I've been searching all week for some sort of powerful statement, picture or saying to put down for my 500th post. Yes, that's right, I've been rambling enough to cover 500 posts. Your eyes have been accosted by my words and pictures for the past year and I truly thank you for reading.
Rather than dwell on my own blog, I thought I'd share the love and pass on some blogs I check on a daily basis. I'm always looking for new things to read, so here ya go:
Looking for recipes, beautiful pictures, and witty writing? Check no further because you'll get it here, The Pioneer Woman.
Are you a fan of beautiful landscape shots and smart, well-thought out writing? You'll find it at the Redheaded Blackbelt.
Do you need a little sugar and spice mixed in with some political commentary? Check out my naughty friend, Jen.
Looking for great writing mixed with sweet mommy stories? Check out Beth's Blog.
Looking for a fabulous doula and some inspirational writing? Go no further than Tracey.
Are you a survivor of any sort of diet? This blog is hilarious and feels your pain.
Another lovely lady and photographer at the Beachcomber.
I'm a people watcher. I get the opportunity to practice my skills each day when I pick up my kids from school. It's the only thing I have to look forward to after navigating the school parking lot and dealing with the ditsy parents who think they can drive, handle their children while chatting on their cell phone, and drink their mocha frappucino (hold the whip or they'll have to do extra laps in Fit Camp). My blood pressure seriously rises about 50 points in that parking lot and I have daily visions of driving a monster truck and running over their little fertility buses (a.k.a. mini vans).
Woohoo! Thanks for that. I feel much better now.
Anyway, back to the point of this posting and onto the reason behind my title. There are a couple of moms, in particular, I watch everyday. I just can't help myself. Why, you ask? Because they smile. All the freakin' time. Rain, wind, sleet or snow, their pearly whites will be exposed, molesting nearby eyeballs. It's like spooky Katie Holmes vacant smiles - robotic almost. *shudders*
No one smiles all the time unless (I've come up with my own three conclusions):
(A) They're heavily medicated.
(B) They're drunk.
(C) They're also dreaming of monster trucks and parking lot car crunching.
Seriously, Joker face, cut it out. Pollyanna, you're gonna make me blow chunks.
Perhaps I'm just jealous because I want what they're taking. Maybe they know something I don't and it's terribly entertaining for them to know this. Whatever the case, these ladies with the constant grin freak me the heck out. My inner voice screams out, "Stepford wife!", and I want to run away as fast as possible. You cannot be happy all the time - it's not physically possible - especially when you have children or a man in your life. 'Nuff said.
I've devised a childish plan to combat my feelings of insecurity when dealing with a smiler. Whenever one of the smilers glance my way, I frown. And not just a little frown but a big one like I'm in pain or I just lost my favorite monkey to a traveling circus. If anything, it makes me feel better and it causes the smiler to rethink her smile for just a moment. Or she just smiles bigger in an attempt to share her contagious smile.
Our buddy, M, passed away on Saturday. We received a tearful call from F this morning, asking that we take down the ramp that Hubby built. It went without saying that he had passed on. I'm so sad said for F but on the other hand, I'm very relieved that he's no longer in pain. It's crazy how many emotions a passing can bring about.
The world lost a great man on Saturday; the angels better be ready...
I watched this yesterday. I'm even more troubled for these children after watching the joker and her mother go at it for the public's enjoyment. There doesn't appear to be anybody stable in this family and 14 little children are going to suffer because of it.
And Nadya, it's, "You can't go back and un-ring a bell."
It's Family Movie Night and guess what we're watching? A mega hit of the 1980's that was sadly overlooked for an Oscar even though the acting was superb and the special effects were astonishing. That's right, we're watching...
Weird Science
This is one of my favorite movies from back in the days. You just can't beat two horny teenage boys and a beautiful Kelly LeBrock.
I do love this movie but it's certainly not my favorite. I love me some Molly Ringwald and Long Duck Dong. Remember this one? I could watch Sixteen Candles over and over again:
Or how about a little Sci Fi? For the longest time I wanted to meet Flash Gordon. I was also scared of putting my hands into tree stumps thanks to this movie:
But my all time favorite movie has to be this one:
For the longest time, Kristy McNichol and Christoper Atkins were my Brad and Angelina. Youtube has the entire movie in 10 minute increments, and I think I've watched it about 100 times. Blue Lagoon ain't got nothin' on Mabel and Freddy's love affair.
What's your favorite 1980's movie? Do you like any of the one's I mentioned or do you have your own faves? Join me on my pants pegging, Aqua net using, matching big sweater and leg warmer wearing, and banana clip in the hair adventure.
Since my whiny lamenting last week, Gunny has made me the proud owner of two potty chair presents. I won't go into the gory details but he was sufficiently rewarded with a new monster truck for all his troubles.
At his first "production," he actually quietly sequestered himself in the bathroom and did his duty solo. He then ran out screaming, "HALP! HALP! I dunno watta do wit it!" The second time was less traumatic in that he made us wait outside the door until he proclaimed he was "dun wit it."
I thought we were on a roll with our super duper pooper, but I think he was just throwing us a bone. With all of last night's trauma (the sausage incident), Gunny still mustered through by using his potty to "do the deed." We chanted, cheered, and let Hubby do some backwards flips since he was high on Vicodin. It was a nice (albeit stinky) moment in our house.
About an hour later, I heard Gunny in the playroom yelling about something on the floor. I was in the bedroom, pretending I was a young, single gal, when he came running in. I knew there was an issue as he was naked from the waist down and grabbing his little butt cheeks. "I poofed!" he screamed, as he ran out, still grabbing his butt and waddling down the hallway. Hubby and I looked at each other. "He poofed? Didn't he just do that? Surely he's talking about the litter box!" It was nice living in oblivion for just a few short moments.
I followed Gunny into the playroom only to discover that his little bowels were quite the container of wealth. If I wasn't so disgusted, I might have been impressed by his digestive capacity. As I cleaned my carpets, all the while Gunny proclaiming "how discustin'" it was, the big kids ran around, covering their noses and making gagging sounds. I kept the heaves in and the vomit down, but it wasn't easy.
After butts were wiped and the carpet cleaned, I put on my bathrobe in an attempt to salvage the rest of my evening. A trip to the ER, carpet cleaning, and a fever made me want to call it a night and hide within the confines of my flannel kitty cat sheets.
As I walked barefoot into my room through the darkened hallway (did I mention I also had a whopper of a headache?), I felt something cold under my foot. Something that squished ever so quickly through the small gaps of my toes. I prayed for squished raisins. I prayed for a little mound of errant peanut butter. Then I prayed for a glob of lavendar scented carpet cleaner. Reality set in as I flipped the light on and let out a scream.
It was a present from Gunny that I had evidently missed.
I begged Hubby to put me out of my misery but he refused through his laughter. I contemplated hacking my toes off myself, since I knew the feeling of icky squishiness would forever be imprinted on my brain as a phantom sensation. I decided against this because I figured (1), it might hurt a lot and (2) I might walk funny. Since Hubby was gimped out on the bed, I once again resigned myself to carpet cleaning but only after a healthy dose of boiling water and antiseptic to my "discustin'" foot.
Again, the joys of potty training. I have yet to find any.
Who knew that buying Farmer John sausages could be dangerous for your health? I'm not talking about the cholesterol content or the calories from fat; no, it's far worse than that. It's the bargain high you get when they go on sale at Safeway for .99 cents a package. It makes you do crazy things, like fall off of front porches.
Tonight, Hubby went shopping and picked up several of these offending packages. The men in my family are huge breakfast meat eaters and when they're favorite sausages come on sale, it's a deal you can't pass up. After Hubby bought his limit, he returned home and brought the groceries in. He then walked out the front door onto the porch in order to take his bargain trove out to the garage freezer. In the process, he managed to do this:
He described the sick feeling of his ankle rolling out from under him and then looking up only to find himself lying in my rose bushes . As the rain softly trickled down his face, he could see the rest of his family gallivanting around the living room, blissfully unaware he was down and out in the front yard. In normal circumstances, the idea of roses and rain might be actually kinda romantic - too bad his ankle was throbbing because it really took away from the mood.
After wrangling up a willing grandparent, I drove him to the ER (and yes, I made him wait a minute so I could get a pre-treatment picture). Out of my numerous visits to the ER with Hubby (he tends to be a little accident prone), this one was definitely the smoothest and the quickest. The waiting room was full of people but the ER did a great job of running people through - something I've never experienced before especially in the ER.
After a quick x-ray, it was determined that Hubby didn't break his ankle but he did in fact, tear the ligaments. The doctor explained to us that the damage severity was measured as a 1, 2, or 3 (1 being the best, 3 the worst) and Hubby was a high 2. I told him he was an overachiever. I also told him that he was just trying to take away my spotlight since I was supposed to be the sick one today. He didn't laugh at either of my jokes.
As we end the night, I'm watching him nurse his second package of frozen veggies and chase down several Ibuprofen with a glass of water. I'm hoping he sleeps well because I know I'll be playing nursemaid tomorrow. I'm no Nancy Nurse so my plan is to keep him heavily sedated with alcohol and horse tranquilizers I've hidden in his prize sausages - which by the way, did eventually find their way to the freezer via a gimpy Hubby.
I married a good guy, and a bargain shopper at that.
Ugh. I woke up today with a sore throat and body aches comparable to the pain from Swedish massage gone wrong. Not that I've ever had one but I can only imagine after having read this story.
I feel like a steaming pile of crap with an emphasis on the steaming aspect, as I'm pretty sure I have a fever. I'm flushed, sweaty, and entirely glowing way too much for it to be considered sexy. It looks like nuclear fission is occuring in my molecules and it's just ugly. Ugly-sexy. I like that. I'm the true epitome of a hot mess.
For whatever reason, I usually like to take my temperature when I'm feeling down. I think it's the ultimate validation that yes world, I am sick. Listen here everyone, my body is one step closer to death and I deserve unwavering sympathy from all those in my household. The magical little cells in my body are fighting a civil war in order to protect me from impending doom.
Anyhoo, we have a community digital thermometer that Taters has also taken a liking too. She regularly takes her temperature whenever she feels a bit off, and then tries to finagle a way out of going to school due to a spike or rapid lowering of her temperature. It usually doesn't work so well for her but I give her an "A" for her medical effort.
Today I decided to break out the trustworthy thermometer and asked Taters where she had last left it. Of course, she knew the hidden location of her favorite medical tool and brought it to me with a smile. She loves playing nurse and I normally just go along with it. It buys me more time in bed when I just wanna die.
As I powered it up and prepared to plop it in my mouth, she and I casually chatted about what my possible ailment might be. My head was pounding but I appreciated her devotedness to my well being.
Taters: You know Mom, it's probably a virus. Those are the worse kinds to get. Mommazilla: Maybe, but it's probably just a cold. I'm impatiently waiting for the thermometer to power up and give me the appropriate sequence of "I'm ready for your ick mouth" beeps. Taters: Mom, have you thought about trying to take your temperature in your armpit? Mommazilla: Not really thinking about her question because the stupid thermometer is taking way too long. Nah, I'll just do it the old fashioned way. You're 'sposed to add or take away a degree if you stick it in your pit, and my mind is not capable of simple math right now. Taters: Oh, o.k. It's pretty easy to do if you wanna. It doesn't tickle too bad. Mommazilla: I'm good, kiddo. Plus, this is the thermometer everyone sticks in their mouths. I don't think you guys wanna taste my armpit.
The dang thermometer is still giving me grief as of this point and I automatically begin to shake it. Remembering that it's not the good old mercury filled piece of heaven, I press the button again and begin grumbling. Perhaps it was operator error or maybe, just maybe, a higher power was looking out for me, as Taters stops me with this comment:
Taters: Looking rather amused.... Oops! That's funny mom! I've always stuck it in my armpit. But don't worry, I taste deelishaasshh!!
I hand the thermometer back to Taters and tell her I'm suddenly feeling a little better. If I can muster up the energy to bathe tomorrow, we'll be going to Walgreens to buy a "mouth only" thermometer. Gross. At least it never made its way into the threshold of my mouth.
When Hubby and I first got married, we slowly made friends with other couples and started to have our first "grown-up" friendships - ones not automatically acquired in high school or joint ventures at college beer pong sessions.
Once such couple, M & F, had been married for longer than 50 years. Hubby originally met them through a construction job and I had known them through some part-time work I had done after high school. We'd periodically stop by and visit and they were one of the stops we made every Halloween to show off the kidlet costumes. It was a nice and steady friendship, one that's lasted over the past 10 years.
We recently learned that M's heart problems had returned and that he'd been having several related medical issues. Hubby received a frantic call from F one night, because she knew M would not be able to get into their house without a smooth ramp and handrail. Hubby quickly remedied this situation and M was able to navigate his front porch.
I just learned that M took a turn for the worse and is now in a coma. He probably won't be making it back home after this latest hospital trip. My heart grieves for F who is losing her husband, lover, and best friend. The thought of losing someone who had been in my life since my late teens and adulthood, through children and grandchildren, for better or for worse - it's just unfathomable to me. How do you say goodbye? How do you keep going with that terrible vacancy living with you in your family home?
*Sigh*
I know I'm being selfish in this because I can't help but think of myself and what I'd do - and will do - in this situation. M & F have had a wonderful life and a marriage that many of us can admire and look upon for inspiration. I guess I never thought about it ending like this which is foolish because everyone dies. I know that F has tremendous family support and faith, and she's gonna get through this. I just hate that she has to.
Sorry to be a Debbie Downer with this posting but I'm just sad. The world is truly losing a good man and we're losing a good friend. I wish him a safe journey.
....From my buddy, Lisa, at Just Lisa, No Filler. She's been given the chance to ask me any five questions and then I'll return the favor to any readers of my blog who want to be grilled by muah.
Thanks for agreeing to be interviewed! Here are your questions:
1. When did you start blogging? What caused you to start?
I started blogging a little over a year ago after a significant job change. I felt so much relief and renewal of myself as a whole that I decided to start putting my thoughts down on the web. Plus, it was a great way for me to stay in touch with my old work buddies. Blogging can be such a personal release even if it's at the expense of yourself, friends, and family (just jokin' - but I will throw myself down on occasion).
2. I am a fan of your photography. Any plans in the works of making a coffee table book filled with pictures from Humboldt County?
Hehe...Nope, Kym should think seriously about this, though. My pictures will end up in family calendars 'cuz I just can't imagine the general public wanting a calendar with shots like this:
or like this:
3. Think back (maybe WAY back) to when you had a free Saturday with no plans. How did you spend the day?
Geez, this is gonna be hard. I think if that day ever did exist, it was probably a summer Saturday. More than likely, I spent it outside chasing half naked children around in the sprinkler and watching them slip-n-slide on our Redneck water slide (large tarp at the base of the swingset - cheap and effective).
4. What do you worry about most these days?
Honestly? This economy nonsense stresses me out to no end. I'm extremely thankful for the jobs Hubby and I both have but sometimes even that doesn't seem like enough for our quickly diminishing budget. I've been buying Shasta cola if that tells you anything! ;-)
5. Tell us the truth: exactly how many marijuana plants do you have growing on your property? Don’t lie-- we all know what REALLY goes on in Humboldt!
Ha! Ah yes, the Emerald Triangle. I would have to say that's a big ZERO. I won't get too much into my own beliefs but I will say for my family, this particular little green weed fits nowhere into our lifestyle. To each their own.
Now...I would love to interview you and you and you. So here is what you do:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
So come on--let's get to know each other better. And do not fear potential questions--I promise to play very nice. Good times!
A Super Duper Pooper. Life would be so grand; just like this video:
In my vain attempt at potty training Gunny, I've resorted to searching through Youtube for funny little songs that he might relate to. If I can't talk him into doing a #2 with the promise of a new monster truck, I honestly don't know what will work other than a charming little song or two. The above video I've posted is not only funny, but it's slightly disturbing as well. Make sure you wait 'til the end when the male clown escorts three little kids into a well used bathroom. On a comfort level of 1-10, it got a -50 from me, but for the 80's I'm sure it won awards.
Back to my own big boy dilemma....I've kept the poor kid naked the past three days and he's been peeing like a champ both in his little potty and the big boy commode. He's now demanding to have his "dipah" put back on so I know there is an impending turtle head trying to make his presence known. It's like "Bad Day at Brown Rock" all over again - but the loser in this gets to clean the carpet.
I know he's ready for this - not only because I'm sick of his little man-poop diapers and the fact he's about ready to move into Depends - but he's recently started apologizing for his nasty little episodes. In fact, the other morning he greeted me in the hallway with a, "Morning Mom! Oh, sowwee bout dat, I poofed my pants. I discustin'." And that he was - clean up through his back and down his thighs. It takes a lot for me to dry heave but that morning batch of yuckiness did the trick.
I don't remember my older two being that difficult to potty train. With Taters, she had a couple of other little girls in daycare that were also going through the process In this case, the peer pressure did a super job of keeping her clean and dry. And C-dub, poor little fellow, he had the wrath of Taters to contend with should he have decided to slip up and have an accident.
C-dub's only aversion to potty training was the #2 issue on the big boy toilet. He'd hold it for days only to finally be in a frantic and running like a constipated cheetah to the toilet. When he'd finally sit down and relax (if only for a moment), he'd panic and scream, "Nooooo!!!! It's comin' out, Daddeeee!!!!" I'm not sure if he expected Hubby to catch his little "buddy" or if he thought the toilet monster was going to swoop in for seconds. Who knows, but each successful "completion" would end in clapping, cheering, and mutual sharing of gummy bear treats.
Gunny and I are currently watching each other from across the room. He's got one hand on his little butt and the other on his hip demanding his "dipah." I'm not giving in and I think he's slowly starting to realize this even though he's none too happy with his current predicament. His glares and heavy sighs are doing nothing to my psyche; having seen it all, I'm truly bulletproof to the "puppy dog" face. I've enlisted the older two to join me on poop patrol. They're out this week on break and found the idea of an easy $2 a piece, just to rat out their little brother, way too appealing. Wish me luck. It's gonna be a long day and I'm almost out of carpet cleaner.
***** Warning: This posting is about my thoughts on the the good, bad, and ugly of childbirth. Should you be offended by talk of girly parts, orgasms and nudity, you might want to go here instead. *****
A couple of weeks ago, I watched an episode of "The Doctors" where they were talking about a variety of things including the topic of "orgasmic birth." A recent documentary (now on DVD) came out discussing the idea that birth could be many things including:
* Sensual (well, you are naked)
* Stimulating (yeah, it hurts)
* Blissful (once the epidural kicks in)
* Ecstasy (you're super duper happy once it's over)
* I almost can't write this... Orgasmic.
On a side note, the DVD also discusses a variety of ways for a couple to embrace and enjoy the birth of their child - it's not just about orgasms and rainbows.
I can tell you, without any sort of doubt in my mind, that I did not find the process of childbirth to be an orgasmic experience. Not once did I mistake the pain of contractions and the stretching of my nether regions to be equivalent to something I'd want to experience everyday. The elusive "birthgasm" fairy did not enter the L&D room during any of my three births - although most of my family, cousins, friends, and distant neighbors got a good girly parts shot during the birth of Taterbug. It seems that you lose a lot of modesty during the pushing part - or at least I did.
The documentary basically explains that if you relax enough during labor, and allow your body's natural abilities to kick in, you can possibly experience more pleasure than pain during labor. When you take fear out of the equation, women and their partners tend to have a much more satisfying birth. You know what? I totally agree with this concept and think that a relaxed body is much more capable of pushing out a watermelon through a straw. With my third birth I was so much more satisfied (gosh - maybe not the best word to use in this posting) than my first and it was mainly because I knew what was going on with my body and I was so much more relaxed. I knew I wasn't going to die even though I felt like the victim of an "Alien" movie.
The orgasm part is thrown in when the documentary mentions how the baby coming down the birth canal is essentially mimicking what the penis does in the vagina, causing some lucky ladies to have the big "O." After all, your special spots are still up and active even during the birth of a child. I don't know about you, but I can't imagine having sex with an eight pound penis for 12+ hours just to see if I can have elicit an orgasm. There are much easier ways to achieve this but I'll let you figure that one out by yourself.
My question is, can a woman really relax enough to have the big "O" during labor? The DVD showed couples who were kissing, giving massages, and even *gasp* having sex during labor. They were doing this in order to make the situation more comfortable and soothing to all parties involved. Maybe I'm strange, but the last thing on the face of the Earth I wanted during labor was to have my Hubby touch me in an intimate way. It was his fault I was in pain and it was his fault that I would forever be marked by hideous stretch marks that towards the end, began to form sentences across my distended belly.
Personally, the only parts I found relaxing in labor were minimal at best; the one minute gap in between hard contractions when I faked like I was sleeping so the nurses wouldn't make me push - that was kinda relaxing. And when I bobbed around in the labor tub (hugely pregnant woman do not sink in water) feeling like a gigantic blonde porpoise - yeah, that was nice but mostly embarrassing - especially to the lab gal who had to draw my blood in the tub since I refused to get out. I truly hope we never meet again.
Several of these like-minded sites have been calling the "birthgasm" the "best-kept secret" during labor and delivery. I would say that most of these articles are being written by men. Do you truly want to know the "best-kept secret" in L&D? Well, let me tell yah, I have a few and it involves the many magical fairies you'll find in L&D:
* If the Birthgasm Fairy doesn't make an entrance, her distant cousin the Poop Fairy probably will.
* The Poop Fairy normally likes to travel with company so she'll typically bring along her sister, the Hemorrhoid Fairy, to stay post partum.
* While the word "episiotomy" kinda sounds cheery and fun - it's not. Also referred to as the "Emo Fairy" since she tends to be a cutter.
* Occasionally, the Vomit Fairy will make a special visit, just about the time when the really hard labor sets in. She's very brief with her visits but will leave a long lasting impression on all those near her.
* Then you have the B.C. Fairy (otherwise known as the Blood Clot Fairy - she likes to keep it short and simple) who brings you many gifts for weeks after. Definitely one of the most generous out of all the fairies that will visit you.
* And finally, who can forget the mother of all fairies, Post Partum Fairy. She's the one who brings you the saggy, squishy belly, engorged boobs, and the overall feeling of helplessness that a new parent gets holding a squawking newborn.
In conclusion... You gotta gotta do whatcha gotta do when you're in labor. If it's drugs you want? So be it, back up the epidural wagon and load that syringe up. Natural birth in the middle of a cow pasture with several Holsteins in attendance? More power to you. I totally agree and embrace the idea that the mother and father should try and control the birthing experience as much as safely possible. I just don't equate sexual pleasure with labor and the idea of an orgasm during the most painful (albeit AWESOME) experience of my life, as something plausible. My births hurt like hell but I wouldn't trade them for the world!
Here's the trailer to the DVD if you're interested in taking a closer look:
Did you know that the Lifetime Network has discovered Fortuna? Thanks to cancer survivor, Trina Pockett, producers will be around town filming her and her efforts at training for a 1/2 marathon she'll run later this year in San Diego. Expect to see the producers at least once a month (until June) while they follow Trina around, detailing her story as well as her courageous spirit in tackling such an adventure.
Trina is one of four finalists picked to participate in this competition of women who have beaten the odds that life has thrown at them. No matter what, she's bound to win. Whether it be from completing her first 1/2 marathon or the beating out the other three contestants - she just can't lose. Trina has shown that she has the spirit of a true champion.
Nine years ago, Trina was diagnosed with cancer when she was pregnant with her daughter, Kate. She actually went through four rounds of chemotherapy before having her adorable little girl. She was given a clean bill of health in 2001 and has been living life to it's fullest ever since. Here's a link to her blog, should you like to get more information about Trina and her story. And just to mention the small world aspect to all of this; I actually went to high school with Trina (even though I'm a tad bit older but not necessarily wiser!) and our daughters are in the same class. You can't beat that hometown link.
Trina will be running for the Team in Training with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. She has to raise $2,900.00 to pay for the run and is holding a fundraiser this weekend called "The Family Fun Walk 'n' Run." The event will be at Rohner Park, this Sunday, at 10:00 AM. The cost is $5.00 per walker or $10.00 a family. It's a two mile event and all the money will go towards her fundraising goal. The first fifty participants will receive a free shirt.
Another cool part? Lifetime will be filming the event and it will later be broadcasted on their site.
Again, if you'd like to follow Trina's inspirational journey, you can follow her here. Her link is under the Clean Start Challenge. Should you care to donate or help out with Trina and her journey, you can donate here.
My kiddos have developed a new invention guaranteed to drive any parent nuts. Rather cheap to make and easy to consume, this formula of madness is common on most holidays. The name of this new and secret invention, guaranteed to satisfy children and frustrate parents for hours?
Hyper Generator
You heard it right and named by my own nine year old. Here she is holding her invention, showing off it's pure awesomness:
She inspects each mix for perfect clarity and appropriate hyper variety:
Satisified that her Hyper Generator is up to snuff, she looks death in the eye and scoffs at it's weakness:
I hope this Valentine's Day brings you your own bag of pre-mixed Hyper Generator and lots of Valium for Mom and Dad.
Whenever I'm home alone with Gunny and I need to shower, I first plug him into a movie or throw him in with me. Sure, he might point and laugh, commenting on my many physical, err, attributes, but at the ripe old age of three, I can take his abuse. This morning left me with the challenge of trying to get in a quick shower with an unwilling little boy. Thankfully, he's discovered the joys of Monster Truck races on Youtube. If I time it just right, I can find a 10 minute movie (that's the Youtube limit), hop in the shower and then get out before he's ready to tear apart the house.
As I surfed through Youtube this morning, looking for a perfectly timed video, Gunny happily sat in the computer chair chanting:
"Monstah Jamssssszzzz!'
I finally found a 9 minute, 47 second video of freedom, and Gunny was content. With the countdown started I made a beeline for the bathroom. I already had the shower heating up and I flung my clothes off as I loped like a gazelle through the house. Approximately 8 minutes and 30 seconds later, I was out with a towel on my head and my favorite bathrobe circling my still wet body.
Gunny was still sitting in his chair but had some tell-tale evidence on his face that he hadn't been there the whole time.
Mommazilla: Gunny? Did you eat Sissy and Brother's class chocolates? Gunny: No Momma. I wuvs you. Sweetly smiling, chocolate covering his teeth.
Mommazilla: Gunny, I know your not telling me the truth. You have chocolate all over your face. Gunny: He licks his lips and softly touches his own face. Oh, sowry 'bout dat Momma. I ates Tatah's shocolit. Mommazilla: Yes you did and that wasn't very nice. What are they supposed to give their friends for Valentine's Day? Gunny:He looks somewhat oncerned and raises his little shoulders up as he says, I dunno Momma. Can I hab anoder won?
I do have a photo blog, but I thought this was so cool that I wanted to share it. There's an effect you can do through Photoshop called a "tilt shift." If you don't have Photoshop, don't worry, this website will give you the same effect and for free.
Here are two examples of what this effect does:
It makes everything look like it should have a minature train set running through it! Totally cool!
I was recently going through my laptop picture and video files when I stumbled across several suspicious videos. Knowing that I hadn't created anything recently, I opened them up to find my two of my little charmers had figured out how to use the video camera and editing features of my laptop. I normally take my laptop to work but for whatever reason, it stayed home one night while Hubby was "watching" the kidlets.
The first adventures involves Taterbug, C-dub, and a spaceship.
The next video involves the same characters but this time with a beatnic flair:
The sound of C-dub giggling makes me go insane! Moms and dads, make sure to check your laptops for potential blackmail bits. These will forever be lodged on a hard drive until future discovery is necessary.
As if you couldn't see this one coming, the octuplet mom has launched a website asking for donations.
I've been watching her interviews and seeing her reactions to the questions. Besides the fact that she's unemployed, lives at home, and has a total of 14 children at the ripe old age of 33 - something is just "off" with her. Maybe it's the uncanny resemblance to Angelina Jolie and Alanis Morrisette she bears or perhaps it's the way she spins her story - especially when talking about public assistance; whatever the case, each interview has left me feeling very uncomfortable with the whole situation. She just seems, for lack of a better word, oblivious.
The one thing I've learned in life as a grown-up and parent is that just because you can do something doesn't necessarily mean you should. I'd love to have a fourth kiddo. My ovaries hurt and my uterus rumbles whenever I see a baby. But guess what? I have these little peculiar things that come practically every day in the mail. They're called bills. I also have this pesky thing called a mortgage that tells me unless I want to live in a cardboard box I'd better pay it. Hubby and I both work our tales off with full-time jobs and the occasional part-time job when things are tight. We know our limits and try to live within our means. It doesn't make me want a baby any less. To me, holding off on baby #4 is being responsible and doing the right thing for our family. What part of this is so hard for the Octomom to understand? I understand that "accidents" do happen but that's not what I'm talking about here. She made the conscious decision to have six little kidlets placed into her womb.
Anyhoo, I guess this story really chaps my hide because of the irresponsibility of her actions and how these little babies and their six siblings will fare growing up in a situation like that. I want the babies to do well and hopefully Octomom will do the right thing when the money starts rolling in . Because you know that it will. Americans are some of the most giving people in the world. Personally, I will not be buying any books, watching any of her LIfetime documentaries, nor will I be donating because I already give the government 23% of each paycheck. I'm sure some of it will trickle down to southern California. Just sayin'.
Ashley Madison - No Longer A Sweet Little Girl's Name
Life is short. Have an affair.
What?! Seriously? A website dedicated to helping married people "hook-up" with other married people? Yikes! What the hell is wrong with people? If you are unhappy in your marriage then explore your options. Counseling, divorce, but seriously - having an affair because you married someone you might not like or otherwise be in love with - is certainly not the answer. And people wonder why our country's morals are going down the toilet bowl.
I don't appreciate anyone putting out such disgusting propaganda for adultery - which by the way, is still illegal in some states (Maryland for one). They aren't hiding it from the mainstream public which means kids are also seeing this garbage. I can tolerate a lot but geez, this is ridiculous.
What do you all think? Good? Bad?
Even the Superbowl said no to this (this site also tried to publish a full page ad of a woman in lingerie asking what you were "going to do" after the game"):
I rarely have company over and when I do, it's a guaranteed anxiety/panic attack. I clean the bathrooms, kitchen, carpets, closets and other places I'm sure my guests won't see - just in case. My voracious appetite to clean, clean and even more clean continues on as my first guests breech the threshold of my home.
Why is it I feel the need to make my house so sanitary that the hospital could probably easily place the Bubble Boy in my midst without nary a fear? Are my guests really going to care if my pantry is organized by color and if my sheets all have military corners? Who knows, but I do love me the smell of some Pine Sol. It was a love created when I was pregnant with Gunny. I would crave the smell of chemically created pines in my house - so much so that my floor was bathed with it on a weekly (if not more) basis.
I consider myself an decent housekeeper, as I really cannot stand clutter. If it's been sitting on my counter for more than a couple of days, it's either going in the trash or to a new home (something I learned from my mother - thanks Mom). I practice what I preach, unfortunately, the rest of the hoodlums around here don't. Hubby is the proverbial "piler" (little heaps of his crap all over the house - keys, pens, assorted work gadgets and shiny things he's collecting) and his children are taking after him. I get so torked when I'm picking things up and putting them away for the fifty millionth time but I know if I don't, no one will and eventually you'll see our house on an Oprah pack rat special. I'm just not ready for that.
As I sit here, four hours away from my little shindig, I'm contemplating re-vacuuming my floor. It's not really dirty but I don't care for the pattern I left on the last vacuuming session. I guess I really should talk to someone about these OCD issues or maybe just not have company over. EVER.
Last week, I set aside a whole morning to tackle Taterbug's bedroom. As a nine year old little pack rat, her room was overflowing with clothes, garbage, and wayward Christmas presents that haven't found a permanent location in our home yet. While I diligently worked, I plugged Gunny into a "Tonka Joe" construction cartoon and gave him a handful of Cheez-its, instructing him to to stay out of her room and stay glued to the video.
As I cleaned, I could feel a pair of eyeballs staring me down. I looked up to see Gunny standing in the doorway, coated with some sort of brown goo that at one point had resembled a banana. Ripe and gorgeous bananas I had carefully put up high on the counter, out of the reach of monsters - or at least, so I thought. When I asked him what he was doing, he mumbled something about "Nannas" and "Pwayin' wit Mommee's stickahs." I understood half of what he was talking about and thought I'd better investigate.
I followed him out into the living room in order to inspect what other damage had been done. It wasn't too bad - just cemented banana all over the entertainment center and a couple of blobs on the TV. All in all, not too bad for a Gunny mess. What caught my eye, however, were several empty wrappers lying on the floor. Empty wrappers that are normally found in the bathroom and not in your living room and certainly not in the possession of a three year old little boy.
Gunny again repeated, "Mommee, I wuz playin' witcha stickahs. Seee??!!!" as he gleefully pointed to the kitchen and more specifically, to the side of a cabinet. And this is what I saw (besides the messy counter):
Good..Lawd...you just can't make this stuff up. Gunny had found my stash of "stickahs" and thought they'd make a great accompaniment to my kitchen design. I'm just glad I found it before I had company over. That would have been a little hard to explain...and a little gross.
My daughter is a huge fan of Power 96.3 and listens every morning to the legendary Pete Meyer and ever funny JB Mathers. It's our daily ritual to match our wits and try to come up with an answer to Menial Mind Trivia prior to Taterbug getting dropped off for school. She loves the music they play and I do too. So much more than Kidz Bop or the Wiggles.
The other morning I heard that Power 96.3 was going to be broadcasting from a local hardware store and they were taking in-person requests for songs. As Taterbug cleaned the sleep out of her little eyeballs, I mentioned where they were at and told her I'd be happy to take a quick detour to let her request a song...IN PERSON! Her little eyeballs immediately lit up and she flew through her morning rituals of teeth brushing and hair untangling.
As we left and began discussing which song she might request, it was decided that a little "Pocket Full of Sunshine" by Natasha Beddingfield would suit her just fine. As we pulled into the parking lot, she started telling me about the butterflies that were quickly forming in her belly. She told me she thought she might blow chunks but that she could more than likely hold it in until she got done requesting her song. She didn't want to blow her big chance at becoming famous.
When I parked in the lot, I could hear Guns-n-Roses blaring from their mobile studio. Taterbug looked at me with a gleam in her eye and quickly spotted the two DJ's sitting under the awning of the business. I gave her a quick pep and we quickly walked over to the table as it was beginning to rain and I didn't want our naturally frizzy hair to go totally afro on us. Again, she considered this to be her first chance at stardom so we needed to do things right.
We found both Pete and JB to be some of the nicest guys we'd ever met. They interviewed her for a coupla minutes on the radio, let her request a song, and then they gave her the earphones so she could hear herself when it broadcast. To top it all off, they let her pick a prize and offered her a free breakfast. It was great!
By the time we left, Taterbug was floating on air. Two days later, she's still buzzing about it. When she did get to school that morning, she told her whole class and pretty much anyone who would sit still long enough to listen. She truly felt like she was the hero and spokeswoman for the 3rd grade class. I just hope she wasn't passing out autographs to the kindergartners.
A HUGE thanks to Power 96.3 and the handsome and awesome DJ's Pete Meyer and JB Mathers. You totally rocked my daughter's world and have created a forever fan. For one morning, you were way cooler than Hannah Montana or Lady Gaga - combined!!!
Oh my, my oh my...this hilarious video is from an episode of The Ellen Degeneres Show and it's well worth the six plus minutes you'll spend watching it. I wish I had a local Gladys.
From now on, I'm going by the name Queen Orajel, in honor of the one ointment that is keeping me in peace on God's green Earth. I have evidently either lost a filling or cracked one of my molars and it hurts... REAL BAD. Ice cream, hot coffee, luke warm soup - pretty much anything with a temperature is causing me pain.
I guess if I look at it with a positive spin, it's certainly cutting down my consumption of food and liquids; therefore, I might actually lose a pound or two by the time I see the dentist next week. Either that or I'll end up with an IV to replenish my lost nutrition. I wonder if they can add caffeine so at least I'll have the added bonus of false happiness without the coffee breath.
I can honestly say that while Orajel works like a charm for tooth pain, it sure does tastes like crap. And is it supposed to make you drool that bad? It seems to turn on my spit faucet as soon as I apply it to my gum and tooth. Hubby was laughing at me last night, as I dabbed away the extra slime leaking from my face as I tried to explain something to him. I didn't think it was funny but at least he did. Jerk.
Anyhoo, I do get to see my savior next week and until then, he says to take lots of drugs. No, he really didn't say that but I did hear Tylenol mentioned so I think that gives me free reign to interpret.
I have a really cool dentist - in fact, he's just about my age and kinda has a retro sorta rockstar look - reminiscent of an early Michael Hutchence (INXS) crossed with one of the ZZ Top guys. Weird, but then again I'm normally under the influence of dental drugs whenever we're alone together.
Did I happen to mention that I'm a total wimp when it comes to dental exams and eye appointments? "Just leave my face alone!", is my motto. Works for me, but in this case, I'm definitely going to have to suck it up and be the woman I've always wanted to be - at the dentist that is. Wish me luck.
Ok ladies, enough is enough already. For the last time, I do not allow fishing in my house. No matter how much you chatter, moan, groan, meow and purr, these little fish are going to stay where they're at. Your claims of wanting fresh fish in your itty bitty kitty diet are going out the window.
And Piper, just because George the Goldfish makes eye contact with you doesn't mean your friends and it doesn't mean he wants you to hold him. Nice try but keep your kitty paws out of the water.
I've recently been afflicted with a lust for flour tortillas - possibly due to a lack of necessary carbohydrates in my diet or just good 'ol PMS. Whatever the case, I've made three batches in the past week and a half, and alone have eaten probably all of them. Tonight, rather than fight the primal urge to consume as many of these flat pieces of heaven as possible, I gave in and channeled my inner Mamacita - Raquel Rodriguez. For those of you not familiar with Raquel, you must have never had the high school experience of Destinos. Too bad for you. Google it.
As you may have noted, this posting will be jalapeño peppered with a smattering of Spanish words I still remember from high school level clase de Español. Did you catch that? Am I impressing you yet with my multilingual skills (I also speak Pig Latin and Baby)? Thought so. Please keep your applause to a minimum - we don't want to scare los niños.
Because I was trying to fully embrace my inner Raquel today, I prepared a feast fit for a rey or at least in my casa, dos príncipes and a princesa. Before my brain explodes and I run out of my free word translations, here's the recipe for main course - something I like to call...
Raquel's Fiesta In A Pan
2 cups of uncooked instant white rice (brown works fine)
1 1/2 cups water
1 1/2 cups of salsa (I used Pace because it was on sale)
1 lb. of hamburger that you have cooked with one packet of taco seasoning
2 cups of shredded cheese
While you prepare the hamburger meat with the one packet of taco seasoning (in a different pan), bring the water and salsa to a boil. When they begin to boil, remove from heat and add the instant rice, stirring until it's mixed. Put a lid on the rice and leave it alone until your hamburger is ready to rock and roll. When the hamburger is sufficiently cooked and seasoned, add it to the cooked rice and then mix in the cheese. You can serve it in flour tortillas or just eat it on it's own. It's muy bueno.
Raquel's Favorite Flour Tortillas
3 cups of unbleached flour
2 tsp of baking powder
1 tsp salt
1/2 cup of Crisco vegetable shortening (you can use lard but that just grosses me out)
1 to 1 1/4 cups of warm water
Mix up the dry ingredients and then use a fork or fancy pastry cutter thingy to mix-in the shortening and then add the warm water. I only needed about a cup of water but you may need more. Be flexible with your agua.
Knead the dough for a few minutes and then let it rest for about 15 minutes. When the dough is sufficiently relaxed, tear into it and make 12 little round balls. While the griddle or pan is heating, roll the balls into tortilla size circles. Mine normally resemble Florida or Italy but they still taste good, so don't worry if your little buddies are not perfect.
Once you get the perfect shape, fry them on the pan until they get slightly golden on each size and begin to puff up. Be advised that the hot griddle will oftentimes cause your smoke detector to go off. My children are very used to hearing this sound whenever I cook, so they don't even bat an eye. Sad, I know.
I keep the cooked tortillas wrapped up in a towel while I cook the entire batch. When they are fully cooled, you can store in a Ziploc baggie and then reheat to perfection.
And there you have it, la cena perfecta. And for your viewing pleasure, an episode of Destinos. Actually, it's a student made episode since I couldn't find the real goods on Youtube.
When I heard a gal in southern California had octuplets, I paid great attention. It's not everyday that a single woman produces a litter of children. I'm all for having the family of your dreams and I support individual descisions on reproductive rights. What I don't like is irresponsibility and this situations screams of it. Between the idiot doctor who thought it would be a great idea to put eight little beings in a single unemployed woman who already had six children, and the actual gal who thought this might be a great idea, I don't know who's the bigger idiot.
The doctors are screaming back that they're not the reproductive police. No, you're not the defender of the ovary but but for chriminy sakes, have a little common sense about the quality of life for these children. My feeling is that in this certain case, I'm sure the awareness of the prospective movie and book deals probably had a lot of influence when the time came for implantation.
And to the "mom" or should I say bearer of the litter. You are a single unemployed mother of 14 children. Did I happen to mention you're only 33 years old and live with your parents in a modest three bedroom house? Thank you very much for spending my tax dollars so unwisely. I demand the opportunity to name at least one of your kids since I'm gonna be helping in paying for them for the rest of their lives. Good grief, shame on you. I really hope you have some sort of mental illness because I would hate to think that you were fueled only by greed and hopes of Hollywood stardom. You've already proclaimed that you want to focus on being some professional child rearing expert. The only expertise you can claim is milking an already exhausted system.
In case you don't know, the biotch is asking for handouts. I figured the donations would start rolling in but this is seriously sickening - especially for those of us who have the amount of children we can actually care for. The hospital stay alone, is expected to cost $1.6 million dollars. Ridiculous.
*** Edited to add: Should you wish to leave a cowardly anonymous comment full of profanity and randomness, rest assured you will not be published on this blog. I already edited one for PG-13 status, but the second I received (presumably from the same angry person) will not be published since it's just a lame attempt at more attention and reeks of smelly troll. ***
Check this out! Ok, just for clarification, I'm not really buying you anything but it's the thought that counts, right?!
** The link originally went to a Denny's site where they are advertising a free Grand Slam breakfast, to anyone, from 6AM to 2PM, today only. I haven't tested this out and DO NOT know if it works, so don't be pissy if you get stuck with a craptastic breakfast that you actually had to pay for. **
