Carving Out My Style

Tonight was pumpkin carving night. My sister dropped by with her two children. 4 mini pizzas... two crappy carving sets... more seeds than you can shake a scarecrow at... stringy gourd insides resembling my brain after a long week of Rex on and business... and 4 lumpy painted pumpkins later.... it was a great evening.

A dear friend of mine stopped by with her baby. I really like her, because we're different in a lot of ways. Sure, our morals and actions are similar, but she has often a contradictory approach to how I do things. She's much less wishy washy. If we were breakfast foods, I'd be a waffle. With syrup. Maybe. Or maybe powdered sugar. Or perhaps a decaf coffee only because I'm giving up on caffeine, even though I know I'll cave a week later. She would order "The eggs. Over easy. That's it."

Her defining style makes me grow. And think. Like Glinda "with a Ga" says to her friend, the green wicked witch, "My world is better because of you." Or something like that. I was too busy crying during that song to remember the exact words. And tonight I'm too exhaused from scraping pumpkin vomit off my ceiling to bother You Tubing the lyrics from Wicked.

My friend and I landed on the subject of parenting. She made a very interesting point about my woes as of late. (See previous post.) In a nutshell, she deducted that there's two kinds of parents that approach play areas: The type that are a bit protective (such as herself) and the type like me (who are more of a 'let the kid figure it out himself unless danger is imminent' type.)

It now makes sense to me. No style is better than the other, but it's going to cause conflict. Always. If I can't deal with the repurcussions of such conflict, I really need to stay away from those environments.

I know it sounds simple, and my apologies for A) The obvious and B) The parenting slant of this post. But I'm just happy to have heard it said. My poor friend puts up with a lot of questioning from me. Sometimes I don't say things graciously. But in the end, I always see her point of view. If she's reading, I hope she knows that.

In closing, I realize I'm a perfectionist, and this is where most of my issues come from. Not "this mom said that" or "this one acted like that..." But I'm prone to, without even being conscious of it always, "Why can't I just make everything perfect so there's never any conflict. Why can't my kid be that way, also?"

Of course, looking at my pumpkin carving, or how I cook, you'd never guess there's a perfectionist the size of Mt. Rushmore living in my soul.

I give off too nutty of a vibe. I'm brilliant that way.

In closing, I'm once again tired of myself. If you're interested in my opinion on the state of parenting, or how Diet Coke makes me fart enough to start a hybrid car, check out my journal on Babycenter.com. Otherwise, I am using November to write about things I'm grateful for. Can I start with good friends that put up with my stupid blabber mouth, where I can sometimes sound insulting, but really am just trying to navigate my way through this messy world of raising souls - trying not to permanently mess them up? You're all included in the compliment.

Good night!

More of my writing can be found on Babycenter.com. I write under the name Andrea Frazer and can be found in the Momformation Section.

Go San Diego Go Diego....

Any of you with toddlers will get my little song reference. Any of you without toddlers can live in peace without this OCD inducing theme song rattling your brain like a bad virus.

We're back from San Diego after cutting our week long vacation down to two days. Nothing was open the first day we were there, but we were able to go to the beach and see some family. That was nice. We hit Sea World the second day. No one was there, so Stink enjoyed a few rides with Papa. Pip wasn't big enough, so I took advantage of her sugar free brother being gone by plying her with over priced icecream.

Not a very eventful trip, but pleasant. It's so rare for Rex and I to just be together. We're your classic couple that divides labor to get the jobs done: He is at work and then does all the gardening. I'm at home with the kids and take care of the inside of the house. To be a team for two days straight where our only focus was our family was divine - a reminder to do that more often.

I'm kinda pooped. It was a lot of driving for two days, and a bit less relaxing than I'd hoped. No lounging at the pool - which was closed. No hanging out with college friends - who were housing evacuees. But the people we did see were fantastic. And again, the people I live with, but sometimes don't see, reminded me again why we're a family.

As I type this now, Rex is mowing the lawn. The kids are having squirt gun wars in the bathroom since some tree trimmers have taken over their battle ground outside. I'm preparing for a long week ahead of Halloween festivities, some post office runs, some work related issues, and some local family visits. But am inspired again to take time for the things that matter most.

How do you do it? How do you stay connected to the people that matter most when the world provides so much distraction?

PS: My gig at Babycenter doesn't allow me to be snarky. It's supposed to be a place where friendly neighbors stop by with advice. A "cup of sugar" for the community pie - if you will.

However, since this is my blog, I'd like to say that if the woman who yelled at Stink at Balboa Park is reading this blog, you can kiss. My. Fanny. You're probably not reading, because you're too busy finding your way out of your toddler's butt hole. But for the record, my bully was blocking the damn dinosaur because he was play acting. Can't you tell a sick prehistoric creature when you see one? You can yell at my 4 year old, but I'm thinking that it might be more beneficial to teach your kid to use her words to simply ask him to move, instead of causing World War 3 over something as stupid as your dumb photo op that your kid didn't even want to smile for. Ooooh, my son growled at you. I wish he were a real dinosaur. Then he could eat you and entitled mothers like yourself could be extinct. Now go put some money into karate. And therapy. Your non-smiling, freaked out mama's kid is going to need it.

All done.

More of my writing can be found on Babycenter.com. I write under the name Andrea Frazer and can be found in the Momformation Section.

Premature Evacuation

I would love to say that I haven't been posting because I'm on my family vacation.

The first family vacation, um, ever.

The one we scheduled over 6 months ago.

But then the fires happened. Not only could we not go to San Diego, but some of my good friends had to leave their home in Topanga Canyon. Someone else I know had a brother who lost his house in Canyon Country.

Does it suck to lose out on a vacation? Sure. But more suckage than staying home is the suckage of those who don't have homes anymore.

We're making the best of the situation. The first couple of days Rex and I got to argue over how best to clean floors, how best to do laundry, and how best to get the kids to sleep without death threats. (Such head bumping occurs when two worlds don't normally collide. It's also what happens when a war is being lead by two generals. Who do you listen to? Fun for all!)

The bright side of this togetherness is that now we're used to each other. Butts have been sniffed, compromises made and peace offerings laid on the table. (He bought me a newspaper out of the blue. I watched a DVD of Erasure with him.) We have had quite a few laughs, and quite a few glasses of beer.

We might leave tomorrow if the fires are subdued. Wish us luck! And to all of you who have relatives or friends displaced by fire, my heart goes out to them. And as soon as I get my first Babycenter check, a donation will go to these people.

PS: Do I regret my Disneyland passes? No. But I had to laugh. I think they had as much fun playing in our neighbor's leaves yesterday as they did riding on Peter Pan.

* More of my writing can be found on Babycenter.com. I write under the name Andrea Frazer and can be found in the Momformation Section. You can find me daily by scrolling or choose by author. Share the love and leave a comment! Or avoid me. It’s all good.

Mousing Around

I have always wanted to work to be a role model for my kids. To have money to set aside for their college funds. To have a rainy day nest egg. To play the stock market.

I don't want to ever rely solely on Rex for financial support.

I don't want to make emotional decisions with my cash. I don't like using credit or borrowing against money that hasn't arrived yet.

This all said, I took an advance on my first check and bought year round Disneyland passes. Because let's face it, I could get hit by a bus before I even make it to the bank. Life is meant for enjoyment, too. Besides, the kids have it so hard with preschool, organic food and a clean, warm home. Don't they deserve a little fun? A break from the mundane boredom of airconditioning and reading clean library books?

We used the passes today for the first time. Other than the fact that my passport photo endowed me with whiskers and a neck rivaling a Thanksgiving butterball, we had a fabulous time. As evidenced by the photo, Pip might have enjoyed herself a bit too much.

I wish all of you a weekend with so much joy that your loved ones find you slumped over in a padded chair. If you drool, so much the better. You're not lazy, you're passionate!
And finally (yes, truly, finally) I thank you all so much for supporting my new writing space with your lovely comments. Being the new girl in school is always a challenge. To have your kind "faces" in my unfamiliar classroom meant more than you know. Whoever makes it to town gets a dinner at Disneyland on me! (I have to make TV money to buy ya'll passes, but don't put it past me. Like Walt Disney himself, I'm dreaming big.)

More of my writing can be found on Babycenter.com. I write under the name Andrea Frazer and can be found in the Momformation Section.

Bad Morning America

I woke up at 7AM to take my sister to the airport. Mornings for me are like sunlight for bats. We would both rather hang upside down by our toes than deal with the atrocity of pre-dawn activity.

That aside, I am attempting to think positively these days. In order to do so, I find it best to first listen to the negative thoughts, then out-trump them with goodness.

Let's start with the negative thoughts on waking up early, shall we?

* Exhaustion
* Waking up sleeping toddlers (akin to sticking a needle in a sleeping tiger's eye)
* Hitting traffic
* Running out of gas on the freeway
* Filling up the tank just in time to have to use the potty, preventing an explosion worse than the recent L.A. Truck Incident (My kids didn't have to use the bathroom because, in the ten precious minutes I had between sleep and driving, I hoisted them onto the toilet. I know, send the martyr certificate in the mail.)
* Finding out that I hit the one gas station in L.A. that doesn't have a bathroom
* Having to use one at the McDonalds down the street
* Driving the rest of the way to the airport hearing my children interrogate me on why they couldn't have a Happy Meal at 7:30 am
* Talking my sister down from a panic attack that she's not going to miss the flight while I navigate side-streets like a pro. (Translation: smile like a contestant on Dancing with the Stars who has no idea what they're doing, but they're not letting anyone else know.)

Here are my positive thoughts on getting up early.
......

.............

........................

Anyone? Bueller?

More of my writing can be found on Babycenter.com. I write under the name Andrea Frazer and can be found in the Momformation Section.

C'mon Babycenter! Err... Babycenter.com

Now that my funk is over (AKA whining more than my toddlers after a day at Chuck E. Cheese) it's nothing short of ironic that I got a gig writing for Babycenter.com. I'm listed under Momformation and my first post, Whine Gets Better with Age, can be found here (I'm the third one down.)

Yes, it's true! I am one of 3 official "Behavior Bloggers". I'm not supposed to be an expert, per se. I'm more of an "observer of manners" for all things baby and toddler related. If I must say, I'm perfect for this job. Here's just a few reasons:

* I talk to at least 3 strangers/day (whether they're interested in chatting with me or not.) What was once only extraneous info from the 99 cent checker on teething infants and the fertility cycle of miniature poodles can now be shared with the universe courtesy of Mama P!

* I now have a place to go (my desk) after dropping off my kids at preschool. No more 3 hours excursions to the thrift store to spend money on the 1993 Fred Flintstone movie action figures I just had to have.

* I now get paid. Which sort of nulls my second point, because this essentially means I can go thrifting even more than I did before. Maybe there's a Barney or a Dino in my future?

If any of you want to check me out, just go to the link above. In the future, you can just go to Babycenter.com, find the COMMUNITY link at the top, use the drop down menu and select the first option of NEW BLOGS. You'll then see two links: Celebrity Babies and Momformation. I'm under Momformation. If this seems like a confusing web, it is. Then again, my head is still spinning about how I got this gig in the first place (and another... to come next month!) Let's just not question the good fortune, shall we?

I would love any comments from you just to get me rolling. Your feedback might give me a little more credibility with my editors (as well as get some people to ping back to your blogs. It's all about sharing the linky love, right?) Any following for me is helpful because at some point I'm destined to deviate from my assigned behavior themes and ramble on and on about the benefits of organics, Yuban vs. Starbucks, or the philosophical question of "To Eat Spam or Not to Eat Spam"? (Shhh... don't tell the editors just yet. It's my thrifting money at stake!)

In closing, do any of you feel passionate about any organizations that deal with children? If so, please write me separately or just note it in the comments here. I'd like to give them plugs as I get more established.

In closing, I would like to wish my husband a Happy 37th birthday today. He never reads this blog, which is why I saved this wish for final thought. I mean, it's not like I enjoy going on and on about me, right? Right?

Oh, stoooop with the eye rolls amd leave me some love at Babycenter, will ya?

List-Less These Days

To be honest with you, I'm in a funk. Not down on my knees, get thee to a Xanax Factory funk, but a "wow my kids are in school and I have all this free time and yet I'm not doing anything that I'm super excited about and yet what do I have to complain about" kind of funk.

When I feel like this, it's time to pull out the stops. For me, it's a cornucopia of ingredients that, when all is combined in my mixing bowl of life, produces quite a nice bread loaf of contentment. Take one out, and things feel flat. Kinda like matzah. You can eat it, but the lack of rise makes ones mouth feel sort of dry. I call it giving my tounge a yeast infection.

Focusing once again, here's my list for the Joy Joy Life Buzz:

- Exercise
- Talk to people. The requirement is that they must have pubic hair. I don't want to see it, but they must be of age to at least grow it. This does not include ten year olds who are early bloomers.
- Remember to take my Zoloft.

- Cut down on caffeine. My third week of no Diet Coke is commendable. But upping the Yuban to quantities that could start my SUV? Um, not so good.
- Pray and go to church. Or at least get a doughnut on Sundays and pray in the car while jonesing for a Big Gulp.
- Take time for me (journaling, getting hair done, toes... something).
- Write every day.

- Make my own money, even if it's 2.99 on a vintage Smurf toilet brush.
- Chat with a professional either on issues of the spirit, the brain, the body or even a chef. Someone that knows more than I do. (Which, when I'm cranky, is hard to find, which leads me to my last requirement...)
- Keep a gratitude list. I am so lucky in my life, and while I know it, sometimes I don't always feel it.

So far, I've managed one of the above items only. That should tell you where I'm at.

What is your recipe for getting out of funks? If you tell me you're just a naturally happy person who only needs God, pot or St. John's Wart, I will personally come over to your house and bitch slap you while you're diligently doing your Kathy Smith Yoga tape (which will take care of the exercise portion on my list.)

On a bright note, isn't this a cute shot of Pip and me? I adore my in-laws, but if they tell me one more time that she looks like my husband, I'm going to have to assume they are smoking the wacky weed. Which means I should really be hanging out with them more.

Note to self: Add "Call in-laws" to your daily list of ingredients.

Digging It

I am not an outdoors girl. Giving birth has about the same appeal to me as peeing in a hole. As it turns out, I've done both only twice in my life. Giving birth was less messy.

I don't want to be that way. I want to be that mother that leads Girl Scouts down the Grand Canyon. Who celebrates the fourth of July every year off some random beach cove with home made fireworks and smores.

I want tone legs that carry me over mountains in Birkenstocks, the rattle of home made oatmeal in my Eddie Bauer baggy shorts.

Unfortunately, I run about as much risk of becoming Earth Mother as getting Rex to have a reversal.

But while I can't navigate uncharted territories, or look toward having that third baby at 40, I am an excellent scout at relationships. I have friends from first grade cooking class. And high school home ec. And Arco gas station cashiers that took me through my first two post par tum periods by gracing me with more Diet Coke than the Mid East has oil.

Such relationships also include my husband's ex-girlfriend. Quite the opposite of me, she wears Tevas, plans outdoor excursions to Monterrey every year, knows the properties of flax seed and does more mommy and me activities than Jenny McCarthy does talk shows.

Lucky for me, she's willing to take my kids along for the ride. Which meant, this past week, taking Pip to dig for treasures at some remote dusty site outside the city while Stink and I ate pizza admist blessed air conditioning and bad 80's music.

Call me nuts, but I'm thinking Pipsqueak takes after her mama in the out door's department. She quite possibly could be concentrating on the feel of nature's wonder under her skin, but if you look super close, you can see what she's really thinking....

"Bite me."

another Chinese recall

Looks like it's not only paint we have to be worried about these days.

Pretty as a Picture

One really learns a lot about their moods by their initial reactions to scenery.

Take the photo above, taken in the hotel, Paris, a few weekends ago in Vegas. What was the first thing you thought? "Wow, how beautiful. I could totally relax there." Or, "Man, that is tacky. Check out the elevator. If I had a dollar for every hundred bucks that was spent on that effigy to consumerism..."

As for me, my thoughts go something like this:

"Wow. I need to get to Paris one day. I know I'd dig all the art work. Though I could do without seeing the Mona Lisa. She just looks cranky.

Which I've been today.

But no one is cranky in Paris! It's the city of love! Of cafes and bread! And lots of wine where I can drink too much and pass out in a tiny overpriced hotel room, my six one frame sticking out over the munchkin sized mattress.

No. Stay positive. You will NOT drink too much or over eat. You will be a beacon of grace. A shining example of American women.

I just hope I don't vomit in the Louvre. Or have a panic attack on the run way. I'm not a great traveler. But I AM a great planner. With lots of intention.

Yes, I will go. Because unlike the staircase in the photo, life is super short. I want my kids to see the world, and it's not going to happen by sitting on my butt my whole life. Speaking of stairs, man, those could really firm up my ass.

Yes. I'll go to Paris, put on my Nike thrift store running pants, and jog up the Eiffel tower each morning. Of course I don't jog now, but that's not the point. When I'm done with my workout, I'll sip coffee at a roadside cafe.

If I haven't given it up by then.

But I HAVE been 6 days without Diet Coke. Hooray for me! Or shall I say, "Hooray for moi!"

Wow, it's amazing how much beauty can be found if I just look for it. It's so clean in the Paris hotel. Clean, clean, clean!

Unlike my house.

And speaking of the French, and getting clean, I need to shave my arm pits.

Wow, was that racist? Or was it a fact? Because the French have been known not to be on intimate terms with razors."

Nothing like a quiet mind, huh?

Oh. God.

As some of you may know, I think a lot about religion. I was raised Catholic, but had Jewish family members and friends as integrated into my life as tightly as Neil Diamond in a pair of blue jeans on a 1975 Christmas Album.

I was raised around a lot of stories, talking and the hustle and bustle of laughter and events. Whether it was Christmas, a birthday party, or a last minute Saturday dinner with friends, our house was always alive with people.

I am not saying that my life was a Saturday Evening Post of Happiness. We had our share of alcoholics, manic depressives, over eaters and perfectionists. But everyone was able to work through their issues with respect and understanding. No one was expected to be anything other than the best they could be.

I have often told my mother that if she did anything wrong in raising me, it was that she gave me a level of acceptance that was very unrealistic in this modern world of cynicism, anger, judgement and pride.

I think my Norman Rockwell tendencies have adjusted quite nicely to the high definition take it up your butt television screen that our world often really reflects.

But every once in a while, I'm racked with an anxiety that, if it were an earthquake, could quite possibly take down the Golden Gate Bridge. I know that worrying about the future is futile. I know that my body can no longer help its pangs of fear anymore than a blind person can help seeing in darkness. It's just a part of my system. But, if a blind person can use a stick, then I can use one also. My stick is my family, my friends, my intentions to eat healthy, my acceptance for the days when nothing but an Apple Fritter and Diet Coke is going to do, and, once again, my religion.

I don't know why bad things happen to good people.

I don't know why marriages fall apart.

I don't know why some people are born brilliant while others have learning disabilities or live two days.

I only know that as I go through post after post, there's a synergy and connection between people that inspires me to keep writing. To keep going. To keep trying to make a difference.

To me, this is God. It dawned on me recently, after a bad week of anxiety, that my innocence of the world does not have to go away simply because I'm no longer a child. If there is a prescence out there that loves me unconditionally, as my family once did (or at least as I naively believed that they did) then I can still find hope. And joy. I don't have to allow the jadedness of our times to kill my love for the small pleasures.

For those of you that have other methods of reaching this same epiphany other than the God route, I think that is fantastic. I am a terrible Christian, because while I couldn't imagine my life without my rock of church, I can't imagine that any God out there could condemn someone for not believing what I do.

I am writing this post because I realize that sometimes I don't share as much of myself as I possibly could.

Or want to.

So, now that you all can label me as a religious nut job, I'd love to hear your thoughts on staying pure in a world that so badly wants us to fail.

Or is that just my anxiety talking again?

Let me know. I'd love to hear from you.

Pass the Vegas

Lest any of you wondered if I fell off the face of the earth, the truth is, I needed this week to recover from Vegas.

Not everyone travels to the city of sin with their 86 year old grandmother-in-law, but let me say, it was worth it. I learned so much about myself and others during this trip (including Texas Lizzy, Texas Dottie and their wonderful family and friends.) A few of my insights are:

1. If Vegas were a person, it would need a prescription for Zoloft pronto. I've never seen more ups, more downs, and more in-betweens than this city of winning, losing, high lites and misery.

2. No one has drunk alcohol until Stella makes a martini in a smokey hotel room from vodka stored in her milk of magnesium vitamin bottle.

3. No one knows "flirt" until they see their grandmother kiss Blue Men, grab handle the models at Abercrombie and Fitch and corral a 19 year old to lift her up to the Fountain Di Trevi in Caesar's Palace.

4. Being away from your family makes you realize how much you miss them.

5. Seeing naked girls as a single person was one thing. Seeing them as a mother makes me sad. Every topless dancer was Pipsqueak. Every ad for sensual massage featuring young oiled men made me think of Stink. Innocence is so short. Which leads me back to #4.

6. There is officially such thing as too much stimulation. A billboard of Louie Anderson bigger than the state of Texas is enough to send even an Indian Guru into a fetal position, chanting senselessly for Diet Coke and Valium.

7. It's amazing how even in a town brimming with commercialism exquisite beauty can be found. Just check out the Wynn's flower garden or the Fall foliage at the Belliago. Vegas, like life, is all about the choices in what you want to walk away with. Beauty or destruction, boundaries or temptation. It's a fine line always.

8. Even when you think you can't build anything good out of nothing, you have Vegas as a model. A desert full of mobsters became the most successful enterprise of our times. Where else can you eat more than Delta Burke at a Chili Cook Off for less money than it takes to park at the beach in Malibu?

9. Everyone is hot in Vegas. If you can't get laid at the Excalibur, then you're either dead or not looking for it. I fall into the second category, but I did have a man outside the Flamingo shout "You are fiiiiiine, giiiirl." He was probably drunk, married and possibly paid to entice harried mommies into the casino to spend their grocery money on dollar slots, but that's not the point.

10. I am officially old, because unless I stay at a 500.00 room/hotel where I can lounge at the pool and eat pork all day, I don't care to go to Vegas any time soon. And with that criteria, I might as well go to Florida and shop at Walmart like every other middle aged woman in this country.

In conclusion, the best part of this trip was 3 fold: spending time with my rock star teenage grandma, seeing Liz and her family, and coming home to my babies who acted like brats for the rest of week as if to say "you left us, you are now going to pay for it." And gladly, I did.

Eat Pray Love

I'm almost done reading Eat Pray Love, a lively and humorous biography about a woman's journey for love and spirituality across Italy, India and Indonesia.

I've spoken to quite a few people about this book, from the agnostic to the atheist, and most of us are in wild agreement about this rare find. Gilbert is able to share with us her unpredictable path toward enlightenment without being pedantic or alienating. She's very honest, very open, and always real. I highly recommend it.

A big theme throughout the book is Yoga. While I can sit still about as easily as thirty year old groupies at an In Sync Reunion tour, I can see the benefit of this practice. Gilbert, like myself and so many of you, has a mind in constant motion. At one point, after forcing herself to sit still for over two hours, despite being bitten by mosquitoes and enduring itching and mass discomfort (also like an In Sync Reunion tour analogy) she was able to transcend the pain and find a place of rest. To just be.

Gilbert admits that she wouldn't do this sort of experiment again, but forcing herself to sitting still helped drive home the point that sometimes one needs quiet to dig deep. Silence is underrated and, when practiced consciously, can help us experience some universal truths that are often missed when we gab and joke our way through life. (I don't know anyone like that.) As her guru told her, you can't find your reflection in running rivers. You can only find it in still water.

I don't know about ya'll, but I could barely sit still at the car wash for the less than 20 minutes it took to read that chapter, let alone sit cross legged in my backyard for 3 hours praying I don't die of the West Nile virus while I transcend my children turning my best linen into a tee pee island dubbed Fort Bean Fart. But I can attempt to find some stillness in my life.

To listen to my children's needs above my own.

To quietly hold Rex's hand at the end of the day when he needs to vent about work.

To silently wash the dishes and contemplate my blessings.

To deep breathe the hum of the crickets at sun down.

Yes, I'm going to be a six-one guru of serenity. People from all over the world, or at least my cull de sac, will flock to bathe in the aura of my Yuban Coffee... err... new found enlightenment. They will refer to me as the Dahli Mama.

There is no time like the present to begin this journey of transformation, but alas, I will start on Monday, for tomorrow I will be road tripping with Stella to the Anti-India.

If I don't make it back alive, I hope I'm reincarnated as a dove.

Or a golden retriever.

Or a Diet Coke.

Whatever works.

Linky Lovey Dovey

Thanks to this kick butt Maui goddess I now know how to link. Thanks to this red headed spice mama I will soon know how to blog roll. Add in my favorite cape and tight artists, spiritual atheists and ex husbands and you'll have enough reading material befitting a princess.

While I'm hardly on the verge of one-time-Morman-richer-than-JohnSmith-Blogging-Mommy-fame, I can now point you to every rabbit loving, daddy of four , homeschooling Christian and Yoga Southern Belle parent this side of the web.

I can't forget http://onetallmomma.blogspot.com/ or my favorite You Tube Fanatic. While some of you are busy raising three girls or simply being supportive and funny as heck , all of you have kept my writing fires alive.

If I've forgotten any of you, rest assured, you will be added to my blog role quicker than I can make fun of any celebrity that ever graces the web pages of this newsworthy site.

Got Change?

Tonight, on our way home from a last minute dinner, I noticed that an old hair salon had been transformed to an insurance agency. My immediate reaction was sadness.

It's odd, because I'd only been to that beauty shop a number of times. But that wasn't the point. It was familiar. I knew, when I was rushing around my familar town doing errands, I could look at its logo and remind myself I was due for a pedicure, knowing full well I wouldn't be in there for the next ten years. But when that ten years came around, damnit, I knew exactly where their parking lot, where the back door was, and just how many windows faced south!

And of course, it's never just the place I miss. I start to replace the hair salon with friends who might move, family members that might pass, my children that will inevitably leave my household as empty as the once booming style spa.

I tell myself the old adage that nothing is constant but change. But then change leads me to think of pennies and nickels. Which leads me to think of homeless people bumming for change. Which leads me to think about stock markets crashing and job cuts and what if my family were put out on the street and had to stand on street corners begging for change as the light changed.

I know I must change my thinking, but I think I'll just change my clothes and sleep. While I'm dozing, my body will go on, changing and reproducing cells, causing me to age slowly but surely. Holy cow - one day my face will change!

Man, I really need to change my attitude. But I won't. I'll just keep busy and drink Diet Coke and try not to get stuck on the small things of life until, one day, I drive past the Ebay Store and see it's been transformed into a chicken n' waffle joint and I have a panic attack all over again.

I guess some things never change.

Mmm... Messes... Good

It seems the more my kids enjoy the food, the more it ends up on the floor.

I was thinking about this tonight as I pulled out the 'ol broom for the umteemth time that day. It really does seem that in order to fully enjoy something, one must not be afraid to dive right in. This might mean breakage, spillage and the occasional kick in the lower intestine, but isn't it worth it?

May all of you have a wonderful Sunday. Go ahead. Break some of that shell that's keeping you from feeling passionate. Want to ride a Harley? Go to mass? Take a hike? Cut your hair? Grow your hair? Try a new perfume? Or something super dooper nutty, like shop retail? Get crazy. It'll make for some fun stories when you're old.

(And they also make for fun stories now, so don't forget to let me know!)

PS: Fellow blogger, Gretchen, bestowed a smile award on me today. She says, "I'd like to honor Mama P. @ Pass the Zoloft. Her irreverent humor causes milk, diet coke, or wine (whatever my poision d'jour) to spurt out of my nostrils and gives me a much needed laugh nearly every day. I'm either laughing because i can so totally relate to her, or because she's a magnificent writer. Or, usually, both."

Ahhh, Gretchen! Was that such an unnecessary compliment?

DUH! I'll take it.

Thanks for looking beyond the mess and enjoying the spicy crazy taco that makes up moi. I love ya for it.

Lovely Gretchen can be found pulling out her hair while her husband is in China and she's homeschooling handsome History Boy but secretly plotting to get drunk on Two Buck Chuck at http://gretchen-quantumleap.blogspot.com/

I took creative license with the last statement about Gretchen. But she's a Christian, so not only will she forgive me, but she'll stand by me. The truth must be told.

Um... yeah... blog roll list. How many times have I typed that? About as many times as I've cleaned up that damn floor. Gotta do something about that.

Under a Bad Spell...Check

How lovely that so many of you commented on my last post in the positive, but no one pointed out that I can't spell. Apparently "Hipocrite" is spelled with a "y", unless you're doing the urban form.

Um.

Which I was.

It was on purpose.

Yeah.

Just like I spilled almost a whole gallon of expensive milk on purpose.

Or dropped a glass all over the floor.

Or forgot to be on time to my son's parents teacher conference on Monday.

Or haven't paid my Visa bill yet this month.

Or have drank too many Diet Cokes this week.

All on purpose.

I have a purposeful driven life. And that makes me very happy.

How about you?

Ten Reasons I'm a Hipocrite

1. I'll do anything to get in better shape. Except diet and exercise.

2. I have been talking about free time forever. But now that the kids are in school, I sometimes miss them more than Lindsay Lohan pines for a working liver.

3. I write in one post that it's not cool to make fun of people with disabilities, but then I take pop shots at celebrities. I mean, if Angelina Jolie wants to have a fifth child, let her. Of course, she's so busy saving the nation and starving herself, I wonder how she manages to fit Brad Pitt in to get pregnant in the first place. (Here we go again. Bad Mama P!)

4. I have wanted to get back to work forever. I swore that I wouldn't be one of those moms who felt guilt. But now that things are starting to roll for me, I am worrying that I'm the reason for the behavior issues I'm dealing with this week. Which is dumb. Because I haven't started work yet. But perhaps the kids sense it and are intentionally not sleeping to make me feel crappy. Hypocrite AND neurotic. Ain't that fun?

5. I tell my kids they must eat healthy to grow strong. Then I order a jumbo Diet Coke and downsize enough Almond cookies to feed a small nation. Or Delta Burke.

6. Sometimes, to save $1.25, I'll re-use the same cup from McDonalds that I got the week before, telling myself that I'm really saving the environment by reusing the plastic. Not only am I hipcrite for stealing, but I get double hipcrite points for the non-healthy eating again.

7. I often tell Rex that we don't spend enough time together, and the time we do spend together is the time I use to tell him that we don't spend enough time together. And the time we could spend together is the time I spend typing.

8. I worry that I shouldn't put photos of my kids up on the internet for fear of stalkers and perverts. But my pride gets in the way since I'm so friggin' in love with them so HERE THEY ARE!!!! Hey, perverts, you don't want them. All they do is talk about farting and pooping these days! (Sorry, Mom. You hate talk of poop. I say I'll stop, but do it anyway. HIPOCRITE!)

9. I teach Sunday school during the Fall to give my kids a sense of spirituality, but we haven't been to church all summer. My favorite curse word is Jesus Christ, followed closely by a God Damnit, followed again by FRACK! Any Battlestar fans out there will get that last curse. Which reminds me, I live in the self-proclaimed "I hate Sci Fi" camp. But when I watch Battlestar, it's like footage from Liza Minella's fourth marriage to David Gest: Hideous, and yet, I can't stop looking.

10. I have been going on and on about going organic around here. Which is why on Friday I lost my mind and bought two Happy Meals followed by a big ass slice of home made lemon cake.

I'm going to bed now. Right after I put it off by drinking a cup of coffee and eating something horrific, putting the final nail in tonight's hipocrite coffin.

Night night.

Mommy's First Steps

There were tons of firsts today.

1. Pipsqueak was an official student at preschool. She marched right in, stuck her "it's a Barbie... it's a BARBIE...my MOMMY gave it to me" lunchbox on a hook, plopped down with some blocks and never looked back at me. I know that secretly, beneath her kitty cat tee shirt, bell bottom flared leopard jeans and patin leather leopard mary janes, that she really missed me (while planning her fashion empire).

2. Stink went to bed without his usual negotiations of stories, songs and his favorite "who gave me that" game. Also known as the "let's stall and make Mama crazy even though I know the answer already" charade. Sometimes it's "Who gave me the star blanket" or "who gave me the Snoopy pillow?" My favorite thus far is "Who gave me that dust on top of the fan that you haven't cleaned yet, Mommy?"

3. I had 4 hours to myself. Alone. In the house.

I had to pinch myself to be sure it was really happening. At some point I stumbled to my SUV and headed south. I was convinced an alien had taken over my body and landed me in a foreign planet full of dusty, yet welcoming, landscape.

Then I realized I was in a thrift store.

And I'd scored this beautiful table and chairs for 25.00.

Then I knew it was me!

I had a nostalgic moment when I realized I usually have the kids jumping up and down on the plaid shaped sectionals or hiding under rounders threatening to get tetunus from a 1960's step stool haphazardly thrusting a nail at them, beckoning, "Suck me, child! Ingest into thy veins my rusty goodness!"

Predictably, however, realization tears soon fell. My babies are no longer babies. They pee on their own. They wash their own hands. They wear size 9 and 12 shoe. They tell me they love me and fall asleep looking like little angels.

Then I had a huge mug of Diet Coke. I didn't have to chop up the remaining ice for tiny mouths and visualize scenes of choking, the whole time thinking "what will I do if their airways get blocked because, really, I haven't had a real CPR class since I was 12 so I'm thinking that my emergency babysitting license is expired".

Bottom line: I got buzzed on caffeine and watched CMT. Heeee haaaw!

Congrats to everyone who made it through the first day. That includes you homeschoolers out there! Stories, please!

Uncle "anything to make a" Buck

I had an interesting Ebay experience today. On looking up "Tourettes", I found a few shirts like the one you see above.

I suppose it's funny in its own way, and Lord knows I make jokes all the time, but making fun of people with disabilites? That's where I draw the line.

So I wrote the person. I told them their stickers suck. And then I told them that, and I quote you, "Less than 15% of Tourettes sufferers curse like that. That particular condition is called Corporlalia. Educate yourself. But most of all, go and make money. That’s way more important than leaving something decent in the world, isn’t it?"

Here's what they had to say back.

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I think you should be focusing on helping your child adjust rather than focusing on sending me emails!

How about you contact all the people who tell blonde jokes ~ arent they offensive to half the population! People with blonde hair cant help it ~ they are the butt of jokes constantly ~ go save them.

I have a child with autism ~ please dont presume to know me or understand who I am or my family situation or the people I know! My son who is nearly 15 is quite well adjusted to his ability & is able to laugh at himself ~ we could ALL learn from that! Everyone has a disability of some description ~ & we all need to understand who we are & what is important. If you are able to laugh at yourself first ~ it makes life so much easier ~ I know this from experience. so please take care of your child & stop trying to protect him from a world that s/he is going to have to live in ~ the more you wrap him/her in cotton wool the less prepared s/he will be & the less able to cope with the world.

You've had your say ~ now move on

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So what did I do? Leave it alone? Ummmm.... no.

I wrote them a thank you note.

I told them that I now have two national columns online (more to come on this later) and that if they wanted to have an interesting dialogue where millions of people could read it, then I could get the word out on what Tourettes really is, and they could get some cash for their stupid tee shirts.

That just might rock their world. Damnfuckin'shitassteeshirtidiots.

How's that for Tourettes?

PS: Who uses the word "cotton wool"? That just sounds hot. And sticky. I might like this person better if they told me not to wrap my child in 100% cotton.