Really? Already? I'm not ready for this.

Okay, I'm ready for it. In fact, I've been hoping he'd pick up on it early. Don't get me wrong, I love babies and I dearly love my children. But the more independent Beth became, the easier my life got; now I'm aching for Robby to become more independent. I need kids that can walk, feed themselves, and take instructions. That may sound harsh but it's my truth.

Where Beth's at now? Almost perfect for me. I don't want her to get much older than she is. She's young enough that she still more or less obeys me - she has her antagonistic moments though - and she looooooooooves helping me do chores. She's very playful but understands the need for down time and sleep. She still has a big sense of wonder about the world and isn't bogged down by the stress of school and friendships. She has three friends: Boy, Valeta's boy, and her cousin who lives up near Sacramento. She hardly ever sees that latter two so her friendships are really a friendship and she sees him every day. She's fully potty trained and is a terrific little girl. Beth, Love, please don't grow up. Stay just the way you are.

Anybody else wish they could hit the pause button on their life, just for a little while? I can't wait to see my kids grow up into adults. I know they're going to be successful in all that they do because they both have the tenacity and smarts to achieve it. But there's that bittersweet feeling in my heart that wants them to stay little forever.

I hate to inundate you with videos today, but I have to share this video. It reminds me of todays sentiments.

Chop Suey

My title's meaning is two-fold: it's both literal and rhetorical. Literally, I'm making Chinese food tonight. I'm attempting my first from-scratch stir fry. I have a big-ass bag of white rice, 12 stalks of broccoli, a bag of baby carrots, a bag of frozen snap peas, sesame oil and soy sauce. Wish me luck!

Rhetorically, my post today will be "mixed pieces" of my life as it stands. Complaints, commentary, and happy notes. Bon appetit.

~ I feel sorry for my son, I really do. He's cut his two bottom teeth already, about a month or two ago. Last week he cut his right lateral incisor. This week he's cutting his left incisor and possibly his left lateral incisor. Right incisor isn't far behind. So his gums are swollen and he's in a lot of pain. He's grumpy, whiny, clingy and all-together miserable and I really can't blame the guy! But GODDAMMIT!!!! Must he keep biting me? Seriously? He bites my leg if he's standing up in front of me, he bites my hand if it gets too close, and today he made like he was going to kiss me and sucked in my bottom lip and bit the fark out of it. I'm honestly surprised I didn't bleed.

~ That aside, he's just the Prodigal Baby. He's cruising and starting to stand independently, he's trying his damnedest to say "kitty," although it's coming out more like "dit-dee," and he's totally feeding himself. He's also, when he's not teething, the happiest baby in the world! He's sleeping through the night, despite teething, and that is SUCH a relief.

~ My daughter. She's really picking things up like a giant magnet in a room full of paper clips. Her speech has become so complex considering where she was a year ago and she's learning manners. She knows "please" and "thank you," as well as "you're welcome," and we're working on chewing with her mouth shut. She loves giving "Biiiig hugs!" and saying, "I loooooove [insert object here]!!" It's hysterical.

~ I can't wait for fall programming to come back. I miss my shows. I like "Last Comic Standing" but honestly, I've not been blown away by any of the comics. I was all for Jeff Dye but his last act kinda fell flat. Louis Ramey was funny last week but not so much before that. Rob likes Eliza's comedy, but I'm iffy on her. I was glad to see Papa CJ and the skinny little leprechaun-looking muppet go. Neither of them were ever funny! How long can you play the "I'm Indian and that's what my comedy's all about" card? But I digress, I miss Chuck, Ghost Whisperer, Grey's Anatomy and Desperate Housewives, not to mention The Office. What will become of Phyllis' secret about Dwight and Angela?! Anybody else on board to keep discussing this?

~ So my birthday's coming up and it's going to suck just like it does every year. It's September 10th and that falls during the "rent paycheck period." Virtually all our money goes towards rent during the first half of the month so there's never anything left to celebrate my birthday. Then we're almost always broke anyway, so celebrating five days later never really happens either! It sucks. I hate it. I know that's very Negative Nelly but I haven't had a fun, happy birthday since I was 18 or so.

~ Is anyone else contemplating Christmas already? My husband's looking at picking up a second job (for various reasons that I'm not going to get into - gotta leave a little mystery for you all, right?) so funds might not be a huge issue this year, but now we're buying for two kids plus the whole family. I'm thinking about baking for them this year. Cookie trees for everyone! Buy cute little Christmas mugs, lollipop sticks, foam blocks, and make Cookie Trees. Good idea?

So that's all in this week's edition of Got Serious Writer's Block Chop Suey!

I'm Glad No One Told Me...

...what real responsibility meant. Bills, rent, insurance, health care, paying for you own gasoline, groceries, incidentals (like that pint of Ben & Jerry's you simply MUST have in your eighth month of pregnancy but you know will live you semi-broke for a few days), vehicle upkeep, haircuts, the cost of shampoo, and I could go on forever. I never understood until the last few years just how hard my parents had it and how hard it must have been to tell me "no" as often as they did. When you're a kid, you assume that because your parents have a job, they have money. "I just saw you buy $80.00 worth of groceries, woman, I know you have money!! Don't tell me you can't shell out $20.00 for me to go to the movies!" I feel really bad about that. If I'd known just how hard being an adult meant, I may have stayed in college forever! I'd be SRU's Van Wilder.

...that marriage took real work. You make a decision every day to be with your spouse, to make compromises, to never go to bed angry, to try to see things his way even though you know you never will, and most importantly, you make the decision to see an endless amount of tomorrows with that person. You love them, there's no question in that. But it's not always sunshine and roses and eventually the honeymoon is over.

...that when you move into an apartment complex, about three months after you move in the property company will inevitably decide to renovate/repaint/refurbish and when it's time to sign a new lease, your rent will have gone up $100. Just a word to the wise. Oh, and they'll promise you new carpet but you'll end up with the shit-brown, matted-down, ten-years-old-looking carpet that four families have traipsed over. Buy a steam cleaner before you move in.

...that childbirth will be the single most painful experience of your life unless the doctors are kind enough to let your epidural run through the birth. I was not so fortunate. With my first, I had a good strong epi until I hit transition (about 7 cm) and then they let it run out. I know, right?! I felt every inch of her big noggin pushing through like a cannonball through a garden hose. With my second, I asked for my epidural at 5 cm, which is where I was at when I was admitted. I didn't see an anesthesiologist until I was about 7 cm who asked me the same set of questions THREE TIMES before deciding I was good to go for an epidural. I was at 9 goddamn cm before they attempted to sit me up and insert it - liek that was going to happen. You know what she said when she got it in? "There we go. I think that's right." [brief dramatic pause] YOU THINK???? Shouldn't there be a set of criteria that would differentiate between "is right" and "isn't right?" This is what I get for going with an HMO.

...that if you don't want to go with an HMO for your health care, be prepared to shell out large amounts of money. We weren't prepared to do that, so we went with an HMO. Most of our care is decent, especially where the kids are concerned. I love the pediatrics department. But our doctors? The revolving-door office we go to should we fall ill? We might be better off going to a public health clinic. They don't listen to you, they look bored, and they automatically turn to prescriptions no matter what you're ailment. You know something is wrong with you but instead of investigating further, they take one look at an x-ray and declare you "just fine." You never really get better and eventually, it comes back to haunt you six months later. Just ask my husband.

...that babies will produce liquids and odors that are not to be believed. Spit-up, vomit, poop, enough drool to irrigate the fields off Highway 1, you'll see (and smell) it all. As a result of all these fluids, you will never own a nice shirt again. Said liquids will find their way to the front of your shirt leaving a very noticeable stain. If you plan on wearing a particular shirt to a nice event at any point during its life with you, stay at least ten feet away from all children under the age of 13 while you're wearing it.

What do I wish someone had told me?

...That life gets better with age. You get better with age. You learn more, you see more, and you experience more both in life and in emotion. That you'll experience a love that will make your heart want to burst every time you look at your children. That marriage, in spite of its trials, will only improve if tended to like a rose garden. Don't let weeds clutter your life. See the forest for the trees. Understand that while you're busy being disappointed that someone has changed, you've changed too.

...that you should hug your kids every chance you get because as they get older, they'll want to hug you less. They won't love you less, but they'll show it in different ways. Realize that kids will say hurtful things but that they don't understand the impact of their words.

...to remember that life is far too short and that you should embrace every opportunity to talk to your elders. They have perspective and wisdom far beyond our years. Thank you, Denise, for reminding me of that. Your family is the most important asset you have. Whether it's the family you have inside your four walls or you're spread out over the world, they're the ones who'll be there for you when all else goes wrong. Please keep them close. A lot of my family has...drifted away. Or maybe it's because I moved to the left coast. I don't know. But they know who they are and I wish they'd keep in touch. I feel abandoned by them and it hurts. So please heed my advice and keep your family close.

...to live every day like it's your last. Laugh, hug, smile and enjoy the world around you. We only get to go around once (unless you believe in "Transcendentalism!!!!" - inside joke for fellow classmates of Donna Baker's English class) and you should make the most of your time here.

Thanks for indulging me. I still have a lot to learn in life but as I approach 30 - yes, I know I'm not 29 yet, but trust me when I say that 30 will sneak up on you - I feel like I've learned a LOT and I've learned most of it in the last five years. So take what you can from this!

And now, a funny video to lighten the mood.



...

The Craziest Thing I Did For Love

I've done a lot of stupid things for "love." I've quietly ignored his nerdy attempts at being a playa tendency to stray, I've put up with his indiscreet boinking inappropriate relationships with other girls - and this is TWO SEPARATE GUYS - because he claimed they were just friends (yes, I knew better), and I've wasted a year of my high school life thinking we still had a chance. All stupid things. Time NOT well-wasted.

I've even said no to love because I was scared. To this day I kinda kick myself in the shin for that, for not exploring that love a little more. I wouldn't want it to change where I am now but I have the feeling it could have been a little slice of wonderful amid all the crap I was dealing with back then.

But you're not here to hear my tragic little stories, are you? You're here to read all about the chance I took, the leap of faith I had to make, all in the name of L-O-V-E. Well hang on to your hats, ladies and gents, here's the non-Reader's Digest version.

It was the very beginning of September 2001 and I was about to begin my senior year at Slippery Rock. I was living in an on-campus apartment with my three roommates: L, K, & J. A picture of my dawgs, for reference. I'm second from the left.



We decided to have a Labor Day soiree in the name of loving to party and J decided to invite her boyfriend up. He, in turn, decided to invite his friend up. His friend, as I was told, was visiting his mom in Pittsburgh for the week. It was a booty call set-up semi-blind date. I was single, he was single, blah blah blah.

So I'm flitting about for two hours prior to their arrival, doing everything in my power to look gooooooood for this guy. I put enough product in my hair to shelac a 757 together, my Gap "Dream" all over me and my clothes, make up, the whole nine yards. I changed shirts three times. Then I get a call from our balcony that our guests had arrived. I took a deep breath and headed out to the balcony, smokes in hand (because it was necessary to smoke whenever one was out on the balcony) and I took in the sight of my future husband.

To be honest, his attire isn't much to talk about. Black jeans (yes, black jeans in the early '01s...he need some couture assistance), grey flannel button-down, beat-up Asics. Oh, and a Dale Earnhardt ballcap. Strapping young fellow. Well-dressed? Not so much. But oh, his face. His eyes, his smile, his deceptively confident air. I was smitten.

After J and I procured the alcohol for the evening, we all piled into the Hoopty Van Deusen (read: J's 90-something Dodge Caravan) and made our way to L's boyfriends place for the bonfire. The object of my affection and I talked all evening and that turned into a...um...well...ya see, the thing is, back then, I was, ummmm, a fun-loving girl.

ANYWAY.

The next morning, we went to Eat 'N Park for breakfast. Then he and J's boyfriend headed back to Pittsburgh with promises of hanging out later that week. I got a phone call later that afternoon - well, J did - from her boyfriend stating that he had "a little lost puppy dog on his hands" that wouldn't "stop talking about Darcie." :-)

J and I surprised them on Wednesday when we showed up at the porn shop J's boyfriend worked at. Then we agreed to all go out Thursday night. We hit up Dave & Busters and then went to a lookout on Mt. Washington. It was here that he promised me he'd be back - to stay - soon. Here's the view we had when he made this promise:



Friday I went home to work and Saturday, after work, I drove down to Pittsburgh to spend the night with him again. I also got to meet his mom - and go bar-hopping with her - and his mom's fiance. I'm sure she thought I was a floozy though, since the next time she saw me was the next morning in different clothes, looking like I hadn't slept all that much. Heh.

What she didn't know was that standing in her driveway, tearfully saying good-bye to her eldest son, was her future daughter-in-law. Hubby came back two months later, right before Thanksgiving. He traveled to New Jersey to meet my family for the holiday and when he came back, he moved into the apartment with me. In February, we moved back to my mom's house and we got engaged in April. It was such a whirlwind!

We married on October 19, 2002. It was a small, private ceremony in my mom's living room. I didn't wear a wedding dress, I wore a buttercream yellow gown, he wore a suit, and we each had one attendant. There was an informal reception afterwards with a much bigger crowd. That night, we watched Game 1 of the World Series between the San Francisco Giants and the Anaheim Angels. A picture of our wedding, a mere 11 months after our first "date."



We honeymooned in Orlando, Florida, hitting up Disney World and Universal Studios. We stopped by Washington, D.C. on our way back. We had such a blast on that trip. We love road trips, we've taken three since then. We moved out to California in May 2003 and it's been happily ever after since then!

Everyone said we were crazy. We wouldn't last, it was too quick, yadda yadda yadda. WHO'S LAUGHING NOW?! That's right bitches. We'll be married six years this fall. Two wonderful kids. A cat. His and Hers vehicles. We're that annoyingly happy couple who have fun all the damn time and can even laugh at our misfortunes. Guess we weren't so crazy, were we?

The Last Lecture

If you watched the special on 20/20, you'll understand why this is such a loss. This man's courage, charisma, and optimism was unbelievable and we should all strive to live every day the way this man lived his last months. Please stay and watch the YouTube video I've posted, it's Randy Pausch giving "The Last Lecture." You won't regret it.

The obituary
The Last Lecture Website

"Men and women can never be friends." - Harry, When Harry Met Sally

My husband, in his infinite wisdom, has informed me on more than one occasion that Harry has it right. Every man, no matter his thoughts on a woman's physical appearance, wants to sleep with her.

WHAT?!

I refuse to believe this. No way. I've had plenty of male friends in my lifetime who've had zero interest in me and I can assure you, definitely didn't want a piece of this. I've never been one of the "beautiful people" and I certainly never had an attractive body so I feel that this makes Harry's (and my husband's) allegations null and void.

Do I have any male readers? Can you offer insight on this? What about my female readers? Has any male friend of yours ever owned up to wanting to get you in bed?

"Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children." - George Bernard Shaw

So last weekend, I was coming back from the laundry room. It was Friday night and as there are a lot of younger people who live in our apartment complex, there were a handful of parties going on around me. There were at least two across the way and two down our side of the building. Lots of noise, music, yelling, but nothing warranting annoyance on my part.

When I say younger, I mean early 20s. Younger than me. Even though I've been out of my "early 20s" for five or so years, it never fails to freak me out that there are kids I babysat out at the bar on the weekends, all legal and whatnot. My friend from high school's little brother and his girlfriend (wife? H? I'm not clear on that situation - clarification would be great!) just had a baby. I babysat him when I was 16!! All three of my little cousins have graduated high school, one's in college...and I babysat them when I was 13.

Who hit the FF button on my birthday clock???

So anyway, I'm watching a pair of girls walk up the steps to an upstairs apartment and be let in by a guy who was clearly hosting the party. There was music, laughter, people drinking beer. You know, the party scene. Surely you remember it??? The apartment's like a sardine can. You're wearing your best party clothes - slightly-too-tight jeans, solid-color t-shirt that's probably a v-neck to accentuate the girls, makeup, your hair done for the first time all week (no ponytails!), and a brand new pack of smokes. You didn't smoke? Okay, well, I did. And I liked it. I looked cool, dammit.

As I'm watching these two girls go inside, I get all nostalgic for my college days. If I was invited to a party, I was going come hell or high water. I was constantly badgering my girls or dormmates to go with me - I was not one to travel solo - and could not wait to get there. I loved drinking, I loved dancing, I loved beer pong (and if you ask my sophomore roommate, I wasn't too shabby at it either), and I loved being out and about. I even loved the hangover breakfasts at the dining hall: Belgian waffle with strawberries and whipped cream, bacon, and some sort of soda. Sorry, where I come from, I had POP for breakfast.

Then I met Hubby at the advent of my senior year in college and within six months or so, I'd settled down. I didn't want to go to party after party, I didn't even want to go to the local bar. It's not that I was opposed to drinking or anything, I just didn't have the urge to be a part of that scene. I felt like I'd moved on from it and didn't see a need to go back.

I still don't miss it, not really. But in that moment, walking around in my I'm-doing-laundry clothes and flip flops and watching those girls get their party on, I was very much longing to let my hair down. I expressed this sentiment to Hubby when I went inside. I told him that I briefly entertained the idea that I could still fit in at a party, I could still be fun and loud and rowdy. Then I realized that I wouldn't know what the hell to do with myself at a party! I haven't partied since mid-2001. Well, I had a little alcohol-laden soiree in December of that year, but it didn't last long because the alcohol was ingested rather quickly!

I'd be a wallflower like no other. Back up against the wall, nursing a beer, not smoking because I quit in 2004, and being scared to talk to anyone because all my life consists of anymore is parenting!! My life is diapers, formula, Dora the Explorer and getting to bed at a decent hour because I know I'm getting up at 5:30 a.m. Who wants to converse with that ball of boring?

Don't get me wrong: I love my life! And 99.9% of the time, I'm blissfully happy with where I am. But I occasionally wonder what happened to my wild side? Is it sleeping? Tucked away in a box in a closet? Did it die?

A Thousand Words Thursday

I Should Start A Business

Ask my husband about my abilities and talents, and he may prattle on for a few minutes. I'm a good mom. I'm on hell of a writer (I'm not tooting my own horn, he's been telling me this since 2002). I can play piano. I one baaaaaad crossword puzzle-solver. But at the tippy-top of this list, beyond diaper-changing and bottle-making, above whipping up a peanut butter sandwich, is this: throwing things away.

I've thrown it all away...old registration cards that we ended up needing to get out of a ticket that wasn't our fault (another story for another time), silverware, flyers for affairs we were invited to, magazines we were supposed to keep (don't ask), greeting cards, just everything. I don't mean to throw away important stuff, I just get hasty about getting things done, I [oddly enough] hate clutter, and I hate having unneeded things. At the top of this list is paper. It's unsightly, unstackackable, and a general waste of space.

My husband is my polar opposite. He. Keeps. Everything. And I do mean everything. He keeps magazines. He must have 500 magazines in our house. They're in our entertainment center, in boxes in the closet, in the bathroom, in his locker at work, in the car. He says he keeps them "just in case I need to know how to do something in the future."

Isn't that what the internet and library are for?


AT ANY RATE....

I have a habit of letting my cleaning and paperwork get away from me. I let it pile up until we start getting late notices running out of room for all of it and then I have to spend a week digging through it. It really sucks and you'd think I'd come up with a better system to manage it, but I just don't have that ambition yet.

I'm a real self-sabotager. I don't want to create the system to manage the overflowing recyle bin of a desk and countertop I have, yet I don't want to deal with it when I can't see into my kitchen because the piles of crap are in the way.

But I performed a miracle this morning. I put my ass in gear and did it. THREE MONTHS worth of paperwork and I organized it all. I also picked up most of the rest of the house! Such a relief! Here's the story in a series of pictures.

Before



After

"When Flies Attack..."

...and other tragedies that befell the 2008 company picnic.

One would think at this point, with a three-year-old in the throes of childhood, I'd have expected nothing less than Scarlett O'Hara-type drama on what should have been a really pleasant day. But I very ignorantly plastered on my optimistic smile and shoved some sunshine up my behind and had very high hopes for our afternoon out.

I'm all geared up. I have five diapers, a package of wipes, a big-ass bottle of SPF 30 sunblock, extra outfits for both kids, the camera, extra batteries for said camera, cash (because you just never know with company picnics), Robby's sippy cup, a changing pad because county fairgrounds rarely have Koala Stations in their restrooms, and the one thing I've learned to never leave home without: a handful of Band-Aids.

My first mistake was telling Beth all about how we were going to a picnic before we were actually on our way there. My payback was having to say, "Yes, Beth, we're going to the picnic," about 100 times in a two-hour period.

We finally get to the picnic after what seemed an eternity of "Mama, are we going to the picnic for daddy's work?" and "Mama, will there be cake at the party?" and "Mama, where's daddy's picnic?" Mind you, this was not in honor of my husband or anything, it was the company's summer picnic, but I had to explain it to her in a way that a three-year-old would get that it's not a family picnic or anything but that there would a lot of unfamiliar people there. Beth's extraordinarily shy around people she doesn't know, so big crowds tend to leave her clinging to us until she gets warmed up to it.

We're not five feet away from the car and she trips walking across a manhole cover. Down goes Frasier!!! She skinned both knees. We had to stop the caravan, wipe off the wounds and put a Band-Aid on one because it was extra raw. This child HATES Band-Aids. Hates 'em. Limps not because it hurts, but because there's a Band-Aid on it. Yeah, I know.

So we haul Gimpy into the fairgrounds, pick up my husband's complimentary t-shirt at the gate and find my father-in-law (who works for the same company at a different branch) and his wife. YaYa (my father-in-law's wife but not Hubby's mom) started to greet Robby when he burst into tears. He does this to everyone he doesn't see on a daily basis but I always have to explain it when it happens. Poor guy just doesn't take well to new faces!

We start to think the drama's over and sit down at a picnic table. I leave the kids with Hubby and go grab food for myself and the kids. I come back, he goes for his food, you all know the drill. He comes back, we're munching away, Beth's crunching away on Lays Baked potato chips, Robby's dribbling watermelon juice down his front...we're having a grand old picnic time! The next thing I know, Beth's climbing up me like a monkey in a tree screaming bloody freakin' murder. I mean to tell you, there was no consoling this kid! After a minute, we figured out that flies were landing on her boo-boo and evidently, this was cause for terror. I took her for a walk to a quieter place away from all the hullabaloo and unholy flies where she seemed to stop crying but kept insisting I hold her injured limb tight to my body. Let me assure you, there's nothing finer than holding a clingy, scared-out-of-her-mind forty-pound child in the 90 degree heat whilst she covers you in tears and snot.

When I thought she'd recovered, I took her back to our table where she promptly freaked out AGAIN. This time, I had my husband take her for a walk. During their absence, she won a pair of Super Soaker guns (because that's precisely what we need in our quiet apartment community, a pair of obscenely powerful water guns that she'll ask about every day but can only play with in public parks), which she and Hubby picked up from our table and went to play with.

This was when things finally calmed down and we could enjoy ourselves. Robby was his usual jovial self, smiling and laughing and bouncing as always! Beth cheered up, had fun with the "super soapers" as she calls them, and we enjoyed a little snack later under a tree. She got to decorate a gift bag with stamps and crayons, got it filled with cheap little toys that she is still referring to as her "prizes."

We had a lot of fun once the drama came to a close! I really hope they continue to have picnics like that. This is the best one we've been to in the almost five years of his employment there. They even had an adult raffle, but we didn't win anything. Robby won a toy Bobcat which he absolutely loves! He even plays with it like you're supposed to: he pushes and pulls it back and forth and makes a little whirring sound. I didn't know eight-month-olds could do this!

The kids napped on the way home, all tuckered out, and we talked about how lucky we are and what a good time we had. I've mentioned it before, but I'll say it again: we may not have much and we may be perpetually broke, but we're never poor where it counts. We're live our life full of love and laughter and I couldn't ask for more!

Some pictures of the kids at the picnic:

Hi, My Name is Darcie, and I'm a blogging addict.

Seriously, I can't stop posting today. Are there support groups for this?

So the point of this post is to inform the masses of a site they may have been missing out on. I first found it thanks to my cousin...well, I found a branch of it. She showed me I Can Has Cheezburger which kicks ass daily.

About a week in my daily visits there, I discovered a bar of links at the top of the page that lead me to variations on this blog of sorts...There's I Has A Hot Dog, Pundit Kitchen, Graph Jam, Fail Blog, and the piece de resistance, Fun with Famous Faces.

It's hysterical! Here are a few samples from each to persuade to patronize their fine piece of interwebs.


more cat pictures


see more dog pictures


see more pwn and owned pictures


see famous look-a-like faces

Quick Note of Gratitude

Some of you may remember my post from earlier this month regarding my my time travel to the 1940s. I mentioned therein that I was going to subtly suggest to my husband that he buy me the Magic Bullet for Christmas.

Move over, Christmas, my 29th birthday just walked in the door!!!

Thank you so much, D, for the early birthday present. Seriously, I was floored when I opened the box! I thought maybe you had a Magic Bullet and had packaged something for the kids in it. But no no, never one to disappoint, you had sent the real deal. You kick ass. I'll try to not be broke after Christmas so I can send you a rockin' birthday present too! Oh, and a present for your munchkin as well!

Have a nice weekend everyone! I'll be mixing smoothies, grinding coffee grounds, and chopping vegetables...in 10 seconds or less!

***Clarification: "D" is my best friend's first initial. I wasn't sure if she'd want to be mentioned by name in my blog, so I kept it at the first initial. 'Twasn't Hubby who gave it to me, 'twas my friend. :)


A picture of the Most Excellent Gift on my groovy orange couch

You Learn Something New Every Day

My lesson for the day? You can't use gift cards when you shop online at Safeway. I got $150 in gift cards for Safeway when I did that focus group on Wednesday and remembered that when you shop online, if it's your first delivery, you get free delivery. I thought, "Yay! I don't have to haul Thing One and Thing Two along with me, forget half of what I wanted to get, and lose a child's hat in the process. Splendid!"

So I spent over an hour last night "filling" my shopping cart, and it took an hour because my computer was running slow, but I felt it would be an hour well-spent since I didn't have to physically go to the store. One less hassle with the kids gets a gold star in my book! When I went to check out, I discovered that when I registered with that particular email address, I'd registered with my in-laws address from this past winter. So I shrug my shoulders and I'm attempting to change my delivery address when I see this warning: "By changing your address, all items in your cart may disappear."

Sure enough, they were gone.

So this morning, I go at it again, this time confident that I would complete my shopping spree. Oh and lucky me - my computer's running at full tilt and pages are loading crazy-fast! So in about half an hour, I get my basket full and head to check out. Are all the items in my cart what I want? Yes. Is this your delivery address? Yes. Promotional code? Easy7. Payment information?

[Dramatic pause while I search for entry fields concerning gift card information]

[I find none, just spaces for credit card information]

WTF? So I click on "Help," you know, that little, barely visible light grey link at the very bottom of the page that they must dread you clicking on, otherwise you might actually be able to see it. It informs me that they aren't currently accepting gift cards, as well as a half dozen other types of payment that would be ever so convenient.

So now I have to go to the farking store with my offspring. Did I mention that we'll be walking because my Hubby has the car today and I need to go before lunch? And did I mention that when we walk, I have to deal with Beth "needing" every item she passes by? Oh, and that my son will inevitably lose a shoe and a hat, as well as maybe a sock?

Walk A Mile, Sweetie, Walk A Mile.

Every once in a great while, all of my stress, anger, frustration, fatigue and supreme irritation pays off. The simplest of things - an apology/concession - makes my farking day.

Yesterday, Rob stayed home with the kids and I attended a three-hour-long focus group. It paid $150 in gift cards to Safeway so it was worth him missing work PLUS it got me away from house and kids for an afternoon. It was the most welcome break in the world!!! I talked with other adults, I got to use polysyllabic words, and I put on makeup for the first time in six months. No joke. Last time I work makeup was for a Christmas party in December. And I got my commute to Pleasanton; it's only 20 minutes but it was loud music, windows down and in spite of my worries I had a good time singing at the top of my lungs to "Two Princes" by the Spin Doctors.

Flashback to the '90s anyone? We may be the most boring generation but we had AWESOME music!

So Rob got to experience a day in my shoes. Hell, he had a measly afternoon. I was gone from noon until a few minutes after five. He had the whole crew too; it was Beth, Robby & Boy. Heh. I never really thought about the ramifications of leaving him alone with three rugrats all day. I just figured he'd be fine because more often than not, I'm fine.

I was wrong.

I walked in the door to see our newspaper strewn about the living room, Beth exuberantly wadding it up and throwing it into the air because it made Robby laugh, Boy running back and forth between the living room and bedroom, a kitchen full of dirty dishes, the TV blaring, and tales of chaos and woe. He was WHIPPED. He was GRUMPY. He was DONE.

Heh heh.

I quietly listened to him tell me about how Beth had gallantly comandeered snack time in the kitchen, how he had to change a poopy diaper (God forbid), how Robby didn't stop crying the ENTIRE TIME I WAS GONE, how his head was just swimming from all the noise and activity. I did my very best to keep a sympathetic smile on my face while I held his hand and composed myself to feel a bit sorry for him.

I tried, I really did!

But at the end of the night, when he's whining for the 15th time about how tired he is (something I do frequently only to get poo-pooed away and hushed because I can't complain - all I do is sit at home all day and I don't do hard physical labor) and moping around while he picks up the living room, I do feel the tiniest bit of sympathy. I had three and a half years to work into taking care of three kids. He abruptly got tossed into the lion pit. I have a system in place and I know how to deal with them.

Then he says it. He puts the "good" in "good night." He says to me, as he's picking up a pile of dirty dishes, "Hun, I want to apologize. I'm sorry I ever made fun of you for being tired. I'll never do that again."

*sigh*

Sometimes you really do have to walk a mile in someone else's shoes to appreciate what they go through.

I'm feeling a bit homicidal right now.

Hubby came home with the most gut-wrenching, sickening, chill-down-your-spine story yesterday. I mean, it was truly upsetting.

He informed me that this guy he worked with - well, this guy was a road tech, Hubby's a shop tech - was arrested where he works. Handcuffed, read his rights, the whole nine yards. That's intriguing to me - it's GOSSIP. I love being in the know, I get annoyed if I'm not. Anyway, this is where it takes the nasty turn.

Rob asked the town crier why he was arrested. [You'll want to brace yourself now] According to county website: "Sex w/minor: Perpetrator was over 21, Victim is under 16." That alone will make your blood boil. I'm not going to make you even more disgusted by relating the gossip that accompanied the news; suffice it to say it's gnarly.

The scarier part of all this? Yeah, it gets worse. The company's summer picnic is coming up and this douche had signed up to RUN THE CHILDREN'S GAMES!!!!! WHAT?!?!?!?! I'm going to take my precious three-year-old girl to this picnic and let her participate in games. This sick asshole was going to be near her, not to mention two dozen other little kids? OH HELL NO.

It makes me incredibly sad and sick that people like him litter our earth with their presence. I don't think the justice system does "justice" by the public at ALL when it comes to these bastards. They should be shot. Seriously. None of them deserve a second chance.

Anyway, I'm sorry to bring you all down with this post. It just really hit me very hard and I had to get it off my chest. Go hug your kids.

A Sad Day in Baseball

I've never been a huge baseball fan, but I've more or less followed it since 2002 when Hubby converted me to a San Francisco Giants fan and we watched them go to the World Series. I watched Barry Bonds break all the top home run records. That man put asses in seats in stadiums around the country, bringing in millions of dollars to Major League Baseball over the last 22 years and putting money in Bud Selig's pocket since 1992.

I know that baseball fans - and even some non-baseball fans - are split over the steroid issue. Did he? Didn't he? Maybe? Let's make something very clear: He came up through baseball in the steroid era. If he did use them, whether knowingly or unwittingly, he's not the only player to use them and he's certainly not the only player to break records or set the bar for other players while allegedly on them. Jose Canseco, Jason Giambi, Mark McGuire, Sammy Sosa...all are suspect. But because Barry broke the biggest record of all time and did it with flair, everyone wants to drop the blame for all of it on him.

What's got me upset about it and talking about it today is this article I read this morning from the San Jose Mercury News. I'm ashamed of the Major League right now and especially ashamed of the SF Giants management. The man doesn't even want paid!!!! He wants to use a prorated portion of the $390,000 minimum pay to buy game tickets for kids. He's the consummate professional in his demeanor with the public and the press, is viewed favorably by fellow teammates and players across the major league, and is all in all a good man, in my opinion. I just read this today, something I didn't even know: he's involved with UCSF Children's Hospital.

I just think it's a really sad and anti-climactic way for him to leave baseball. He put over 20 years of his life into this game and this is how they thank him: no contracts, no send-off, nothing. He just disappears quietly, no fanfare, not even a "thanks." I'm really disillusioned with baseball. It proves to me that it's lost its soul; it's not America's game anymore, it's the Capitalists game.

The Most Relaxing Weekend EVER

Last week, I was sure my weekend was going to suck. Hubby was going to Hollister Bike Rally on Saturday and Sunday was going to be spent cleaning and grocery shopping. Meh.

Then Friday night rolled around and Hubby decided to go to Hollister on Sunday, which left Saturday free for family stuff, and so we went to Ardenwood for the afternoon! I love this place. Seriously, I want to move to Ardenwood. You can just barely hear the hum of the freeway but it's negligable because of the surrounding trees. There's a beautiful old Victorian house, acres upon acres of grounds, floral gardens, a blacksmith, a working well-water pump, all sorts of stuff. The best part - especially if you have kids - is the animals. There are horses, sheep, goats, rabbits and peacocks. Yes, peacocks. There's one male and a few hens.

Is a female peacock called a hen? ***runs off to check*** They do! They're hens.

Anyway, kids ADORE looking at the animals! That is, until the sheep start bleating. then you have two kids terrified out of their minds and both crying at the tops of their lungs. Fun. Now we look like the bad parents who scared their kids.

The day actually went really well aside from that little hiccup. I was concerned about Robby for a bit; about an hour into our visit, I discovered a rash on his eye.

Exhibit A:



You can't really see it that well, and it's not the most flattering picture of him, but you can see how it's red and kinda puffy. I'm at a loss as to what it's from. It could be from the sunscreen, but he's worn this sunscreen plenty of times and it's never bothered him before. It could also be the eggs I fed him for breakfast.

Now I know I'm going to hear some boohisses over this, but I when I scrambled his eggs, I used the whole egg, I did not separate the whites. I'm one of those parents who takes recommendations with a grain of salt. Not every rule applies to every kid, some kids advance faster than others, yadda yadda yadda. So I fed him whole eggs. He's had them before with no problems. There are absolutely NO food allergies in either of our families so we figure we have little to worry about. Anyway, it could have been the sunscreen, the eggs, or maybe even the hay at the farm. He could have allergies like me: grass, trees, pollen, molds, etc. So who knows? By the time we got home, it was gone. Yay!

Here are a few more pictures of our farm adventure:

Exhibits B, C & D:





Sunday we did next to nothing and it was fantastic! We laid around in our pajamas until 3:30ish, napping off and on, watching movies. Then we went to the store, came home and cooked dinner and went about relaxing again. Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better weekend!

How were your weekends?

The Writing Pressure Cooker

I've heard, throughout the years since I was 17 or so, that I'm a good writer. When I majored in psychology in college my College Writing 101 professor, Dr. DiMarco, kept asking me to change my major to English or to at least minor in it. She was convinced that's the department I belonged in. After three semesters, I did just that - and was SO RELIEVED to be out of the psych department. My advisor was mean and uninterested, my classes put me to sleep; clearly, I was in the wrong major.

But now that I was an English major, I more or less paid attention in class, was actually interested in what I was learning, and got A's and B's consistently. My GPA never dropped below 3.0 and in my junior year, my American Literature II professor asked me to join Sigma Tau Delta, which I politely declined a few times, but when she wouldn't let it go, I joined. It is Greek, but it's not a social fraternity/sorority, it's basically an honor society for English students. In all honesty, I wasn't involved at all save for the induction ceremony, but it's a nice thing to stick on a resume should I ever seek gainful employment again!

So I graduated in May 2002 (okay, technically I was an August graduate, pending my internship), precisely four years into my college career. I was so proud to have done it in the standard four years! I did my internship at the Meadville Chamber of Commerce for about three months and I absolutely loved it there. I got to be around office supplies all the time - that's a blog for another time - and I got to wear office apparel. I had a reason to look good every day because I dealt with the public all the time! I don't have a reason to look good anymore. :-(

Seriously that job, although unpaid, was freakin' awesome. I felt important. I answered the phone, organized a golf scramble, created, organized and conducted my own survey of the tri-state area chambers and their methods of creating income (since chambers are not government organizations and have no funding other than what they create), and I wrote for their newsletter, created business letters, etc. It sounds like a glorified administrative assistant position, and it was, but I really enjoyed it. I applied for a permanent position because the girl that ran the office was leaving in the fall, but they gave the job to someone else. Boohiss.

When we moved out here, I looked for a technical writing job but came up with nothing. See, when I entered college, the dotcom business was booming and my major - Professional/Technical Writing, which is not creative writing, folks - was in high demand. But by 2003, that had come to a high-pitched screeching halt. So I worked as a receptionist, off and on, for about six months and then got fired (for reasons that were never explained to me). I tried to find a job for a few months and then found out I was pregnant. We had a long talk and decided that I would be a stay-at-home mom until our kid(s) were in school full time. This of course meant tightening the bootstraps but that was okay with us; it was more important for our kids to have me at home than having all sorts of extra money.

Ahh, how quickly that idea turns sour! Especially when your husband buys a motorcycle two months into your 2nd pregnancy. Now don't get the wrong idea, I was all for it too, under the condition that he get a second job to finance it. HA! Thirteen months later, I'm posting an ad on Craigslist to find a kid to babysit. That's when Boy came in.

Now, in addition to babysitting, husband's on my ass to write a book. Like I could just sit down one afternoon and by bedtime have cranked out a bestseller. Like I have even an inkling of how to start writing a book let alone create a whole book. Like I would even know what to write about, what people would be interested in. I'm no good at fiction. I took a creative writing course in college as a requirement and all I wrote were stories from my life with the names changed. So a fiction novel is out. I could do a memoir, but who wants to hear about my boring life? (Okay, so maybe all 30-some of my daily readers do, but I seriously doubt you'd all buy a book from me!)

He's always on me to do this. He thinks I could really do well at it. I, however, have much self-doubt. Self-doubt in my talent, in my ability to finish the project and see it through to publication, my ability to find a publisher dumb enough brave enough to take a chance on an unknown writer whose only writing samples are her blog posts. Lots of doubt.

That doesn't mean I'm opposed to the idea. Hell, royalties from a book?! NICE. Being well-known for something I'm actually good at? I could deal with that. Not gracefully, I don't think, as I'm very self-conscious and HATE standing out in a crowd. But I could deal.

But then who would I ask to write the foreword? Actually, I have that person all picked out. She, too, hopes to one day write her bestselling novel. ;-)

Extraordinary, Indeed!

I'd like to meet the wise ass that thought to describe them as "extraordinary nut snacks."

***For the less-than-quick-witted among us, drop the "n" from "snack" and you'll see why this is funny.

Thousand Words Thursday

Have Brags, Will Travel!

Every parent on earth is convinced their child is a prodigy and I am no exception. In case you aren't aware, Beth has had a speech delay. She's more or less caught up now, but by 24 months, she'd only said maybe two words. Now she's totally conversational, inquisitive, and making very logical correlations. In addition to her exploding verbal skills, her motor skills have been blowing us away too!

She seems to have gone from toddler to gorgeous preschooler overnight.

Exhibit A: One year ago...



Exhibit B: This afternoon...



She's just such a little girl now; the pictures don't do her justice! And her drawing and writing ability...I don't know how many three-year-olds can write letters and depict animals, but she can and I'm hella proud.

Exhibits C, D, and E:





Thanks for humoring me. I'm insanely proud of that little girl, even though she drives me to the looney bin and back sometimes!

Like A Chicka-Cherry Cola

Recently, I read about Dooce's 21-day cleanse and thought, "Well, I'm certainly not going to give up all animal products, but I could probably cut back on caffeine. So I decided to drop down to one can of Diet Coke a day. Sunday and Monday, I only had one can each day. Yay me!

I've had a round-the-clock headache since Sunday afternoon, but I'm dealing. What sucks is that I've become heavily dependent on the stuff. Now I'm tired almost all day. At least that's how it feels. I think it's getting better. However, I'm about to go all day with no caffeine because we've run out of soda AND extra dinero to buy more.

YIKES.

On the other side of the coin, I'm sleeping so much better than I used to! I wake up feeling more rested. It's amazing how one small change can have such a big effect! If you're getting crappy sleep, I highly recommend cutting your caffeine intake.

You'll be shocked and amazed!

***Update***
Hubby brought home a can for me last night and I swear to you, nothing's ever tasted better.

Why do things like this happen to me?

I'm constantly a victim of my own airheadedness. About two months ago, around the time I stopped pureeing my son's baby food, I still had my food processor out. I love that contraption. It slices, it grates, it purees, chops and stirs, and when you pop on the pitcher, it blends! Is there anything a Cuisinart can't do?

I had the lid to the food processor sitting next to the stove. Or so I thought. Apparently, it was actually on the stove. Not on a burner necessarily, but given the damage I caused, it may as well have been. I was cooking a pot of vegetables next to it and the heat melted the edge of the lid - the part that locks into the food processor's pitcher - and it melted a little 1" spot between the food pusher and the food tube.

Exhibit A:


But I didn't sweat it because hey, I was done pureeing food! I'm not planning on any more babies so I don't have to make any more baby food. I very rarely grate or slice anything in it, so no worries. Besides, I plan on coercing dropping subtle hints to get a Magic Bullet for Christmas. So I don't even need the food processor attachment anymore, right?

Wrong.

In a weak moment, I decided to make pan-fried potatoes, also known as cottage fried potatoes. As you can see, this requires thinly-sliced potatoes. My first thought? Grab the food processor! You'll be done with slicing in, like, ten seconds. So I grab the step stool and climb up to get it down from our Sasquatch Cabinets. The bottom of the cabinets is six feet high!!! Who designs cabinets like that???

Exhibit B:


Imagine my sadness and annoyance when I realize that after peeling and halving the potatoes (the point of no return; I'm now commited to some sort of pain-in-the-ass potato dish), I must slice them myself, a huge toll on my tendonitis.

Exhibit C:


So now I must slice them myself. Old School.

Exhibit D:


How did the pioneers ever do it? Okay, so my situation was small potatoes (ha ha) compared to what they dealt with, but still. I once tried scrubbing my floors on my hands and knees. I thought I'd save myself a few bucks and not buy a mop. I mean, my ancestors did it, right? Heh. I'd never make it in the Old West!

I guess I should have mentioned...

I love my kids SO MUCH. I do! I've had a couple of comments already (one posted, one rejected and the rejection knows why), both of which sound like I've been perceived as a true mommy on the edge. Edge of what, I dunno. But in retrospect, I did sound a bit manic, didn't I?!

Sorry 'bout that. I'm not crazy, I'm not near a breakdown or anything. Rest assured that aside from the occasional cry and whine I'm in perfect mental health! I get a little down when I don't get any "me" time for weeks at a time and when I voice my frustration, he poo-poos it like my feelings don't matter.

I cherish my time with my kids. We've made a lot of sacrifices so I can stay home with them and I shouldn't complain about the job I have. So many moms and dads would LOVE to have my job!!! My kids are, and always will be, my first priority. Please don't call that into question.

All I'm saying is that everyone needs a break sometimes. Grass is always greener, right?

Why bother?

Seriously, I've had it up to HERE --->* with my husband's dismissive attitude towards what can only be described as my cabin fever. We had another fight yesterday (no, this isn't the first time we've gone 'round about this) about how I feel really cooped up at the end of the week and wish I was able to go somewhere on my own, sans kids, on the weekend. However, more often than not, there's no money for that. Not for what I want to do anyway, which entails a salon or a mall.

So I get mad, I cry, I stomp around and mope. Basically, what any woman who's been rearing kids all week would do when she realizes that she gets to do more of the same over the weekend with absolutely no break.

It helped a little bit that while I was out shopping (for diapers and groceries, people, nothing FUN) he cleaned up our living room and kitchen, ran the dishwasher and vacuumed, and got both kids to take a nap.

Still...a little sympathy would go a long way. He doesn't seem to understand the toll sitting around with 2-3 small children all day takes on a woman. It's very taxing! You get little to no adult interaction and all you deal with are tears, fights, diapers and sticky hands.

You have no idea what I'd give for an afternoon with a primed and ready debit card, the Newpark Mall or the Gilroy Outlets, and NO KIDS. No stroller, no hand-holding with the Shortstack, yelling at her through clenched teeth to "Get out of that clothes rack!! NOW!!!

I can almost feel the headache-inducing air conditioning, the new-clothes smell, the rustle of shopping bags, the warm and welcome sight of Bath & Body Works...close your eyes people. You can see it! You're there! There's the hum of the mass of people moving around you while you sit on a contoured wooden bench, sipping your iced white mocha with whipped cream, your purchases at your side. You're thinking your next stop will be Macy's...or maybe Things Remembered to pick out a nice frame. Don't forget Gymboree!! Everything's so shiny and clean (two adjectives rarely used when you talk about your home or kids these days) and you're absolutely ALONE. No one asking for milk, pulling up on your lap because that's their new trick and they won't stop pulling up on you, no husband whining because dinner's five minutes later than normal...

Someday folks, someday.

Thank Heaven for Little Girls

Seriously, just when I'm at the end of my rope with Beth, when I can't endure another meltdown without picking up either a pack of cigarettes or a tallboy...she becomes the sweet little girl we all know and miss 14 out of the 15 hours per day she's awake.

I had taken three dishes into the kitchen cleaned up after dinner but left everything on the counter with the intent of finishing up when the kids went to bed. At one point, Beth had followed me in there to get some water but didn't leave when I did. I figured, "No biggie. She'll probably grab one of her confiscated toys off the microwave and be out soon."

Yeah.

Tonight, after I got her to bed and the baby passed out, I went to the kitchen to unload the dishwasher. As I'm about to put the baby's snack cups in my plasticware drawer, I open it and see this:




The first cup contains the casing from a hot dog I fed my son for dinner. *GASP* Yes, occasionally, I stoop to the dredges of society and live up to the redneck persona. Shut up, you feed your kids hot dogs too.

The second cup contains the last three grains of rice from the cup of fried rice he had. Wow, healthy food is bountiful in our house tonight!!!

Hey, he liked it.

Anyway, I know she was trying to help mommy by putting a few dishes away for me. And I SO appreciate it. I just wish she'd learn the difference between "dirty" and "clean."

Happy Fourth of July!!!

I absolutely LOVE this holiday. Memorial Day runs a close second. Then Christmas. Anyway, I love anything patriotic and I love celebrating my Americanness. It is such an awesome (and, to those less fortunate in other parts of the world, highly desirable) privilege to live in a nation with so many freedoms!!

No, I'm not one of those crazies who wears every last American-flag-covered item they can find at their local Walmart. I actually know someone who does this and although they are a very endearing person, this particular habit of theirs makes me gnash my teeth. Especially since you aren't supposed to do this.

But I am fiercely patriotic. I choke up when I hear "The Star-Spangled Banner." I boo-hiss any American who doesn't have any American pride. Said people are DAMN lucky to be Americans and to have the freedom to run their little protests about how they're ashamed of our president and our country. Honestly, people who would rather live in another country or in their home country should go. Now.



Don't get me started on this woman.

Anyway, I hope all of you true wonderful Americans have a lovely holiday and weekend!!!

Janie's Got A Gun

So we watched"30 Days" last night. I absolutely love this show! Last year, I watched "Supersize Me," a film about the fast food industry (namely McDonald's) which turned me onto Morgan Spurlock's work. Hubby and I are huge fans of "30 Days" now!

So last night's episode was, in general, the 2nd Amendment. This is something hubby and I are passionate about. We're members of the NRA and believe that every law-abiding citizen has the right to legally own firearms. I should also add that I (we) do support background checks (although I think the one-week waiting period is a bit excessive and even unnecessary). It makes me want to slam my head in a drawer repeatedly when I hear people like Rosie O'Donnell say, in her annoying nasally voice, "Guns kill people, Tom..." [referring to her 2000 interview with Tom Selleck]

NO THEY DON'T!!!! Guns are inanimate objects. It takes a human action behind the gun to make it fire a bullet(s) into a person. Honestly, I would LOVE to see the statistics of how many gun-related crimes are committed by the registered owner of the legally purchased gun used in the crime. Anti-gun activists can pass law after law after law, banning this and that and the other thing but it will not keep guns out of the hands of criminals!!

I realize that a lot of people have lost loved ones because some nutjob or n'er-do-well took a notion and shot them for no good reason. That's awful and I'm sorry. I've lost loved ones too and I lost a friend to suicide - a friend who shot himself. My husband also lost a friend that very same way. But I still contend that taking guns away from the public - in effect disarming us, leaving us defenseless in our homes - is the answer. I feel much safer with a gun in our house for protection than if we had nothing. I really, truly doubt that someone who was so determined to get at us in our own home that he broke in is going to stop and listen to what I have to say, let me talk him down and out the door, or into submission until the cops get there. I'd be more than happy to take the first shot if it means defending myself or my family. I'd rather be judged by twelve than carried by six.

I know my opinions on this aren't likely to fall on sympathetic ears. But I get absolutely irate when I watch people stereotype gun owners and then refuse to see the other side of the coin. Thankfully, Pia (the anti-gun activist girl who traveled to Leesburg, Ohio, on "30 Days") saw that not every gun owner is a bloodthirsty maniac or a heartless criminal.

Thanks for hearing me out. Living where I do, it's hard to find like-minded people to jabber with about this!

A double-edged sword.

Click Here For More Funny Pictures


So Thursday will be my last day babysitting until possibly the 14th. The woman I babysit for is going on a business trip and her son is staying with family for the week. Then, because her family will be visiting, they may keep him until they leave.

I have mixed feelings about this. I'm glad I'll have that precious time back with my babies, just me and them, and I'll be free to go where I please. When Boy is here, I can't - my car can only hold two carseats and two adults. Well, it could also hold a small child between the two of them, but Boy is only 3 years old and weighs just a bit more than my infant (he's skinny!), so he must be carseated. Thus, I'm tethered to the apartment. We've tried taking walks, but his mom even admits, he's kinda hard to control. Anyway, now I can go to the park or the library or maybe even the mall.

However...

Were I a regular daycare, I might be able to work out some sort of compensation for the time I will be involuntarily out of work. But I'm not. I'm just a stay-at-home mom who watches a boy all week. So I'm out $100 a week until he returns. This may not sound like much to some of you, but for us, it's pretty damn important. It helps pay the bills!

Meh. I don't know whether to be enthralled at more one-on-one time with my kids or shittin' kittens because we may not be able to pay a few bills this month - bills that need to be paid.

Maybe I should go panhandle outside AT&T Park???