Prose And Converse

Carboard boxes, duct tape...

2007-10-20T21:52:00.000-07:00

Moving time... I'm gonna go check out a different program for a while. Blogger has pissed me off for the last time!!! ;)

The move may be temporary until I find a program that offers everything I want. I apologize if I'm not as easy to find as I usually am. Think of it as me, playing hard to get. Think of it as one big fun wild goose chase. Or hell, don't think of it at all and just click here.

Expect a sub-par layout, but a comparable level of whining!

Why I Need To Hire Smokey The Bear As My Gym Trainer.

2007-10-09T19:52:00.000-07:00

Watching my body adjust to postpartum life has been like a ten week walk through funhouse mirrors. My fat cells can't quite decide where to settle, so they spend a week in my stomach, then down to my ass, around to the thighs, with a few lone explorers checking out the living conditions of my upper arms.

When I started working out again, Chris begged me, in quite the Sir-Mix-A-Lot fashion, to "please don't lose that butt". I've always been blessed in the booty department, but things have gotten a little out of hand lately. Out of two hands, actually. I have a spare tire, all right. Only it's not in the normal spare-tire-around-the-midsection locale. I couldn't get the metaphorical spare tire up over my birthing hips, so there my fat rests, in thighs and ass.

I hadn't paid much mind to it until last week, when I did quite a bit of walking around. I had chosen to wear a skirt that day, which made me feel pretty and ladylike... until I was actually in pain from my thighs rubbing together when I walked. By the time I got home, I'm not kidding you, I had two red patches on my inner thighs from the skin-to-skin contact.

"Chrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrris!" I squealed. "You're not gonna believe this. It's worse than my ass almost bouncing me off the treadmill."

"Uh-oh," he said, knowing that he was crossing into dangerous territory.

"LOOK!" I screamed, spreading my legs and pointing. He raised an eyebrow. "NOOOOOOOO NO NO NO, not that! Here!" I shouted, showing him the silver-dollar sized rashes on each inner thigh.

"What... the... hell?" he asked, suspiciously.

"I got these FROM WALKING! My damn thighs are rubbing together so bad that I got a rash! I'm just lucky the friction didn't start a forest fire!!!"

"Yeah," he said, a smirk sliding across his face. "Literally."

Playing the part of Proud Wife

2007-10-05T14:14:00.000-07:00

Ever wonder what happens when Chris plays Ipod Commando?

He wrote about it here.

Mr. Cantwell did a guest spot for Re:Generator last week. He provided five music videos for the weekly "Five Music Videos To Help While the Weekend Away" column. I provided some snappy adjectives! (Reprieve! Penchant! Totally mine.) Anyway, you should check out Re:Gen despite the fact that Chris contributed this week, especially if you're into metal. Like, It Sounds Like We're Getting Prison Raped By Satan Metal.

If you need something sweet after all that, here:

The Dutch Apple of My Eye

2007-10-05T10:50:00.001-07:00

Looky what I made!

With Reagan being baby number three and all, I was a little worried that the novelty of an infant would have worn off a little bit. I'm gonna level with you here: I'm not enraptured by wee babies the way most women are. I like the ones that can tell me what they're thinking, can wipe their own butts, and especially ones that laugh at my jokes. Frankly, I don't vividly remember the infancy of Maddy and Brady; it's mostly just a blur of "leaving the house is a pain in the ass" and "when was the last time I showered?".

This time around, I'm enjoying it a lot more than I remember. I'm certainly not playing favorites with the children themselves, but the circumstances are much better this time around. I'm married. I'm not working. I'm getting enough/maybe too much sleep. Although I've doted on all my children, Reagan's got me whooped. If my day was broken down into a pie graph, the biggest slice would be "stares lovingly at baby." If my life was an actual pie, it would be Dutch Apple, and win a blue ribbon at every state fair.

My reprieve from work has created ample opportunity to give more attention to the older children as well. I can finally be the mom that isn't too tired to play outside with them after school! I'll read more than one bedtime story, and not fall asleep sitting up, still mumbling "I do not like them Sam-I-Am..."! I'll occasionally make something for dinner that doesn't have the word "cheese" in the title! And get this: yesterday, we actually made play-dough.

AND, my life of sunshine, fresh flowers, and cupcakes with sprinkles just got a little better yesterday. I finally bought a new pair of jeans... something with an actual waistband, not elastic. And you know what? They're a size 7, not too shabby, not too much farther to go. Not even fitting into my pre-pregnancy size 4's could make me any happier than I am with life right now.

Although, after mentioning it, I wouldn't mind a piece of pie.

Book Pimp

2007-10-03T20:55:00.000-07:00

The best part of being a Stay At Home Mom, aside from the obvious "Baby-bonding", is the fact that I'm left with long stretches of empty hours when the munchkin is sleeping. When I get tired of staring at her, and after I’ve made up a good enough excuse to postpone the housework, I set up camp with a book. I've read a ton of great books in the last month, and when I was out of fresh material, I scoured my bookshelves for those titles I was more than happy to dust off and revisit. And now, being the generous soul that I am, I'll share a few of my favorites of the last few weeks, both old and new, with you.

It's officially Autumn now, so even if you're not an avid reader, maybe the thought of curling up in a cozy seat with a cup of tea and a good book sounds appealing. Or better yet, sit outside for a while without fear of heatstroke, and take a glass of wine and a pack of smokes (if you're into that), and one of these:

Rant: An Oral Biography of Buster Casey by Chuck Palahniuk
C.P. is the same mastermind that brought us Fight Club, and Rant is along the same twisty-dark lines. Granted, the best thing about the movie Fight Club is Brad Pitt's body, which Chuck Palahniuk isn't responsible for, but I think we all can agree that it's still an amazing concept. Rant is a little confusing at times, but well worth the mental workout once you get accustomed to the style of narrative- which is basically a bunch of different people giving an account of a man named Buster (Rant) Casey. (Hence the “Oral Biography” warning.) I also read Lullaby this summer, and although it was entertaining, I liked it far less than Rant and another C.P. book I read last year, Choke.

Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas, and also Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman
Both of these books are collections of essays/articles by Pop Culture Junkie Chuck Klosterman. I loved both of them, but if I had to pick just one to recommend, it would be Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. I, for one, enjoy people who can make me feel intellectual and vital to society while I’m reading about Star Wars, Saved By The Bell, and the Pam and Tommy sex tape. C.K. gets a standing ovation from me- or better yet, the Slow Clap.

Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress by Sarah Jane Gilman
Sarah Gilman is everything you love about David Sedaris and Augusten Burroughs, but with ovaries. This book was so fantastic that it completely erased all the guilt I was harboring for spending so many years pouring over vapid chick lit. Yup.

My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One Night Stands by Chelsea Handler
I’m not kidding you, this is the fourth time I’ve read this book. It might be a little on the vulgar side for a lot of people, but I absolutely loved it.

So, there you go. I’ll probably add more to this list later, but there’s a few of my favorites from this summer to get you started. And, as a little bonus, if you’re interested in reading any of these books, I would L-O-V-E to lend you my copy. Maybe if you have something you think I’d like, we could even trade. These books are too good to sit on my shelves, so if you can give one of these a good home and a little attention, they’re yours for the taking.

So, what books are you currently pimping? I’m almost through with re-reading To Hell With All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife. When I’m done with that, I’ll need some new material… suggest away!

Estrogen-Infused News

2007-10-02T21:31:00.000-07:00

Don't sue me for libel.

Faulty Pipes (and that's not just a critique of the singer):
British alternative rock icon Morrissey cancelled two of his LA shows due to a burst water pipe at the venue. It's actually a great thing that the building proved to be unstable before the show, so they'll have time to fix the problem. If the venue can't sustain a leaky water main, there was no way in hell it was going to stand up to hundreds of crying Smiths fans. Umbrella is the new scarf.

Britney Britney Unfitney...
What the hell kind of world do we live in that makes Kevin Federline the responsible parent? He's now full-time Papazao because Britney allegedly failed to show up for her court-ordered drug tests. Maybe if her weave wasn't so tight, she would have realized that she wasn't supposed to be testing the drugs, but that she would be tested for drugs. "Them drugs work just fine, y'all!"
Let me tell you what I like about this whole Britney scandal. For the last 10 years, that girl has been the go-to hot chick for any male with a fetish for the innocent school girl. The statistics on that? It's right up there with the amount of men who breathe, masturbate, or like pizza. I'm willing to bet that every female in my age demographic has had to listen to male friends- maybe even boyfriends- call that Pop Tart hot. And she was, in her heyday, which just makes her that much more annoying. I, for one, once dated a guy who kept a life-sized cardboard cutout of Britney in his bedroom. Like that's not intimidating. Time that I should have spent enjoying myself was spent vowing to do more situps.

Now? HA! NOW I ACTUALLY DO HAVE ABS LIKE BRITNEY- no crunches required. Thank you, Britney, for simultaneously "hitting the bar" and lowering it. It takes a lot of money to look that cheap.

Leave J-LO A-LOne!
Ok, I'm officially over the J-Lo pregnancy rumors. The media has been swirling preggo rumors about her for what feels like years now- can we get over it? Doesn't the gossip media have anything better to do- like find out for me what Luke Perry is up to. That, I care about. I love pregnant celebrities, so I'm getting a little tired of the tease. Wishing that Jennifer Lopez would actually be pregnant is giving me blue ovaries.
What grinds my gears about this particular rumor is that it's set off every time J-Lo is photographed in something on the modest end of the scale. It's a Catch 22... either you go around half-naked and get criticized relentlessly (see above), or you wear age-appropriate fashion and get accused of being pregnant.
The only point of contention I have with Jennifer Lopez is that marrying Marc Anthony pretty much obliterated any chance of a clever "Hollywood Smashed-Up Couple Name" a la "Bennifer". I'm punny as all hell, and even I can't think up anything catchy. Ben Affleck had the right idea- he just married another Jennifer. Smart move.

This concludes our broadcast day.
As for me, my husband should be home any minute. I'm going to pour us both a drink, cuddle up with him on the couch, put on a movie, and then spend the entire time trying to think up a clever name for Mr. and Mrs. Marc Anthony.

Update from Camp Cantwell

2007-10-02T19:15:00.001-07:00

I've certainly been lacking in the blog area of life, because diddlydoo is going on. Actually, that's not entirely true, but try as I might, I just can't get around to posting an entire entry about how I burned my face making bacon (what a way to go) or how interesting it is teaching a seven year old how to spell the word "doughnuts".

Aside from those things, my days consist of speaking in a secret language to my baby. If you live under our roof, terms like "shadooby", "shadinky", "Rootus" and "Boof" all have their own specific definition. I also serenade the cat with impromptu songs like "Fatzilla Catzilla" and "Let Me Brush You, You'll Look Ten Pounds Lighter". Needless to say, by the time Chris gets home from work, I am near delirious with anticipation of speaking to someone who comprehends what I'm saying and appreciates me on a deeper level than "I Like You Cuz You Feed Me." It's also nice having someone contribute more to the conversation that "Waaaaaaaaah" or "Meeeeeehreooow".

One noteworthy thing that happened last week: Maddy was inaugurated as Super Student of the Week in her second grade class, the first student of the year to be picked. HECK YEAH. As a young, once-single mom, I feel like there's a bit of a stigma, so I'm prone to pushing Maddy academically because I have to overcompensate for the silent judgement I get from some of the other mothers. Maddy's school is teeming with affluent Stay At Home Moms, and a handful of them are Big Fat Bullies. So here's what I have to say to you, Condescending Mom Who Always Makes Me Feel Bad- SUCK IT. Your child? She wore a t-shirt with the periodic table of elements on picture day and my beloved bastard daughter still won Super Student. Go cry about it into your Starbucks Coffee with Seventeen Modifiers all the way to your kid's ballet class. Nyah-nyah-nya-nya-nyah. (Usually I'm not quite this... well, mean. Let this out-of-character rant, in my defense, serve as testament to the fact that this lady has it coming.)

In other, less estrogen-infused news (ok, there's an idea I'm gonna take off running with, ye be warned): Both the boys have birthdays this week. Brady turned the big Oh-Four over the weekend, and is extremely proud that he can now show off his age by doing this:

Chris won't reach official birthday boy status until Friday. Ah, it seems like only yesterday that I was affectionately referring to him as "22". We did have a BBQ on Sunday as the Pre-Party, and I can honestly say it was the most fun I've had in a long time. Chris had a blast, even though he doesn't remember the last part of it. It's a shame, really, because the most hilarious part of the evening was when Chris was coming back out to the backyard where everyone else was and slamming the sliding glass shut just hard enough for the lock to latch behind him. "Somebody locked me out!" he said, indignantly. "Nobody did, honey. We're all outside. You know how sometimes the slider locks when you shut it?" Chris then proceeded to knock on the glass. "Who, exactly, do you think is going to come unlock that for you? The baby?" "Someone locked me out, on purpose, and they're still in there. You know what, whoever you are? EFF YOU. Yeah, eeeeeeeeeeefffffffffffffffffffff yoooooooooooooooooooooooooooou!" (Complete with photographic evidence:)

All in all, it was a great day. We made not only a killer lunch, but a killer dinner as well. For the PM crowd, Chris grilled two whole chickens, a ton of shrimp, and an entire prime rib. My only job was to handle the side dish- roasted veggies. Delicious, scrumptious roasted veggies, that ummmmmmm, that sat whole and raw in the refrigerator because I didn't remember that I was in charge of cooking them until I was piling my dinner plate high with an array of protein. Ooops, my bad. This is why we can't seem to keep Vegetarian friends.

If you weren't there but wish you had been, here's your chance to live the action vicariously! Be thankful that you weren't there to witness firsthand my husband's proclivity to giving kidney punches to unsuspecting friends. Maybe it's not just the vegetarians that we're driving away, come to think of it.

So, I suppose saying that diddlydookins has been going on is a bit of an understatement. Usually a comment of that nature isn't followed by multiple paragraphs of rambly text. Hey, Keep Em Guessing, that's what I always say. Who am I kidding, I never say that- I always say "What's for dinner?"

Well, that and "SUCK IT!"

This Week's Featured Pet Peeve:

2007-09-28T22:23:00.000-07:00

Spelling errors in a classroom.

How arbitrary are my neurotic vexations? I'll start a sentence with a conjunction, but a homophonous error will make me insane.

Before Brady can walk out of his preschool, he has to go around and individually bid adieu to each classmate. "Bye, Nolan. Buh-bye Sapphire*. Goodbye, other Brayden." As he was making his rounds, I started eyeing the craft shelf to avoid having some kind of Romper Room flashback. Cute little jars sat in a row on the shelf, each one bearing a label indicating their contents, even though the jars were clear. "Damn," I thought to myself, "someone here is a stickler for organization." It seemed a little redundant- a jar of pencils that said "PENCILS", a jar of paper clips that said... you guessed it, "PAPER CLIPS", and then, right there between the "GOOGLEY EYES" and "BEADS" was a jar of sparkly little gems. And it was labeled "SEQUENCE". This is the type of thing that most people either wouldn't notice, or wouldn't dwell on more than a flickering smirk. Not me. No no no no, not Anal Retentive About The Most Arbitrary Things Me. It's not like there was a teacher beating one of the kids or a lice outbreak, but I'll tell you what, I am never, ever thinking of that daycare the same way again. Granted, Bradyn will likely never know that the teacher who was obsessed with labeling everything wasn't so meticulous with her spelling(and it's not just like she transposed a few letters- this is an entirely different word here, people!!!) but it is very, very likely that every time I go to sign Brady out for the rest of his preschool career, I will look at the shelf above the sign-out book obsessive compulsively to see if the error is still there.

*If I had to guess who was Most Likely To Be Caught Playing Doctor Under The Swingset, my vote goes to the kid with the stripper name. Just sayin.

All the spandex in the world can't help me.

2007-09-24T21:44:00.000-07:00

Imagine my glee when I stood on the scale at my 6 week postpartum checkup and saw the little metal slider getting nudged farther and farther to the left, until it finally hovered over a number that was within ten pounds of my pre-pregnancy weight. Imagine my smug little face as the nurse recorded the number on my chart with an impressed expression. Imagine my elation when the nurse practitioner- previously referred to as The Pregnancy Diet Nazi- called me "Skinny Minnie!" Imagine me skipping out of the office that day feeling like the Prom Queen.

Imagine my horror when, two weeks later, my go-to baggy pants required an elaborate "shimmy-hop-shimmy-twist" to get over my ass. I should probably also mention that said pants are maternity. Need I mention I almost passed out? (Although, in hindsight, it was probably because the pants were cutting off my circulation.)

The time to work out was nigh.

Believe it or not, I had actually really been anticipating a return to the gym. I'm the last person that anyone would ever call "fit" or "healthy", but about six months before I met my husband, I had been bribed by my roommate to go the gym with her, and I fell in love with it. Immediately I began to see results, and I felt better about myself than I had since before I had kids. It was like a drug.

Along came Chris. The euphoria of falling in love quickly became more addicting than the euphoria of making it through an entire Latin Dance Fusion Aerobics class without wheezing. I traded in dates with the treadmill for dates with Chris... and although he provided me with plenty of cardiovascular activity, he's also a chef. No one but me noticed when a few new pounds stowed away here and there. Like a baby or a cat, I tend to gain weight when I'm happy, so I was ok with it. It was when I went shopping for clothes and had to buy an entire size up that I really gave it a second thought. Hmm... my belly is getting bigger... which is funny because I have felt kinda sick the last week and haven't been able to hold much down... hmm, maybe I'm just PMS'ing. Yeah, that's it. I should be starting any day now... actually, come to think of it, aren't I a bit late? [Smacks palm against forehead...]

I was under no grand illusion that I would shoot out baby numero three and look like a supermodel, but I was pleased with the progress I had made at the six week mark, and confidant that once I was given the OK by the doctor to start working out, the rest of the pounds would fly off. What I didn't take into consideration was that the birth control I begged my doctor for would cause extra weight to flock to me like paparazzi to Beckhams.

Realizing that I needed to go to the gym cancelled out the fact that I wanted to go to the gym. It's like your boss telling you to do something that you were already planning on doing- sure, the task gets done, but not doing it of your own free will takes all the fun out of it.

With a slightly deflated attitude, I suited up for my first day of working out. By the time I had spent a few minutes walking on the treadmill, my heart started beating faster and I could literally feel the endorphins being pumped through my veins. Confident and determined, I reached out to the treadmill's control panel and eagerly starting tapping away at the plus sign. The loop of rubber started cycling faster and faster, and soon I was going from power walk into jog.

GA-JUUUUUUUUUUUNG.
GAAAAA-JUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNG.
GA-JUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNG.

As soon as I accelerated my gait into something that was of a slightly higher impact, I was absolutely horrified to realize that my ass was jiggling like two jello molds in my gym pants. I was almost afraid that the velocity of my behind bouncing rhythmically up and down would eventually gain enough momentum to catapult me right off the treadmill and careen me into the elliptical machines. Never before has a trip to the gym instilled so much antipathy; not once have I ever said to myself, "I need a sports bra for my ass."

I don't really like focusing on weight as a number, so instead of targeting a specific weight, my goals are:
1.) To get back into wearing actual clothes and not my maternity wardrobe... which is equal parts working out and shopping for clothes that fit me.
2.) To be able to endure a cardio session without
a.) Bouncing off the machine
b.) Wheezing like an asthmatic geriatric
c.) Walking away from the treadmill thinking, "I need a cheeseburger and a cigarette."
3.) To scare the gratuitous belly fat into submission. No, tummy, it is NOT ok to hang like that. Retreat! Return from whence you came!

Does anyone have any gym horror stories, or I am the only one whose ass makes an ass out of them?

This Week's Featured Pet Peeve:

2007-09-22T20:13:00.000-07:00

The Birth Control Patch.

"They" make you think you don't get pregnant because the hormones in the birth control prevent eggs from being released, or prevent fertilized eggs from implanting in your ueterine wall.

BULLSHIT.

I'm convinced that the real reason you don't get pregnant is because you don't have the chance to. The fatigue, moodyness and weight gain are what kills your chance of ever getting action in the first place. Also- try to feel sexy with a week's worth of bandaid adhesive forming a linty square on your stomach.

Soon, we are "upgrading" to something a little more reliable and a little less likely to turn me into a fat hell beast, but in the meantime, I am waging a war with hormones. Because my husband is hotter than hell, and because I'm still suffering PTSD from my lovely pregnancy and labor, I've got to deal with the minor annoyances associated with pumping my body full of extra hormones. Although I may bitch about what a pain-in-the-ass it may be, I'd MUCH rather take on a handful of extra hormones than an extra human being. Because really? That's just a pain-in-something-else.

L is for Lazy...

2007-09-20T19:41:00.000-07:00

I caught this on this very funny blog, and it's pretty much all the blogging I'm in the mood for tonight. Expect something more soon!

A is for age: 27
B is for breakfast: Breakfast was delayed today- by the time we got to IHOP, I was way more interested in a bacon and egg cheeseburger than the origianal strawberry pancake game plan.
C is for career: Stay-at-home mom/wife for the next month.
D is for dog's name: No dogs, although my last one was named Alouicious.
E is for essential item I use everyday: Definitely the computer.
F is for favorite TV show: Sex & The City and Arrested Development- out of shows currently on-air, I'm addicted to LA Ink, Rock of Love, Top Chef, and am waiting (im)patiently for the new season of American Idol.
G is for favorite game: Apples to Apples
H is for hometown: Born in LaMirada, California
I is for instruments I play: Skin Flute and Male Organ.
J is for favorite juice: Grape
K is for kitchen, what color is it?: Red
L is for the last place I ate out: IHOP
M is for Marriage: I am totally obsessed with my husband.
N is for nickname: Nik, Nikki, Coley
O is for overnight hospital stays: 3
P is for people I was with today: Reagan, Bradyn, Madelynn; Husband; Grandparents; Brother
Q is for quote: "We're all of us haunting and haunted." -from Lullaby by Chuck Palahniuk
R is for regret: Smoking
S is for sport: I started getting into Major League Lacrosse this summer!
T is for time I woke up today: 7 am
U is for favorite piece of undergarment: Chris's lucky boxer-briefs (Trust me, I'm the lucky one!)
V is for last vacation I took: 2 days in a swanky hotel in Santa Monica while I was pregnant.
W is is for worst habit: Leaving the dishwasher open. "Honey, have you ever seen 'Garden State'?)
X is for number of xrays: Just dental ones.
Y is for yummy food I ate today: Homemade chili for dinner... with Fritos on top. :) There's only room for one gourmet chef in this family, and it's quite obviously not me.
Z is for zodiac: Leo

And now I tag... well, everyone who's up for it. Meghann? Ashlea? Tiana? Andrea? Who's sneaking around here?

This Week's Featured Pet Peeve:

2007-09-07T22:32:00.000-07:00

People who call my baby a boy.

At five weeks old, I'm willing to concede the fact that my daughter still looks completely like... a baby- a deliciously plump, happy, androgynous baby. Well, usually she's happy- in the photo, she looks disappointed in mankind, or severly annoyed, just like her mama.

I've always thought that newborns all looked like wrinkled little old men, aliens, Elmer Fudd, or Yoda. All of them, even my own. It doesn't bother me that other people think that as well. What does bother me is when strangers assume the gender of my baby, although I suppose it only bothers me when they get it wrong. Baby faces are baby faces, granted, but do people really not notice all the hints I'm giving them? She's dressed in a pink onesie. With flower booties. In a pink blanket. In her pink stroller. Either I'm doing my best to subltly suggest to the public that she's female, or it's a boy, and the cast of Queer Eye For The Metrosexual Infant threw my baby shower.

Proof that I am a spoiled American:

2007-09-06T22:11:00.001-07:00

From a MySpace bulletin I sent out today:

All summer long, our house has been a chilly 72 degrees. Partly, this is due to the fact that when I was pregnant, anything over 72 degrees felt like I was boiling in a vat of my own fat. Partly, I wanted to overcompensate for the fact that Chris works with fire all day long... the least I could do was have a nice, cool, house for him to come home to! (Notice I didn't say clean...) I'd be the first to say, whenever the topic of weather came up, that actually, it didn't feel too hot this summer! It was actually quite pleasant! To which Chris would slowly, slowly turn to look at me, and I could see the little thought bubble above his head full of this stuff- &%@#$%&!!!!!!- because my summer? My summer consisted of laying on my couch like a beached whale, drinking caffeine free iced tea and watching Rachael Ray with the AC blasting so hard that I was actually cuddled up underneath my favorite down comforter.

I'm sure that's probably the cause of the problem I'm faced with now. One of our AC units went out yesterday. Last night I was in denial. Today, I am in agony. Agony and lots of deodorant. I am forced to hang out in Maddy's room all night, because the only parts of the house that don't feel like you're in the stomach of a cow are the kid's rooms.

Which brings me to my point- and you thought I didn't have one!!!

DOES ANYONE KNOW A GOOD LOCAL AIR CONDITIONING COMPANY???

(Preferably one that accepts salami sandwiches and watercolor paintings of indecipherable animals as payments, but as they say, beggars can't be choosers.)

Two weeks ago, my beloved TV started to show signs of aging.
Last week, I left my cell phone outside and it's been dead since.
Yesterday, the AC.

I was sitting there thinking "Wah-wah-wah what's going to break next?" when I realized how petty it was to complain about losing some of my luxuries, I laughed out loud. I am so stupid, so petty, so damn lucky to even have these problems at all. But for the record:

Please God, don't take my Internet.

What Santa is bringing this year...

2007-09-06T21:46:00.000-07:00

I want to get the munchkeroos these!

By my calculations, I'd be in 22nd grade this fall. (But don't trust my calculations, I didn't make it through college.)

2007-09-04T22:26:00.000-07:00

In the same way that Christmas and Halloween have become less about me and more about the experience I create for my children, The First Day of School has been a spectator sport. I get to channel my inner geek with a romantic stroll down the school supply aisle, where, in my imagination, protracters and glue sticks follow me like I'm Snow White, where I am serenaded by the pencil sharpener that just flew by and landed on my shoulder.

Happy First Day of second grade to Madelynn!
In the grand tradition of Maddy, me, and first days of school, I fought back tears after I waved goodbye and walked out to the car. She was excited to go this year, fully because she had been suffering a mean case of withdrawal from those three months without Monkey Bars. She worried all summer about second grade, but I don't worry about her. Madelynn may be shy at first, but people adore her. (And even if they don't, she doesn't really give a shit. Sweet.)

She sat at her desk, hands folded, and looked like she was afraid it was going to swallow her up. I watched her through the big classroom window for a few minutes while I was chatting with the other Moms, and I saw her straighten her pencil box in the center of her desk, and then move it to the side, and then the middle again. And then I noticed that even though I got the exact pencil box the teacher specified, most of the other kids had a different brand. Knowing this as I walked back to my car burdened me with some bizarre surrogate social anxiety. Is that weird?

Speaking of surrogacy, I emailed the four girls I know who are still in high school, and asked how their first days went. And then I begged them to tell me what they wore, because that's pretty much what the first day of school is really all about. My daughter has to wear a uniform, which, although a godsend on every other day of the year, kinda takes all the fun out of the first day. I reconciled myself with this by harassing my sister and her friends to tell me what they wore... and by reminding myself that there is Free Dress on Picture Day.

Attack of the Mom-Brain!!!

2007-08-23T17:51:00.001-07:00

Something about pregnancy and the subsequent weeks of being postpartum renders your brain only about half-useful. It's the phenomenon of Mom-Brain that leaves you incapable of even the easiest mental tasks. It's what causes you not notice that you're wearing your clothes backwards, have two contacts in one eye (right, Tiana?), or that you never rinsed out your conditioner. It's what caused me to leave an entire trunkfull of frozen foods in my car until they melted beyond salvation because... well, because I just completely forgot about them.

The grocery mishap, compounded with the fact that I've been listening to Disney music all day, caused me to seek shelter within the pages of my new book, Rant, by Chuck Palaniuk. The pessimist in me especially loved this passage from pages 12 & 13:

"The big reason why folks leave a small town," Rant used to say, "is so they can moon over the idea of going back. And the reason they stay put is so they can moon about getting out." Rant meant that no one is happy, anywhere... Rant used to say, "Life's greaetest comfort is being able to look over your shoulder and see people worse off, waiting in line behind you."

May your day be graced with a good book, some age-appropriate music, and no thawed chicken juice seeping into the upolstery of your trunk.

Love me, love my weakness for musicals.

2007-08-22T23:16:00.000-07:00

Because it's late, and I'm exhausted to the point of nearing delirium, I'm going to confess something. I was really anticipating the August 17th release of High School Musical 2. Unfortunately, my daughter was out of town and we had to wait until she came back to watch it... which means the last five days were more torturous than I'd like to admit.

If you're not familiar with the High School Musical phenomenon, it was a movie made last year for the Disney Channel about a group of high school students. It's plot is Grease meets The Mickey Mouse Club, and it so corny yet so catchy. When I saw previews for the sequel, I knew it would be horribly cheesy, predicatable, and over-the-top... ergo absolutely fabulous and I couldn't wait!!!

Even though I grew up loving musicals and cheesy movies, there were moments that garnered a groan and eye-roll from me. ME- I saw From Justin to Kelly- IN THE THEATER- so who am I to pass judgement? Noooooooooooooooone. But I will anyway.

Zac Efron- dreamy enough to make me feel like a creep- was wearing so much makeup that he looked like an Oompa-Loompa gave him a makeover. Sadly, even his freaky fake tan was not enough to distract from the horrible song and dance around the golf course that he did. Who thinks that was cool- besides the Kevin Bacon character in Footloose? Otherwise, though, that kid is adorable. Even when he's trying to cop a feel on Gabriella as she's singing her "I'm Breaking Up With You" song. Hello, on the bridge? I am SO not the only one who noticed that, right? (Oh, how I wish I had another adult to discuss this with!) And why, oh why, was there an omelet on the stove just ready and waiting for him every time he walked into the kitchen?

Really? Am I really typing all this? Time to put myself to bed before I start to analyze the beseball dance-off... one boy just sang to the other, "I'll show ya how I swing!".
It would just be too easy to keep going!

What came first, the chicken or the egg? (And other food-related queries)

2007-08-21T22:05:00.000-07:00

Do I watch Food Network all the time because I'm constantly hungry, or am I constantly hungry because I watch Food Network all the time?

Piss Drunk?

2007-08-20T18:43:00.000-07:00

Germany. Home of sausage, Hefeweizen, lederhosen, and now... the Piss-Screen.

Essentially, it's a way to weed out potential drunk (male) drivers by having them play a simulated driving game where they steer a car with their stream of urine. If you crash your car in the game, the number for a local cab company appears on the screen.

Great for society, bad for janitors...

http://www.piss-screen.de/

For those Crazy, Hip, Neglected Blog Mamas!!!

2007-07-17T19:50:00.001-07:00

I haven't participated in a CHBM rally in a while. Please forgive me while I unabashadly blame it on my unborn child. After the stretchmarks she's giving me, she can take a little heat from a blog group. ;) Oh, and if anyone's peeved that I didn't post this on Friday like I should have... take it up with afformentioned unborn.

The theme is Summer Photos, here's what I got for ya:

As a favor to me...

2007-07-13T18:45:00.000-07:00

Anyone who has access to Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds", go play it... this is my message to you-ou-ou.

2007-07-07T09:40:00.000-07:00

This has to be some kind of joke. Unless Petra Nemcova designed a line of resort footwear inspired by her tsunami survival, or Aquaman has a fashionista for a girlfriend, I have a hard time imagining much of a market for these.

On the other hand (foot???) they do accomplish one remarkable feat (feet!!!)- they actually make Crocs look not-so-bad. I can't believe I just said that.

More than meets the eye?

2007-07-04T17:25:00.001-07:00

Anyone out seeing this

soon? Keep an eye out for my step-brother, who's got a teensy bit of screen time in the movie. (Towards the very end, he's flying one of the helicopters, and then he blows up.) I haven't seen it yet because the idea of sitting in a packed movie theater watching robots fight for two hours while my body is screaming "Why aren't you laying down, Stupid?" at me... well, it's not my bag, Baby. I am, however, extraordinarily proud of my brother.

This step-brother of which I speak is named Michael, and he's a month older than I am. I didn't get to know him until after my mom married his dad a few years ago, because he was an Army Ranger and served two terms in Iraq, flying Blackhawks. He's one of those guys who comes off as a complete asshole until you get to know him- then you realize, well, yeah, still an asshole, but he's funny.

Soooooooo, go have fun, those of you who are unencumbered enough to be able to sit in a movie theater for two hours without frantically making an escape plan in case your water breaks!

Honestly-

2007-07-04T12:22:00.000-07:00

HELP.

Does anyone know how difficult it is to remove wallpaper? Like, on a scale of 1-10... for a preggo. I have a fairly small bedroom with a wallpaper border along the top of the wall that I would just like to not exist anymore. Anyone have any pointers???

Young man, you are grounded until I can tell this story without busting up laughing.

2007-06-30T22:11:00.001-07:00

Tonight, over dinner, I was dealing with the usual frustrations of trying to get my children to eat... not to mention keeping elbows off the table, full mouths closed, and the bodily-function jokes to the bare minimum. To make matters worse, Maddy had a friend over, and my baby broher Tyger, and my sister and her best friend were all there too. Mealtime was hectic, and I was getting frustrated with how much policing I had to do to get them to eat. It's not like I was forcing them to eat liver and onions or anything, I made their favorite- Mac & Cheese- from scratch.

My three year old was in rare form tonight, especially because he had an audiance, and I had to keep pestering him to quit the comedy routine and eat. Raising my voice slightly, I said, "FINISH YOUR DINNER!" to which he looked at me, wide-eyed, looked back down at his plate, stabbed a forkful of Mac and said, "MACARONI! You are going in my belly to marry my lunch! And then you will kiss each other! Nakey! AND IT WILL BE SEXY! They'll be like 'Oooooh la la!'"

I almost spit out an entire mouthful of salad. I could not fathom what had just come out of my baby boy's mouth... let alone begin to process how to counteract the situation. While the six other people at the table howled with laughter, I tried not to choke on my mouthful of food. I could feel my face blush with mortification. And then, after asphyxiation was no longer a concern, I couldn't help but laugh. And trying to reprimand a three year old while you're laughing doesn't help much.

"The Talk" happened after dinner, when it was just the two of us, and I still had to turn my head away a few times when I was about to break character. I'm not sure where he picked the term up, but according to my daughter, he had used it at least twice before. It got me thinking about how, even though my kids cross the line occasionally, they do it with hilarious pizazz. Hey, it could be worse- as long as cracking a really inappropriate joke is the most trouble they get it, I can handle that.

It got me thinking, though, about how hard it is to repremand a child when they do something funny. My all-time favorite example of this was when my family went out for dinner once. My mom, two brothers, sister and myself were in the middle of a busy restaurant on a busy night, at a table surrounded by other diners. My brother Tyger had to have been only about 3 or 4 years old at the time. In the middle of dinner, Tyger lets out the most enourmous, resonant, bellowing belch I have ever heard in my entire life. My entire family is dumbstruck for a moment, in awe of the fact that a noise like that came from a three year old and not a lumberjack. Apparently, the other diners heard it too, because it seemed like for a split second, a hush fell over the restaurant and all eyes were on our table. And then, my baby brother, with a look of shock and disgust on his face, turned to our mother and said, accusingly, "MOOOOOOOOOOM!"

Almost ten years later, I can't even type that story out without laughing out loud...

But enough about me and my family's bad manners- anyone have a story to share about a kid getting out of trouble (if only momentarily) because of a keen use of comedy? Sharing is caring.

delish...

2007-06-27T21:41:00.000-07:00

Last night's dinner...
The Tabasco sauce is for Chris, who liberally applies it to everything edible. I've got mad Tabasco aversion thanks to one fateful lunch shift where an entire bottle spilled in my apron and I had to smell it all day long. (In case you were wondering. I'm a huge fan of Cholula, though.)

So, there you a go, a picture of dinner in lieu of an actual post. Eat up!

If Tabasco and Cholula got in a street brawl, who would win?

Why put something off until tomorrow when you can do it the day after that?

2007-06-24T17:43:00.000-07:00

So, I'm gonna level with you here. I'm not really a motivated person. Especially with this whole "(insert any verb here)-ing for two" that I have going on lately, sometimes it takes me a whole half hour to motivate myself to rise from a reclined position to go get a brownie from the kitchen. If it takes that much for chocolate, people, you can only imagine the struggle I'm having with housework.

It's not just that I'm lazy. It truly is difficult for me to move around. I'm trying my best! Yesterday, I did a few loads of laundry, some light housekeeping, played with my son, grocery shopped, and cooked two dinners from scratch. Seems like an easy day off, right? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? By the end of the day, I felt like I got run over by a truck.

Today, I still feel miserable- a theme I've been battling for the last week or so now. (I'm thinking about starting a fund to bribe Dr. Jacome to expedite this whole childbirth thing, donations gladly accepted.) I'm taking it easy today, although I'm bored out of my mind. Already cleared my TiVo of everything I have been saving to watch when Chris wasn't around (he disapproves of my addiction to The Ex Wives Club). I had to get out of the house before I went stir crazy- seriously, nothing makes me grumpier than feeling like I wasted a perfectly good day off by staying in my house and not contributing to the economy in any way. Since we're trying to save money, I decided against going anywhere that provides you with a shopping cart, and instead decided to visit my other therapeutic outlet, Golden Spoon. Life feels so much better with an empty cup of frozen yogurt in front of you, especially when it's Strawberry and Orange 50/50 Bar Swirl with fresh strawberries on top. Or maybe that's just me. But I sat outside of the the yogurt shop, reading a book and basking in the sun until I was scraping the bottom of my Styrofoam cup and the metal rivets in my maternity jeans had absorbed so much heat that they were literally burning my skin, and now I feel like a new woman.

Or, at least, I will...after my nap.

I've returned physically, but not mentally.

2007-06-21T15:40:00.000-07:00

Our two-day vacation was perfect... except for the fact that it was way too short. Depressingly short. Almost-threw-a-tantrum-when-we-had-to-leave short. As a matter of fact, I may appear to be back, but it's just a clever illusion. Really, I'm still in the VIP cabana at the Viceroy Santa Monica, sipping Voss water and eating food I can't pronounce. You're reading this because I've gotten mighty good at telepathy.

In reality, I'm glad we could sneak away from the desert, even if it was for 24 hours. Timing was perfect- I was maxed out mentally, and still kind of am, to be honest. A proper post is in the works, but I'm having a hell of a time stringing words together to form sentences so it might take me a little while to get caught up.

In other news, can I please have this baby? I'm literally losing what little sanity I had left.

And the livin's easy...

2007-06-16T05:54:00.000-07:00

I'll take a Jehovah's Witness any day.

2007-06-07T08:52:00.000-07:00

One would think that living two decades in a city with the word "Desert" in the name would make one accustomed to desert-y things. I absolutely adore my desert city, with the palm trees, the sand dunes, the tumble weeds the size of SUVs, the mountain ranges hugging our valley from all sides, the unrelenting sun- even wild coyotes, bighorn sheep, roadrunners and scorpions lose their novelty after a while. What I will never get used to? The fact that because I do, indeed, live in a desert, sometimes I might need to be prepared to come home from the hardware store to find a four-foot snake on my doorstep.

Luckily, Snakey the Snake was first spotted by Chris, who's "WHOA!" was reason enough for me to stay pretty far back. I did get a peek at the serpent, from a good 15-20 feet away, and it was enough to creep me the F out. I could not, do not even want to try to imagine what would have happened if I had stumbled across the thing on my own. Only one of us would have been able to walk away from the situation without going into cardiac arrest... or, more appropriately, I should say "slither away."
My money? It's on the huge scary scaled thing.

Sit back, relax, enjoy the slide show.

2007-06-01T23:29:00.000-07:00

Sarah G. sent me some pics she took at the wedding- hopefully this will hold you over until the professional ones are ready...

What weekends are for:

2007-06-01T16:04:00.000-07:00

I'm sure everyone's had a hard week. Go splash around a bit!

"I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine."

2007-05-25T19:38:00.000-07:00

Married life.
It's been under a week, and... uh... well, it feels no different, except now, every few hours, Chris and I look at each other, giggle, and say, "We're married!"

Our honeymoon consisted of one whole entire day off together- well, technically half a day, because we had to pick Maddy up later that afternoon. We went and watched Shrek the Third, and as I sat sandwiched between the two of them, I found it hard to stay focused on the movie because I kept staring at the person to my right or left, feeling overwhelmingly blessed.

By the next morning, the "overwhelmingly blessed" turned into "overwhelmingly overwhelmed," as I looked around the house and made a mental list of all the chores that had to be done. I still had a few days off from work, but Chris was leaving to rejoin the workforce at 7:30am on Tuesday. I took a break from packing Maddy's lunch to walk my husband (I can't even type that without a giggle) to the door that morning, something that made me feel very June Cleaver. The only problem was that about ten steps from the front door, the realization hit me that This house isn't going to clean itself... and I'm the one with the day off today... oh eff me. I've got to do it? As I said goodbye to Chris, I couldn't stop the tears from falling, the big fat wet hot tears sprung from the hormonal well of pregnancy. I was already lonely before his car was shifted into Drive.

I spent most of Tuesday cleverly avoiding doing most of the housework. I even went into my work to see if I could pick up a shift! I ended up spending the afternoon shopping for new carpet with my grandma, with enough time to accomplish a few of the least deplorable tasks on my housework to-do list.

Wednesday, it was unavoidable. I had to clean my closet. Really, I had to, because people were coming out in the afternoon to measure my bedrooms for new carpet. I really wanted to avoid having someone opening my closet doors to measure the square footage and losing their life, suffocated under an avalanche of mismatched Vans and clothes I haven't been able to wear in 6 months. There is no motivator for housework greater than the chance a perfect stranger might die upon entering your home! And, let's be honest, I can't afford BOTH the new carper AND a lawsuit. Let's be honest, I can't even really afford the carpet.

Ever since Tuesday morning, I've been arm-wrestling with my hormones and have consistently lost. Ever the glutton for punishment, I declare "TWO OUTTA THREE!" and lose again. "BEST OF FIVE!!!" Then, my Self-Esteem decides it can't handle watching the slaughter from the sidelines, so they pipe up, "I play winner!" My hormones then proceed to mop the floor with my Self-Esteem. I've gone through the last few days unwittingly doing an Eeyore impression as my punishment.

I worked a little the last two days, which really didn't serve any purpose other than annoying me. (I gave the play-by-play over at zee other blog, the one where I just complain a lot, you know, that one?) Now I'm self-medicating with Fiona Apple (Extraordinary Machine on repeat!) and trying to distract myself from the daydreams I'm having about French Fries wearing ketchup shoes and can-can dancing from the plate to my mouth. Yup, daydreaming about junk food, despite the fact that I can actually feel my toes swelling as I sit here.

I'm off to go elevate my lower extremities before I have two pillow feet and ten Vienna Sausage toes.

Mmmmm.... sausage...

A generation gap so wide, you'd need a pair of Acme Rocket Skates to cross it.

2007-05-24T07:19:00.000-07:00

Upon Seeing A Roadrunner:

Me: Look, Maddy! A roadrunner! Like the cartoo---
Maddy: Like High Speed Online!

(For those of you saying "Huh?", our cable internet is called Roadrunner.)

Hitched, without a hitch.

2007-05-22T14:14:00.000-07:00

As of Sunday, May 20th, at 2:49pm, I am married.

Everything went perfectly (insert dreamy sigh here). I don't have enough time to elaborate at the moment- I'm not even at home- but I did just want to check in with everyone in the Blogosphere and assure you that I haven't fallen off the face of the earth.

More later, that's a pinky swear.

It's like muzak for the eyes!

2007-05-15T20:50:00.000-07:00

I've got nothing to say. Here's a picture of Brady, post-haircut.

For the old man in all of us!

2007-05-15T08:58:00.000-07:00

Mapquest finds you the lowest gas prices in your area!

Smile like a saint, curse like a sailor

2007-05-14T20:55:00.000-07:00

According to an episode of Spongebob Squarepants, there are Seven Bad Words in the world, but thirteen if you're a sailor. Madelynn asked me about the truth of that yesterday. I told her that there were probably more bad words than that, depending on who you asked. She told me that she tried counting and only got up to eight, so there was no way that there could be thirteen bad words.

Today, while bombarded with a fresh piece of wedding-related info, I... um... well, I kinda lost it. I was unloading my rage on the phone when Maddy walked into my room. I immediately shut myself up.

"On second thought, I think there just might be thirteen after all," she deadpanned, "maybe more." Then she turned around in her sparkley mary-janes and walked out of the room, adding, "You could teach Mr. Krabbs a thing or two."

Cracked Up

2007-05-12T21:44:00.000-07:00

Today kicked my ass.
I was running on two hours of intermittent sleep and not prepared to deal with not one, but two small crises in Wedding Planning Land.

I laid as low as I could, tried not to flip out. I only officially lost it once (on the phone with my grandma, of course) and came dangerously close to having a breakdown in the middle of the baking supply aisle of Albertson's while thinking to myself, "How the hell am I supposed to get through this without my trusty companion, Junk Food?" UNFAIR.

Maddy and I both had friends over for dinner- Maddy's friend Jade and my friend Andrea. We started talking about the concept of "If Mama Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy!" (which, lucky for me, is a notion completely understood by Chris). Maddy had her own take on the witticism, which was "If Mama Ain't Happy, I CRACK UP!"

HOW DOES SHE FIT A SIXTEEN YEAR OLD IN THERE?

As the older two of us were doing the dishes together and the younger two were fighting over whether they were going to watch Freaky Friday or Annie, I turned to Andrea, and in reference to Maddy said, "Where did I go wrong?"

Without hesitation, Andrea replied, "You mean, 'How Did You Manage To Give Birth To Yourself?'"

Oh. Good point. On the bright side, Maddy wrote down some nice things as part of the Mother's Day gift she worked on in school. For example, she loves it when I "make chocolate cip cookies" and I'm smart because... well, see for yourself!

Art Show(-off)

2007-05-12T16:49:00.000-07:00

(You have to click to see the full image... my apologies on behalf of blogger.com.)

Last Thursday, we went to check out my brother's artwork on display for the senior high school Art Show. First of all, it is abundantly clear that I got NONE of the artistic genes that run abundant in our gene pool. Both my grandmother and mother are extremely talented artists, and the only artistic talent I have is nice penmanship. Sometimes. All the actual look-how-well-I-can-represent-actual-things artistic talent went directly to my brother.

So, yeah, he can draw. I'D LIKE TO SEE HIM CARRY A BABY. ;)

Love you Ernie, and I'm way more proud than I am jealous.

I can see clearly now the rain is... on my parade.

2007-05-09T21:10:00.000-07:00

I'm just going to throw this out here: without the help of ophthalmology, Chris is blind as a bat. Every once in a while, he'll throw on his old pair of glasses, but I'm not sure they're that much help, seeing as how the prescription was written when fanny packs were cool. The time finally came for Chris to get contacts.

While he was having his eyes examined, I was running wedding-related errands with my grandmother. When Chris was finished with his appointment, he called me up.

"Babe, I'm not sure if you knew this or not, but we're... surrounded... by MOUNTAINS!"

I couldn't help laughing out loud. Yeah, I was kinda aware of that. (We're surrounded by a 360 degree view of mountain ranges, even from our backyard.)

After I hung up with Chris, I had to explain to my grandmother what had caused the guffaw that made her jump out of her Reeboks. A look of panic swept across her face. "His eyesight was that bad? Oh no!"

"Isn't that hilarious?" I said. "I'm glad he finally got around to getting his eyes checked."

"Oh, me too," said my grandma. "And it's a good thing he's got two weeks to get used to how you really look before the wedding!"

Sometimes, the grass is greenest in your own front yard.

2007-05-08T22:38:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be honest with you here. I was Cranky Mom yesterday. I was impatient, irritable, not Very Much Fun At All Mom. I was looking forward to spending some one-on-one time with my daughter tonight to compensate for my microscopic fuse yesterday. We ignored the chores that needed to be done. We neglected the television. We shunned (most of) her homework.

An old friend of ours asked about Madelynn, and it took me a while to figure out how to answer. She's absolutely the most complex child I've ever met. She can be deliriously silly and then completely morose in the same sixty-second time span. She's got teen angst flowing through her seven year old body... she is very hard work and the thing I am most proud of, and also the biggest challenge I face. I can see myself through her. I am petrified of her growing even a day older.

But, for today, I pushed away the sadness of knowing that one day this will all be different. For today, I enjoyed her as my seven year old. When I tucked her in bed tonight, I sat on the edge of her bed a little longer, hugged a little tighter, and lingered at the door for a few minutes longer.

Goodnight, Moo. Thank you for today.

Eye of the storm...

2007-05-08T22:32:00.000-07:00

Even though Andrea's up to her ears in stress, she's still managed to kick some photo-bloggy ass this week. Please pay her site scout a visit!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

And the inheritance goes to...

2007-05-04T08:49:00.000-07:00

This morning, I was getting Brady dressed in a t-shirt that has the word "MOM" on a scroll through a flaming heart, kinda with a Sailor Jerry tattoo vibe to it. Brady asked why it said "MOM" in the heart, and I said, "Because you love me!" Brady looked back down at the shirt and said, "And what's all the fire for, Mom? OH I KNOW! Cuz you're HOT!"

Chalk one up for the Shaggy One. Maddy's got to step up her game a few notches! Maddy's not really the complimenting type. Last weekend, the kids and I had dinner with Andrea, and on the table was an advertisement for a Mother's Day Vacation. Maddy picked it up and read it. "Mom Get Away!" (It was supposed to be "Get-A-Way".) "Yeah, I totally know what they mean!"

AND ANOTHER ONE!

2007-05-03T18:29:00.000-07:00

Maddy: "Mom, tomorrow is a Free Dress Day!"
Me: "Oh really? Why?"
Maddy: "Because Saturday is Oh-ho-dee-hi-ho."
Me: "WHAT?"
Maddy: "Oh-ho-dee-hi-ho. It's a Mexican holiday, Mom."
Me: "Do you mean Cinco de Mayo?"
Maddy: "Maybe. Dangit, I'm a quarter Mexican. I'm supposed to know these things."

The Bard is rolling in his grave.

2007-05-03T09:01:00.000-07:00

Last night, as Maddy and I were working together on her homework, she started quoting Hamlet.

"Where'd you learn that, Maddy?"
"I don't even know where I get this stuff, Mom. Who says that anyway?"
"It's from a play called Hamlet, written by William Shakespear."
"William Shakespear? Is that Britney Spears' dad?"

I would gobble him up, but Painfully Adorable Three Year Olds aren't in my diet.

2007-05-01T22:18:00.000-07:00

Nerves of Tin Foil

2007-05-01T09:22:00.000-07:00

I am being tested.

I feel like Jesus, when he was up on a mountain being tempted by Satan. Only... well, I'm obviously not Jesus. (I'm hilariously far from perfect and couldn't grow a beard if I tried.) And the Tempter in question isn't wearing a red unitard and carrying a pitchfork- it's shaped like a sucrose molecule. And I would never say "Get Behind Me, Satan!" because everyone knows sugar automatically goes to your ass anyway. So scratch that analogy. Point being, I'm really trying to stick to the diet that Dr. ~~Hitler~~ Jacome (and company) suggested. But I'd just like to know HOW I'm supposed to do that when the odds are stacked against me.

First of all, Del Taco chose this month to unveil the Orange and Cream Milkshake.
Then, I found a huge Costco-sized box of Brownie Mix in my cupboard.
NOW, they opened a donut shop en route from our house to Maddy's school. And my daughter is aware of it. Very aware of it. Very aware as in asking me seven times a day if we can go before school.

I hit my breaking point. I crumbled... like the topping of the cinnamon roll I consumed in less than twelve seconds. If you happen to be in the neighborhood of Country Club and Monterey, go to Swiss Donut for the Crumb-Cinnamon Roll. Unlike myself, you'll probably be able to enjoy it without hearing the phantom screams of an entire team of medical professionals in your head. If you happen to see some woman, quite pregnant, shoving donuts in her mouth like a fiend as she argues with invisible people, don't worry. It's just me.

Like whoa.

2007-04-28T10:26:00.000-07:00

For any of you interested in photography, I suggest taking a look at the Freefall Photography collection by French photographer Denis Darzacq. It'll blow your mind, if you have one. ;)

"La Chute" (The Fall)"

Move over Bridezilla-

2007-04-27T14:46:00.000-07:00

Here comes WIDEZILLA.

My wedding dress finally came in! My mom ordered it for me, so I tried it on when I went over there for our weekly family dinner last Wednesday. I'm sorry, I don't think "tried it on" is the right term, because that implies that I could actually get the damn thing on.

All my life, I've been between sizes. I'm one of those people who has to try everything on, and being pregnant is no exception. They tell you to order based on your pre-pregnancy size, but I don't think there is a seamstress in the world who could anticipate how big my belly is in comparison to the rest of me. (Stop rolling your eyes, dear reader. If it makes me feel better to blame it on the dress maker, LET ME HAVE THAT, OK?)

So, back the dress goes, with another one, a bigger one, on it's way. I believe the dress is being walked over from Pennsylvania, based on the shipping estimate. The other problem is that Dress V.2 is going to be way too large, and will require a great deal of altering to give the illusion of "Nicole In A Dress" and not, "I thought I was coming to a wedding, why is there a huge circus tent walking down the aisle- oh wait, it has a face! Is that... NIK?" Under normal circumstances, alterations would be a mild annoyance. In my present world? UM, YIKES. I need this in three weeks!

Well, there you go. I've felt like lately, this blog has been severely lacking in entries of the "Bitching and Moaning" variety. Up next? Probably something gooshy about Chris. We got our marriage license today!

Infectious grooves ?

2007-04-26T09:24:00.000-07:00

Chris went in yesterday to do the routine Drug Testing for his new job, and after he was done, he picked me up from work and we went and grabbed lunch. As soon as he started up his car, reggae music came blasting through the stereo.

Him: "Sorry babe, I just felt like listening to reggae now that my drug test is over with."
Me: "What do you mean, 'now that my drug test is over'?"
Him: "Well, I couldn't listen to it before my drug test. This reggae music is potent stuff."

On writing our vows...

2007-04-25T09:50:00.000-07:00

Chris and I are working with Revered Stan to pen out the wedding ceremony, and as we were reading a list of tradtional openings (as in "Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here together...") I wondered, Do you think I could convince Reverend Stan to do this???

The Story of Us.

2007-04-24T22:13:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I started filling out paperwork for the Reverend who is going to marry Chris and me, and about halfway through page five, when I was listing his maternal and paternal grandparents, something hit me.

I haven't practiced my new signature!

I immediately grabbed the first piece of scrap paper I could lay my hands on and started practicing. As I scribbled my new name over and over again, I thought about some of my favorite moments with Chris and felt like I had been run over by a huge Mac Truck carrying a lifetime supply of Lucky.

Often, when my mind has time to wander, I think about the first time we met. I was fairly certain I'd never find what I was looking for, and was still letting the super glue dry on my broken heart. Chris was a San Diegan who had spent the last few years in San Francisco, and had followed a job lead out to My Neck Of The Woods. As fate would have it, not only did I know his new boss, but I had caught the bouquet at his wedding. After a quarter of a century wondering about my future husband, I met him on my very own doorstep. If either one of has had done just one little thing differently, none of this ever would have happened. It's something that boggles my mind, that overwhelms me, that makes me believe in love and fate and God and makes me like a country song.

And now, aforementioned Love of My Life is home, so I'm going to exit stage left.

I can't believe I made it through an entire post with little to no sarcasm! Expect overcompensation tomorrow!

A creamy sauce for my stuffed shells, possibly?

2007-04-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

This weekend, I'm trading in my lazy days off without the kids for two 8 hours days at work. Downside- running around all day. Upside- not only am I making some extra money, but more importantly, I'm not giving myself the opportunity to spend any money.

It's a wee bit after 10, and I stopped by the grocery store on my way home for work so I can make a dinner for Chris and I to eat together when he gets home. I know it's a little late for dinner, but hey, at least I'm cooking it myself and not leaving it up to a bunch of wiley teenagers who may or may not remember to ask if I want fries with that.

Here's a thought for you before I go back to stuffing my shells: (no, that is not a sexual innuendo. I'm much too tired for that, and I am literally making Stuffed Shells for dinner, perv.) Wait, what was I going to say? I started thinking about stuffed shells as a metaphor and kinda got lost in X rated images of my super hot fiance...

OH YES. What I was going to say is that I really, really hate when people have cryptic personalized license plates. My thought is that if you're going to fork over the cash to sport a vanity plate, at least make it something decipherable, so I don't waste the better part of my day trying to figure out what that random slew of consonants is supposed to mean. Because I will. And the day after that. It will haunt me for the rest of my life. I have actually wanted to pull up next to people at red lights, do the international "Roll Down Your Window" gesture, and ask what their license plate means, but I think I'm one notch above that level of desperation. I will admit, though, it is a very feeble notch.

Enjoy your weekends, yous.

Wined, Dined, and... uh...

2007-04-19T09:12:00.000-07:00

Last night, Chris and I were collectively wooed by his next potential employer, The Viceroy. The place is swanky digs, reminiscent of old Hollywood. Yes, I could live there. Chris has had a bevy of interviews over the last week, and last night, Chef invited us to have dinner at the resetuarant. The meal was insanely good, and as I nibbled at the dessert tray, Chef told Chris that he was the top candidate for the job and they would have a definite answer on Monday, after they check a few more references and run a drug test. We both tried to keep cool, which was hard for me because I get excited like a puppy gets excited, and hard for Chris because they kept sending him cocktails and wine. This is a job that Chris is capable of doing, but a huge leap upwards for him. It's also a big leap of faith for the resort to take as well- Chris is decades younger than other people who applied for the job. He sailed through the verbal interview and kicked ass at his Iron-Chef type cookoff, but I think he is a lot younger than what they had in mind.

The whole job search was prompted by the fact that Chris's current Chef-boss, the Sickeningly Talented Aaron Barnett, is looking to relocate and set up shop in Portland. (You have been reading scout, haven't you?) Chris (and I) can't stand the thought of him staying on at his current restuarant once Aaron leaves. Chris deserves a wee bit more money, and the opportunity to work in a kitchen where there's more than two other people there who a.) care, b.) know what they're doing, and c.) don't attack him with a knife when they're angry.

The Viceroy was soooooo inspiring, it felt like the entire place was posing for a picture. I wanted to take photos of every little detail, but didn't want to look like Big Huge Touristy Geeks, especially since Chris hasn't been officially hired yet. I did sneak a couple pics of the place, which aren't great because I was trying to be as stealth as possible. For a better idea of the grandeur of the place, check out the website I linked for you up top.

Click the pictures to enlarge...

The Dining Room:

One of the pools:

And us! (This was before dinner, in our front yard.)

All right, off to work for me now, sadly.
Have a great day-
Even you, Sanjaya Malakar.

If this picture doesn't make you smile...

2007-04-18T10:12:00.000-07:00

... then you've probably had a week like mine.

My brief attempt at optimistic encouragement, courtesey Keith M Johnson.

Expect a rant from me soon...
Properly warned ye be, says I.

I'm the fortune-ate one...

2007-04-10T09:42:00.000-07:00

Chris and I had a delectable Chinese feast for lunch yesterday, and we got hooked up with the fortune cookies because I knew our server. We have a history of getting eerily accurate and applicable fortunes (yes, I know they're purposely generic so everyone thinks that, but I swear it's really true for us!), but this one that Chris opened has to be my all-time favorite, especially if you play the "In Bed" game.

Oh no no no no no!

2007-04-09T07:17:00.000-07:00

Britney Spears and Howie Day?

Apparently, they met in rehab and she's fallen hard. Apparently, Howie Day is a great kisser. Apparently, I can no longer listen to a Howie Day song from now until the end of my days without thinking about Britney saying that.

Inanimate Object of Lusty Thoughts of the Day

2007-04-06T17:46:00.000-07:00

For a mere $14.00, this print of a painting from one of my favorite movies (Amelie) could be mine. I want this really really really badly, and yet, oddly enough, not badly enough to buy it for myself. *HINT HINT*

This is from the Almost Famous shop on Etsy, where there's a whole lot of awesome going on- like the Fight Club set.

See? Told you!

And it seems to me you lived your life like a flashlight in a breeze?

2007-04-06T08:26:00.000-07:00

Dead celebrities are screwed. I'm still all muddled up with feelings of ickyness about the Kurt and Courtney movie, and first thing this morning I'm getting bombarded with Anna Nicole Smith's diaries. Ok, as much as I'd like to be indignant about this, I don't really think Anna Nicole would oppose everyone and their grandmother reading her diaries. This is the same woman who made a characticure out of herself on a reality television show. I don't consider it being invasive either, it's more like evidence or an opportunity to understand more how this strange woman became such a strange woman. Maybe it will finally answer the question, "How smart is Anna Nicole, I mean really?"
And diaries. I think everyone has to realize that at one point, they might fall into someone else's hands. Anne Frank and Harriet the Spy are both prime examples. As I was reading clips of Anna Nicole's entries this morning, I couldn't help but feel that they were written for that very purpose. On an online poll this morning, 75% of voters said that publishing Anna Nicole's diary was disrespectful, but only 32% of voters said that they would not read them, if published. I hate hypocracy almost as much as I hate poor grammar, which is why I will probably stay away from reading the diaries in their entirety. Although, if someone wanted to read them for me and then give me a detailed report, well, that's ok.
Maybe this is sick and twisted, but I really hope that Elton John records a version of "Candle in the Wind" for Anna Nicole. And I hope Weird Al collaborates with the lyrics. You know what? I think I just figured out how I'm spending my Friday night!

Oh well, whatever, nevermind.

2007-04-05T17:57:00.000-07:00

So, they're casting the upcoming Kurt and Courney biopic. Ewan McGregor and Lindsey Lohan? How about Jared Leto and Drew Barrymore?

The Scoop: Casting for Kurt & Courtney

Whatever it is, it can't be as disappointing as Last Days.

OR CAN IT?

American Idle : And then there were 8

2007-04-05T07:59:00.000-07:00

"Two legends collide: Tony Bennett meets Sanjaya." From Ryan Seacrest's mouth on Tuesday's show to God's ear, apparently, because another week has gone by where Sanjidol isn't even in the bottom three. I don't get it, and it's making me really hate Howard Stern. At first, I thought he was garnering the magicially appearing votes from the tween contingent, like Kevin Covais/Chicken Little from the previous season, compounded with the fact that he's the first Indian American to be a finalist on the show. Now? Now I think I just hate Howard Stern. And, as usual, I agree with Simon- if Sanjaya wins, I'm quitting the show too. (Here's something scary- on an AOL poll I checked this morning, Sanjidol was ranked #1. No, that was not a typo.) Sanjaya's a nice kid... a nice, shaggy haired, soft-spoken, hula-dancing kid, but an American Idol? Kelly Clarkson would eat him for breakfast. Hell, Clay Aiken would eat him for breakfast. Look, I just gave myself the option to segue into a gay joke, and I'm not taking my own bait! I'd much rather talk about Haley Scarnato's legs. And I will, I promise.

Tony Bennett coached the Idols tonight, and it seemed like most of his direction involved encouraging the contestants to perform the songs more like he did. I'm not about to argue with Tony Bennett, but he seemed to discourage every performer from messing with the classics. After seeing what some contestants did on British Invasion week, that probably wasn't a bad idea. On the topic of bad ideas... um, Mr. Bennett's yellow blazer. He looked like he should be hosting a cable-access game show.

Blake was the first to perform last night, which kind of ruined the whole "I can't wait to see what Blake's going to do!" thing, but that's ok because it wasn't very good anyway. He sang "Mack The Knife" which will always remind me of the big McDonalds Moonhead guy singing about a Big Mac. Sigh. The judges were happy enough- actually, a lot more positive than I was. I don't think Blake has to worry about going home for the next few weeks, but I've come to expect a lot more out of him. Blake, you've let me down. You're going to have to try super hard to find a wiggity-wigga-way back into my heart.

Phil was up next, and all I could think about was how much he looks like Nosferatu. And the guy from the movie Powder. It's just creepy, I don't care what he sounds like. He sang "Night and Day", which the judges thought was disconnected, lacking passion, and gloomy. (I would expect nothing more from a vampire.)

Next up was Melinda. She's so good, even Simon can't think of anything negative to say, much to his (and my) chagrin. Really, she's awesome. I'm not sure if I still believe that suprised "Who, me?" look she gets on her face every time she's complimented, but she does seem humble. I think her only problem in this competition is that she seems like she's in a completely different league from the rest of the contenders/contestants. First of all, she seems much older than everyone, and not exactly the same level of "fresh" and "hip" that we get from Jordin, Blake, and Chris. I think she will have a fabulous recording career in front of her, I'm just not sure she is the right one to win the competition. She does have the same last name as my grandparents. I will investigate the liklihood of us being relatives.

Chris Richardson! It's my completely unprofessional but strong opinion that he gave the best performance of the night, as far as modernizing a classic goes. He sang the hell out of "Don't Get Around Much Anymore", and although it looked like he was dressing up like Justin Timberlake for Halloween, it really worked. This week (and last!) he gave the performance I was expecting from Blake, which means I am now a huge Chris Richardson fan. You should be too, ok?

07-04-03-04
Uploaded by greateggs

Jordin Sparks was up next. This girl is adorable! Incredibly, she's the same age as Sanjaya, but a million times the better performer. Ryan Seacrest has predicted that she'll win the comptetion, and although she's not my choice for number one, I would love to see her in the Top 3, and wouldn't think it crazy if she took the whole thing. Tuesday night was a little boring for me, though.

Who knew this would be the week Gina Glocksen went home? I thought she sounded pretty good. Then again, what do I know. It's not like I was voting for her anyway. For the record, though, I did anticipate her staying around much longer than Phil and Haley, and in a perfect world, outlasting Sanjaya. Poor Gina looked upset at the results, and who could blame her. It's one thing to know it's your time to go, and quite another thing when you're standing next to an oiled Barbie and told that she got more votes than you.

Following Gina that night was the man, the myth, the legend, the Sanj. I've been trying to watch my language lately, but this really deserves a "WHAT THE FUCK?" I'll admit that I loved Sanjaya in the very, very, very beginning, but once Hollywood week was over, I thought it was time for the cute little sentimental boy to go home. Why is he still here? I sing with more enthusiasm in the shower. It's gotta be all the hype from stupid stupid VoteForTheWorst.com. If he sticks around longer than some of the really and phenomenally talented people, I think he's going to get assasinated. Not by me, mind you, but it seems most of America is pretty riled up about this. Once Phil, Haley, and Sanjaya leave, the show is going to get really interesting.

I would gladly keep Sanjaya around for another week if we could all please, please just send Haley home. If I have to watch her wiggle all over the stage with her plunging necklines, coy expressions and overly-greased legs, I'm going to scream. I roll my eyes so many times durning her performances that I have blurry vision for the rest of the night. Her voice? It's not horrible. Her body? Wow. But Haley needs to stick to the beauty pageant circuit. Maybe the auditions for that Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders reality show were right next door to the American Idol auditions, and the poor thing got confused? I know she's nice to look at, but think of it this way: the faster she gets kicked off, the faster she'll be posing naked somewhere.

Last up was LaKisha, who always seems to end her songs with a mean ole pout. The girl's got some massively large... pipes! I don't really like her as much as Melinda and Jordin, and definitly not as much as Chris R. and Blake. She seems to be loved by the judges and has stayed out of the bottom groups so far, so I'm assuming she'll last for another few weeks as well. Look, I don't really care, I'm just hoping to get rid of Phil, Haley and Sanjaya so the real competition can commence!

And Paula? Paula. Please, please please fire your stylist. You only look good to you, and that's because of the drugs. And maybe you could do something other than the same exact ponytail you've been sporting for the last few weeks? You paid a lot of money for those extensions, you should really be showing them off.

I just realized how long this post is. I am so sorry. No judgement, ok? ;)

Don't show this to Chris, I don't want to spoil the surprise...

2007-03-31T20:03:00.000-07:00

... but this is what my wedding dress looks like!!!

I wish I could add this to our wedding registry.

2007-03-30T21:05:00.000-07:00

Who wants to bother with a troublesome flask when you can smuggle booze somewhere AND give your breasts the illusion of grandeur?

Multi-tasking? I'll drink to that.
Even if it's through a hose connected to my bra.

Signs that we might be watching too much TV:

2007-03-30T20:50:00.000-07:00

1. When my 3 yr. old sings his ABC's, it goes "...H-I-J-K-Elmo-Pees..."

2. When pretending to sneeze, my son says "Picachu!" instead of the traditional "achoo".

3. I overheard Maddy say this to Brady today while they were playing together: "Brady, stop singing! You don't know the right words! Where's Simon Cowell when you need him?"

Return Address of the Jedi

2007-03-29T17:06:00.000-07:00

My son, although only three, knows almost as much about Star Wars as your average twenty-something male superfan. (Things they also have in common: virginity and living with their mother.) Ok, that was mean. Point being, the best part of his day is when we drive by the R2-D2 mailbox. I really earned some Mom points today by letting him get out of the car and see it up-close. (That should make up for forcing him to eat tacos for dinner every night this week.)

Have a good day, and
Mail the force be with you.

Happy Birthday To You, You Live In A Zoo, I'm Not Just Teasing, It's Actually True.

2007-03-29T07:38:00.000-07:00

We celebrated Maddy's seventh year of hell-raising on planet Earth this week with a family shindig over at my mom's house. My mother showed off her Cake Goddessery by making a strawberry-and-vanilla checkerboard cake, which was equal parts delicious and confusing.

How do they do that?

Seven years. Whoa. Seven sounds exponentially older than six, which sounded exponentially older than five, etc. The morning of Maddy's birthday, I was getting very sentimental about my baby girl, being so grown up. In a lot of ways, I don't think of her as a daughter, but more like my sidekick. Sometimes I get sad when she's at a friend's house or with her dad because I want to spend time with her, because there's things I want to tell her, things I'd like her opinion on, like she is a peer. For a long time, it was just Maddy and me against the world, and that team connotation often times is more prominent than an overwhelming maternal feeling. She doesn't give me much of a chance to feel maternal, since she's been out-diva-ing me since she was two. These were the things I was thinking about as I was watching her get ready for school on the morning of her birthday, watching her as she checked out her reflection, making sure her bangs were perfect, then doing a full turn to check out her outfit in the full-length mirror. All growds up.

I was reminiscent that morning almost to the point of being morose, despite the fact that Chris and I were heading straight to my doctor's after we dropped the kids off at school. Chris was extremely excited- it was the day of the potentially-gender-determining-ultrasound, but I couldn't get too jazzed- I was so preoccupied thinking about all things Madelynn. I was also trying not to get my hopes up because both of my children required multiple ultrasounds to figure out what sort of equipment they were packing. Imagine that- my kids, shy? No, I don't think that's it, I think of it more as them being uncooperative. Ah yes, makes perfect sense.

Once we were in the dark ultrasound room, watching our baby on TV, I snapped out of my melancholy. There was Baby, wiggling and waving, face pressed right up against my uterus. And then there was the baby's body in profile, where the sound waves from the ultrasound machine projected such a clear image that it cast shadows through the spinal column like rays of sunlight through clouds. As the ultrasound technician moved the wand over my belly, the baby turned it's head to look at us dead-on. That part was kind of creepy... but, you know, really awe-inspiring at the same time. And, on the morning of my not-quite-a-baby girl turning seven, I got a present- the opportunity to do it all over again with another baby girl.

Here's to more pigtails, more bows, and more pink cakes in our future!

"Foodie" is short for "Food Snob"

2007-03-27T17:00:00.000-07:00

(That's my honey in the background in case you don't get the joke. He gets paid to cook very hoity-toitily.)

And with only minor burns to show for it!

2007-03-25T21:22:00.000-07:00

Invitations: Check.
Photographer: Check.
Exorbitant Stress: Check and Check.

Worth 1,000 Words

2007-03-22T12:34:00.000-07:00

Ryan the Jovian took some awesome pictures at our BBQ last weekend, here's a few of my favorites:

Brady. Jovi gets the photo credit, but I'm the one who made him cute.

My adorable almost-niece, Skylar:

Andrea, from scout, doing some scouting of her own:

And there's some more photographic deliciousness this-a-way: Ryan Jovian's Virb Photos

I love my friends, and continue to hang out with them for the excellent company and the hope of gleaning talent through osmosis.

Chris won't let me touch his pot.

2007-03-21T20:12:00.000-07:00

We hosted a fairly large-ish engagement party BBQ this weekend over here at Camp Cantwell. The entire day came as a not-so-gentle reminder that I am not as extroverted as I am inclined to expect myself to be. The amount of people who showed up for the BBQ is a fair representation of how many people will be at our wedding, and although I adore each and every one of them (EVEN MY FUTURE IN-LAWS!) individually, the grand mass of people as a whole is totally overwhelming. I am never, ever complaining about not being able to invite more people to the wedding again.

Aside from the chocolate covered strawberries and the deviled eggs, the best part of the day was when everyone had left, the kids were in bed, and Chris and I sat on the living room floor opening our presents. It's hilarious that we were so excited about things that we had essentially picked out for ourselves, but we were like little kids on Christmas. We ripped open presents, screamed, and were near delirious with glee. Well, except when Chris opened up the gift from his grandparents. When Chris saw that he had an All-Clad pot and pan in front of him, to call his very own, he looked as if they had been set in front of him by Jesus Christ Himself. I will state here for the record that my fiance ain't no sissy man, but he got tears in his eye. I think I tried to snap him out of his religious experience with his new cookware by saying, "You can use those to make something for dinner tomorrow night!" He looked at me like I had just suggested Rachael Ray run for president, or that I had told him I was really craving some frog legs. "Oh no no no no Honey," he said in a church-whisper. "I can't use these! I can't get them dirty!" Right. I'm sorry. I didn't realize when we were doing our registry that those were shiny stainless steel works of art we were asking for. Silly me. One can understand my confusion- they were right there in the middle of the cookware section. Next up, we opened up the coffee maker of our dreams. After the whoops and the high-fives, I made sure to clarify that we were actually allowed to use it. For coffee. We are.

And I'm sorry for anyone who, from the nature of the subject line, assumed I was referring to drug use. NOT THAT SORRY, FOOLED YOU! NEENER NEENER NEENER!!!

In the meantime: I'm not dying, we won't know till next week, and babies still like me.

2007-03-14T17:29:00.000-07:00

I've been remiss in my blogging duties lately, which I feel guilty about. Is that odd? Is there something wrong with me? Am I missing some vital component that makes me wholly unresponsive to my growing piles of laundry, but completely conscience-stricken when I let my blog go a few days without seeing any action?

Here's what I've been swimming in lately:

1. I got my biopsy results back today. I am cancer-free! I am even pre-cancer free! I almost didn't believe the nurse practitioner when she told me. I had convinced myself, beyond shadow of doubt, that I had cancer. Since I don't have to worry about that anymore, I've cleared up loads of time to devote to stressing out about the wedding, and about the baby.

2. Speaking of Baby, we'll be taking a peep inside my belly via ultrasound in a little over a week. Hopefully we'll come away from the visit knowing that our baby is developing properly, and particularly, what exactly our baby is developing properly.

3. I spent some time with my friends' son over the weekend. It's been a long time since I've been around a 1-year old, and I was really excited to take a refresher course in Baby 101. I only watched him for about two hours, and I was sad to see him go. Here's a picture I took of Jacob:

Thanks for bearing with me while I neglected the updates...
You'll be hearing more out of me soon!

Photo Friday

2007-03-09T23:16:00.000-08:00

Because The Crazy Hip Blog Mamas say so, I am posting this pic for this week's Photo Friday: Your Silly Little Baby Face. So, this might not techinally be the silliest photo I have on record, but the brilliance behind it is that while this shot is completely candid and taken mid-fit, Brady actually looks like he's having fun. This was a tough day... If you didn't catch the pic/post the first time around, it's right over here.

The rest of the submissions will put a smile on your face. Go give them a look-see if you have time. If you're intersted in anything crazy, hip, blog, or mama related, there's some brilliant blogs over there!

I don't allude to high school girls in bikinis until paragraph seven. Bear with me.

2007-03-09T20:26:00.000-08:00

Planning a wedding reminds me a bit of being on Prom Committee. My school didn't technically have a prom committee, because we didn't technically have a prom. I went to a private Christian school, where the absence of such a notorious rite of passage was explained to us in a simple mathematical equation: Prom = Dancing = Pregnancy. When I ended up pregnant the summer after my freshman year at a Christian college, I was really confused. I hadn't danced with anyone, I swear!

I do remember sitting in homeroom in 11th grade, where my entire junior class- all 25 of us- were trying to plan our quasi-prom, the Junior/Senior Banquet. We had a class budget which we democratically tried to allocate, and I remember being thankful that I wasn't Class President, because I could care less if we sent out invitations that were hand-written by a calligrapher, or if we had three rather than four options for entrees. The only contribution I made to the entire shindig was suggesting that we hire a professional DJ, which was shot down by the majority of the class because apparently, "Javier's cousin" was a DJ and would do it for dirt cheap. I think we ended up paying him just enough to cover the cost of the four AA batteries it took to power up the boom box he used that night. Believe me, there's nothing like hearing Jars of Clay played from a boom box with a microphone propped up next to one speaker.

If someone would have warned me that planning Junior/Senior Banquet was going to prepare me for one day planning my own wedding, I might have stopped doodling long enough to pick up a few pointers. At that point, though, I thought I had a better chance of being the first woman to eat fried chicken on Mars than I did of getting married. I think the only thing I really gleaned from that experience was to NOT have Javier's cousin DJ my wedding.

I know that my wedding is supposed to be one of the most special days of my life, if not the primary placeholder. Most girls have been planning their famous walk down the aisle for years. I've only really thought about it for a month. The truth is, after spending the last seven years completely jaded, I'm kind of over it. Don't get me wrong: I do really want to be married, and marriage is something that I look forward to. The actual wedding, though? Is that really for me? I just picture a young, virginal bride being walked down the aisle by her father, and the whole connotation just seems a little too fairy-tailed for me. Like I could even wear a white dress without making the guests snicker. Would I rather spend money on flowers, or paying off my Target Visa? This is one area where my practical side wins out.

I'd probably be singing a different tune if someone else were paying for the wedding, and that tune would be called "A Serenade For Monique Lhuillier (Please design me a dress)". I might enjoy making decisions about all the details if I wasn't so preoccupied trying to calculate exactly how many hours of work it's going to take to cover the cost. We've got a baby on the way and debt that needs our monetary attention, and I'm supposed to coordinate a huge party where not only do I have to foot the bill, but I CAN'T EVEN HAVE THE DAMN CHAMPAGNE. Funny. Real funny. I love Chris, and I want to be with him forever. That doesn't cost me a penny, but I feel so much pressure to spend more money than I make in a year to announce that to our friends and family.

My first order of bridal duty was to work out the invitations. Wedding Invitations are such a big hoopla. (I use the word hoopla when I don't feel it's appropriate to say "pain in the friggen ass," just so you know.) There's a lot of pressure there because everyone says that the invitation sets the theme for the enire wedding. Knowing that, I searched high and low for invites with a "Shotgun" theme. (By the way, Chris doesn't think that joke is funny. And it is, of course, a joke.) After being astonished by the prices for everything that I "kinda" liked, I got frustrated and just went with the easiest, cheapest invites that I could tolerate. Easy & Cheap: of course that's the tone of the wedding. Of course. Now that just screams "NIK!"

I'm sure everything will turn out perfectly in the end. I just wonder if I can hire the local high school's prom committee to help me get to that point. Or maybe they can at least help me wash cars as a fundraiser for the wedding... I have enough friends with dirty minds- I MEAN CARS- to pay for "Trista & Ryan"-caliber nuptuals.

And now, for your daily dose of "WHAT THE $@&%!!!"

2007-03-07T17:30:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, quickly.

2007-03-06T21:41:00.000-08:00

Good morning!

Good night.

Boldog Születésnapot!

2007-03-04T17:59:00.000-08:00

That's "Happy Birthday" in Hungarian, in honor of my grandmother. I'm actually not allowed to refer to her as a grandmother, because she thinks it makes her sound old. As long as I could speak, I've called her "Baba"- a nickname given to her from her Hungarian parents, which means "Baby." And I'm her baby still, which is a huge blessing (she helps me out more than I'd like to admit) as well as a huge frustration, at times (she can bring me to tears easier than anyone else in the world.) I love this woman more than I can express, and I couldn't imagine life without her. She's got so many qualities that I hope I can cultivate in myself, although I could live without ever becoming obesessed with a poodle. (Although I have to admit, it's part of her charm.)

When I called her today to wish her a happy birthday, I asked if her dog baked her a "pup cake", and I'll tell you, I was so proud of my spur-of-the-moment pun.
"Oh, no," she said. "Cookie just signed my birthday card 'Yours Drooley.'"

See? See where I get it?

Happy Birthday, Baba!

Baba & Nik, circa 1985 (?)

My favorite women on the planet, Christmas 2006
Baba, Myself, Madelynn, Mom, Jadyn
(You have to click on the pic to see my sister. Sorry J!!!)

Get In My Belly!

2007-03-04T11:04:00.000-08:00

In other news...

2007-03-04T10:46:00.000-08:00

It's hard for even me to wrap my head around, but the world hasn't stopped because I had (minor) surgery. Go figure. Yesterday, Maddy lost her front tooth, making her look like a Jack-O-Lantern. (A really adorable one, of course.)

I also finished the bloody invitations. I have to say that as much as I was dreading another trip to Michael's, it was actually a squillion times better than I was bracing myself for. I got a parking spot right up front, there was no line, AND I discovered a different way of putting the invites together that was just as cute and a heck of a lot easier. Mmmmm-mmmm, this Humble Pie tastes delicious. (I'm pregnant. Any kind of pie is welcome.) Here's how they came out:

And believe me, I'm thanking my lucky stars that I didn't have to tie each invite up with raffia like I was originally planning.

SEE WHAT I DID THERE? "Thank my lucky stars"???? Oh, I kill me!!!

Allllllllllllrighty then, I'm going back to my lazy Sunday. I just pulled some cinnamon rolls out of the oven. I'd invite you over for breakfast and Nintendo, but then I'd have to get out of my jammies, and I'm so not ready for that yet.

I see your tonsilitis, and I raise you cervical cancer.

2007-03-03T08:46:00.000-08:00

Just as I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, the tunnel called "Worst Cold Slash Sore Throat Thing Ever", Chris started feeling ill. I'm going to be totally honest with you here, at first I just thought he was being a pansy. A day later, I realized that he was legitimately ill; iller than I had been, iller than the grammar in this very sentence. Did I have sympathy for him then? Well, a little. Like, half of a micrometer of sympathy. When he came back from the doctor and said that he had an abscess the size of a golf ball, I felt a twinge of guilt for minimizing his illness. I also felt extremely jealous that he went and upstaged me! Oh yeah? Well, well, I was sick AND pregnant, take that! Oh, you had to have five shots and four people trying to drain your lanced abscess? Well, you didn't have morning sickness!

The same day that Chris had his follow-up appointment, I had my appointment for the dreaded colposcopy. The whole thing was frightening, invasive, and really uncomfortable. I tried turning my head to one side during the procedure, but I could see the reflection of the nurse handing a scary metal medieval torture device to the doctor, so I turned the other way and squeezed my eyes shut. Halfway through the procedure, Dr. Jacome popped his head up over the paper sheet resting over my knees and said to me, "Oh, and no sex after this," as casually as if he were telling me not to wear white after labor day. "No sex for at least a week. Actually, you're going to have to be very careful having sex for the rest of your pregancy. If you're not very careful, you could start bleeding..." and as the doctor kept talking about what complications could arise, I only half-listened. It was really hard to hear the doctor because the voices in my head were screaming at him. WELL, WHAT THE HELL ELSE, DOC? Should I stay away from ice cream? Are you going to tell me that Target is hazardous to my healh, too? ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE AWAY EVERYTHING? And oh my god, I finally started feeling sympathetic for Chris.

As soon as they were done, the doctor told me to sit up. I got about halfway to vertical when I blacked out and went back down. I opened my eyes a second later but I couldn't see straight and Dr. Jacome sounded like he was talking to me underwater. He made sure I was ok, then told me to lie down until the faintness passed. I didn't want to be half-naked in that cold, clinical room any longer than I had to be, so I did my best to pull it together. Admittedly, it took a good five minutes before I could sit up, and I was shaking as I got dressed. I checked my reflection in the mirror- no color in my face whatsoever, and beads of sweat all over my forehead. Thank god Chris was there, he practically had to drag me out to the car. I spent the rest of the day on the couch, feeling extremely naseated, weak, sore, and crampy. Now I just have to wait for the biopsy results.

On the bright side, I think I might have won the sick-off. Yipee. Ah, the Threat Of Cervical Cancer, my Ace in the Hole. (Pun very intended.)

Take the craft scissors away from the hormonal woman...

2007-02-28T23:30:00.000-08:00

So, I had this grand idea to make invitations to our engagement party from scratch. I got some ideas from the interweb and went to the local Michael's to arm myself with the supplies. Once I got home, I realized that I was going to need more paper, so the next day I crammed another trip into my busy schedule. For those of you who aren't aware of the unparalleled joy that is the Michael's parking lot, let me put it to you this way: by "joy," what I really mean is "seventh ring of hell." Not only that, but I usually have to haul ass from work straight to pick up the kids from daycare, so I don't have leisurely errand-running time as it is. My second journey to the craft store was even better than the first- MORE cars in the parking lot! MORE people in line in front of me!

The next day I realized I would need stamps. I think my first thought was, "Oh, ef me." We're up to three trips now.

Once I had all my supplies, I started doing the necessary work on the computer. (I'm printing all the invite info onto vellum- the finished product is going to look something like this, but not exactly.) I decided that I hated the word processor on my computer, and decided to buy some software to make the job easier. That excursion officially marks my fourth trip on behalf of these invitations. Well, let's just say that the software, were it human, would not be invited to my BBQ. After I finally got the design tweaked to my liking, I printed a practice page out and was very proud of the results. I made one minor adjustment, loaded the printer with the vellum, and came back five minutes later to find five sheets of NOT WHAT I WANTED in my printer tray. I almost cried.

My poor sick almost-hubby is hanging out on the couch all germy and alone, and here I am fighting with my computer. Now that I've reached an impasse, I just want to complain about it because if I started throwing the tantrum that I want to, I'd wake the whole house/neighborhood/zip code and then where would I be? Plus, my throat hurts anyway. But for the record, I'm really upset.

I think what I'm most upset about, aside from all the time I wasted tonight when I had four zillion and sixty five other things to be doing, is the fact that I have to brave the Michael's parking lot again. And this time, I can't promise that I won't run over an old person. As a matter of fact, I can count on it.

Can I use "Road Rage" as a legitimate defense in court if it is premeditated?

For what human ill does not dawn seem to be an alleviation? ~Thornton Wilder

2007-02-27T08:58:00.000-08:00

The view from my backyard this morning, 8:40am:

"Weekends are a bit like rainbows; they look good from a distance but disappear when you get up close to them.”
-John Shirley

Back to work I go today, after two glorious days off. I was hoping to be fully recovered from the Frankenstein of Colds that I've been enduring for the last week, but not so. As a matter of fact, I have been having such horrible coughing fits that I pulled a muscle in my already-awkward pregnant belly. I just can't catch a break.

I was able to do some interesting things this weekend aside from laying in bed whimpering. The higlights include watching my friends premiere one of their short films, which was really impressive. (Check them out at something directory.) Sunday, I feasted like a queen: lunch at my favorite restuarant with my grandma and then a kick-ass dinner a la Chris- Vichyssoise, fried spaghetti fritters, a kinda scampi-like thing with shrimp, clams, and lobster mushrooms, ceasar salad and garic bread. Um, best dinner ever? Quite possibly. (Although I think I say that every time Chris cooks for me.) I'm not sure if you caught it the first time around, but I did say fried spaghetti. My house still smells like garlic, and I am Vampire Safe for the next three, maybe four weeks. We also saw Reno 911: Miami, and both of us tried to think of the last time we saw a movie in a theatre that wasn't rated G. (I'm still trying to figure that one out.) Yesterday, Chris and I drove out to the Outlet Stores and walked a few miles. The only things we purchased were two pretzels and a cup of coffee: not a good walking to spending ratio. We did have a grand old time making fun of things, though.

And now, back to work. Happy Tuesday, everyone.

As domestic as I get...

2007-02-25T08:03:00.000-08:00

Murphy cannot resist my siren song.

2007-02-21T17:55:00.000-08:00

Last night, Chris suggested that we get some sort of key-keeping apparatus, seeing as how both of us are in the habit of dropping our keys willy-nilly as soon as we walk through the door. I think, in the millions of times I've entered into my home, my keys have ended up in the same place... oh, let's see... twice? And that's being generous. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn't feeling so great when Chris brought that up, or maybe it was because I figured that if I simply willed myself to keep better track of things, I could do it. Whatever if was, I put "key-keeping apparatus" on my to-do list under Donate Blood and Scrub Kitchen Grout.

The sun rose the next morning on our busy home, three little blurs of energy racing around as I tried to get Madelynn and Brady out of the house on time. As we were piling into Chris' car, Maddy remembered that she left something in my car. I told her a rough approximation of where to find my keys, and she retrieved her renegade belongings from my car and was buckled in to Chris' car in minutes. She got to school on time, Chris and I dropped Brady off at pre-school, and then it was back to our house to get ourselves ready for work.

Chris left before I did, and I got ready with plenty of time to do my hair and makeup, iron my work clothes, and finish up some chores around the house. Keen time management isn't a skill I usually posses, so I was really proud of myself for having plenty of time to get everything done. I was ready to walk out the door a full five minutes earlier than normal, even! It was a rare, rare morning.

I grabbed my work clothes, a bottle of water from the fridge, slung my purse over my shoulder, and reached for my keys. My keys. My keys. WHERE THE HELL WERE MY KEYS? I remembered, almost photographically, were I put them the night before, but they weren't there. It took a few minutes of me digging through my purse and eyeing every horizontal surface in my home to remember who had my keys last... Madelynn.

I tried to remember if she ran back inside the house after she grabbed her stuff out of my car, or hopped straight into Chris's. Could she have pocketed my keys? Could they be in Chris's car? They weren't in my car because it was locked, and my keyless entry system won't let the car lock with the keys inside. Cue panic.

I tried calling Chris to see if he could shed some light on the subject, but all eighty-two of my calls went unanswered. I tried calling my grandma, who has my spare set of keys, but she wasn't home. I looked at the clock- if I wanted to get to work on time, I should have been out the door five minutes ago. Cue pandemonium.

As much as I wanted to devote my full attention to finding my keys, I couldn't help but see and hear Chris everywhere I turned. Him: "Honey, we really should designate some place for our car keys." Me: "Meeeeeeh." AL-EFFING-RIGHT, I get it I get it I get it. I have reduced myself to nothing more than a Murphy's Law Ignoring Fate Temptress.

Please, let this be a lesson to everyone out there. Learn from my mistake. When someone sharing a home with you suggests allocating an official Organized Home For Wayward Keys, say yes. Arise instantly and put the plan in action, because if you don't, you're liable to be made an example of the very next morning. Feel free to ignore me- if you like the taste of crow.

Context.

2007-02-21T07:20:00.000-08:00

If any one of my friends described my personality as "slightly abnormal," it wouldn't bother me. I'd probably be amused. On the other hand, hearing my doctor describe my test results as "slightly abnormal" just isn't amusing at all. I'm trying (yet not succeeding) to not worry yet- I have a colposcopy scheduled for March 2nd. Basically, they want to take a microscopically-close look at my cervix because my test results were abnormal. I'm not sure if everyone's aware of how you get microscopically-close to a cervix, but I'll give you two hints. One: it's not through my ear, and two: they suggested that I dose up on Tylenol before the procedure. Can I please change the subject now?
In the meantime, there's really nothing I can do... and in the words of Cancer survivor Olivia Newton John and my grandma, "It is what it is." I'm just going to keep repeating that to myself over and over again, because it's a lot more reassuring than "Go ahead and have the rest of that pint of ice cream, you're probably dying of cervical cancer anyway." Oh god. It is what it is...

The Desert Celebrates Something Withered That Is NOT A Dead Celebrity

2007-02-20T07:58:00.000-08:00

You can see the rest of the (really adorable) set of pics here. You're welcome.

And now, my opinion:

In the Coachella Valley, two things are flourishing in noticable abundance: old people and palm trees. The old people are responsible for the terrible traffic on the main roads, and the palm trees? They're responsible for dates. The first Date Palm trees planted in the United States were planted here in the Coachella Valley in 1903, and I think the guy that brought them over from Algeria cut me off on Cook St. earlier today. The Coachella Valley continues to be the leading producer of dates in the US, contibuting over 30 million pounds of the wrinkley berries each year. In 1921, The Riverside County Fair & National Date Festival began as a celebration of date harvesting.

Did you know that the date has more potassium than a banana? They are low in fat and sodium, and high in fiber, iron, and magnesium... but none of that really matters, because the best way to eat them is in a date shake.

If a date shake really isn't your thang, I don't blame you. Lemme tell you what- it takes a lot more than a glorified raisin to get me out of the house, even if there is some ice cream involved. The real reason to go to the Date Festival is for the rest of the food.

My favorite food group is Fried, which makes any type of county fair like my birthday and Christmas rolled together, wrapped in winning lottery tickets, and deep fried with a side of ranch. You can't walk more than ten steps in any direction without being within smelling-range of some sort of food vendor. Mexican, Italian, Chinese, BBQ, Greek, Indian, American... everyone is representing in full force. The choices are so overwhelming that I actually envied the cows in the Livestock Stables- what I wouldn't give for four stomachs at a time like that! I settled on pizza, a bbq chicken sandwich, funnel cake, a churro, cotton candy, a date shake, and a deep-fried Snickers bar. I almost feel guilty about all the food stuffs I neglected.

Between meals, there's a plethora to do to take your mind off of how much weight you're going to gain in one day. There are plenty of booths scattered around the fairground selling (you guessed it) dates and other locally-grown snacks, as well as merchants who will airbrush custom t-shirts, paint your name on a grain of rice, or sell you something you had no idea you needed... and will probably break in 72 hours anyway. There's an art exhibition showcasing local schools' award-winning artists, a petting zoo, a livestock area, and ostirich and camel races. I will state, for the record, that there are few things in life I enjoy more than watching grown-ass men fall off large birds... but from a distance- ostriches really freak me the heck out.

And speaking of camels... it's a bit of a touchy subject with me. I went to the fair really, really, really wanting to ride a camel. Did I get to ride a camel? Nooooooo siree. Apparently my bump and the camel's bump aren't a winning combo. Isn't that a little hypocritical? I can understand dissueding a pregnant woman from riding the Bumper Cars or the Ring Of Fire, but a camel ride seems kinda tame to me. I mean, they let me ride the parking lot shuttle, and that went way faster than the effing camel did. Oh well, just another little piece of ammo I'm going to use against this baby when he/she is a teenager and wants a later curfew. "Past midnight? I don't think so. I couldn't ride the camel, your ass better be home by 12."

Chris and the kids got to ride the camel, and I sat on the sidelines, photographing the fun while I muttered under my breath. For that reason, I started referring to the festival as the (un)Fair. It's ok, though, because there's a lot of things I get to go through as a pregnant woman that they don't. Like morning sickness! And Childbirth. Ooooh, I bet they're so jealous of that! I'll be right back after I count my lucky stars.

I'm back. I got to three. They were: 1) I can use "I'm Pregnant!" as an excuse not to do anything, and they can't. 2.) I can pig out and claim that I'm eating for two. 3.) I can win almost any argument by saying "You're outnumbered! It's two against one!"

Anyway, back on track here... so yes, The Date Festival! Fun times! I managed to leave out the parts about it being totally ghetto, because Funnel Cake covers a multitude of sins. I'm definitely planning on going next year, if not to try the Krispy Kreme Chicken Sandwich that I whimped out on getting, then just for the camel ride. And I'm gonna make everyone sit on the side and just watch me.

Avert thine eyes, Shari Lewis. Avert thine buttons, Lambchop.

2007-02-19T19:34:00.000-08:00

Because tonight, I am going to eat lamb. That's right, I am ending my 26 (and a half) year protest on eating lamb, where my primary argument against it was the fact that I was raised a devout Shari Lewis fan. Although I'm sure I will end up enjoying dinner and eating my words (HA!), I still think Chris deserves to hear 50 stanzas of "The Song That Doesn't End" as retribution.

*For the record, I would have no problem eating Hushpuppies.

Because we know what's important in our family.

2007-02-18T17:43:00.000-08:00

Phone conversation between Chris and myself, today:

Me: Chris, I have bad news...
Chris: Oh no, what?
Me: Your glasses got broken today.
Chris: My glasses? What glasses?
Me: Your eye glasses.
Chris: MY PINT GLASSES?!?!?!?!?!?
Me: No, your eye glasses.
Chris: Oh, no big deal. Whew, you scared me there for a second.

Fart jokes always go over big.

2007-02-16T17:53:00.000-08:00

Maddy: Look at that horse's buttocks!
Brady: Buttocks? My buttocks- it says "Pfffffffttttttttttttttttttt!"

American Idle

2007-02-15T18:38:00.000-08:00

I know few of you are as obsessed as I am, but this had me smirking and saying "Oh, I know! TOTALLY!" at my computer.

Slipping into frumpville.

2007-02-15T09:53:00.000-08:00

If I had a nickle for every time I've been out running errands this week, and then looked down and realized that I'd left the house in my slippers again, I'd have about thirty cents. Just sayin.

Chris has a REALLY BIG... sense of humor!

2007-02-14T16:10:00.000-08:00

Happy Valentines Day, from The Artist Formerly Known As The Valentine Slayer. The holiday has become marginally less annoying to me, and I actually chose to celebrate it this year! I am turning over a new leaf. Next up? Maybe I'll actually start liking puppies.

Chris and I completed not one, but two wedding registries in the last 24 hours. We did one at Target, because not completing a registry there would be tantamount to not inviting my own mother to my wedding. Besides, if I don't pop in there at least every 48 hours, they issue a Missing Person's Report. In addition to a coffeemaker, some new glasses, and various home-related items, Chris also managed to divert my attention long enough to scan a box of condoms. [Clears throat] Magnums.

I hope the grandparents get the joke.

Here's a story of a lovely lady who was bringing up two very something blogs...

2007-02-13T18:54:00.000-08:00

I finally published a couple entries that had been sitting in blog purgatory... I just wanted to inform you of their existence, because I fear otherwise, they will go completely unnoticed- the Jan Bradys of Prose and Converse.

Men In 2006: Is "Pussy Whipped" the new "Alpha Male"? (This actually came from 2006, so no judgement, ok?)

and

Not-Mommy-Approved-Licious, from waaaaaaaaaay back in January.

You know me, unless something isn't attached to my body or screaming at me to make it a PB&J, I am at high risk for forgetting it entirely. I rescued these mere moments before they went the way of The Pythagorean Theorum, The Doogie Howser Theme Song, Making Birth Control Work Effectively, and other things I've completely forgotten.

I'm so lucky I was outside today.

2007-02-11T15:06:00.000-08:00

(Forgive the camera-phone pic, but Leonard III was at home.)

2007-02-08T20:13:00.000-08:00

Should be: cleaning out my dresser so Chris can have some drawer space.
Am: popping bubble wrap.

Notice anything different about me???

2007-02-07T22:58:00.000-08:00

Yup, I'm well on my way to becoming a REAL grown-up!!!

All I need is a (Super)bowl of chips.

2007-02-04T20:27:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: I am not a football fan.

Having said that, I'll tell you that the highlight of Superbowl Sunday (aside from the commercials and making fun of Prince durning half-time) was when my friend Andrea and I were sitting on the couch, trying to decide who we going to root for. She chose the Bears because she has friends in Chicago and family from Illinois. I chose... well, actually, I didn't, but that's beside the point. So, we're parked in front of the dip, which is parked in front of the TV, discussing what team's uniforms we liked better, which players looked too fat, and why some of them were wearing Victorian Muffs/Fannypacks. Then we noticed that she and I, the only two people who didn't even know who was playing until we got to the party, were the only ones watching the game. That made me laugh harder than the Kevin Federline fast food commericial... but just barely.

By the skin of his baby teeth...

2007-02-01T18:35:00.000-08:00

When Brady was being assembled in the Baby Building Factory, he was equipped with a life-preserving device, something I have come to refer to as the "Charmometer". This child can tell when he is within seconds of pushing me over the edge, and at the precise moment where I am seeing red and about to have a nervous breakdown, he whips out the most angelic, TV Sitcom Cute Kid routine and earns himself the privilege of seeing another birthday. This picture was taken in the midst of one of this morning's many tantrums/fits/crying jags. To narrow it down for you, this one didn't involve urinating- that came about 20 minutes later. This entire morning felt like Brady was at war with the little angel/devil on his shoulders. The angel was bound and gagged, and the devil was slipping Brady skittles and double-dog-daring him to see how far he could go before I threatened to send him away to Swiss Boarding (Pre)School. Let me just put it this way: I was so overwhelmed this morning that I wanted to tell Brady, "Oh yeah, keep it up Kiddo. I'M ALREADY GROWING YOUR REPLACEMENT!", but I didn't. Instead, I called my breakfast date to tell her I was running late, and cried the whole way to my pancakes.

Needless to say, when it was time to pick Brady up after school, I wasn't looking forward to it. As I walked through the door of his daycare, Brady came barging towards me full speed and locked himself around my legs. "Mommy! Know what? I missed you!" (Insert maternal heart-melting noises here.) All I really have to say is that I am so thankful that the aliens who abducted my son while he was at school could not have picked a better day to do it. Boarding School will have to wait until next semester.

Good intentions and interventions.

2007-01-31T19:26:00.000-08:00

I had to make a quick grocery store run on my way home from work/picking up the munchkins, and I had a very strict list. All I wanted to get was something to cook for tonight's dinners. I use the plural because I've become accustomed to eating two dinners- a little snack with the kids when they eat, and then another little something with Chris when he gets home from work a few hours later. I would like to take this opportunity to point out that my health care professional recommends that I eat many small meals a day, and I'm not just a glutton. For the most part.

I asked Chris what he wanted to eat tonight, and he asked me to just pick up some snacks. He said he wanted apples with peanut butter, or maybe a ceaser salad. (I might have mentioned something about not wanting to buy any more junk food- and for the record, I meant it at the time.)

I didn't manage to make it out of the grocery store with apples.
Or peanut butter.
I did remember to grab a bag of ceaser salad mix.
And ice cream.
Or, more accurately, ice creams.

I use the plural because... I couldn't help it. I was powerless! Last night after dinner, I was hit with an overwhelming urge for something cold. (I know. Most people crave flavors, and I'm the weirdo who goes and craves a temperature.) I would have killed a man bare-handed for some ice cream last night. Not wanting to find myself in a similar predicament tonight, I thought there was no harm in strolling through the frozen food aisle. Well, once I opened the door for my urge for dessert, common sense had not only left the building, but got ran over in the parking lot. I couldn't stop at one pint of Ben & Jerry's, because I couldn't possibly decide between my Old Standby and a new flavor I'd never seen before. I had every intention on stopping there... but then, when my kids began salivating the moment said pints hit the shopping cart, I became really protective. Sure, they're my hearts and souls and all that sappy stuff, but do I really want to share my ice cream with them? The answer to that question is embodied in the quart of Root Beer Float ice cream that I threw in the cart so quickly, it almost bounced. Then I noticed the bright yellow tags behind that freezer door, yellow tags teasing me with the promise of a better bargain if I bought two. I would be very impolite of me to turn down such hospitality, so I picked up some Breyer's All Natural Strawberry. Did you see that? "All Natural." So it's good for me. Natch.

The "low" of my shopping experience had to be when Madelynn was unloading the shopping cart as we were getting ready to check out.
"FOUR ice creams, Mom?"
"Yeeeeep!"
"But Mom," in a hoarse whisper, "what are people gonna THINK?"

Breyers Ice Cream: Two for $6, with Club Card
Ben & Jerry's: $3.99 a pint
Having Your Six Year Old Discourage Your Ice Cream Purchase: Effed Up.

Half of Brady, with our magnificent array of frozen delights. (Maddy was too embarrassed of me to be pictured.)

I'd actually prefer to wake up and smell the roses.

2007-01-31T09:07:00.000-08:00

Very high on my To-Do List:
Teaching my son the importance of flushing.

Nothing says "Good morning!" quite like a little poop floating around in the toilet.

Prose And Converse

Carboard boxes, duct tape...

Why I Need To Hire Smokey The Bear As My Gym Trainer.

Playing the part of Proud Wife

The Dutch Apple of My Eye

Book Pimp

Estrogen-Infused News

Update from Camp Cantwell

This Week's Featured Pet Peeve:

All the spandex in the world can't help me.

This Week's Featured Pet Peeve:

L is for Lazy...

This Week's Featured Pet Peeve:

Proof that I am a spoiled American:

What Santa is bringing this year...

By my calculations, I'd be in 22nd grade this fall. (But don't trust my calculations, I didn't make it through college.)

Attack of the Mom-Brain!!!

Love me, love my weakness for musicals.

What came first, the chicken or the egg? (And other food-related queries)

Piss Drunk?

For those Crazy, Hip, Neglected Blog Mamas!!!

As a favor to me...

More than meets the eye?

Honestly-

Young man, you are grounded until I can tell this story without busting up laughing.

delish...

Why put something off until tomorrow when you can do it the day after that?

I've returned physically, but not mentally.

And the livin's easy...

I'll take a Jehovah's Witness any day.

Sit back, relax, enjoy the slide show.

What weekends are for:

"I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine."

A generation gap so wide, you'd need a pair of Acme Rocket Skates to cross it.

Hitched, without a hitch.

It's like muzak for the eyes!

For the old man in all of us!

Smile like a saint, curse like a sailor

Cracked Up

Art Show(-off)

I can see clearly now the rain is... on my parade.

Sometimes, the grass is greenest in your own front yard.

Eye of the storm...

And the inheritance goes to...

AND ANOTHER ONE!

The Bard is rolling in his grave.

I would gobble him up, but Painfully Adorable Three Year Olds aren't in my diet.

Nerves of Tin Foil

Like whoa.

Move over Bridezilla-

Here comes WIDEZILLA.

Infectious grooves ?

On writing our vows...

The Story of Us.

A creamy sauce for my stuffed shells, possibly?

Wined, Dined, and... uh...

If this picture doesn't make you smile...

I'm the fortune-ate one...

Oh no no no no no!

Inanimate Object of Lusty Thoughts of the Day

And it seems to me you lived your life like a flashlight in a breeze?

Oh well, whatever, nevermind.

American Idle : And then there were 8

Don't show this to Chris, I don't want to spoil the surprise...

I *wish* I could add this to our wedding registry.

Signs that we might be watching too much TV:

Return Address of the Jedi

Happy Birthday To You, You Live In A Zoo, I'm Not Just Teasing, It's Actually True.

"Foodie" is short for "Food Snob"

And with only minor burns to show for it!

Worth 1,000 Words

Chris won't let me touch his pot.

In the meantime: I'm not dying, we won't know till next week, and babies still like me.

Photo Friday

I don't allude to high school girls in bikinis until paragraph seven. Bear with me.

And now, for your daily dose of "WHAT THE $@&%!!!"

Tuesday, quickly.

Boldog Születésnapot!

Get In My Belly!

In other news...

I wish I could add this to our wedding registry.