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Wicked Sugared Conversations

A few of you know about my battles against yummy sugary food. I have a strong opinion that it's of the devil. You may remember my posts here and here, supporting my argument. I know there's some of you who still think I'm some crazy lady who thinks food speaks to her. To prove my point, let's just remember the most evil of them all: Valentine's conversation hearts. Despite their slight chalkiness making most people question whether it's candy or an antacid, I believe them to have come straight from H-E-double-hockey-L's. I've lived almost 28 years, and still have not ever grilled up a plain chicken breast, only to see it embossed with "Kiss Me" across it's flesh. Never has my unassuming green salad spelled out "I love you" in carrots, nor has my rice cake flat out demanded "be mine". However, I have had some squishy green spinach try to come close to "I Do" only to shlop onto my plate, plainly stating to me: "Please Don't".





I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

Happy Sappy

Get ready to read a pretty sappy post. Remember you were warned.

I saw a friend of mine I hadn't seen since we moved this past friday night. I actually saw quite a few friends I hadn't seen in a while which was super-duper awesome, because they know how to party (can you say Leatherby's?) Anyway, she gave me an awesome compliment, saying how when she's having a bummer day, she comes over to read my blog. I was seriously so flattered, and humbled. When I first started writing, I had no idea anyone besides my mom would even be interested in my stories. (After all, they're usually about me embarrassing myself in some way). I now have several awesome friends who come over to read regularly, some who I haven't even seen in ages. There are even some who I've never met, who read regularly, which, to me is incredible. I'm not bringing this up to brag or toot my own horn, I am just trying to thank every one of you who leaves comments of encouragement, or those who just stop by to quickly read. Your comments have given me the confidence to accept the Newspaper job which was offered to me, and also apply for other writing jobs (one I was hired for so far! ). I would not have any kind of confidence to do the thing I love most if it weren't for your caring words. So please feel comfortable leaving comments, I love to hear from you. To sum up my thanks I just want to say:

Thanks for giving a hoot!! You guys are the best!!

Wonder Where She Got That From?

This past week Madisen has been driving me crazy with the question: "Really?" It seems after every thing I say to her, a "really?" follows whether necessary or not.
"Madisen, I need you to clean up your room before going to a friends"
"Really?" yes really.
"Yes, you will be 11 when your sister turns 9."
"Really?" yes. really
"We're leaving to the store, hop in the car"
"Really?" For crying out loud! Really!!!!
Yesterday I was putting laundry away and she came in and told a whopper of a story, that lasted several minutes about what sort of valentines she was going to make, and who she would pass them out to at school. I listened for a while, but had my mind on other things, and just sort of tuned out. When she was done, she seemed to expect a response. Guess what genius return I heard myself come back with? That's right folks.
"Oh, really?"

Yes, Mom. Really.

Losing it on the Cute Coat

The day started out well. I had plans to go to my daughters school for Parent Teacher Conferences. An outing! A blessed, blessed outing. A reason to don more than a sweatshirt for the entire day (or week as this has been a very "inside" kind of week). To celebrate my coming out of hermitism, I pulled out the cute coat. The only coat that has any shape to it for on this day, my friends, I am driving farther than the bus stop. And who knows, I might see someone! Hurrah! So I hop in the car with my little boy, feeling good, and ignoring the fact I forgot to change my housecleaning, light colored, almost-holey-but-not-in-a-fashion-kind-of-way-jeans(after all I am in my cute-coat and I think they counterbalance to produce some sort of mid-grade hotness right?) and we're on our way. I pull up to the school and debate whether I should park close to the office where I have to check in, or the classroom where I will be leaving from. Office won out, although, close is relative: the only spot open was as far from the office that close could be. The Boy had a mild fever this morning as a result, I believe, of teething. For those of you who don't know him, let me just explain that The Boy is not a small child. He's a thick and tall little eighteen month old. So I'm carrying my chunky, but cuddly, fevery little boy and we tromp across the asphalt to the office. The boy is starting to get heavy, but he's so cute, and besides, genetics from my father's side has equipped me with appropriate Mamma hips. We finally pop in the office only to be told that it was unnecessary and they send us on our way to the classroom. We get to wait outside because Previous Mom obviously has no regard for other people's failing arms. I can't put the boy down because he has now taken a turn for the worse and is obviously feeling pretty crummy. So we stand outside in the frigid weather, me clutching the 30 squishy pounds to my body in hopes I won't drop his hot weight on the frozen concrete. Previous Mom really likes to talk. Ugh. Oh yay! 15 heavy minutes later, Mrs. E open's the door and P.Mom walks out. THEN IT HAPPENED!! The Boy (I'm sorry there's no nice way to say this) lost his breakfast. All over himself, his poor stuffed puppy, and yes cute-coat. Sad.
"Um, I think I'll reschedule. . . " I manage, and Teach laughs and says, " Okay, well, at least you weren't inside! Ha ha!" Hmmph. Cute little joke. She hands us a couple paper towels and takes the next Mom in line. Off comes the boy's coat and into the dumpster it goes. Fortunately cute-coat is not a casualty, so it gets crumpled up into a ball. Now I no longer have a 30 lbs toddler clinging to me, I have a 100 lbs (at least he feels that way now) ticking time bomb, turned outward just in case, and leaning slightly over cute-coat which has now turned pathetically into barf catcher. We get to trek across the never ending lot this way. What do you know? I did see someone today! Lot's of someone's loitering in the massive parking lot who were fortunate enough to see my my ample derriere sticking back at a funny angle so I can lean over ToddlerTime Bomb, who needs to lean over cute-barf-catcher. Thankfully we made it home without another episode. Once we get home, I stick the boy in the bath while I stretch out my gumby arms. When he's dressed, I lay him on the couch for a snuggle with his squishy 30 lbs, and droopy eyes. I decide tonight is a cereal for dinner night, and we both drift to sleep. Him dreaming of Mom of course *wink* and me: dreaming (of course) of a new Cute-coat.

Thankful For Thrones

Shea leaving the bathroom this morning:

"Thank you, TOILET!!"


I've never thought to thank him before. Now I'm feeling so ungrateful.

It's Name is Freddy

Madisen was completely upset with me when we moved and I had to pull her out of her school. She still talks about her friends at her old school sometimes, although, those times are getting fewer and farther between. Last night we realized why. Madisen was sitting on her Daddy's lap, telling him about her day at school, and her best buddy Freddy. She pulls his ear to her lips and says, "Daddy, me and Freddy are in love!"
I know what you're thinking, but despite all odds, Pete's eyeballs did not fall out when pushed to their maximum capacity.
He picked up his heart, put it back in his chest, and tried his best to just listen to her without demanding Freddy's last name, and phone number. I got to listen to Pete gripe about what a stupid name Freddy is and hear him randomly scoff "Freddy" throughout the rest of the night. I have parent teacher conferences next week, and because Pete isn't able to attend, he's demanding I address this to the Teacher. Short of homeschooling, he doesn't see any way to proceed from here. I am a little less irked by this. Mostly because I was a little girl once and know this is more about the game of "Wedding" than anything else. However, this Friday I am going in to her school. I am only going to volunteer, and observe of course, but if Freddy gets too close, I can't promise I won't accidentally trip him.


yes I did change the name of the little boy. I figure a few years from now, if she reads this blog, she will be happy I didn't post the name of her first love all over the place :)

Do Mom's Sweat?

I can't stand parenting magazines. They claim to be supportive of stay at home Mom's and yet I've never seen an article about the stay at home Mom who doesn't work from home. Or the Mom, that rejoices if they vacuumed in the morning and it still looks vacuumed in the evening. Or the Mom who figured out how to one up her child over the dishwasher battle. The battle where Mom puts the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, but toddler feels each dish looks best dirty, under the kitchen table. I must say I know a lot of stay at home Mom's, but not a single one who could name what was taking place on any given soap opera. I truly don't know a single Mom who even turns on the T.V. during the day for herself. And while I don't know a single stay at home Mom who wears sweats all day every day, I don't think it's all that impractical of a uniform when part of the job is to be a target for flying snot. I do hate the cliche idea of the Mom who sits on the couch all day eating bon bon's. However, after a particularly snotty-cold week, I've made an appointment with myself, 3 years in the future. In September of 2013, I have made a date with my couch. After I send my youngest off to Kindergarten, I boldy plan to spend that day in my sweats, bon-bon's in hand, and Soap Opera on the T.V. Don't Mess.

UNUBWG's

I've always been an UberNerdUltra BookWorm Geek. It's cool, I don't mind the title. My husband, rather than try to help me away from my addiction of all things literature, has chosen to feed it. He could do no worse than buy me the heavenly Ultide gift of the golden trophy, nay, the holy grail of all UNUBWG's. The Kindle. INSTANT BOOKS. Have you not heard of the coveted Kindle? I'm your friend, I won't judge. The kindle allows me to download books, wherever I am whenever I want, and have them within 30 seconds. Since recieving the Kindle, I believe I haven't seen my blessed, blessed husband, because my nose has never left the screen. It's my new little buddy, that I simply CANNOT do without. While blowdrying my hair, I'm reading. Walking, pulling laundry out of the dryer- one handed, because I'm reading. Waiting for Madisen's bus: reading. Making dinner: reading. Oooops.
Did I just pull a plastic plate of dinner rolls, out of the oven just in time for the plate to NOT melt onto the rack?
Yes I did.

It was Jane Austen *shrug* you understand. . .

Shea

Shea: Mom, I have frogs
Me: In your throat?
Shea: Yeah in my mouth
Me: Oh, no! you do sound froggy. are you going to lose your voice?
Shea: Yes. Ursula is going to take it



Shea: When can I be a Mommy?
Me: uh, when you're 27.
Shea: or 28?
Me: even better.
Me: Why do you want to be a Mommy?
Shea: So I can cook dinner.

at first I was flattered that she looked up to me and thought watching me cook looked like fun; but now I'm kinda wondering if she doesn't feel someone needs to take over. . .

MY TREADMILL!!!!!

DEAD like my microwave

DEAD like my garage door

DEAD like my car

DEAD like the ants.


But I had pizza for lunch!!!?!

Muddled Hot Husband

Once upon a time there lived a woman. We won't get into specifics, but she was 5'3" with shoulder length brown hair, and 3 children. 2 girls and 1 boy. This woman had just come in from the frigid outdoors with rosy red cheeks after a full day of sledding with the children. Because it is the weekend the New years resolution of always keeping her home spic and span will be put off until Monday in favor of devouring a delicious new book. Time passes. It is now 6:00 p.m. and her middle child (though no less loved for it) came to ask about dinner. Although this child has just turned four years old, it is possible that she managed to come and ask what was for dinner while sporting applesauce throughout her hair on the top of her head. Okay maybe that happened the applesauce --------------------->
next morning at breakfast, the details are hard to say. Anyway, back to the evening and it's late, and this woman decides that her poor, young, starving children should not have to have pb&j for dinner, nor wait an hour for a full dinner to be cooked. She eye's her hot husband sleeping on the couch. The couch where he had been sleeping for just over two hours (after the long hard day on the sled hill). Enter bright, animated light bulb; flashed just above and to the right of the woman's forehead. Woman walks over to wake her hot husband nicely of course by poking him in the ribs. Husband sits up in a flash, looking from the left to right through his squinted left eye, and confused, ultimately grabs the remote and starts flipping through the channels. "No, no" this woman says, "I did not wake you up to watch T.V. I woke you up because you told me you were going to go get us dinner"
"Huh?" his reply
"you said you were going to get us dinner. I will go get your shoes"
"Bring the white one's" he says, and woman pats herself on the back for now it was obvious that her wicked plan worked and in his waking stupor he was unable to recall or not recall stating he was going to pick up dinner. She comes back in the room and he starts asking questions about where he was supposed to be going. This woman puts his coat around his shoulder's and says,"are you serious, you told ME you were going to go get something. I thought You knew where you were going." The eldest daughter say's she wants to come along and the woman replies she can hurry and grab her shoes and go along. He eyes the daughter wondering whether he had also said he would take her along. The man allows the woman to zip up his coat. Unfortunately, at this point the woman was unable to control her laughter after seeing his completely innocent, and muddled face. It made it unbearable how he was still standing up and ready to head out the door. Now further awake, He turns back and asks if the woman is lying to him. She's forced (through laughter) to confess she is. Ah, well, it was a good joke anyway, she says.
The moral of the story: It still holds true that it's best to make the man believe something is his idea. Even better if you wake him up and tell him his idea.
How did this story end? Seeing himself already dressed and ready to go, this man proceeds to go pick up dinner for the family. And they ate happily ever after.
I love happy endings, don't you?
Don't miss the sequil: The Next Morning At Breakfast