him the next morning (finally).

I see another trip to this bar, sporting our own penis bobber headbands in our future.

Forward Friday - Male Language Dictionary

2009-07-31T08:26:00.002-04:00

As a follow-up to my Female Language Dictionary post, I felt it was only fair to offer an alternate point of view.

Really the husband was using my post to refine his smart ass skills and I needed some ammo.

So enjoy! I know I did.

Male Language Dictionary

I'm hungry - I'm hungry

I'm sleepy - I'm sleepy

I'm tired - I'm tired

Nice dress - Nice cleavage!

I love you - Let's have sex now

I'm bored - Do you want to have sex?

What's wrong - I guess sex tonight is out of the question

I love you, too - Okay, I said it...we'd better have sex now!

May I have this dance? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you

Can I call you sometime? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you

Do you want to go to a movie? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you

Can I take you out to dinner? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you

Will you marry me? - I want to make it illegal for you to have sex with other guys

Let's talk - I am trying to impress you by showing that I am a deep person so that you'll have sex with me

I don't think those shoes go with that outfit - I am gay

The child in all of us

2009-07-30T10:13:00.005-04:00

I exited my mommy car, collecting the key essentials and shoving them back in my purse as I placed my foot on the ground. Keys, chap stick, sunglasses, blackberry, coupons; things that always seem to end up on the passenger seat when I'm driving.

I tripped the motion sensor of the sliding doors, grabbed a shopping car and headed to the produce section. First on my "gotta get" list was bananas. Followed by strawberries, potatoes, green beans and then finally melons. I always saved melons for last, because they are by far the most perplexing fruit to purchase. Very difficult to quantify their quality due to their tough, bumpy exterior. Kinda like a man in that aspect; you gotta kind knock, shake, listen and press just the spots to find out if it's worth keeping.

As I made my approach to the melon stand, I saw a woman about my age scanning the produce display. I stood next to her and begin conducting my own initial assessment. Finally selecting what I judged to be an excellent specimen.

I reached across my body, extending my arm toward the melon when our hands touched and landed on my melon. I gave a sharp intake of breath, smiled and chuckled just slightly. Apparently both our "melon detectors" had exceptional taste.

I didn't remove my hand, it was mine. Although neither did she. We each were staking our territory on the melon stand.

I smiled quickly and reached with both hands for the melon.

She leaned forward, placing her weight on the melon to prevent me from removing it. I gritted my teeth slightly, forced a smile and tugged on the melon. She reached, grabbing the melon with both hands, hoisted it into the air and also began tugging in an attempt to dislodge it from my grasp.

I shouted "Mine!" and gave a tug.

"Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine!" I shouted as I tugged again.

She leaned forward and growled "Mine!" back at me.

And there we stood, two 30 year old women, in the middle of the produce section, fighting over a $1.99 melon.

Sounds ridiculous right?

Good thing toddlers grow out of the "Mine" phase.

Could you imagine if they didn't?

Ya me either.

Male firefighters come equipt with their own firehoses

2009-07-29T06:00:00.001-04:00

I was wet.

Damp really.

But I wasn't wet like I'd stood in the front lawn under the sprinkler on a hot mid-summer day.

More like I'd received a sprinkle from the arch of water cascading across the yard.

Worse yet, it wasn't water at all. It was pee. I'd been peed on. Again.

Tyler had just snuggled up next to me when I felt a warm sensation on my side. He'd sat just right so that the stream of pee escaped out the top of the diaper and trickled down my shirt.

I don't know why I was surprised. After 2 1/2 years, I'd been peed on more than I'd ever thought was possible.

Early on, the concept of "springing a leak" was foreign to me. I'd change every diaper without a second thought. Until the first time it happened.

I detached the each side flap and folded down the front. I looked away and as I reached over for a baby wipe, I felt something dribble across my head, down my forehead and drip onto my chest.

I looked up, wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and realized Tyler was peeing. Straight up. With perfect aim at my head.

I screamed. Why? Because I'm a girl. Because it'd never happened before. Because I'd been caught off guard and was stunned. Because for a split second I had to consider the fact that I might be on candid camera.

It took me a good minute to collect myself, finish the diaper change, and head into the bathroom to towel off.

I called the husband to relay the events. He burst out laughing and had to hang up. He was still laughing about it when he came home that night.

About a week later the husband was on diaper duty when it happened to him.

I just stood outside the room and chuckled to myself.

Wouldn't be the last time either one of us would receive a "yellow shower"

Forward Friday - The work multi-tool

2009-07-28T06:00:00.003-04:00

Yes, I realize it's Tuesday, but sometimes you wake up and realize it's Monday and you wonder where the hell Friday went.

So here's what Friday's Funny Forward should have been.

The "problem solving flow chart" - a real multi-tool for the office.

I suggest printing it out for future reference.

Clean the closet; the vacuum is trying to kill me

2009-07-27T10:51:00.004-04:00

The cleaning bug bit me over the weekend.

But it wasn't the giant Madagascar hissing cockroach cleaning bug, it was more of a small mosquito that annoys and pricks me just before I slap it flat against my arm.

So to satisfy this small annoyance of a bug, I decided to clean out the hall closet that had long been ignored and was in desperate need of a clean and toss session. It was the only location I could store my vacuums, however with the massive amounts of other unrelated "junk" collecting at the top and bottom of the closet, I took my life in my own hands every time I opened the door.

After about 15 mins of pulling everything out and tossing it indiscreetly over my head into a pile behind me I reached the back of the closet.

What I found, stuffed in the far recesses of the black hole of a hall closet was a small, yellow and white gingham check fabric tote with white canvas handles. My mothers diaper bag she had carried when my sister and I were a baby. Knowing my mother, she more than likely sewed it herself. She had been crafty like that.

The handles were yellowed with use and the white wasn't white anymore; almost ivory. There was a large brownish stain on the one corner, and it had the distinct pattern of a leak (probably baby oil). And inside were a pair of black patent leather soft soled mary-janes; size 2. My baby shoes.

The woman in me looked longingly at these shoes and envisioned my own unborn daughter wearing them some day. While the pack-rat in me quickly tried to process where to stash this that won't be forgotten later. I settled with placing the bag at the top of the stairs for the interim.

About an hour later I was finished with the closet and the husband had finished with his "honey-do" project and we were both straightening up the house. Read: picking crap up so it looked less like a mess and more like we actually cared enough to be neat.

I need to preface the rest of the story with this: the husband puts his foot in his month; regularly. And from an observers perspective it can be painful to watch. It's as if the world is a TV show, with the closed captioning on and the subtitles a good 5 seconds ahead of the action. You see the thoughts and dialogue spelled out ahead of time but you are unable to intervene and prevent the words. All you can do is sigh and shake your head at the absurdity of it all.

As we climbed the stairs he spotted the small bag. He lifted the bag up from it's resting place at the top of the stairs and looks at me sideways.

"What is this? This is the ugliest purse I have ever seen. Why would you buy something like this?"

I just looked at the husband dumbstruck by his idiotic statement. He'd done it again.

"That was my mother's diaper bag and those were my baby shoes"

The husband turned a crimson shade of red and sheepishly hung his head.

"Oh...I'm sorry, it's lovely, it really is beautiful" as he handed me back the bag.

I love the guy, but some days I swear I don't know him.

Forward Friday - female language dictionary

2009-07-17T11:13:00.020-04:00

The husband is always complaining he is not a mind reader and he is constantly one step behind what I'm talking about. So I thought I'd put together a little cheat sheet for him. Strong communication makes a strong couple.

The Female Dictionary

Yes - No

No - Yes

Maybe - No

We need - I want

I'm sorry - You'll be sorry

We need to talk - I need to complain

Does my butt look big in this? - Tell me I'm beautiful

Do what you want - You'll pay for this later

I'm not upset - Of course I'm upset, you moron!

Are you listening to me?? - Too late, you're dead

You have to learn to communicate - Just agree with me

Be romantic, turn out the lights - I have flabby thighs

Do you love me? - I'm going to ask for something expensive

It's your decision - The correct decision should be obvious by now

How much do you love me? - I did something today that you're really not going to like

Fine - This is the word we use to end an argument when we are right and you need to shut up.

Five Minutes - If we're getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.

Nothing - This word should sent alarms off. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.

Go Ahead - This is a dare, not permission. Don’t Do It!

Loud Sigh - This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means we think you are an idiot and we wonder why we are wasting our time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of nothing.)

That’s Okay - A very dangerous word. That’s okay means we want you to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.

Thanks* - We are thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say you’re welcome.

(* unless we say ‘Thanks a lot’ - this is PURE sarcasm and we are not thanking you at all. DO NOT say ‘you’re welcome.’ that will bring on a ‘whatever’).

Whatever - This is woman speak for FUCK YOU!

Don’t worry about it, I got it - This means there is something that a we have asked you to do several times, but we are now doing it ourself.

This will later result in a man asking ‘What’s wrong?’ To which we will respond 'Nothing'.

It's a vicious cycle, just do the task we asked the the first time to avoid the headache.

Paging Dad

2009-07-16T19:43:00.005-04:00

The other night at our house.

Scene:
The husband had just come home from being on the road for two days, dropped his belongings at the front door and headed straight for the bathroom. Tyler excited to show him something and unsure where he went stood at the bottom of the steps.

"Dad!?"

pause

"Dad!?"

shorter pause

"Dad!?"

even shorter pause

"Daaaaaad!?"

Me (shouting equally as loud): "Buddy, Daddy is in the bathroom"

"Oh ya!"

thump thump thump thump thump thump up the stairs he ran. And stood outside the bathroom door.

pound pound pound

"Dad!?"

The husband: "Buddy I'm in the bathroom, give me a minute"

Tyler stood patiently, waiting for the husband to open the door, giggled, and took off running.

The husband looks at me quizzically and I just shrugged and laughed.

Bad decisions

2009-07-11T01:33:00.005-04:00

Man cannot live by bread alone.

Maybe, but I'm pretty sure I could survive on diet sierra mist, ice cream, pizza and Sonic if given a choice.

I may weight 400 lbs and wear a blue Hawaiian print mu mu, but hey we weren't talking about my priorities.

As many of you know I tend to have extremely memorable experiences with fast food drive thrus. Since I haven't had one in a while, I guess I was due.

Take for example this evening:

I knew full well and good that after a bad run-in with some sour cream potato chips for lunch, my stomach wasn't up to anything remotely outlandish. But Sonic was on the agenda with my bestie, so who am I to pass up a trip through the drive thru of our all time favorite place to pig out.

After my bestie and I had finished ordering our usual combo meals, the worker asked if we wanted to take advantage of the free "Route 44" upgrade.

Did you say free? Why sure! Absolutely upgrade our beverages!

Bad.i.de.a.

When the very "fluffy" black lady with frizzy black hair that had a 2ft diameter and that I'm pretty certain would not fit through the drive thru window handed us our "Route 44" upgrade drinks, I blurted out the first thing that crossed my lips

Good Lord! Look at the size of that!

She narrowed her eyes and glared at me before sternly shutting the drive thru window and trotted over to retreive our bag of food. Maybe she thought I was talking about her hair...

The darn things won't even fit in my cup holders!

My bestie and I just giggled and happily slurped.

Except I wouldn't be giggling about 3 hours later when my attempts to finish said "Route 44" upgrade left me bloated, nauseous and in desperate need of tums. I lay on our bed, spread eagle, willing my distended belly to deflate. The husband tried hard not to laugh at me and resisted the urge to poke at my stomach.

I guess that means no fooling around tonight, huh?

I gave him my "What do you think" look and smacked his hand away.

Sadly, after a very productive bathroom break, I can reflect on my Sonic decision today, and say with 100% confidence, that I'd do it all again tomorrow.

[shrug] What can I say, Sonic and I are like "this". We are there for each other.

Forward Friday - Everything in perspective

2009-07-10T08:56:00.004-04:00

I may have fallen off the wagon this week (writers block) but at least I've got something for Friday!

The original forward was entitled "De-stress" but I think a more appropriate title for this picture montage is "You fail, thanks for playing"

Kinda makes you feel like your week maybe wasn't THAT bad...

Have a great weekend!

Soft toys are good

2009-07-07T08:49:00.005-04:00

Boys throw things.

Consider it good practice to becoming the star quarterback every father dreams their son will become. However, given the husband and I's genetics, Tyler will probably end up a beefy, sweaty middle linebacker. Sorry kid, an underwear model you won't be. But that's another post...

Boys throw, fling, toss, chuck, hurl, pitch, heave, lob, cast, and wing an assortment of items. Even things that aren't suppose to be thrown.

I can remember my sister telling the story of my oldest nephew winging a wooden toy train four pews up and beaning some little old church lady in the back of the head right in the middle of the pastor's sermon. And when the little old lady turned around to identify the culprit, my sister took the blame like an adult. Me, I would have displayed my astonishment face, thumbed behind me and kinda shrugged. No sense causing a scene in church, who knows what church ladies carry in their large handbags.

Tyler, for a 2yr old boy, has a pretty good arm (mental note: no wooden trains in church). He'll wind up, arm back above his head his left leg hiked up to his chest, stomp down and grunt as he throws the ball hurtling it across the room. To him, this is awesome.

He has also started throwing temper tantrums. Mind you, these aren't the first, and they certainly won't be the last. But they are the first that involve throwing object to display his frustration.

So his frustration with mommy saying "no" coupled with his mutant he-man arm, sends me diving for cover behind the sofa.

The husband, however just sits on the couch, unfazed, with a gleam in his eye daydreaming about his son, the starting pitcher for the Cleveland Indians, as a plastic squeaky ball bounces off his forehead.

Forward Friday

2009-07-02T11:20:00.006-04:00

Thought I'd start something new and see if it sticks. Every Friday I'll post a forward that I find funny just to share. I realize it's not Friday, but this week it's "like" Friday...so there!

I get forwards all.the.time. Usually they're pretty lame...

"If you pass this along to 50 of your friends and make a wish, it'll come true by midnight the Tuesday after the next full moon."

I wish for an Italian swimsuit model to clean my kitchen, do my laundry, wait on me hand and foot and feed me strawberries in bed every night. You gonna make THAT happen? I'm throwing the bullshit flag.

OR

"I'm sending you this forward to tell you how special you are to me, and here let me put a few cutesy pictures of puppies and kittens just to make this forward even more gag worthy."

My true friends know that I really show them I care by not forwarding this crap. The buck stops here, cowboy.

However, every once in a while I get one that's pretty funny, and sadly mirrors my own life.

In this example, it's not me but the husband that wants a riding mower.

Do you think he'd go for this? I could probably find a spare bike on Craigslist...

The Riding Lawn Mower

My wife always wanted a riding lawn mower.

She works all day and was always tired when she came home from work and thought that a riding lawn mower would help her get the yard work done quicker so she would have more time for the chores inside the house.

SO, being the handy sort of guy that I am, I made her a riding lawn mower.

I guess I thought she would squeal with delight or something and give me a big hug.

To this day I have never been able to understand why some women are so hard to please...

How do I look?

2009-07-01T12:36:00.000-04:00

I routinely do stupid and embarrassing things.

Usually because I operate on autopilot most days. Moving around, with a zombie like focus (minus the death and destruction), conducting various mundane tasks, distracted by my own "deep" random thoughts.

I've driven right past the turn to the sitters, stopped at the stop light, waited, made the right turn, driven down my street, parked in my driveway, exited my vehicle, unlocked my front door, set my stuff down on the hall table, only to then realize I forgot to pick up Tyler. I've done this at least a dozen times. [mental head slap]

I've shrunk more of the husband's t-shirts than I'd care to admit because I am completely incapable of multi-tasking while doing laundry.

I've worn my underwear inside out. all day. without even noticing.

I've blamed messes on the cats because I don't want to admit I'm the one who knocked over the cat food container with my graceful wide sweeping backhand while practicing my cheerleading moves.

I've absently substituted a tablespoon of salt for a teaspoon of salt in an apple cobbler recipe because I was too busy singing to the radio.

I've been caught red handed butt dancing to the Backyardigans theme song. What can I say, it's catchy. [shrugs]

At least once a week I forget to put a second earring in, I can rock the Mr. Clean look.

If I get a phone call while fixing dinner, just go ahead and order pizza right then. Because talking while cooking is not a set of skills I possess. I'm serious, people. I've burnt pudding before.

I once managed to get flour on the 10ft high ceilings in the kitchen of my childhood home, while baking a cake. I still scratch my head over this one.

I wore a new shirt one day without remembering to remove the size sticker, oh so conveniently positioned over my left nipple. It was like I was wearing a flashing sign announcing that I shop in the women's department. [whimper]

Ok....so that list is longer than I thought it would be.

Please excuse me while I drown my embarrassment in a 1/2 gallon of strawberry cheescake ice cream.

Peanuts and Cracker Jacks

2009-06-30T10:45:00.007-04:00

(Me and the husband)

Webster's dictionary defines "Quip" as: a witty or funny observation or response usually made on the spur of the moment.

Case in point: Saturday night. The husband's 27th birthday get together at the local AAA baseball game with our closest friends. The game was a blow out, 10 - 5 Durham, with the opposing team scoring 4 runs in the first inning. As devastating as this was, we managed.

The terrace was rented private, the beer was paid for, the wings and traditional ball game food was hot and good, and someone had brought a camera. The queen of drunk, humorous, random statements had brought her "A" game and had all of us laughing, even the waitress. Who we secretly think wished she had been assigned to another table.

(Erin and Ashley)

"I am the world's best drunks" - Erin

(Me and Erin, posing)

"You know what we need? Shots! Waitress bring us shots." - Erin
"Well, because it's late, you can have a shot of whiskey, whiskey and...whiskey" - Waitress
"Whiskey it is, 3 please" - Erin
"No, no whiskey, you don't know where any of your hair ties are" - Joe

(Erin and the orange)

"Oh look, the special Olympic people are spelling out O-H-I-O" -Erin
"No honey, they are singing Y-M-C-A" -Joe
"Oh damn, I spelled it wrong" -Erin

(Ashley and Matt)

"Ok, what did I miss?" -Tommy
"I don't know, I wasn't paying attention." -Me
"Stop talking about shopping and pay attention we're at a ballgame for christ's sake!"
-Tommy

(Joe and Erin)

"Do you know how awesome it would be to mow that grass? (the ball field) I should get a part time job here" -Erin

"How in the world do you score that many points?" -Erin
"Erin, honey it's runs not points" -Me
"Runs, points, touchdowns, whatever" -Erin
"Oh my god, she's going to give me an aneurysm" -Joe

(Joe needing more beer)

"Dude, we suck" -Joe

"Honey give the players a break, maybe they're having a bad day, Oh! I know this song...

do, do, do, do, do, do, charge! [pumping her fist high in the air]

"Ok honey, what were we talking about?" -Erin

(Erin and Joe)

"Sarah, get together with Terry, I want to take your picture" -Me
"No, I'm eating." -Sarah
"She doesn't do pictures, but you can take my picture" -Terry

(Terry, with Sarah in the background)

"Steal home dude! We're gonna score Joe, we're gonna finally score!" [screaming like an giant idiot] -Tommy

What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine.

2009-06-26T12:26:00.005-04:00

I had to go to the doctor today.

Not my most favorite thing to do, but of the infinite amount of possible options, certainly not the worst thing in the world. But before I go freaking out my in-laws causing them to call in the national guard because of a doctors appointment (they tend to over react), nothing is wrong. I just needed some blood work done to check on my recently diagnose thyroid condition (hallelujah! I'm fluffy for a reason).

When I arrived at the doctor's office, I wrote my name at the bottom of the list, turned and scoured the magazine racks for something half way interesting to read. As doctor's offices go, I was fortunate that my doctor's office places a premium on current issues of Newsweek, Time, Parents, Self and Good Housekeeping. Feeling a little guilty that I wasn't more up-to-date on the current Iranian election crisis, I selected the copy of Newsweek and plopped myself down into one of the numerous uncomfortable utilitarian plastic chairs in the waiting room.

"Andrea" Wow, that was fast.

I placed my magazine on the chair,trotted up to the window, mumbled yes to the usual screening questions (is your insurance XXX, are you still at XXX, is your phone number still XXX), payed my co-pay and returned to my seat.

Where I noticed a slightly older man, probably in his mid-40's whose outfit of faded khakis, a light blue short sleeved stripped shirt, leather boat shoes with no socks would have felt more comfortable on the set of Miami Vice than a Ohio doctors office, has snaked my copy of Newsweek.

Mine! I shouted to myself.

So what if that was a childish, greedy response. Without that issue, I was forced to read about Beyonce's personal wardrobe and how she manages to not get "too toned" during her shows. Uhm, thanks but no thanks.

The nurse called my name and I slapped my magazine down harder than I'd intended. The retro man looked up from my "other" magazine and gave me a flash smile. I lowered my forehead and made slits with my eyes. Mentally, I was broadcasting that stealing a person's magazine was NOT acceptable behavior in this office. I continued glaring long after the nurse closed the door behind me to the waiting room.

Public Service Announcement

2009-06-25T08:11:00.004-04:00

As millions of Americans strive to eat healthier and take better care of themselves, there remains a sub-group of the population that resists healthy eating. They turn their backs on Omega 3's and whole wheat. Maintaining that their larger mid-section is a "love-machine" or that their women love them just the way they are. This sub-group is The Husbands.

The Husbands are a product of their environment. The were reared in households where food was the vehicle to obtain their father's daydream of a middle linebacker as a son. Only to the wake up 15 years later and realize their bodies have not kept up with their eating habits. The college lifestyle can also attribute to an expanding waistline. Long nights of beer, pizza and ramen does not a healthy man make.

In order to protect your love investment, be sure to recognize the signs of an unhealthy eater. The sooner action is taken, the better the success rate. Do not attempt to encourage outdoor activities to promote weight loss until a healthier diet is implemented. The Husbands will feel excessive unhealthy eating is warranted if exercise has taken place.

Be very careful adjusting the subjects diet. They have been known to lash out when faced with change that they did not initiate. Especially in the case of their food, of which they can be highly protective. Modifications to their diet to promote health and well being must be done discretely, and should be inconspicuous. Below are several suggestions that will help result in success.

- Do not be afraid to switch containers. The Husbands can not recognize lite miracle whip from mayonnaise if jar looks the same.

- The Husbands tend to shovel. Capitalize on this opportunity by hiding vegetables in the meatloaf.

- Buy lite beer, and claim the store was out of the "usual". Desperation can be a powerful motivator.

- Spaghetti sauce is just the perfect shade of red to hide the slight color difference of whole wheat pasta.

- Tofu that is diced correctly and tossed in a stir fry and smothered with teriayki sauce can not be discerned from chicken.

- Put cheese on it. Remember: buy 2% and hide the bag.

- Ground turkey looks exactly like ground beef once it's been browned.

- A box of chocolate cake mix and a can of diet coke. Taste and appearances can be deceiving.

- A heavy coat of breading can conceal a healthy piece of fish. Be sure to invest in a "steaky" fish and call it chicken.

It is extremely important not to disclose your intentions or your actions. This can result in a devastating setback of hostile resistance. Not to mention your credibility as a provider. Take small steps and always maintain your innocence. Perseverance is key to your success. Good Luck.

Stick a fork in me

2009-06-22T15:11:00.014-04:00

Sometimes it's hard to draft something witty and humorous. Especially when nothing funny has happened lately. And then sometimes, events don't need a long winded intro or a back story, they just need to be told. Because they are obvious and funny all by themselves.

---------

Tyler is too young to understand there is a difference between him and mommy. Or at least that's what I told myself. I was sorely mistaken one morning.

Tyler's doing his usual get out of bed and run sprints between his room and our bedroom, where I was getting dressed for the day. And it just so happens that at the moment he made his lap through our bedroom, I was fixing my bra into place.

Tyler runs in, screeches to a stop, and stares for a moment in quiet fascination. Decides what he sees on mommy is pretty funny looking, points, giggles and takes off running again.

I think I'll start dressing in the bathroom, from now on. With the door closed.

---------

On the rare occasion that the husband is actually home on a weeknight, it falls upon me to cook. I know, it is so hard being me. This particular night we were having chicken pesto penne, a very good dish I "accidentally" created. Read: in my mind it sounded good, and for once actually turned out alright.

The husband was finishing up the meal by pulling the garlic bread out of the oven, while I was pulling the tableware out of the cabinets for dinner.

"Is that one of those midget forks?" the husband asked

"A midget fork?" sometimes I find it kinda hard to decipher what exactly the husband means.

"Ya, one of those small forks. I can't stand to eat with a small fork. I need a man fork."

"A man fork. Since when do we have male and midget forks?" I'm not sure I need to know the answer.

"Since I decided I need a man fork"

"A man fork" I clarify.

"Yep, a man fork" the husband grunts and holds his arms up at his side trying to look burly but ends up looking a man who really needs to poop.

---------

When you send four grown men out to play golf for Father's Day, something is bound to go totally awry. We sent the husband, my father, my uncle and my brother-in-law out for a day of golfing last weekend. They protested, but eventually saw the reasoning and conceded that maybe it WAS best if they spent the day on a golf course that served beer.

It was hot, golfing was slow, and several beers had been had by the 12th hole. When they pull up they notice an elderly man lying next to the tee box clutching his chest.

"Oh my god dude, are you alright?" The husband slurs.

"Well, my chest doesn't feel so good, so my friends went to go call an ambulance for me." the old man breathes.

"That's good, that's good." the husband nods in acknowledgment.

Long pause, followed by some back and forth with my dad and uncle.

"So dude, do you mind if we play through?"

---------

The first fall the husband and I were together, we went on an afternoon date to the apple farm. Afterwards, the husband hinted that a nice fall dessert would be really nice.

Sure, why not, I've got mad cooking skills.

Honestly my cooking ability only loosely resemble cooking. If you consider me wearing an apron and standing in a kitchen cooking, then ya, I'm Rachel freaking Ray.

I whip out my Betty Crocker paperback cook book, flip to the index and find a receipe for apple cobbler. I scan quickly and figure it doesn't look too complicated.

A dash of this, a helping of that, a pinch of this here stuff. 45 minutes later, and Viola! a cobbler.

"Here ya go honey..." I sang as I plunk down a bowl in front of him.

"Oooh, WOW does that look good!" You could just see the love in his eyes.

I trotted back to the kitchen to dole out a helping for myself. I padded back to the couch and plopped down next to him. I look over his bowl is half empty. He gives me a half-hearted toothless smile followed by a thumbs up.

Score! I rock!

Then, I notice he looks a little green. And he's not chewing, just swallowing. So I taste my bowl.

"Blech! Oh my god! This is awful! What the hell did I make?" I regurgitated my bite back into my bowl. It was disgustingly salty

"I think you mixed up the salt and the sugar in the recipe." The husband offers.

I yanked the bowl from his hands "Oh, god, why did you even eat that?"

"Because I didn't have the heart to tell you that you can't cook"

I scare small children

2009-06-18T09:03:00.006-04:00

The husband is nothing if not predictable. Every morning (that he's home) he gets up a little grumpy, stumbles into the bathroom, pads into the kitchen to put the coffee on, impatiently waits for the dripping to cease, pads back into the bathroom, sets his coffee down, flops onto the bed, groans and complains he's not awake yet.

He takes the same route to work, gets his hair cut every third Saturday morning at 8am (because the line is ridiculous honey if I wait till 8:30am), takes exactly 20mins to shower, shave, and get dressed and depending on the weather either wears khaki shorts or denim jeans.

If I was a stalker, he'd be an easy mark.

I, on the other hand, take anywhere from 30-90 mins to get dressed, depending on how much I like myself that day. If it's like today, where the weather is forecasting rain and high humidity, I don't even bother. I shower, diffuse my naturally ~~curly~~ frizzy hair and throw on something that is clean and half way matches. Because if the humidity is above 50%, forget it, no one is going to notice what I'm wearing, they'll be blinded by my hair.

The husband, however being his predictable self, I assumed had become immune to my bad hair days during the summer months. Today, he proved otherwise.

"Why didn't you straighten your hair today"

Because it's 88% humidity out there, it'd be pointless

"Oh"

Now the word "oh" has many connotations. In my house, if your a toddler it means something was explained that you didn't know before. If you're an adult, the word is laced with sarcasm as it's used as a filler to replace what you really wanted to say.

Why

"Nothing, it looks fine"

Just fine?

"Oh, well it looks.....fine"

Stop saying fine

"It looks....it looks....it looks, SEXY. Ya, it looks sexy"

Now I know you're lying

Home unimproved

2009-06-17T09:12:00.009-04:00

When the husband and I decided to get married, we did the unthinkable and bought a house before we were married (the horror). My grandmother had decided to head west and move in with my aunt in St. Louis and offered to sell us her house for cheap. We were stoked, our first house.

The downside of this awesome arraignment was that the house, a 30 yr old three level split, hadn't been updated since the Carter administration. We had chocolate brown shag carpeting, wood grain laminated cabinets with goldenrod door pulls, peeling wallpaper in every damn room, cracked window seals, dark wood paneling and random hooks hanging from the ceiling which obviously once were used to display macrame owls. Nice. Conventional theory would tell most people to run, not walk, away from a house like this. Not me! I didn't see a single problem that money and a handy husband couldn't fix.

So off to the Home Depot we went. The husband humored me in the beginning. He'd walk the aisles with me, as I daydreamed, stand quietly with his hands in his pockets. Chuckle as I threw stuff in the cart for projects that I'd conjure up on the spot. Help me scrutinize the correct wall color and whether or not the satin nickel finish on the faucet would match the finish on the towel rod. Spending untold amounts on projects that had no business being attempted by amateurs such as ourselves. But after a year of doing this every weekend, our garage looked more like a rented storage unit and our house was partway through a construction project that had been put on indefinite hold.

When Tyler came along, things got worse, the husband started working longer hours to bring home more bacon. And no matter how the house looked, working 80-90hrs a week was not a conducive work schedule to finding motivation on the weekends for home improvement. It became a bone of contention between us. I'd make lists, post them on the fridge. I'd nag, complain, and then nag some more. We'd bicker, fight, vent our frustrations, but in the end, nothing got "improved".

The problem was, I had deluded myself into believing the husband was a master craftsman. A bob villa minus the plaid shirt! When in reality, the husband could change a light fixture, keep the lawn immaculate, and do the occasional emergency plumbing repair but past that, we was all thumbs. And I had learned this the hard way.

For now, we've come to a mutual agreement. I will throw out my unrealistic expectations of his "handiness". The husband will make attempts to fix small things as needed with the help of his little apprentice Tyler. And we'll save to pay someone else to fix what I still want done. Because, we realized that all thing considered, spending time with his little buddy watching Handy Manny, is more important than being a handy man.

That's what she said...

2009-06-16T08:55:00.006-04:00

Have you ever run into an old acquaintance and for a quick second your former life flashes before your eyes and you're forced to relive past mistakes? Like say an old boyfriend? Where everything that comes out of your mouth is an attempt to paint a picture of your current life WAY better than when you dated him. Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, but we all know ex-boyfriends are ex's for a reason. Even if time has faded the truth in their minds.

Take for example my friend, we'll call her K, has had the worse luck lately running into old boyfriends. As if anyone REALLY enjoys running into people we use to sleep with. Someone's always judging someone, and someone just doesn't look as good as they once did.

It's become almost comical her weekly interludes with ghost of boyfriends past, all of whom apparently want to re-ignite the imaginary spark between them. Keep in mind her lack of progress with her current long term boyfriend in the marital status department makes these so much funnier.

Bachelor #1-
This winner called (who lives out of state) after nearly 6 years and asked her to come down to see him; read: travel 300 miles for a booty call. Mind you, at the time she dated him, they were not living in the same general vicinity, he was married (which he hid from her) and asked her to regularly travel 2 hrs to see him then. Guess the ex-wifey wasn't available.

Bachelor #2 -
This lovely man has bumped into her randomly throughout the 10 years since they dated, has the moral compass of a deadbeat dad and who's personality every time manages to come across as just a hair above elephant dung. The most recent visit was at a gas station, where he acted like they were long lost friends who still cared deeply for each other and were dying to know all the details of each others lives. And....pass.

Bachelor #3 -
This one, currently flashing his less than stellar smile at your friendly neighborhood bank, thinks the past is all just water under the bridge and she secretly pines for him in her sleep. News flash: You weren't a prize to be had back in the day. And yet, you took your imaginary "stud status" seriously and chose to sleep with K's close friend. Guess what the girls weren't THAT close.

Bachelor #4 - (my personal fav)
The king of all crappy ex-boyfriends, plopped himself down next to K at a recent networking seminar. It was the longest two hours of her life. After running through his recent failures professionally, he moved on to personal matters.

"We totally need to get together and hang out"

Ya right, I'll get right on top of scheduling that

"We should go to lunch, my treat"

Oh ya, because my boyfriend would love that.

"If you can't do lunch, we could do drinks, at night"

Drinking with you never ended well.

"So are you still dating what's his name, what does he do again?"

He's worked for XXX shipping for 8 years and you know that.

"Huh, I figured you'd do better than that"

And....there's why were not together anymore, you're a jackass.

"So you heard I got married, right"

Yep, right after you broke-up with me @sshole. Called me up, broke my heart again, and asked me to approve of HER ring.

I'm actually getting married in October

OMG, did I just say that outloud!

And there's the money shot.

Because, even if we're more than happy with our current situation, ex boyfriends have a way of making the most sane woman, nuts. In a perfect world, we'd ship our ex's off to a remote island where they would sit all day, play Madden on play station, drink beer, fart, tell disgusting jokes and find friendship because in their minds, they are the perfect catch.

Broken bits

2009-06-11T17:02:00.002-04:00

Growing up, I didn't spend much time with boys. It was just my sister and I. Our close cousins were all girls, my mother's friends predominately had girls, in fact even the cat was a girl. It was a running joke that my father (an elementary school principal) was the best person to deal with a building of 40 women because he had all women at home. Although I always secretly thought my dad had wished my sister a boy...

So when the husband and I found out we were having a boy I was filled with mixed emotions. On one hand I always liked the idea of having an older brother that looked out for his little sister, plus I think the husband did back flips behind the curtain when she pointed out the penis. On the other hand, I had no idea how to raise a boy. And when the nurse at the hospital brought back our bundle of newly snipped joy and quickly ran through the care routine I lost it.

"Does that look normal to you" I asked the husband.

The husband shrugged "I don't know"

"Well did yours look like that?" my voice going up one octave.

"How the hell should I know"

"Because you have one!" I was screaming and almost crying at this point

"Honey, having a penis does not make you all knowing"

Riiight, I'm gonna have to remember that.

I eventually faked my way through most of his first year. And when he turned 18 mos, he had really shot up in height and slimmed down thanks to his non-stop running. What I didn't know at the time, was EVERYTHING was getting bigger.

One night after bath time, I'm changing his diaper and getting everything ready for bed time. When I see what looks like a red rash just below the head of his penis. I look closer and I'm dumbstruck.

What the H-E-double hockey sticks is THAT!

Where his wrinkly part connected to the head of his penis, was not a rash but a bright red gash. I freaked.the.F.out. I did a quick inventory of the situation.

No blood? check.

No tears? check.

All other manly parts intact? double check.

I grabbed the phone and dialed my stepmom.

"Oh my god, oh my god. I broke Tyler, he's broken, I broke it!"

"Slow down, what's broke?"

"Tyler, it's all red, something happened, oh my god, what do I do?"

"You have to slow down ,take a deep breath, what happened?"

I recap the last ten minutes to my stepmom and hear a sharp intake followed by a long pause. "I'll be over in a few minutes."

After some investigation by my stepmom, a frantic call to the nurse help line, and a quick trip to the doctor in the morning, we learned this was a perfectly normal occurrence with circumcised boys as the grow. I felt a marginally better. And I couldn't help but feel like I had broken my son's stuff. And then the paraniod freak in me came out.

Oh gawd, what if he grows up misshapen?
The boys in the locker room will make fun of him,
He'll never get a date for the prom,
He'll never get married
He won't be able to have kids.
NO GRANDKIDS.
ACK!

The doctor just laughed at my freaked out thought process, explained that sometimes when healing, the "head" reattaches to the base. And when boys get "bigger" it detaches and can become red for several days.

It just reaffirmed my original thought that I have no idea what to do with a penis.

My soap box

2009-06-10T16:42:00.014-04:00

Through a local message board I'm part of, I got turned onto this blog, Her Bad Mother. I read her post for today (and for yesterday) and it made me want to stand up and cheer. Hallelujah! Finally a woman who is not afraid to admit that she is not a poster mom for the PTA. Everywhere I turn we as mom's are bombarded with suggestions on how to maker our kids faster, smarter, taller, thinner, and just plain better if we were only better mom's. Except, every child is unique, their thoughts and behaviors are something all their own. And you know where they get that, from their unique mothers! We as a society are creating a generation of sheltered children who are unable to be creative, think for themselves, work for a goal and understand what it means to fail. It makes me want to yell, "Stop mothering your child!" Let them eat dirt, get runny noses, stub a few toes, bruise their knees, know disappointment and ruin a few outfits while trying to scale the jungle gym. Let them be kids!

My neighbor is expecting her first child. She and her husband tried for nearly two years to get pregnant, and finally they are exactly where they want to be. Except now she is starting to notice other kids when she is out. She observes their behaviors and makes mental notes on traits/actions she doesn't want her own child to exert. She's talked with me at great lengths about how my son is wonderfully behaved every time she sees him and marvels at how this is obviously a product of my husband and I's relaxed parenting style. While I appreciate her compliments, I modestly point out to her, that what she doesn't see are the shopping trips to Target where he's thrown a wholly fit in the toy aisle because I put back the Diego toy he wanted. Or the time we had to leave early from the restaurant (before we finished eating) because he wouldn't sit in his highchair any longer. Or the time before that, where he's yelling at the top of his lungs in the middle of the grocery store because dad had to go pee. I've been THAT mom, the one with the horrible kid who everyone judges based on her kids actions. And you know what, I DON'T CARE.

Because as an expectant mother, I read every book out there. I knew the books backwards and forwards. I *thought* I was prepared. Wrong! Nothing written in books can prepare you for the challenges that being a new parent throws at you. So throw the damn parenting books away and just learn as you go. Because if your force yourself to confine your parenting to what's written in books, you'll miss the amazingly funny results that come from letting your kids have fun. Just have fun, trust your instincts (yes you have them!) and your kid will be perfect all on his own, because he's yours.

But just in case you need a little proof that you are not, and will not be, a horrible parent...

Reason's why I know I'm also a "Bad Mother":
1) I didn't breastfeed because I didn't want to
2) I never instituted a bedtime schedule
3) I'm a mushy mom, i hate to let Tyler cry it out.
4) I have yelled at my son
5) I will give my child cold medicine if it makes him feel better
6) Tyler eats and likes cookies, cake, candy, and twizzlers (his fav)
7) I have used Noggin as a babysitter so I can get some "me" time
8) Tyler eats what he likes and what's convenient for me.
9) I am not a short order cook, he either eats what I put in front of him or not. There's always tomorrow
10) We eat frozen pizza
11) I only do laundry on the weekends, if it's dirty too bad, do it yourself.
12) He likes his binky, it makes him happy. And I'm ok with that. Leave it alone
13) I like to snuggle with Tyler in bed on the nights the husband is gone. If he falls asleep there, so what.
14) If he falls asleep in the same shirt he's had on all day, then he sleeps in it.

15) Spaghetti is a favorite food in our house, yes it's messy, but the pictures are funnier.
16) The garden hose has doubled as bathtime on hot nights.
17) I spank my child, he gets time outs, and hears stop and no.
18) Dirty binkies are still binkies, they stop meltdowns.
19) I didn't teach sign-language
20) I secretly cheer when he picks me over dad to make his boo-boo better.
21) If I smell a stinky diaper, I will call "Not it" on the husband
22) I don't pick up toys every night, most of the time I just shut the door and forget about it.
23) I've let Tyler play with things that would send other mom's into therapy.

The big one

2009-06-08T14:37:00.010-04:00

The husband thinks I gave birth to the next bass pro fishing champion. This is what keeps him awake at night. Not the bills, or the household chores. Nope, he worries about how to get our son, at the top of his bluegill fishing game.

So for weeks the husband has been trying to convinced me that Tyler is ready to fish. He bought him a little kids fishing pole. They've been watching bass pro fishing tournaments on outdoors channel, and they've been practicing his casting and reeling skills, in the house. [sigh] And Tyler has even started saying fish. Well, in truth it sounds more like ish, but it's all a matter of perception.

I kept arguing with the husband that a fishing trip with a 2yr old, who had a real hook and a live worm attached to that plastic diego pole, was more likely to hook his father in the face, freak his mother out, and send everyone running to the hospital, than actually catch a fish. But noooo, would he listen? Not a chance. Everyday, I'd hear about something else that Tyler did that PROVED he was ready to fish. I ran out of resistance and caved. I agreed to go fishing, but I'll be damned if I'm putting a worm on a hook.

So the husband, myself, Tyler and our nephew Hunter packed up our stuff and headed down to the neighborhood pond where frosted flakes on a stick could catch a fish. The car was loaded. Because taking a 2yr old and a 6 yr old fishing for 1 hour requires more gear than the army needs to invade Iraq. We had a lawn chair, a tackle box, 2 fishing poles, a tub of worms, 2 juice boxes, an emergency supply of diapers, bug spray, a camera, 2 cellphones, snacks, toys, a back-up binky, a change of clothes, a pair of kid crocs, a towel, band aids, and a book for me to read while the boys did "men" stuff. I was exhausted just carrying everything from the car.

As it turned out, it was a good thing we brought the towel, because Tyler's fascination with water brought about the end of the fishing trip when he leaned a little too close and went head first into the pond. He came up, gasped for air and bobbed about the surface only once before the husband had jumped in and pulled him out.

He was soaked. Dripping wet. And covered in muddy pond alge. Gross. But the mom in me prevailed as I scooped him up, soaked clothes and all and attempted to calm him down as the husband ran to the car for the towel. (Why on earth had we left it in the car, oh that's right, I didn't want to make a THIRD trip) By the time he got back, I'd stripped Tyler down to his birthday suit, he was still sniffling and despite it being nearly 85 degrees, was shivering. We dried him off, changed his diaper, changed his clothes and wrapped him in the towel. Except I'd managed to forget to pack a spare shirt with the extra pair of pants I'd brought [mental head slap]

So when Tyler recovered from his near death experience, what I had was a toddler who looked like he fit right in at a trailer park. The pants I'd brought were too tight in the diaper, and flared out a little at the bottom, and were gathered at the ankles. They looked a lot like the balloon leg pants of the early 90's (nice). Powder blue crocs that were two sizes too big. No shirt. His hair slicked back, and a hint of a diaper peeking out the top of his pants. He was stylin.

On the bright side, Tyler had managed to catch his first fish, even if it was on the small side. We got a picture to prove it, and dad was never so proud.

My happy place

2009-06-05T00:00:00.004-04:00

Because a good friend of mine Allison tagged me in her blog. I have listed 6 Unimportant Things that Make Me Happy. This wasn't hard, since I'm generally a happy person, it was hard though to come up with only 6 :)

#1 - A good hair day
#2 - Tyler's giggle/laughter
#3 - Pizza
#4 - An item of clothing that fits, when it didn't 6mos ago
#5 - Counting down the days till we TTC (try to conceive) - 50 days
#6 - Sitting on the back deck with the husband and a good wine

Now I tag 4 more happy girls:

Kim - A Golfer and a Girl
Danica - Happy Girl
Kenzi - The Adventure of Millie T
Sarah - Boots by the backdoor

Create your list of 6 things so we can know what makes YOU happy!

Sisterhood Award

2009-06-04T21:01:00.004-04:00

A friend and fellow blogger Allison has nominated me for a Sisterhood Award. Which I think is pretty awesome, because eventually you realize that you know your online friends just as well as your IRL friends, and who couldn't use more friends in life!

There are a few guidelines in order accept this award.

1. Put the logo on your blog or post.
2. Nominate at least 10 blogs with
great attitude and/or gratitude. Be sure to link to your nominees in your post.
3. Let your nominees know they have received the award by leaving them a
comment on their blog.
4. Be sure to link this post to the person who
nominated you for the award.

And the nominees are:
Marcie - D-man & Sassy and their little girl too
Sarah - Boots by the backdoor
Jill - Happy Hopefuls
Kenzi - The adventures of Millie T
Michelle - Not Raising Brats
Danica - Happy Girl
Kim - A Golfer and a Girl
Jody - The Mother Load
Lori - Adventures in Grownupness
Jennifer - The Murrays

You girls are all amazing in your own way which is why I love following your blogs and your lives.

Advice to mom's

2009-06-04T07:00:00.005-04:00

I've seen this before, a long time ago BEFORE I had Tyler; it was funny then and it is immensely more funny now that I've had a boy and completely understand where this woman is coming from. Tyler I feel will unfortunately try many of these. He's just like that.

I also think there should be a support group for mother's of toddler and preschool boys. We could all get together once a week to cry and share our battle stories. It should be chaired by women who've survived and lived to tell about it, and provide us with their infinite wisdom and guidance. Then we could all write a book, make millions and spend our mid-life crisis years in Fiji. Let the father's deal with the teenage years. Lord knows we'll never survive that.

Advice from a mother of boys

1.) A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.

2.) If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.

3.) A 3-year old Boy’s voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.

4.) If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound Boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20×20 ft. room.

5.) You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.

6.) The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn’t stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.

7.) When you hear the toilet flush and the words “uh oh”, it’s already too late.

8.) Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.

9.) A six-year old Boy can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old Man says they can only do it in the movies.

10.) Certain Lego’s will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year old boy.

11.) Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.

12.) Super glue is forever.

13.) No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can’t walk on water.

14.) Pool filters do not like Jell-O.

15.) VCR’s do not eject “PB & J” sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.

16.) Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.

17.) Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.

18.) You probably DO NOT want to know what that odor is.

19.) Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.

20.) The fire department in Austin , TX has a 5-minute response time.

21.) The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.

22.) It will, however, make cats dizzy.

23.) Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.

24.) 80% of Women will pass this on to almost all of their friends, with or without kids.

25.) 80% of Men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and brake fluid.

Sexy is relative

2009-06-02T22:19:00.005-04:00

In high school, boys were gross; but in our schoolgirl adolescent hormonal haze we couldn't see past the letterman jacket and the cute smile. Most of the time we just lust after them from afar, giggle with our friends as we passed by their lockers, do slow drive-bys of their houses (if we could drive), call their houses late at night and hang up, agonize over just the right outfit to wear to the Friday night football games, and fall asleep to the thought of being asked to the spring dance. In our mind, all boys were Johnny Depp.

The truth was, boys were smelly, pimply faced and just as dilusional as us girls; who spent countless hours perfecting the arm pit fart, body part rasberries, the fine art of "crop dusting", hocking loogies, swapping dirty jokes, and finding the humor in other bodily sounds.

But this well earned coming of age knowledge isn't lost when boys turn to men and become husbands and fathers. Turns out, 2 yr old boys think fart noises made by daddy are hysterical. And to us mom's, they become sexy all over again.

Randomness

2009-06-01T16:40:00.005-04:00

On Saturday the husband and I went down to Creekside to watch the free concert they have each Saturday night. This week it was the karaoke band, Fonzie Monroe. Once we arrived, the husband wanted to take Tyler to go feed the ducks goldfish crackers (a favorite past time) so I agreed to wait for the table at the restaurant. Despite having the stroller, I sat down at the bar and ordered a pop. However it was obvious the woman who sat down next to me was NOT drinking pop and was rather chatty for what appeared to be her first drink. Our conversation went something like this:

Her: "Do you have a baby?"

Me: [blink] "Uhm, ya" hence the stroller lady

Her: "Where is she?"

Me: "HE is down at the creek with his father" nosy aren't we...

Her: [nodding, slurping] "Mmm...ok, married?"

Me: "Yes" why?

Her: [distracted] "Could you flag that bartender down for me, if he's just gonna chat with that lady he should bring me another drink"

Me: [flagging the bartender] Oy

By this time the husband had returned from the creek and the lush had a refill, so the conversation resumed.

Her: "He looks just like his father doesn't he"

Me: [shrugs] "I guess"
Yes, my strawberry blonde, blue eyed, fair skinned, chunky faced kid looks just like his greek father. [nods] Yep, exactly.

Her: "I bet you're having like 10 more right"

Me: [stares] "Uh, probably not that many" Sheesh

Her: "So when are you going to start trying again? You are going to try again right?"

Me: [blinks]

Her: "Oh wait, I'm sorry you ARE pregnant, how far along are you?"

Me: Bartender! Vodka tonic, hold the tonic.

Chicks dig scars

2009-06-01T08:44:00.004-04:00

I am raising an Evil Knievel wannabe.

Some days I worry that someone will call children services on me.

Last week recap:

On Monday he face planted after launching himself off the front of a toy motorcycle.

On Tuesday he came home from the sitters with scratches on his upper arm, the sitter said he was racing the other kids down the drive way on his car made a sharp left turn onto the sidewalk and crash landed.

On Wednesday he attempted to ride a scooters meant for 5yrs olds down the driveway. It didn't work and he scrapped up his knee.

Thursday and Friday he must have decided to take a breather because we didn't have any new cuts.

However this weekend, he was back in action.

Saturday, he threw all the couch cushions to the bottom of the stairs and was tossing himself (belly flop style) down a half a flight of stairs into a mosh pit of pillows. [sigh]

Sunday night I was in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner when I hear the strangest sounds coming from the lower level.

Creak......whap/bounce......thump.....giggle.....patter patter patter

Creak.....whap/bounce......thump.....giggle.....patter patter patter

I quietly crept to the edge of the stairs and peered around the corner [gasp] and discovered what was causing the sounds. Tyler had fashioned a step stool from his toddler workbench by positioning it next to my GIANT exercise ball in efforts to mount the exercise ball. Except when he jumped and flung himself on top of the ball, it retracted and tossed him off where he landed on the carpet with a giggle only to quickly pad back over to the bench, move the ball into position and try again.

I should just buy stock in bandaids and neosporin. Might be a wise investment.

For the Tata's

2009-05-29T11:17:00.008-04:00

On May 16th, the husband, tyler, my two best friends, my neighbor, my sister and I joined 46,000 other people in Columbus for the annual "Race for the Cure". It was an amazing day, the weather held and the sea of white and pink shirts, many of whom did not receive a shirt because the number of registrants surpassed the organizers expectations, was a sight to be seen. This year we set a record for the number of participants, largely in part due to the loss of a young local anchorwoman to breast cancer in October. For anyone who has participated in the past, you know it is a highly emotional day for all parties involved, because breast cancer touches everyone.

As many of you know, for my sister and I this is a cause very close to our hearts. Our mother, diagnosed in 1998, survived her 2 year battle with breast cancer, thanks in part to the awesome cancer treatment she received at the James Cancer Center at OSU. We use to walk this race every year after her diagnosis and she was never so proud as the year we walked the race and she wore her pink "Survivor" shirt.

However, in 2001 she was diagnosed with advanced stage ovarian cancer. She passed away on December 7th, 2002.

When we walk we raise money, we raise awareness, we unite behind a common purpose. Not just for breast cancer but for all cancers. We walk in memory of her, but also in celebration of those who have won their battle, and in hopes that some day, we'll find a cure for cancer.

Stylin'

2009-05-29T01:05:00.002-04:00

Please bear with me while I overhaul the appearance of my blog. What started as just adding a picture turned into a complete redo. ::Sigh::

And now it's 1am, I'm tired and I'm gonna pack it up and try again tomorrow.

OH! and if anyone knows how to get my right sidebar headers ---->

<-------To look like my left sidebar headers (ie: not under the background, in white not yellow....) let me know!

Me time

2009-05-28T08:42:00.004-04:00

I do not like watching baseball. On TV that is. In real life, it's exhilarating. The cheering, the camaraderie, the wave, the cat calling at the batter. It's a good time, made better by popcorn, peanuts, hot dogs and twizzlers (my personal fav). Watching it on TV however, is painful. I'd rather break the knob off and watch CSPAN all day. The only oddly interesting part is to watch and wait for some idiot batter to check himself on national tv, or pick his nose during an ill-timed close-up. Then it's funny, because you know that guys mom is watching and is mortified she raised a crotch grabbing nose picker.

The only thing worse to watch on TV is golf. Oh.My.God. I fall asleep every time. The hushing crowd, the quiet whispers of the pompous scottish oof commentating about whether or not Phil Mickelson or Tiger Woods is able to sink the 50 ft putt.

Oh, look he made it! [golf clap]

I keep waiting for it to turn into a scene from Happy Gilmore with roadies, fan signs, drunk guys yelling obscenities, hockey sticks as drivers and putting pool style. THAT would be awesome to watch.

Unfortunately the husband loves all things baseball and golf related. So when May sweeps roll around you can almost hear me grind my teeth. Because there is nothing else on TV that he would rather watch. And since baseball is on almost every channel this time of year, I get a lot of reading done, A LOT.

I suppose I should consider myself lucky. I could be like my friend who's boyfriend is obsessed with sports period. The NFL draft, the NCAA pre-season, the NFL pre-season, the NBA playoffs, the NFL playoffs, the Super Bowl, countless NCAA bowl games and the Stanley Cup playoffs. Did you know that aside from NASCAR, the NHL has the longest season? Me either, but yep, she knew that. Anything sports related on TV initiates a crowd of his buddies to camp out at her house, take over her sectional, play XBOX at commercials, eat all her food, drink massive amounts of beer, smoke cigars and generally sink up her house. Ya, I suppose it could be worse.

His and Hers

2009-05-27T08:30:00.004-04:00

The husband and I are always arguing over who's a worse driver. We both scare the hell out of each other. He is a spastic, pedal to the metal, whiplash, hold on for your life kinda of driver. While I am a multi-tasking, can't get off the phone, not paying attention, get out outta my way buddy driver.

Some day these will be our crash photos and the captions for our chaos.

His:

"On a bet, the driver proved that trucks don't always land on their tires"

Hers:

"Trolly's don't like playing chicken"

My side, your side

2009-05-26T08:38:00.003-04:00

Have you ever met someone so anal retentive that it prevents them from being productive? Where if you, as the nice person you are, offered to help out with say clean their kitchen, it turns into a unfortunate mess? Where they argue with you over your method, supervise your cleaning, nit-pick how you cleaned, follow-up behind you and re-clean what you've already done only then throw a fit because they are overwhelmed and you aren't helping? If not, well then my lovely reader....meet me. An obsessively self-controlled person. Causing fights and ruining situations since 1979.

I am the anal one in the relationship. While my house does not look like it should belong on the cover of OCD monthly or even Better Homes and Gardens, when I get the bug to clean, GET OUT OF MY WAY. It's also best to just go with the flow of any meltdown I may have while in the process. Lots of "I'm sorry's" and "I love you's" tend to work well.

The husband and I have been together for almost 6 years, and in all these years I thought I was the irrational crazy one in the relationship. He was the one who was relaxed and had an island time mentality. He saw no sense in rushing anything. Turns out, the husband is just as dysfunctional as I am, I just hadn't found his hot button yet.

The lawn. The man is obsessed with the lawn.

He'll sit by the front window and stalk the front lawn. Freak out when a dandelion pops up, throw a tantrum when a person lets their dog "use" our lawn, pounce on stray bags/bottles deposited by wind and keep tabs on the activities of the retired neighbor who's lawn is immaculate. It's quite maddening to watch.

Several weekends ago we had an extremely busy schedule, which meant he wasn't able to mow the lawn until Monday night after dinner, the horror! I attempted to help speed up the process by offering to weed-whack the sidewalks, mailbox, planting beds & fire hydrant. BIG mistake. This did not save us any time. The husband stopped mowing to inspect how I edged the sidewalk, then he had to give me pointers, which I wasn't doing correctly so that resulted in him just taking over.

"But I'm just trying to help." I protested defensively.

"Honey, I don't have time to redo what you've already done. I like things the way I like them. Just let me do it."

Whoa, where did that come from. I was stunned. Who are you, and what have you done with my husband? After several minutes of banter back and forth we agreed on a truce. We drew a fictional line in the sand, at our front door. He supervises the outside work, and I oversee the inside work. No sense in fight about meaningless stuff right? :)

I don't get it

2009-05-21T12:15:00.007-04:00

I want this purse.

I've wanted it ever since Macy's put it on display in their crystal clear display box on a pedestal in the center of the handbag department. As if to say:

Buy me Andrea....
You know you want me....
You know you can't live without me....

I'd have day dreams of walking proudly down the promenade at Easton with this purse on my arm. The purse and I would have dinner dates, long lunches, and enjoy the theater. We'd go pick out special outfits that complimented my eyes and it's color palette. It was heaven. That was until the husband saw the price tag and snapped me back to reality.

It costs HOW much?!?

Men. They just don't get it. They don't understand a woman's need for flashy, beautiful, sparkly purses. They don't understand how the desire for said purses can drive logical women into back alleys with unscrupulous characters, or ten suburban soccer moms to risk arrest to hid out in a basement and conduct "secret parties" to drool and ogle look-alikes pulled from a common black garbage bag.

They don't get how we banish them to the spare bedroom closet because we've taken over the entire closet with our collection of "going-out" purses, "spring, summer, fall and winter" purses, "this purse goes with that outfit" purses, "fun" purses, and "carry it all" purses. Nor do they get the 50 pairs of shoes that must compliment the assortment of purses.

My husband has 4 pairs of shoes, one wallet, and only 3 hats he wears on a regular basis. He most definitely does not understand spending several hundred dollars on a purse I won't carry every day.

But what he really doesn't get is when we got married, what's mine was mine and what's his became mine and that purse will be mine. [evil cackle]

Something so Tyler

2009-05-20T08:36:00.004-04:00

Tyler will do this.....

I lay money he'll come running to the back door one day, knock politely and scare the living crap out of me.

That is the day he will become his father's son.

Hell bent to spend the rest of his days trying to out do his last "awesome" endeavor and gross me out.

They already fart together and giggle, it's just a matter of time.

Bugs Life

2009-05-18T08:53:00.004-04:00

Bugs have taken over my life.

Last week I posted how a bucket of worms had taken up residence in my home. Then on Saturday, anticipating a fishing trip with a buddy, the husband BUYS worms and puts them in the fridge, right next to the chicken we were planning on having for dinner. (We ordered pizza after that little issue). Why you'd spend money on something that was readily available sitting by the front door is beyond me.

However Sunday was the icing on the cake....

I had woken up in one of my the-house-is-a-disaster-must-clean-get-out-of-my-way-if-you-want-to-keep-your-behind moods. The husband adores me when I'm like this (take notice of the heavy sarcasm). Tyler just likes it when the vacuum comes out. I spent 6 hours cleaning the living room/dining room/kitchen. I dusted, I swept, I washed, I scrubbed. You would have thought I was nesting, but sadly I'm just that neurotic.

Tyler had been diligently following me from place to place, providing his own running commentary of my actions that only other 2yr olds could understand. When I noticed him laying on his belly, reaching under the side table of the couch that sits in the corner.

"Mama, aahhpp" [pointing]

"What are you pointing at buddy? What's under there"

"my-een" [flexing his hands in a grabbing motion]

"What is under...[bending down to look].....theeeerrre....ACK!"

I shrieked.

I jumped, grabbed Tyler, flung him over my head, tossed him on the couch and shrieked.

Under the side table was a spider, my worse nightmare. A spider that had spun a web and was laying little cocoons filled with baby spiders no doubt.

Oh.My.God.

Panic mood went into hyper drive. I whipped out the suction tool on the dyson, smacked the on button, stuck the nozzle up under the table, closed my eyes and started flailing it around.

After about 2 mins I dared peek to check the status of my spider removal efforts.

Wheew, Gone

Tyler, of course had to check my progress, and after finding no more spiders, looked at me sadly lifted his hands to his shoulders palms up and said what sounded like "weer"

In hindsight, the spider was only about the size of my thumb nail. But in this incidence, size didn't matter. I may have given concessions to worms and husbands smelling like dead fish, but my girly flag still flies high when spiders are involved.

Photo recap

2009-05-15T12:48:00.008-04:00

With my absence last week for business related travel, I wasn't able to post about Tyler's 2nd birthday. The weather was gorgeous out at the lake. We couldn't have asked for a better day!

My little man is 2....

Eeeek!

Holy crud where did the time go, soon he'll be shaving and stealing the car keys!

Ladies lock up your daughters! Well, soon at least.

I thought I'd some post photos from his birthday party.

Tyler quietly, patiently waiting with great-grandma for us to quit singing and blow his candle out.

Ummmm....cake [drooling]

Apparently he only wanted the bulldozers on top, not the cake.

This is NOT my son.

Screw cake, lets open presents!

"oooh waazz at"

After a few too many juice boxes, the guest of honor let his inner wild child out.

On Mother's Day, the husband had to leave early for work, so Tyler and I decided to walk down to Creekside for some ice cream and some duck feeding. The ice cream was tyler's idea, honest....

Apparently he didn't want to share the goldfish with the ducks. Go figure.

Delivery Drivers

2009-05-14T10:19:00.002-04:00

I have a pizza addiction.
I could eat it every single day.
If I didn't care about what I weight.
But I do, so I limit myself
One night a week.
I rotate where I order from.
So as not to look pathetic.
Perhaps I should consider cutting back.
Tyler knows a pizza delivery driver as they whiz past him.
He'll point and say "Um....slurp....slurp"
Toddler code for yummy food
Bad mommy
Pizza is nutritious right
Cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms...
Maybe I should cut back
Before he begins chasing them down the street.

Husband wants a boat

2009-05-13T11:10:00.003-04:00

Found a guy willing to sell one for cheap! Do you think he'd settle for this.....

House Guests

2009-05-12T11:07:00.004-04:00

As a girl I should be bothered by the presence of a bucket of worms sitting just inside my front door. Shouldn't I?? The thought of they're dirty bodies wriggling across my clean floor, leaving a slimy footprint in it's wake.

Blech

Although....It's not like they have appendages that would permit them to crawl up my legs, or teeth that would big me in my sleep, or wings to fly around my home and annoy me. So what's the big deal?

On the list of bugs that I find creepy, worms really aren't all that high. They're somewhere near the bottom tied with slugs. Perhaps it was because my dad use to keep night crawlers (the giant mutant worms) in the fridge at home growing up just before a big fishing trip. Which of course freaked my mom out. But they weren't nearly as bad as the chicken livers he'd buy that gave everything in the fridge an foul, rotting metallic odor.

Or it could be the worm I ate as a junior in high school as a 6th grade camp counselor. They taste exactly how you'd imagine, slick and gritty with a not so pleasant aftertaste. I'm sure everyone is devastated they don't have this episode on their list of life experiences....

Regardless, just inside the front door sits the current pride and joy of my 2yr old; a pale blue bucket, with a green handle that contains approximately 6-12 worms he dug up from the front planting bed this weekend.

For two days he's enjoyed squatting over the rim to peer quietly inside only to pluck the "fat one" from his dirt nap and announce it's presence in my home by holding it high above his head in triumph.

The husband thinks it's "awesome".....

Probably not my ideal word choice, but gross isn't really on the radar either.

I think I'll just do a mental eye roll and pray the bucket doesn't move any further inside the house.

New Playthings

2009-05-11T13:12:00.005-04:00

For Tyler's 2nd birthday, the husband and I decided he needed a swing set. The primary reason was of course convenience, despite the fact that we had a playground at the elementary school down the street. However, we had a secret agenda because, "quick" trips to the school yard playground down the street were never in fact quick. My son would spend all of this waking hours on a slide if I let him.

Up...slide down...Up...slide down...Up...slide down.

Heaven help me if I had anything else on that day's to-do list. Attempts at removal from the playground always ended in a throw-myself-down, screaming, kicking, fighting tantrum. Which would then draw sideways glances from the other moms that just screamed judgment and thoughts that I was one of "those" moms ::sigh::

So we decided a slide of our very own would save us this personal embarrassment, as well as the opportunity to multi-task our parental duties with relaxing island style with some margaritas on our back deck.

We searched and searched and finally decided on a build-yourself set from the local general store. It was a steal, especially after the set rang up $200 less than the published price.

saweet!

The husband of course was convinced he was super dad and could easily construct such a set with his eyes closed.

Take that next door neighbor who built his kids their own two story "playhouse" coveted by all neighborhood kids from his bare hands with no directions.

However, it turns out that the husband's carpentry skills are actually finite. What he thought would be a easy 10-12hr process, completed with the assistance of my dad, turned into a three day ordeal. Each day it's own production, complete with cuss words, rain delays, mis-cuts, trips to the hardware store, re-builds, several packs of cigarettes and the desire for mass quantities of beer at days end.

Ultimately, the swing set was completed. A collective sigh of relief could be heard echoing against the houses and it stands in the backyard a testament to the will of man for all to see.

That is however, until mom un-boxed grandma's birthday present which is WAY more fun

Baby Steps

2009-05-01T22:50:00.003-04:00

From day one Tyler has always done things just a little early. Holding his head by 2 mos, crawlings by 6mos, walking by 9mos, cold turkey from bottle at one year and ate with a fork and a spoon by 18mos. I'm not trying to brag....ok maybe just a little.....the point being his motor skills are amazing.

However, verbally, we're a swing and a miss. He knows words, pictures, colors, letters, numbers. If I say "Tyler point to the elephant" he'll pick the giant thing out of a line-up. But ask him to say elephant, or monkey, or tiger or anything even remotely easy, and you might as well be spitting in the wind. Mostly he just points and grunts ::shrug:: It' soooo frustrating.

His current vocabulary includes: dog (first word), ball, down, up, mama, dada, door, bubbles, diego (de go), Dora (dor dor), juice (ju). He's recently added the two word phrases: whats that and whats this. Except when he says it, it sounds more like the drunk guy from the bud light commercial several years ago...."Whazzzz At!?!"

Two days ago, almost as if he anticipated his 2nd birthday, he added a new phrase. The first time he said it, I had to sit down I laughed so hard. When he says this, he points at something then pats his chest and always says it twice....

"Whaaz-at-my...Whaaz-at-my"

I guess you could say he's spoiled

Camera fun

2009-04-30T22:01:00.005-04:00

I read an article in this month's parents about taking quality pictures of your kids. So I decided to get my "non-professional" camera out and play around with some of the settings. Probably because I'm always so jealous of those highly talented people who have knack for always getting the perfect shot. A couple of these aren't bad, but they're pretty grainy. Plus trying to take pictures of a toddler is much harder than it may seem, so after dozens of blurry, missed-the-shot-completely-because-the-kid-ran-out-of-the-frame shots I got smart....

Backyardigans to the rescue!

Poof! Instant immobility.

I swear without noggin or cartoons, I'd be stark raving mad by now.

Turning over a new leaf

2009-04-30T11:21:00.009-04:00

I have always struggled in finding a subject to write about day in and day out. Something that is fun, humorous, entertaining, and motivate me to keep up with my writing. However with Tyler's 2nd birthday right around the corner, friends and family keep pointing out how fast he's grown. And I can't agree more. My little man who once depended on me for everything, now squirms his way out of my arms and spends every waking minute in 5th gear, covered in mud, dirt, juice or some other foreign substance.

This mental trip down memory lane got me regretting that I didn't keep up with my old blog about my pregnancy with him, or start a new blog when he was born to track his life.

So today is a new day. I will begin a brand new blog! So.... (drumroll please)

Ta-Da!

A blog.

This blog is dedicated to the men in my life, who are always a constant surprise, who love all things boy, who would prefer to spend their days covered in mud, collecting rocks and bugs, watching baseball, eating chips, drinking beer/juiceboxes, and holding my hand.

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