Blocking a writer is like reminding you of childhood memories that you may or may not have even had.

You remember when you were a little kid and you sat out in front of your house on the curb right after a rain storm?  How you would pile up rocks and pebbles making a dam in the water flow?  How you would get mad that you had to pile the rocks even tighter every couple seconds because the water would find the tiny cracks between the rocks and flow through it?  And then, just when you thought you had gotten all the cracks, the water just began to flow right around the dam you made, so you would have to make it wider and higher?

I wish that is how my writer's block worked.  That no matter how blocked I was or how great of a dam was built, my words would always find a way to flow through the cracks or around the edges.  But it just doesn't work that way for me.  When I am blocked, I can't even come up with a halfway witty post to write.  Well, at least I don't think they are even halfway witty. 

I mean, I could write about the spider that invaded my office space yesterday and how I texted my husband for moral support as I killed the little bastard (since I was all alone in the office and there was no way him and I were going to co-exist peacefully in the same space).   And how, when I scraped that little bugger off of my desk, he left a trail of blood in his wake for me to clean up (while completely gagging, of course).  Or how, when I tried to flush that sucker down the toilet, he miraculously stayed in the toilet bowl even when the water drained out and refilled. 

But that just isn't witty enough for a blog, right?

I could write about how the chiropractor asked my son if he was suffering from any headaches since his last visit and in response, Bubba laid his hand gently on his head and said, "Yeah.  Everyone in my class has headaches and has gotten swine flu."  I subsequently had to roll my eyes.  Later that evening when I was relaying the story to my husband, Bubba came in and exclaimed rather excitedly that he had caught the swine flu bug.  He had physically picked up a bug in his room and was convinced that it was the "bug" that caused one to contract the swine flu.  I could also tell you how unhappy I am that the school and it's teachers are placing such an extreme view in the heads of my third and second grade children that they are terrified by every cough and sneeze in their immediate vicinity.  Haven't you people heard that swine flu is a hoax?

However, that, too, isn't really blog worthy, right?

I could write you a story.  Well, no I guess I can't.  I can't think of one right now.  My mind is too full of thought of spiders crawling back up the toilet.  I think I will be holding it until I get home from now on. 

I could tell you my shopping list, but that would be pointless because then when you went to the grocery store to do your shopping, you might remember the things that I needed instead of your own things and then you would get home with all these bags of groceries that you didn't really need.  Then you would have to invite me over to pick up the groceries that you bought thinking they were for you when they really were for me and I don't know where you live and I don't have one of those new fangled GPS systems because I still live in the decade of the 90's and therefore would get lost without directions and even if you gave me directions, I am horrible at following them and the food would all go bad or your dog would eat it before I got there and then it would have been a wasted trip.  So there is no point in me telling you my shopping list.  (Yes, I live with the "If you give a mouse a cookie" mentality every day of my life.)

I could remind you to drink more water in your day to day diet, but then you would smack me upside the head because I am not your mom and only your mom is allowed to tell you what you can and can't eat on a daily basis.  Unless you have a nutritionist...in which case, screw you, you rich SOB for rubbing it in my face that I am fat because I don't know which foods to eat or how to eat them properly (and I am sure if I had money for a nutritionist, I would listen to him/her better than I listen to my own head when it's telling me not to eat the whole box of Wheat Thins in a single sitting).  But wait.  If you have a nutritionist because you need to for medical reasons, then you are exempt from the rant above because clearly you are not one of those snobby rich bitches. 

I could...
I could...
I could...

But obviously, having writer's block is exactly like that little dam that you built in the gutter as a child.  The flow leaks through and around those rocks but the thoughts are stilted and confusing and just plain unusable in a productive, witty blog. 

*sigh*

I guess i will just have to go back to square one.

Do mythical creatures have childhoods, too?

My kids believe in a number of mythical and magical creatures and symbols that help them to navigate through their days as children.  Things that helps them to make sense of the world around them, and keeps them feeling safe.  The Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and Santa, bring them special things.  Gargoyles keep their bedrooms safe from predators and bad things.  dream Catchers grab hold of the bad dreams before they enter the children's heads.  The Sandman fits in there somewhere, too.  They were first introduced via an episode of Baby Looney Tunes where Baby Daffy keeps trying to see the Sandman who puts sand in the corners of his eyes while he sleeps.

Unlike Santa and the Easter Bunny, the Sandman's appearance is left more to the child's imagination because of it's obscure popularity.  And it's those types of things that torture the mind of Teensy.  She likes to have a clear picture in her head of the things lurking in her bedroom in the middle of the night. 

"Mom?  Is the Sandman big or little?" 

"I don't know, baby.  I've never seen him." 

"I did, on a movie."  *

"Oh yeah?  Was he big or little?" 

"He started little, then got big."

"Like he grew up?" 

"Kinda."

"Why?  Was he in your room last night?"

"Yeah.  I think he's big."

"I didn't hear him so he must not be too big." 

"Maybe he's medium."

"Maybe.  I didn't hear him."

"Maybe he's still little."

"Hmm.  Could be."

She crinkled her nose in thought and was silent for a few minutes.  Then out of nowhere, the room got brighter and she stated with the seriousness only a child could pull off...

"Maybe he's big with marshmallow feet.  you can't hear marshmallow feet!"

...and she tiptoed on her little blue stool to demonstrate her point. 

* I am still wracking my brain as to what "movie" she is referring to.  If  you come up with it, please do let me know.

Is that a gun or are you just happy to...what the hell are you packing in there!?!

"Spin the globe and pick a spot -- it's time for you to satisfy some wanderlust."

That is my horoscope for today.  Fitting, since I am off to Germany in 8 DAYS!!!  I have spun the globe, so to speak, and I am soon off to satisfy some of the travel bug that has been biting my ass for the last year. 

We have the itinerary set.  The babysitter and dog sitter is lined up.  The tickets are purchased and everyone has been informed we are leaving for a few weeks.  The only things left to do are get our vacation pay...and pack!

Oh my goodness, packing is such a pain in the ass!  What do I take?  What do I leave home?  I have never been on a flight longer than a couple of hours so how much stuff am I going to need to keep me from being bored out of my mind?

"Leave the gun.  Take the cannoli."

Well, that is good in theory but in actual packing instructions, that statement sucks!  Of course I have to leave the gun--I'm not a terrorist.  And I'm not so fond of cannoli so I'll pack some Twizzlers Pull-n-Peel instead.  :)

So far, my packing has gone a little like this...

"Oh look!  A fanny pack from the early '80's!  I could use that to hold my money and things without having to worry about a thief taking my purse.  I'll take that."  And in the suitcase it goes.

"A new Janet Evanovich book just came out!  I will buy that to read on the plane ride over."  And a trip to the store is made to buy the book and in the suitcase it goes.

"Honey!  Check this out!  You hang it around your neck and put your money and passport and ID in it so that you have it handy for customs and you don't have to reach into your pocket or search through your purse.  I'm buying one!"  Said on shopping trip to buy the above book as I through it in the cart, purchased it and then threw it in the suitcase as well.

"Here is a book light, a travel pillow, a teddy bear, a picture of my kids, a deck of cards, a puzzle book, a COSMO magazine, and a clean pair of underwear that I will need on the plane."  And in the suitcase they go.

"Oh, damn.  I forgot to do the laundry last night and now I don't have any clean underwear to wear to work.  Oh yeah!  In the suitcase!"  And out they come. 

"What is my teddy bear doing in this suitcase?  I don't need this.  I'm not seven!"  And out it comes. 

"Where did I put that book light?  I want to read and the Hubby is sleeping so I can't turn on the light.  Oh yeah!  The suitcase!"  And out it comes. 

"Well, shit.  Now I messed up my checklist by taking things out of the suitcase!  I either have to write it all over or, or..."  And the contents get dumped back out on my bed to be put back where they were eventually put away.

*sigh*  I guess I will start all over tomorrow. 

I was arrested for…

I am huge into texting (and every other technology, truthfully) and I got a good text tonight that has given me countless minutes of laughter and thought.

The text said…You saw me in a police car. What would you think I got arrested for?

The idea is that you answer it for the person that sent it to you and then you forward it to everyone you know to see how many crimes you are accused of.

I sent it on and before I started receiving answers, I asked my family what their responses would be. It has amazed me the kind of crimes people have come up with!

Daughter (7 years old)…speeding. Yes, yes, my dear readers. I am that person. I speed constantly. Bad habit, I know. After coming up with that one, she also had another answer…”not turning on your lights at dark time and then running into cars and then going off a bridge.” I quickly informed her that I wanted to know why I was in the cop car, not how I was going to die!

Husband…perceived child abuse. Now don’t start jumping to conclusions on me. He said perceived. I have this habit of lightly smacking my son on the back of his head when he’s not listening to me. Dear Hubby thinks that if I were to do that in public someone could perceive that as child abuse.

Son (8 years old)…drinking. Interesting answer since I don’t drink! It was the only answer he could think of for why someone would be in a cop car!!!

Husband’s friend from work…public nudity. What can I say? He’s a 20-something guy and obviously that is all he thinks about. Even though that would be the last thing I would be in for.

Best friend, Lady K…burying the evil neighbor in the back yard and letting stray dogs live in his house ;). That one was funnier than the rest because I tout a huge hatred of dogs (despite the fact that I have two as pets!). My response to her…like I would be nice to stray dogs?

Cousin…disorderly conduct for yelling at someone. Oh holy hell! If you really knew me, you would know how true that could be!!!

Friend of mine...reckless driving! How right he is, how right he is! But wait...doesn't that mean that I drive without getting in a wreck? It does right?

My answer for myself…anything to do with horrible driving! Texting while driving, speeding, rear ending someone while talking on my cell phone, running a red light, reckless driving…any number of things to do with a car. I suck at driving people. Completely suck!

How stupid is it that one ridiculous text has given me so much entertainment?

Warning: Take heed of directions before lighting!

If the firework says “read additional instructions on launch tube”, it is quite likely that you should not haphazardly light said firework in close vicinity to your children, your spouse and your van. 

However, if you do happen to light said firework around said objects and people, please be ready to run like hell when said firework starts to shoot actual fire. 

 

But if you are the person sitting inside the safety of the van, be sure to relentlessly tease, taunt and torture the moron who lit the firework found at THE DUMP in the first place about the terrified look on his face when said firework ended up being one that should have been launched into the sky and not one lit on the ground because said firework was in THE DUMP for a reason, as witnessed by the fact that the fuse was a dud and therefore had to be lit right close tot he explosion point. 

And that, folks, is our 4th of July lesson for today. 

Please be careful with those fireworks.  :)

No one was hurt in the acts of stupidity above.  It was actually quite funny and we all got one hell of a laugh out of the ordeal. 

Today's lesson is brought to you from the dictionary of a child...

"You, Teensy, are A-door-ee-bul!  Do you know what that means?"

"Yep.  It means you put a friend in a bowl and cook it like chicken."

 

And this is the point in which we all completely die laughing.  :)

When is it considered TMI?

My Dear Hubby calls me every day at lunchtime.  Yeah, I know, it's sweet.  Well, I think it's sweet until I really start to analyze and remember all of the arguing we had over him getting a cell phone to begin with.  His "I'll never, ever carry it" attitude.  His snide comments about "even more money" going out the window on a monthly basis.  His "I won't even know how to use it" antics.  Grrr!  Now he gets twice as many calls and three times more text messages than I do!  Damn men!  Man.  Whatever.  But then I start to think about all the texts he sends me just to say hi or he misses me or he loves me.  And I think about the calls at lunchtime and then I get all mushy brained and romantic feeling because I have this husband that actually cares.  *sigh* 

Oh, I am pretty sure that isn't the point of this post. 

So, let me get to the point.  Or at least edge my way a bit closer. 

Today, Dear Hubby called just like always.  He's heading to the bank to make a deposit before he rushes home to grab a bite to eat and heads back to work. 

I bombard him with news on Little Sis.  They've made it to Italy.  Their luggage didn't arrive with them.  They have no change of clothes.  Her husband had to sign in on post (Army) to get them a hotel room and they made him actually go to work.  Yes!  On the same day they arrived!  Hotel has windows that won't close or she can't figure out how to close and a heater that she must keep baby away from.

He tells me about the kids' dentist appointments this morning.  Both got a cleaning.  Both got a Flouride treatment (the cheap one and not the expensive last-longer one).  Teensy saw the dentist...has a few cavities but teeth look good.  Bubba needs to brush better.  Bubba has a follow-up appointment to take care of a filling (I tell him).  Teensy will need another appointment but I will need to call and schedule it. 

All in all, a normal conversation for a lunch hour (well, minus the occasional bitching about a passive aggressive nuisance that shall remain nameless!).  And it is all wrapped up with "I love you" and "I may be home late" and click. 

I go out to bring in the mail. 

I come back in to realize my phone is vibrating on my desk.  I answer.  It's the Hubby.

"Talked to brother 2 the other day.  Cemetery plots by Mom and Dad's are set to go up in price and they are almost out of spaces to buy.  Family bought a bunch.  Brother 2 and wife, brother 1 and wife, sister...all got some.  Will hold some for us.  Do you want a cemetery plot, my dear?"  (Okay, so I paraphrased that a little bit but you get the point.)

Visualize this...I am standing in front of a bulletin board pulling tacks and Hubby asks me if I, a 28 year old, relatively healthy woman, would like to choose where I want to spend my dead days.  I am pretty sure that after my jaw hit the floor, I stuck a tack in my eye.  Blood spurted onto the bulletin board and I now have to remake all of the flyers on the computer using only the one eye that is not now covered in a pirate patch.

You're right.  *sigh*  I didn't.  What I did do was gasp in horror and try to squelch the rising panic attack at the thought that I will someday...eventually and hopefully when I am extremely old and fragile...die and at that time my family will need to know what to do with my body.  I. CAN'T. THINK. ABOUT. THAT. RIGHT. NOW!  *breathe in, breathe out*

I calmly and rationally tell Dear Hubby that I cannot and will not make such a decision today and that if he is certain that is where he wants to be buried then he should feel free to go ahead and purchase himself a plot.  *breathe in, breathe out*

Crises averted.  For today. 

I then, in retaliation for making me face my own mortality today, call him back to tell him about what happened on The Bachelor last night (even though we never watch that show and have only seen the few minutes where he told Melissa he didn't want her) and end the conversation with...

"And OMG!  Little Sis got her period today and bled all over the only pants she has with her!  What?  Why is that relevant?  Because she got her period at the same time that I did...on the other side of the world!  Isn't that neat?"

Do you think that was too much information?

Merry Christmas...Are You Dead Yet?

I have a confession to make.

It's kind of a big one.

One that I am worried will skew your view of me forever.

I am a great gift giver (that is not my confession. "Wait for it..." Oh, wow! I never remember lines to movies and the like! I can't believe I remembered that one! Sweet! Wish I could remember which movie it came from! Oops...wander much?). Back on track. This last Christmas I was rather slack in the ideas section of my gift giving. Most likely due to the fact that Christmas didn't feel like Christmas without the home and family bit and therefore I was lacking any of the usual excitement and wonder behind the season to catapult my gift giving abilities to the super-stardom level. In fact, I just kinda stayed on the ground with the normal folk that never know what to buy.

Until one day, I was walking through the local Sam's Club and saw the absolute perfect present for my best friend, Lady K. You see, she is a food lover. And I don't mean that in just a normal "she likes to eat" kind of way. I mean that she has been known to have food orgasms (even multiple in one sitting) when she's eating something especially tasty. Food is her weakness. But she is a picky eater, too. Nothing American is going to fly at her table. the regular fare of pizza and hamburgers does not tempt her palate in the slightest. She prefers foreign delicacies on her plate.

Like Baklava.

And that, my friends is what I found in Sam's Club that day. The gift-giving heavens opened and smiled upon me as I realized that packaging was horrendous but the price was spot on, and therefore I could put my own little spin on the repackaging of it and make it my own masterpiece. Yay! I had done it yet again!

So that is what I did. I put the Baklava into a cute little tin and gave it to my bestest friend with all the love I could muster. It was beautiful. She loved it. *sigh* She coveted it. *sigh* She shared it with all who entered her house that she deemed worthy of a taste of the best gift ever. *double sigh*

So, why do I tell you this story now? Over a month after I gave such a wonderful gift?

This week, I got a letter in the mailbox that stated the following...

"This letter is to inform you that we have learned today that, RAIN CREEK BAKING CORPORATION in cooperation with the FDA has initiated a Recall of its BAKLAVA ASSORTMENT due to potential contamination of Salmonella.

Our records reflect that you purchased the BAKLAVA ASSORTMENT with a UPC 0003810520213. We request that you review your inventory records and segregate and return the item to your local Sam's Club for a full refund. If you have sold or shipped any of this product, we request that you contact your customers and notify them of the recall. "

Merry Christmas, Lady K. I tried to kill you.

What did you say you wanted for your birthday?

Oh and do you think you could return what you haven't already scarfed down in a moment of weakness pawned off on someone else eaten so I can get my money back? What's that? No. Wait just a minute. I am NOT a greedy little...oh, well, yeah. I guess I kinda am. Forget I asked.

Scientific Studies are overrated...

I get these cravings sometimes. And when I get them, I have to give in or the craving will just continue until I have satisfied it and that gets overwhelmingly annoying.

So this morning I had a craving.

My friend says that if you are craving something then your body is in need of something that is contained within that item you are craving, some type of vitamin or nutrient that your body is currently lacking in.

I believe that is complete bullshit. (As of this morning, that is.)

This morning I had a craving. For Gummi Worms. Yep, those chewy, allegedly fruit flavored little devils were calling to me until I found them on the supermarket shelf. The very last bag, hanging all alone amongst the other candies in a tribute to just how popular his buddies had been. Silently screaming out their pleas.

Well, I bought that 99 cent bag of worms (along with a chocolate covered doughnut, a massive Hershey's with Almonds candy bar and a Mountain Dew. Can you say sugar high? Yep. Can you say diet? Not today apparently.) and I took them up to the cash register where a nice cashier started to ring up my purchase. I took one look at her large size and thought, "Shit. maybe I should put some of these sugar back". Unfortunately, I didn't listen to that inner voice today. I paid my money, grabbed my goodies and went out to my van.

Now, I do have some self control. I did immediately eat that doughnut (it was breakfast time after all and I didn't get to eat before I left the house) but I didn't touch a single other thing. I have still yet to finish the Dew and the candy bar is in the freezer for when work gets ultra suckity later this week. The Gummi Worms? Well, that is the point of my post, now isn't it? And maybe I should ought to get to that point. :)

So, for lunch I ate my sundried tomato and pesto flavored turkey breast that was skewered with pretzel sticks (See, proof that I don't always eat the least healthy things!) but when I was done that craving for the Gummi Worms came back on quite strongly. I know that there is absolutely nothing that I could be lacking that is contained in that candy because, well, because there is nothing contained in that candy but sugar and a bunch of words that are too long and too hard to prounounce (let alone type up). And that is why I believe that craving thing to be a complete myth.

I crave items that have exactly 0% nutritional value and 100% holy-crap, bad-for-you crud.

Which ends my scientific study on cravings being your bodies way of telling you what you are lacking.

Maybe next time, I can find the answer for why I eat half the bag of said item even though I fulfilled the cravings after just two worms and thusly feel as though my stomach is crammed with a foam-like substance making me feel bloated and knowing full well that it will take at least two days for this crap to break down enough to make me stop feeling this way.

Hyper-sensitivity runs in the family...

"Mom, some of the big kids weren't very nice today."

Oh great! I've been wondering when this was going to happen. The kids in this town recently moved from 4 small elementary schools (each with it's own grade) to one extremely large building housing all kids K-4. The school is beautiful, drop-offs and pick-ups are a nightmare, and I have been worried about bullying since the day they broke ground.

"What happened, baby girl?"

"This big kid walked by us and said, 'Hi, little peeps' and that was very nice."

"Um, hmm. That does seem nice."

"Then another one walked by and said, 'Hi, little people.' and that was just not nice, mommy."

"Um, what?" I looked across the dark car at Dear Hubby and gave him the "what the hell" look.

"Little peeps is nice. Little people is not."

"Baby," I said in my most understanding momma voice, "they are the same thing. Peeps is just a shortened form of people."

"Nah hah! They were being mean!"

Lightbulb flashed brightly above my head as I realized that she thought the older kids were calling her and her friend midgets. Oh! I get it now!

"No, sweetheart. The kids weren't trying to call you a midget. They said little people because you are littler than them and you are a person."

That is when the waterworks started. She bawled her eyes out for several minutes because "Mommy just doesn't get it." and "they were being mean to me!".

An eye roll and a whispered, "What the hell is this all about?" to Dear Hubby later, I lean back into the back seat to see if she is okay. Nope. Still freaking out! I turned back around and tried to stifle the laughter because really? What doesn't she understand? This is insane? The big kids were being nice by saying hi and she takes it as an insult to her physical stature. Maybe I overdid it on the no name calling lecture. Hmm. Really? What the hell?

She finally quiets down and I assure her that it will all be okay tomorrow.


Can a girl get PMS at six? Because really...holy shit! The waterworks were totally unnecessary!


I tried to take a picture of her bawling face but as we were in the car heading for Wal-mart at 6:30 at night, the atmosphere was too dark for my camera phone. Next time, I promise. She really is just adorable when she cries!

Politically Correct...for the first time in my life!

I read this and almost spit my Chai tea latte across the desk!

HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT WOMEN AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT:

1. She is not a 'BABE' or a 'CHICK' - She is a ' BREASTED American.'
2. She is not 'EASY' - She is 'HORIZONTALLY ACCESSIBLE.'
3. She is not a 'DUMB BLONDE' - She is a
'LIGHT-HAIRED DETOUR OFF THE INFORMATION SUPERHIGHWAY.'
4. She has not 'BEEN AROUND' - She is a 'PREVIOUSLY-ENJOYED COMPANION.'
5. She does not 'NAG' you - She becomes ' VERBALLY REPETITIVE.'
6. She is not a 'TWO-BIT HOOKER' - She is a ' LOW COST PROVIDER.'

HOW TO SPEAK ABOUT MEN AND BE POLITICALLY CORRECT

He does not have a 'BEER GUT' - He has developed a 'LIQUID GRAIN STORAGE FACILITY.'
2. He is not a 'BAD DANCER' - He is ' OVERLY CAUCASIAN..'
3. He does not 'GET LOST ALL THE TIME' - He 'INVESTIGATES ALTERNATIVE DESTINATIONS.'
4. He is not 'BALDING' - He is in 'FOLLICLE REGRESSION.'
5. He does not act like a 'TOTAL ASS' - He develops a case of 'RECTAL-CRANIAL INVERSION.'
6. It's not his 'CRACK' you see hanging out of his pants - It's 'REAR CLEAVAGE.'

Really, people...that is some funny shit!!!

All of the dirt that makes us human...

Do you ever watch those cheesy movies on Lifetime?  Cheesy not because of their content but because of the two-bit actors/actresses, the over played drama and the overdone themes.  You know the ones I am talking about.  You have all seen at least one.   I have seen several.  On occasion. 

When I am feeling introspective about my life.  When I want something of a pick me up, a happy ending, I tune in to that channel to watch one of their romance novels on the screen.  When I am in a mood to try and find hope in this world via problems that are way bigger than mine, I tune in to one of their true to life someone-stole-my-baby movies.  The movies always deliver a plethora of emotions and a ladder up and out of whatever funk I am currently residing in. 

On New Years Day, Lifetime aired a "Ring in the Romance" marathon of movies.  Betcha can't guess the theme!  Okay, well maybe you can.  :)  Anyway, I DVR'd a movie called "Chaos Theory".  I was enchanted with the title, the actor was someone I recognized and the beginning caught our attention nicely. 

The scene:

A New Years Eve party in a swanky city bar.  6 friends sitting on couches around a coffee table are discussing their resolutions.  The main woman stands, walks overtop the table and says that her resolution is to find a husband...and she is going to pick from her friends.  The men start clawing over each other for this "miraculous chance".  It is settled that she will choose her husband from amongst the four men (one of who is with his woman at the time) solely based upon the name of his penis. 

Really?  Do guys really name their penis's?  Is that really something that any self respecting woman would base a life-long decision on?  The name of a ding-a-ling?  Really?  Hmmm.  Although I am now extremely curious as to whether or not men name them and what exactly they choose for names.  What is the selection process for something like that?  What are his thought processes? 

I am going to name my member today.  What will I call him?  Hmmm...
Princess Sophia Nope, too girly.
Squishy, Squishy Oh, not the right impression.
Mr. Ed May not live up to it's name.
Gunther. Yeah, that one may work.  Sounds strong and manly.  I'll go with that.

How about women?  Do women name their parts, too? 

The left one is Everest and the right is Kilamanjaro. 

What the hell?  Really?

Oh, the va-jay-jay?  I call it Mount Vesuvius on account of the fact that it erupts violently. 

Wow!  This post sure has gotten off track.  Completely.  And taken a slight turn to the left.  Oops.  Okay what was my point again?  Oh yeah!

So I DVR'd this movie and watched it the other day when I wasn't having to deal with Hubby's and kids and noise (because I hate those things when I am trying to escape into a tv show or movie!).  The movie itself was weird and random and not really all that great if I am being honest, which apparently I am, but it ended with the most amazing monologue that I had to rewind and write, rewind and write, rewind and write until I had it all taken down on paper.

"Well, it turns out that there are few things more chaotic than the beat of a human heart.  Speeding up, slowing down, a pretty face, a flight of stairs...it's always changing depending on what's happening to us out there.  It's an erratic son of a bitch.  But underneath all of that bumpity-bump mess, there is, in fact, a pattern.  The truth.  And it's love. 

The most important thing about love is that we choose to give it and we choose to receive it making it the least random act in the entire universe.  It transcends blood, it transcends betrayal and all of the dirt that makes us human."

Deep stuff, huh?  Yeah that's what I thought, too.  Those sentences, those words, smacked me so hard in the face that day, that I found myself taking a step backwards, looking around at my family and being entirely encased in a gratitude unlike any I have ever felt. 

My friend once told me she didn't believe in marriage because she believed that it was basically a cop out, in my understanding.  She said that married people wake up everyday next to their spouse and feel obligated to stay because they are married, because they made the choice to get married once when they were head over heels in love and continue to stay that way to avoid the hassle. 

As an unmarried woman, she woke up every day next to her partner and made the choice to stay even though she always had the option of a semi-hassle free parting of ways.  She felt that everyday choice was more significant than the one-time choice of getting married to begin with. 

I partially agree with her. 

But, internet, the truth is this.  I live in a chaotic world, but amongst that chaos is the truth that no matter what my past holds, my husband wakes up and chooses to love me and I wake up and choose to love him every single day. 

And for that I am grateful.  And beyond blessed. 

Official Holiday Recap...complete with Naughty Nutcrackers...

I bitched and whined and cried a lot about Christmas, didn't I? It's okay. You can say it. The truth. I did. I know it.

I'm not sorry. But at least I admit that I was a big baby this year.
That is not to say that my holiday was a good one. Far from it. It was stressful, hard, tearful and I barely survived through it. But I did and now that it is over, I can focus on the silver linings that brought a smile to my heart (even if not to my face) and appreciate the holiday for what it was...different.

As I was scanning through my photos this morning (admittedly many, many less than were taken in previous years) I came across a few that gave me a moment of joy at the memories that came slamming back into my brain. Memories and moments that I couldn't recall just a few short days ago as I was chest deep in sorrow and doing a wonderful job of wallowing in the pit.

((I should take a pause to apologize for what I am sure has been absolutely rotten behavior on my part to all who know me, talk to me or read my blog. I am back, I am better...I am now PMSing, so please be careful.))

So here they are folks. The top memories of Christmas 2008 (in no particular order) which is just another way of saying "The only things that made me think of smiling "...

Picture of my kids with their Great Grandpa. We weren't having a cheese button dinner at his trailer house surrounded by the Christmas Village and dozens of family members. We were instead in a cold and stark room in a nursing home surrounded by staff ready to take him to the dining room but all the same, he helped bring Christmas cheer for a few moments. And if nothing else, I will always have this picture to share with my kids.

 

Oh look!  The Nutcrackers have been so naughty that the kids put them in the corners to serve their Time-Out punishments.  When I came back through the kitchen I saw that the one on the left must have needed to pee so my son used a nearby Easter bucket so that he wouldn't piss on the carpet!

Oh, yes...who could forget this?  Lady K was in need of some holiday spirit so my mom and I planned a Christmas Goodie baking day.  As we finished each tray of goodies, we placed them on my bed (having no where else to put them).  This is Lady K taking a picture of our finished progress.  I was so busy yelling at her ("Don't you dare fall on all of that hard work!!! Get down at once!") that I didn't get a picture of the actually goodies.  I spent the rest of the evening singing "I smell sex and candy,  yeah..." in my head!

Dear Hubby helping Teensy put the angel on the tree.  It was just too sweet to not smile for a moment. 

That for the first time ever, my Step-Dad may have actually loved a gift he got from us...a book of history about trains and the area in which we live. 

 

 My kids did a wonderful job helping with the blue bag pick up for the food drive.  They enjoyed giving to others in need as much as dear Hubby and I had hoped they would. 

My puppies absolutely got into the Christmas Spirit and enjoyed the toys they got from us.  It was hard to keep them from fighting over them though after Lasey chewed the squeaky out of hers right away.

Bubba's XBOX came in to a nearby town at 10 pm on Christmas Eve and my mom drove the 30 mile to pick it for us.  THANKS MOMMY!  WE OWE YOU BIG TIME AND WILL NEVER FORGET IT!

Teensy's doll house was so tall she stood on the coffee table to open it.  Apparantly this is the best photo I got of her and it. 

Hubby adored his gift...he HAS been asking for it for several years and I finally was able to find exactly what he wanted.

I loved my gifts, too.  Best of all was the "Twilight" book and the mega expensive perfume that I have been out of for several months.  Thanks for listening, honey!

So that's that.  The best memories of Christmas 2008.  I guess I was able to smile a bit and enjoy myself at times.  However, you may not have noticed (although I surely did) that there are no pictures from Christmas with Hubby's family.  That's because for me it sucked.

A Christmas Funny...

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

I have been watching you very closely to see if you have been good this year and since you have I will be telling my elves to make some goodies for me to leave under your tree at Christmas.
I was going to bring you all gifts from the 12 days of Christmas, but we had a little problem.

The 12 fiddler fiddling have all come down with VD from fiddling with the 10 ladies dancing, the 11 lords leaping have knocked up the 8 maids-a-milking, and the 9 pipers piping have been arrested for doing weird things to the 7 swans-a-swimming. The 6 geese-a-laying, 4 calling birds, 3 french hens, 2 turtle doves and the partridge-in-a-pear tree have me up to my sled runners in bird shit.

On top of all this, Mrs Claus is going through menopause, 8 of my reindeer are in heat, the elves have joined the gay liberation and some people who can't read a calendar have scheduled Christmas for the 5th of January.

Maybe next year I will be able to get my shit together and bring you the things you want. This year I suggest you get your asses down to WalMart before everything is gone.

Ever seen a tree's top fall off? You soon will!

The moronic wonderful music teacher decided to do the first and second grade Christmas Programs on the same night this year. And she decided to bore us to death grace those of us with a kid in each grade two of the exact same programs! Yippee!

The evening started out with a mad dash to the daycare at 4:30 to pick up the kids. Miss Insanity's kids are in first grade with Teensy so she was closing early so that she could be to the theater in time for the program. I got the kids loaded into the van and sped down the road (which was starting to get icy!) to the local Pizza Hut to pick up the three personal pans that I had ordered before leaving work. The concert was to start at 6:00 with the first graders needing to be there half hour early to get in costume. There are probably 100 kids in each grade and about 300 seats in the theater. It is not uncommon around here for one's whole family to come watch them in a program (siblings, parents, grandparents, aunts, cousins, unlce Ted that always asks you to pull his finger) so I wanted to get a good seat early.

I pulled the van up to the CarryOut window and told them my name. Our pizza had four minutes to go before it was completely cooked so I made small talk with the kids mentioning what kind of pizzas I had ordered for them. Doofus that I apperantly am, I ordered the wrong pizza for the Bubba Boy. He wanted Hawaiian not the Supreme. Strike 1 against the evening! We got our pizzas and made our way over the slick roads to the community center to save our seats in the theater.

I set the kids up at a table with their pizzas, proceded to buy them overpriced pops at the concession stand and then went into the theater and threw our coats and their backpacks onto the seats I thought would be the best in the house. Of course, Bubba would be performing on stage left and teensy on stage right so we had to sit in the middle and hope for the best view of each.

I went back out to scarf down my pizza with the kids and Bubba informed me that he lost his shirt that was needed for the program. WHAT? DAMMIT! We, as parents, were instructed to make sure our children had the correct outfits to go under their costumes. Teensy needed a red or a green outfit. Bubba needed a long sleeved black shirt and pants. I purchased Teensy's whole outfit and the shirt for Bubba the week before the program and had them hanging in the closets so that they would be clean when the time came. Losing his shirt was not a good development! Strike 2 against my evening. Bubba then calmly informed me that even though he had lost his brand new shirt, he had one to wear for the program. The music teacher had found one for him to wear (Great! The body odor and germy germs of some other sniffling kid!). I calmed down a bit and we continued on with our pizza.

As soon as Bubba was done with his food, I asked him to get into his outfit so that he would be ready when the time came. He said it was in his backpack bu lo and behold when I opened it there was nothing there! After frantic calls to Miss Insanity to check her daycare house and her Suburban, I resigned myself to the fact that his outfit was left at school. ARGH! Strike 3 of the evening! I immediately called Dear Hubby and told him of the situation (almost in tears as I am that kind of person) who got off work early and rushed home to see what he could find in the dirty clothes pile house. Once again, I calmed down a little. (Please ignore the fact that I am wound a little tight sometimes and the fact the slightest hiccup in my schedule can sometimes make me cry!)

All in all, the crises was averted when Hubby showed up 15 minutes before the program started with a faded black sweatshirt and a pair of black slacks! Whew! At least he wouldn't look like too much of a dork up there on stage and we wouldn't have to smell him down in the audience so all was well. And my mom showed up two minutes before the program started and was able to get her seat before the lights were turned down! Yay! Another good thing!

Teensy's program started at 6 pm and she was an elf this year. An adorable one at that. She enjoyed the program immensely as she likes to sing and dance and she is so adorable that people are soooo going to love her up there. She was wonderful! She is the little girl in red in between the boy in white (Miss Insanity's son) and the boy next to Santa (the infamous Trevor of Mom Hotness Fame!).

Bubba's program started at 7:30 and he was a tree. I learned last year at about this time that my son may be meant for the stage...but only as a comedian. This year he proved my theory correct. The video I wanted to upload was too big so you get this one instead. Bubba is one the right hand side in the trees and is the one that seems to have springs on his feet and an issue with his mouth staying closed.

One way or another, it was an entertaining night. And even though I sat in that theater from 5 pm until almost 9 pm with only about 2 hours of that actually watching children perform, it was well worth it to sit in the audience and and ooh and aah and my daughter's cuteness and then almost pee myself with laughter at the antics of my son.

Outfits for the children to wear: $20
Dine and Dash at Pizza Hut: $15
Time spent in the theater: 4 hours
Having videos like this to show my children's future spouses: PRICELESS!

And I am one of those people...

I am a planner people! And if you don't know that about me you don't know anything! Argh! Christmas plans have changed again and now will be Christmas Eve dinner of chili (don't even get me started on that one) and a Christmas day lunch at SIL's house for traditional dinner and a few present exchanges. Not sure how that all makes me feel yet. It seem when things get different around here they really go overboard. So....


A Christmas Story for people having a bad day:

When four of Santa's elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the Pre-Christmas pressure.

Then Mrs Claus told Santa her Mother was coming to visit, which stressed Santa even more.

When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two others had jumped the fence and were out, Heaven knows where.

Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked, the toy bag fell to the ground and all the toys were scattered.

Frustrated, Santa went in the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered the elves had drank all the cider and hidden the liquor. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of the broom.

Just then the doorbell rang, and irritated Santa marched to the door, yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said very cheerfully, 'Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't this a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?'

And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.

Bah-fucking-humbug!

Oh, shit. I mean Merry-fucking-Christmas Season, everybody!

The beginning of my glory...

Getting ready for school in my household seems to be a slow and very tedious process filled with "Why aren't you dressed yet?" and "Geeze, Louise, Hurry up already!".  This morning was no different in the fact that homework from yesterday was still not completed (due to a late evening of Girl Scouts), shoes were not on the feet, and every light in the house was still blazing at 7:45 am, less than 5 minutes before we had to leave the house. 

In lieu of sitting Teensy down to read her small 8 page book and thusly making everyone late for school, I tossed the book at dear Hubby and told Teensy that Daddy would just read it to her this morning and signed the homework slip to prove it's completion.  Dear Hubby began reading the first page and Teensy burst out with a common declaration, "I NEED TO TELL MOMMY SOMETHING!".

She then came bursting through the kitchen, stopped just short of slamming into me, looks up into my eyes with innocence shining through her 6 year-old face and said, "Trevor says you're hot," in a matter-of-fact, you-must-know, tone of voice.

I was completely floored!  I could not speak, I could not smile, I could not respond except for to glance up at my husband who wasn't even trying to cover his laughter. 

I knew this day would come.  The beginning of my MILF glory (because I am so amazingly smokin' and all), but...

MY DAUGHTER IS 6 YEARS OLD!  TREVOR IS 6 YEARS OLD!  WHAT THE HELL IS WITH KIDS THESE DAYS?

Am I wrong?  Shouldn't a 6 year old be thinking about toys and Christmas right about now and not about how "hot" he thinks someone's mother is?  And the worst thing...Trevor is the little boy that my daughter has been crushing on since preschool!  The little boy that I have recently been convinced will be a part of my daughter's life for a long time to come considering the bond they seem to share right now.  And now?  Now I just want to shake that boy back into childhood, back into innocence. 

6 year old children should NOT think someone's mother is "hot"!

But, little man, when you become a teenager...feel free to rave about my "hotness" to your friends all you want.  Because then it will be appreciated. 

How many rings of hell are there again?

I spent my morning in the seventh ring of hell known to the common man as the Dentist's Office.

My re-done root canal was to be checked out today. They made me sit through the gag-inducing X-ray just to tell me that nothing has changed and they wouldn't be touching that tooth today.

But hey! While we have you in the chair, let's do the fillings on two of your other teeth, instead! Yippee!

Yippee my mother-fucking-ass. Really? Argh!

Two whole hours later, I drove to work with half of my mouth completely numb, my jaw in immense pain from the long periods of holding it open and my tongue hanging lazily past my lips.

As I walk into my office, the boss Man says, "Hi, how's it going?"

My standard reply of "Good" comes fumbling out of my mouth and I feel the need to follow it up with, "Don't mind the right side of my face. It's not working today."

Being the Physician's Assistant at a VA hospital that he is, his response is a witty, "If you were one of my patient's, I would be sending you down for an MRI after seeing that," and he walks off.

Hnh. Thanks. Ass. Like I didn't know I looked like the defective version of a Cewpie doll with my cheek all swollen and my eye sagging.

(And no. I did not take a picture of that one, because really folks, no one wants to see me post seventh hell wonderment...even for the laughs.)

Oh yeah! You aren't getting a List Making Tuesday entry today. Maybe tomorrow. I am feeling a bit sleepy and a little tingly from the vicodin I just slipped down my throat and therefore will be unable to coherently make a list worth reading. :)

Unexplained Edward Phenomena...

Something happened last night that will boggle your mind.

Dear Hubby and I finally got a date night. We drove into "the city", had some dinner at Mongolian Grill (which is this totally interesting place where you fill a bowl up with a bunch of frozen ingredients, top it off with noodles and whatever sauce mixture you choose and then hand it off to a guy who dumps it on a flat iron thing and walks it around in circles until it's all cooked through and puts it back into a bowl fo you to eat!), did some Christmas shopping for the kids at Toys R Us and Kohls and then went and saw the movie "Twilight".

I know what you are thinking, blogoshpere peeps. You are thinking, "Ugh! Not another post about that!" I promise you this isn't another one of those boring Twilight posts that are lurking on a million blogs around the internet. I will not give away secrets of the books (because I haven't read them!) or the ending of the movie (as if there was one!). I will not sit here and spout off at the mouth about how Bella and Edward are meant to be together (which they sooooo are!) or how the movie was the best love story I have witnessed in quite some time (although it totally was!) or how it left me feeling tingly and wishful (which it most certainly did!).

What this post is going to be about is the fact that I went to bed last night thinking about Edward watching Bella in her sleep. I was a bit freaked out by that and completely for it all in the same thought. There is something weirdly erotic about someone watching me sleep. It is strange in a stalker-esque kind of way and yet would make me feel safe and protected to know that someone stood watch over me...and loved. Yes, very loved.

Anyway, I got off track...so I went to bed last night (extremely late and knowing that I had to wake up early!) and when I woke this morning I found this...

Edward fucking bit me in my sleep!!! Holy Hell-a-cious-ness! For reals, people. I fucking got bit!

Damn vampires!

*giggle*

What's in a name???

I totally stole borrowed this from Hair Band Honey. I thought it would make a great weekend post!

Porn star name (first pet, first street where you lived): Cleo Franklin (This is the first street that I remember living on and not the actual first but the name still sounds like a porn star!)

Rock star name (favourite pet, current car): Lasey Montana (Not to be confused with Hannah Montana, however that is probably how she got her name, too!!)

Gangsta name (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe): Vanilla Sketchers (Yep, I am white grafitti artist!)

Native American name (hair color, favourite animal, favourite hobby): Blonde Bear Reader (um, yeah. I hunt blonde bears and read the hidden meanings in their fur.)

Soap opera name (middle name, city where you were born): Marie Mitchell (Most definitely...I'm the acts good but is secretly bad one on the show.)

Star Wars name (first 3 letters of last name & first 2 of first name, last 3 letters of middle name): Werja Ger (hmmm...interesting. Were-Jogger. Sounds like me...as in used to jog! Okay, okay, I have never been a jogger but still...)

Stripper name (favourite perfume, favorite candy): Miami Glow Mints (that is a complete stretch because I have no clue on my favorite candy)

TV Newsreader name (grandparents first name, any town that starts with the same letter): Lola Lexington (that is actually kinda pretty.)

Spy name (favourite season, favourite flower): Autumn Daisy (now that is a fake name if I have ever heard one!)

Cartoon name (favourite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing now): Kiwi Shoes (oh man, does that mean I am SpongeBob's cousin or something??? Do I have to wear Kiwi's on my feet all the time? What about the mold fungus when they go rotten? Ewww!)

Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast, favourite tree): Doughnut Spruce (as in...dough nut spruce up the house ever!!! Funny!)

Hey! That was a lot of fun. Now you try it and add a comment with your link so that I can come read your answers! Oooh, oooh, I can't wait!!!