Winter Ball

My oldest daughter went to the winter ball with her boyfriend on Saturday. His mother offered to do her hair and makeup. She did a nice job, but my fifteen-year old daughter looked about twenty. Yikes.

Still, she looked great. At least I think so. I'm her mother. I'm supposed to.

Get In Line Please

Have you ever wondered why there is always somebody in front of you in traffic, at the restaurant, at the grocery store, etc.?

Here's why. The U.S. Census Bureau expects the country's population to hit the 300 million mark sometime in October. The main reason is that births now outnumber deaths.

There are 84 people per square mile in the U.S. I think most of them are standing in line at Starbucks.

California is the most populous state in the country with 36.1 million people and is growing at a slightly faster rate than the rest of the nation.

Wyoming has 509,000 people. They are the least populous state in the country. I'm moving to Wyoming.
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Is anybody watching the State of the Union address tonight? Me neither.
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Here is a big shocker in the news. Exxon Mobil Corp. unveiled record earnings for the year 2005. I'm speechless with surprise. (You wish)

However, there is some good news.

Chairman and Chief Executive of Exxon, Rex Tillerson, stated, "Starting Monday, when the consumer fills their tank with Exxon gas, we will supply a free tube of KY Jelly to make the butt screwing a bit less painful."

Diagnosis Day

Today has been a busy day and this has been the first chance to blog.

"J" is waiting for the computer so she can do her homework. This means I have to blog quickly, darn it. Homework trumps fun every time.

"SJ" got his diagnosis today. He has PDD (pervasive developmental disorder) which is what I expected. To show me what it meant, the psychologist drew a line on a piece of paper. Austism was on the left. PDD was on the right. So he is on the autism spectrum but not autistic. He could, when he is older, be diagnosed with aspeberger's syndrom but that diagnosis isn't possible until he is five or six.

He has speech delays. He lacks "core" body strenth and he has trouble deciphering facial expressions. If this lead to him being bullied in school, I may homeschool him. He can have play dates with other home-schooled children for his socialization.

He may never be a social butterfly but he could have quite a future working with computers. He will most likely not be a customer service type of guy.

Since my husband and I are both kind of social dorks, he'll fit in quite nicely with us. Poor guy.
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In other news, something very exciting came in the mail for me.

On the outside of the flyer was this intriguing message: YOU Could Be The Next Mrs. California United States. (Yes, it WAS addressed to me.)

The inside of the letter read, "Congratulations. YOU have been selected to represent your community and compete in the Mrs. California United States Pageant. This is your opportunity to show what the married women in your area are all about.

Mwahahahahahahahaha.

How the heck did they get my name?

Obviously, they have no idea who I am and have certainly never seen me.

I know for a fact that Mrs. California United States has to be physically fit.

I think her hair has to be combed.

I think she has to be a Super Mom.

I think her house has to be clean.

I think she has to perform community service.

I think she has to feed starving children in (enter impoverished country here).

In short, I am not Mrs. California United States.

Oh how it pains me to decline this honor. Snicker.
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I hope everybody had a wonderful Monday.

I might have time to check YOUR blogs now. Yay!

I'm Not As Think As I Smart I Am

Your IQ Is 100

Your Logical Intelligence is Below Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional Your General Knowledge is Below Average

A Quick and Dirty IQ Test

Shoe Comparision

I saw my husband's shoes sitting next to my son's shoes and had to take a picture. I love the way my son's shoes look so little next to his Daddy's. Before I know it, my son will be looking down on me. It flys by so fast.

Couch Chaos

When you look under your couch and a dust bunny winks at you, it's time to clean out from under it. Under my couch I found - newspapers, a diaper (clean), a pair of my six-year old's underwear (clean), a stuffed spider (glad it wasn't real), a library book, a toy car, socks, a toilet paper roll (craft project) and a whole bunch of other things.

What's under your couch?

Friday Show and Tell

I thought I would try a Blackbird Friday show and tell.

So here it is, my computer. If you look closely at the screen, you can see Blackbird's blog. (www.blackbird17.blogspot.com)

I love my computer and I love my husband for his knowledge of how to keep it working.

Five Guilty Pleasures

It's the Five Guilty Pleasures Meme.
The rules: Simply list or write an entry about five of your guilty pleasures. Then choose five other bloggers to tag.

1. Blogging - I can do it for hours. I used to laugh at people that spent all day on the computer. I laughed at the online chat "addicts" who couldn't seem to stop themselves. Now I'm addicted to blogging. I'm blogging and I can't shut up.

2. Chocolate Peanut (or almond) Clusters - Costco sells these in a huge jar. If I stupidly buy them, I can go through the whole jar in less than a week. I can't stop.

3. Reading - But only for entertainment. I am bad about skimming the book if it doesn't hold my attention.

4. Television - I don't watch a lot of it, but if there were a CSI marathon or Cold Case marathon or House marathon - well you get the picture.

5. Ebay and Amazon - I do the bulk of my online shopping at these two places.

Five people I tag:

Bearette
Gina
Babelbabe
Nobody
Techie

I would tag Old Hoss but I doubt he would do it. But, Old Hoss, if you would, you're tagged too!

Aspire To Inspire Before You Expire

I stole today's title from a church. There is a church I pass every day that posts weekly messages. Some of them are quite witty. I wonder who comes up with them.
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My oldest has an eye doctor appointment tomorrow at eight. I have to get out of bed at a normal time like a real person, shower and do my hair, all by seven-fifteen.

Ah, crap.
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My middle child, "A", is still taking taekwando. She takes it Monday and Wednesday from 4:30 to 5:00 and it is fifty dollars a month.

We can squeeze that much out of the budget.

Tonight, her teacher took me aside to tell me she thought "A" was starting to stagnate and should be in the higher class.

The higher class costs eighty a month. "A" would test for her belt every eight weeks at a cost of forty bucks. There is a twenty-five dollar fee for enrolling in the new class. Once she gets a green belt, she has to have "sparring" equipment for self-defense training at a cost of one-hundred twenty dollars.

So do we let our daughter "stagnate" or do we quit buying groceries?
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California students have to take an exit exam to graduate from high school.

There is a math portion and an English portion.

A local newspaper is following some students who are struggling with the exam.

One student they interviewed is still trying to pass one portion of the exam.

He stated, "That ain't my goal, to go to no night school and not walk the stage. Everyone wants to see me walk the stage and get my diploma."

Would your guess be that he failed the English portion? You would be wrong.

He passed that portion on his first try, his sophomore year.

Scary, huh?

Poopins

It's been at least a week since I mentioned poop...maybe. So without further ado...

My topic for today is SJ. In the past, when we have caught him in the corner, concentrating, we have asked him, "Are you pooping?"

Only we don't pronounce the "g" on the end of "pooping" so it comes out "poopin."

SJ has turned the word poopin from a verb into a noun that describes all poop and matters referring to poop. If his diaper is dirty, it has "poopins" in it.

SJ is also a typical toddler in that I am not allowed to use the facilities by myself. I can use the bathroom with him inside, staring intently. Or I can use the bathroom with him screaming and kicking the door. Neither choice is appealing, but I tend to go with letting him inside.

Once in, he pays rapt attention so that he can be FIRST to flush the toilet. He loves to yell, "Bye-bye tinkles" or "Bye-bye poopins" as he flushes. I can't wait until he realizes that he will have twice the flushing fun when he starts using the toilet himself.
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I went to the video store today and rented "Flight Plan", "Wedding Crashers", and "Must Love Dogs".

My parents are visiting this weekend. I hope they haven't seen at least one of these, not that they will be able to hear it over the kids anyway.
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I want to see, at the theater, "Nanny McPhee". "A" has been acting up and I think she needs some quality time with her Mommy. A movie would be fun for both of us.
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Bearette (www.potatoesinthemist.blogspot.com) posted a vegetarian pad thai recipe that she has taste tested. I can't wait to try it.
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I have a question for anyone who has ever cooked eggplant. Do you take out the seeds? Last time I cooked it, I did. But did I waste eggplant or did I save us all from seed-filled poopins?
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Did anybody watch "American Idol" tonight? I love the try-outs. It's the only part I watch. Are there that many people out there who are tone deaf? It's truly scary but deliciously fun to observe.

I Want The Whole Pound

During my Thrifty ice cream post, I complained about the size of ice cream cartons shrinking. I have now noticed this with other products.

When I purchased a bag of coffee at the store, it was 12 ounces. What did they do with the extra four ounces? I want a pound, darn it!

When I purchased some sausage links, it was the same thing - 12 ounces! Sausage is fattening and we really don't need a whole pound, or 12 ounces for that matter, but it is the principle of the thing.

Tofu also comes in 12 ounce containers. I very recently started cooking with it so I'm not sure if it ever came in a pound size, but it should!
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I wasn't going to go to the gym today, but then I stepped on the scales.

Holy guacamole. I'm surprised my rear-end doesn't go beep beep beep when I walk backwards.

No wonder none of my clothing fits.

At the gym, I watched some close-captioned tv.

The makers of Xenical, a weight loss drug, want to market an over-the-counter half strength version of the medicine, called "Alli".

Xenical works by blocking about a quarter of the fat from the foods that you eat. You still have to be very careful not to each too much fat or one of the side effects will kick in.

The side effect, in layman's terms, is you crap yourself. Clean up on aisle four!

Probably if you're going to take this, it wouldn't be a good time to start those ballroom dancing lessons you've been dreaming of. Or maybe it's best not to leave the house at all.

Another item in the news is that bed bugs are back. Remember when your folks said, "Good night, don't let the bed bugs bite."

They are no longer a thing of the past.

They have popped up in New York and are working their way to the West coast. I can hardly wait until they get here.

Exterminators say they used to get two calls a year and now get two calls a week. It can take up to three visits to eradicate the little critters.

I'm getting all itchy just typing this.

Trivial Talk

Howard Stern has absconded to satellite radio. Boo hoo. (sarcasm intended)

I don't know who replaced him in other markets, but we got Adam Carolla as a morning replacement. I enjoy Adam Carolla. Sure he's crude, but he isn't mean-spirited about it.

Besides, if you've heard Howard Stern's show once, you've heard it all.

"Mmm, you're so hot. Take off your (item of clothing) so I can see your (body part). You must work out because you have a fine (insert body part). Ooh, you're so hot.

"I can't stand the (insert ethnic group) because they are so (insert stereotype).

"Rosie O' Donnel is such a fat pig." (Okay, I don't like her either, but still...)

Adam Carolla on the other hand talks about interesting things, like toilet seats that wash your tooshie. What's not to like about that?
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"A" is "cleaning" her room right now. I told her to do it hours ago and she has been resisting. She said she "forgot" how to clean her room.

I am tired of arguing with her. I am tired of her bullshit.

I set the oven timer for twenty minutes and told her when it goes off, I'm coming in with a trash bag and throwing away everything on the floor. She is shrieking and crying and told me that she hates me.

I'm tired of hearing how much she hates me. It's getting tiresome. Out of my three kids, she is the one who drives me the craziest. She is stubborn. She doesn't care about anyone else besides herself. Hopefully, she outgrows this.

Actually, my fifteen-year old is self-centered too. I'm waiting for her to outgrow it also. But she WAS a more biddable child than "A" is.

So far, I get along best with "SJ", but that will change once he starts talking. LOL
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McDonalds - I have a love/hate relationship with McDonalds.

Every now and then, I crave some food from there, especially when I don't feel like cooking.

When I order an egg mcmuffin without cheese, it costs the same as one with. But, if I order something and add cheese, it costs more. So, aren't they charging twice for the same slice of cheese? Now that's profit.

I also laughed when they replaced the cheese shreds in their salad with carrot shreds. They said it was because, "We care about your health." If McDonald's REALLY cared about our health, they would close up shop. Besides, nobody goes to McDonalds to eat healthy food. I don't see a veggie burger on their menu yet.

This is for anyone that used to love the McDonald cookies that came in a box. Last time I went to the evil Walmart, (freaky man Friday) I purchased some Madagascar animal crackers. They were made by Dreamworks. Get us at the box office. Get us with the tie-ins, I know.

They tasted very similar to the old McDonalds cookies. They're worth buying.

Whole Lotta Nothing Going On

Tonight I am in an excellent mood so, if I bitch, I'm just doing it for the heck of it. Sometimes I just like to bitch; doesn't everyone?

Tonight, at dinner, "A" was telling me that she had a friend at school who went to "George Washington DC." That was good for a chuckle.

My oldest daughter has two friends over and they were talking at dinner about the last time they moved and how hard it was to make friends. I went to four different schools in the sixth grade so I can relate to that.

Due to the fact that I have a loud mouth and no tact, I have always had a bit of trouble making friends. I'm not a mean person - just the sober equivalent of the drunk guy wearing the lamp shade.

My school day woes started in kindergarten. When kindergarten began, everybody paired up two by two like little ark animals. I paired up with Marsha Inman, my first real friend.

She moved and that was the end of best friendom. I never had a best friend again until junior high. I would hang on the fringe of other friend couples, but three was always a crowd.

If somebody's friend was sick, they would hang out with me that day. I was substitute friend. I was the booty call friend of elementary school. As soon as a person's friend came back, I was on the fringes again.

Is it any wonder I like to read so much?

"A" also brought back some school memories today talking about the rope. Does anybody remember the rope?

Our rope hung from the ceiling in the cafeteria/gym. Every now and then the gym teacher challenged us to climb it. I was already blessed with excessive height blended with puny arm strength. I NEVER made it up the effin' rope. That rope mocked me.

When young boys shimmied up the rope to the top, I was so envious. Why couldn't I climb the rope? I hated AND STILL HATE the rope. "A" can't climb it either. I told her she is carrying on a proud family tradition.

Sometimes it feels like those psycho P.E. teachers want you to fail.

"Now Little Jimmy, Let's see if you can do the most freaking impossible physical task there is. Don't forget to pick your self-esteem off the floor on the way out."

Ah, school days - great times, huh?
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My next long-winded bitchy comments involve pedestrians.

Here's the deal.

When I am a pedestrian, I know I have the right of way BUT I always make sure to check that the car in the parking lot will stop before I fling myself in front of it. AND if they decide to stop, I walk quickly and get the hell out of the way. Maybe I am anal, but I consider this common courtesy.

If I am the driver, I try to stop for all the pedestrians. Sometimes, if I'm distracted by say, flying juice boxes, I might not see the pedestrian just exiting the grocery store.

Inevitably, this is the pedestrian that hurls out in front of me and then glares because I didn't stop quickly enough to suit them. Let me state that I have never even come close to hitting somebody. Some people just have a cork up their ass and like to glare.

The other kind of pedestrians I hate are the ones that don't even TRY to hurry. In fact, they walk slowly ON PURPOSE. I am talking about able-bodied young people sauntering into the store while I am waiting, gnashing my teeth.

I hope next time one of those people is in the hospital, waiting for a brain transplant, the doctor is late because he's waiting for some damn pedestrians to move out of his way.

Come on people, hurry up!

Okay, enough bitching. I can bitch more later. I bet everyone can hardly wait.

Finger Fraud

An article in today's paper leaped out at me. It was titled "Sentences in finger fraud".

Finger fraud, what is finger fraud? Is that when a different body part impersonates a finger? Is it some kind of new Nigerian lottery scam?

To answer these burning questions, I unfolded the paper.

It was an article about the woman who planted the finger in the Wendy's chili. She got nine years. Her husband, who obtained the finger, got twelve.

I guess the jury gave them the finger.

I hate frivolous lawsuits.

It makes me mad that if a burglar breaks into my house, and cuts his foot on one of the million and one toys on the floor, he can sue me.

It makes me mad that if I let my kid climb on a store display, and he falls and breaks his head, I can sue the store. Isn't it my fault for not watching my kid more closely? Or maybe it is my kid's fault for being so damn stupid!
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My husband received a book for Christmas called "The Darwin Awards". The Darwin Awards are given to individuals who improve our gene pool by removing themselves from it.

The people who do dumb things and don't get killed are awarded an honorary mention.

I found this one interesting.

"Parents, take note! Catering to a child's tantrum can have serious repercussions, as a Caldelas mother recently discovered. When her four-year-old son refused to eat his soup unless she let him play with a gun, she handed it over - and was promptly shot in the stomach by an accidental discharge. Although she survived, her dangerously questionable parenting practices earn her an Honorable Mention."

Next time my husband says I give in to the kids too much, I'll show him that story.

It's a Toddler Conspiracy

I found TWO MORE toddler tantrum stories today. One was here and one was here. Was there a full moon yesterday?

Not So Special Cheeto

Well, my Cheeto is not unique. There is one on ebay, auction ending soon with no bids. To view it, click here.

And I thought it was something special.

I even had the wording for my auction all picked out.

This would be the perfect additon to your collection of penis-shaped objects. It measures approximately one inch - less when it's cold outside.

Maybe I'll feed it to the dog. Or maybe I'll shellac it and give it to some lucky relative for Christmas.

Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here

My son has been possessed today. He is a card carrying member of the spawn of Satan Union.

One of my fellow bloggers (Lisa) mentioned that she has gained weight and her clothes don't fit. I feel her pain.

I told my husband that I wasn't going to go buy any clothes until I lost weight. "So you're going to run around naked?" he asked.

Good point.

My current wardrobe consists of one pair of long sweat pants and one pair of capri sweatpants.

So I decided today to try again to spend some Christmas money and get some clothes. I bathed and fed "SJ". It wasn't naptime. His diaper was clean. All bases were covered for a tantrum-free shopping expedition.

We went to the Eddie Bauer outlet. It had been reccomended to me. Ohmigosh, it had TALLS and LARGE SIZES AND fifty percent off CLEARANCE. Too bad that my demonic child wanted to run around the store and when I wouldn't let him, began shrieking his head off.

I grabbed a few things. I hauled them to the dressing room and tried to put them on as quickly as I could. I did this while holding one hand on the shrieking devil child who was trying to squeeze out from under the door. My armpits began dripping because I was so stressed and trying to hurry so fast. NOTHING fit right and I couldn't shop anymore, because my son is a miserable little turd.

And why the hell do people that design dressing rooms make the walls of them so far off the floor? Can't they take the approximate measure of a toddler's head and have them just high enough off the floor that your damn kid can't escape? They would sell more clothes if people with small children could actually get a chance to try them on! Maybe it's because they profit from people like me who decide to try it on at home and then forget to return it if it doesn't fit.

SJ has been shrieking on and off all day - mostly on. He makes this gargling noise when he screams that comes from the back of his throat. Maybe he is choking on the brimstone. I have been reminding myself every two minutes that I DO love this child, but it's not working so great today.
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Two mornings ago as I was waking up, I heard Boots enjoying himself way too much. He makes a grunting noise like a pig when he is happy. Usually it is cute. But I was hearing lick, lick, slurp, slurp, grunt. He was making that squishy sound too that kids make when they chew with their mouths open. So it was slurp, squish, lick, grunt and so on and so forth.

Anyway, all this noise was because he was licking his balls. He can't just lick them like a normal dog. He has to grunt and slurp and let a person know just how GOOOOD it feels.

I don't like being privy to dog masturbation so I threw a pillow at him.
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There was an article in the paper about Schwarzenegger not laying aside funds for affordable housing. So how is he different from any other politician? Who contributes more to his campaign - developers or people who need housing? I think I have a pretty good idea.

California adds half a million new people a year. Housing is not keeping pace. What we need, is incentive to LEAVE the state.

Maybe the government could pay us two thousand a family member to relocate. That would be a cool ten grand for us. We'd be gone.

Of course, to qualify for this money, you would have to be a resident for at least seven years. You also could not move back for at least ten years, except for in cases of family emergency.

The government could make sure you didn't move back by flagging your social security number or just implanting a GPS locater under your butt cheek. Either way would work.

If everybody started leaving the state, the laws of supply and demand would push down our ridiculously overinflated real estate.

There are just a few flaws in my plan.

First off, nobody wants the damn Californians. I know they hate us in Oregon. I had a realtor in Florence hang up the phone on me once as soon as I told her where I hailed from. They don't much want us in Idaho or Washington either.

The other flaw is that all the people who couldn't afford a house here would leave. Those are the people the state can't function without. Somebody has to man the counters at McDonalds and Kmart.

But see, that just might work. When the GD politicians go to get a cup of coffee at Starbucks, and it's up to ten bucks a cup, due to labor shortage, THEN maybe the assholes might start giving a shit about affordable housing. It's worth a shot.

Okay, by now, y'all know I'm kidding. I hope.

I do wish that everyone could realize the American dream.

Off Beat-o Cheetoh

SJ and I were minding our own business, enjoying a bag of heart-healthy, vitamin-enriched Cheetos when we came across THIS! Of all the nerve!

I have a few questions.

1. Did Chester Cheetah misplace this? Should I hold it for ransom?

2. Should I sell it on eBay?

3. Should I sue Frito-Lay for "emotional distress"? Everybody knows I am a delicate flower of a woman and easily offended. (I couldn't even TYPE that with a straight face.)

What should I do?

Shopping With The Hellions

"J" is going to the winter ball at her HS on Jan 26th. She wanted to go shopping for a dress today.

So I thought it would be a great opportunity to spend some of my Christmas money and to get some extra shoes for "A" and "SJ". What the hell was I thinking?

"SJ" set the tone at the first store. While "J" was in the dressing room trying on clothes, he insisted on playing in some chairs. After five minutes of this, I wanted to look at some stuff. This was not in his plan. He shrieked and stiffened his body so I couldn't lift him up easily.

"J" can take twenty minutes to try on three dresses. What a treat it is to wait forever and a day while your oldest moves at a snail's pace trying on clothes. This is while your youngest is shrieking so loud the front windows are vibrating.

"A" was a treat also. Trust me on this one.

I saw some dishes I really wanted for my kitchen but I rushed him out of the store instead. Spend money on myself - really what was I thinking?

The one highlight of the day was going to Bath and Body Works. I managed to grab a vanilla body wash, lotion and spray before he melted down again. They were on sale too.

We went to six more stores. What a treat. Four hours later, "J" found a dress. It wasn't what she had really wanted, but she was feeling desperate. Never mind that the dance is TWO FREAKING WEEKS AWAY.

It is a nice dress, at least. "J" was irritated that the little ones had to come with us. Oh the hard life of a teen. I haven't had a day, a FULL DAY to go shopping by myself in six years. I'm pretty sure of that.

I have a dream. I have a dream of having five-hundred dollars in my hot little hands - five-hundred dollars just for me! I dream of somebody watching my kids and not asking when I will be back - in fact telling me they don't expect to see me until at least nine in the evening. Oh wait, that's not a dream. That's one of my insane, never going to happen fantasies.

I know I'm lucky to have my kids. They're great kids. Today, though, they were rotten little brats. I guess we all have those days.

The Birds And The Bees

Does anybody ever forget their first time? You're anxious and venturing into unknown territory, and then, BAM, it's over in three minutes flat.

I still remember my first experience. My friends had all told me how wonderful it was. I had grown up reading my grandmother's "True Story" magazines and romance novels. I knew, from reading all this fine literature, to expect waves of ecstasy. First it hurt, then it got numb and within five minutes maximum the whole thing was over.

I then said what every young man dreams of hearing during those blissful post-coital moments. "That's it?"

In my twenties, it was like a sport. My husband and I were like atheletes in training to the tune of three times a day workouts. We've since slowed down or else we would be dead.

I had always heard that when a woman hit her thirties, she was in her "prime". I laughed at that concept. Thirty was just plain OLD. The only thing that got more prime with age was wine, right?

Well I turn 38 in February so not only am I just plain OLD, I'm heading towards ancient. LOL

The thing about your 30's, I've discovered, isn't that you're in your prime. It is that your body is telling you it is last chance city to have some kids.

If you haven't had children by the time you're thirty, your eggs are starting to "degrade." (according to scientists)

It's time to ask yourself, "Do I want to keep blogging about adult stuff or am I ready to talk about cleaning poop off the walls for the next eighteen years?"

If you decide that blogging about poop is for you, put on that tacky negligee your husband purchased you five Christmases ago and wait for him to spot you.

In your thirties, your body is screaming to you to get pregant. You don't get normal ovulation where you feel amorous for maybe a week.

The eggs are flying out like there is a baseball pitching machine in charge. One after another they sail from the ovaries. It feels like you start ovulating two days before AF leaves town and for the next two weeks.

Your body is yelling in a Gilbert Godfrey-like voice. "Hey, over heah. SOMEBODY FERTILIZE ME!"

Not just cats go in heat.

Since forty is just around the corner, I'm not sure what to expect. I'm all ears if anybody wants to share. And by the way, when should I start expecting those "waves of ecstasy"?

Happy Birthday Martin Luther King Jr.

Today we are celebrating Martin Luther King's birthday.

"J" decorated the cake for me.

"A" brought home all her stuff from school as she has been learning about him this week.

Since he was born in Georgia, I googled the term "Georgia cooking recipes". We are having fried catfish, collard greens (which I have never made), hush puppies and corn bread.

It's not a low-fat meal but it will be oh so delicious. The chocolate cake for dessert adds a crowning touch.
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Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
January 15, 1929 - April 4, 1968

(An Excerpt from his famous "I Have A Dream" speech)

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania! Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado! Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California! But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia! Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee! Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

Sock Matching Saturday

Today we have been trying to catch up on housework. This is the race we never win. Laundry is among my biggest problems.

The trash can in the above picture is ALWAYS filled with socks to be matched up. You can also see a small sampling of the socks to be matched. There was a pile of white socks much bigger than all the other piles combined.

"J" never wants to match up socks. One time in the store, she actually asked me to buy her more socks. She's very good at spending money that isn't hers. I just laughed at her.

Her assignment today was to match socks. She did it for quite a few hours but it still isn't done. I'm not even sure where to put them all now. I bet she could tell me where to put them.
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"A" brought home a poster to fill out on Friday. She is the "super star" next week. The poster has a place to fill in her name, favorite foods, hobbies etc. Since school starts Tuesday, she only has four days of superstardom instead of the usual five.

Last year, the kindergarten teacher made her a superstar on a short week also. Are the teachers trying to tell me something?

"A" also gets to take in a "share" item every day next week. I told her to take in her taekwando uniform to show off her patches. This, to me, seems like something special to share.

No she wants to take in toys. Of course they will probably get broken. Oh well, less shit for me to shovel off the floor.
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Mandy is still doing the whole submissive urination thing. No matter how slowly and calmly I wake up to her...SQUIRT! She's like a big, furry, dribbly sponge.
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Yesterday my husband needed a special lotion that goes in his electric shaver. Longs doesn't carry it (despite carrying the razors - go figure) so I had to go to Walmart. Please don't hate me.

It was freaky, scary man day at Walmart. Every unemployed, serial killer, woman- hater was there. I swear I have never had so many freaks glare at me in the space of half an hour.

I thought it was just Walmart, but then later I saw one on a bike glaring at me. Maybe it was just freaky (man) Friday. Who knows?

I arrived home with my husband's lotions and realized the box had been opened. There were only four instead of five. Of course, it would cost more in gas to go back and exchange it than the lotion is worth.
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Tomorrow we are celebrating Martin Luther King's birthday. We are having birthday cake and a special dinner.

I actually googled the expression "Martin Luther King's favorite foods", but couldn't find them. What did come up was a virtual tour of the house he was born in with facts about his family. It was a great web site.
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"J" is watching "King Kong" with friends. I am driving them all so I must go pick them up. Everybody have a great weekend.

All About Me - You Lucky Dogs, You

Bearette tagged me so this is her fault. LOL


7 things I’d like to do before I die:

1. Lose fifty pounds (on my deathbed doesn't count)
2. Get all my kids through college
3. Hold a grandchild on my knee
4. Write a book - I don't want to publish it - just know that I can do it
5. Get a college degree - even an AA in general ed will do.
6. Finish painting the kitchen and hanging cabinets - I ran out of poop halfway through.
7. Invent a cure for death.

7 things I (currently) cannot do:

1. Go without eating for five minutes.
2. Get my foot out of my mouth.
3. Wait at a red light patiently
4. Speak a foreign language
5. Read a boring book
6. Go a day without using the internet
7. Even one measly push-up


7 things that attract me to blogging:

1. I like to write.
2. I like to read everyone else's blogs.
3. I like my blogger friends.
4. I like feeling like somebody actually listens to me. (Don't we all?)
5. Other bloggers recipes
6. When I'm blogging, I'm not doing housework. Yuck.
7 Feel like it helps me from getting permanent "Mommy Brain."

7 Favorite Books

Got me here. It tends to be whatever one I'm reading at the moment.
1. My Betty Crocker Cookbook

7 movies I watch over and over again:

1. Only "Grease"

7 people I’d like to pass this on to:

Anyone who wants to do this.

The Grocery Store

There was an article in the paper today about how grocery stores want to make shopping a more pleasant experience. Really? How about they start with lowering the price of butter from $4.59 a pound? That would be an improvement.

The place where they need THE MOST improvement is at the checkout stand. On Monday, I got stuck behind a chatter. You know the type. You're waiting to check out, you're in a hurry and they stand there BLATHERING to the checker.

Shut up and get the hell out of my way.

Most grocery stores have eight to twelve lanes, two of which are open at any given time.

My first rule, if I were in charge, would be:
ALL LANES MUST BE OPEN AT ALL TIMES!

I don't care if there's one person in the whole store. Keep those checkers locked, loaded and ready to go. I guarantee the MINUTE one person gets in line, fifty more show up. It is the law of grocery store averages.

Lanes also need to be re-labeled to better fit the customers. First to go, would be the express lanes. The clerks in the "express" lanes don't know what the hell "express" means.

There would be FOUR express lanes in my ideal grocery store. Only they would be called, "Hurry The Hell Up" lanes. Catchy, huh?

The clerks couldn't do any of that insincere, "How are you today?" crap.

They would have to simply say, "Hello, I am at your service" and then ring up your stuff as quickly as a meth user cleans house.

Each HTHU lane would have different labels. One would be for fifteen items or less. Anything less than fifteen is unreasonable. After all, what if you want to buy a copy of the "National Bullshitter" while you are waiting in line?

The second HTHU lane would be for twenty-five items or less AND it would be child-friendly. What do I mean by child friendly? This means no candy bars, treats or other BS that your kids are going to beg for.

How many times has anybody that has gone to the store with a kid had to go through THIS scenario?

Child at checkout: Can I have a candy bar?

You: No.

Child: Why not?

You: Because you already picked out fruit roll-ups, cookies AND a seven dollar box of cereal.

Child: (beginning to whine loudly) But I WANT one! Can't I just have this tiny package of gum.

You: NO!

Child: (dancing and whining) Buuuuut I Waaaaaant IT!

You: (yelling) I SAID NO! You aren't getting any GODDAMN candy. And if you don't shut the HELL up, I am going to reach down your throat and pull out your FRICKIN' tonsils! IS THAT CLEAR?

Suddenly you realize that the store has become silent and everyone is staring at you. It's a little embarrassing, no?

Not only would my kid-friendly lanes not have candy, they would be lined with fly paper so you could have something to stick your kids to while unloading.

There would be two more HTHU lanes. There would be no grocery item limit in these and one of them would also be kid-friendly. There would be NO CHECK WRITING ALLOWED in any of these lanes.

The next lane would be a "Lonely, wants to chat with checker" lane. Checks would be allowed in this lane because nobody would be in a hurry anyway. The checker would have to be personable. This lane could not be staffed with PMS Pamela and her cloven hooves.

The sixth lane would be a combo "Crying Baby/HTHU" lane. This would also be kid-friendly. Anybody in a hurry could use this lane, but if somebody with a crying baby comes up, they immediately go to the head of the line.

Anybody that has shopped with a baby knows that you have approximately 3.8 seconds from the time you enter the store to the time the baby starts screaming. Feed them and change them first; it doesn't matter. To them, it's the principle of the thing. They can't eat any of the stuff in there yet so why should they be subjected to shopping for it?

Let these poor moms get the heck out of the store.

The seventh lane would be labeled "stuck in the eighties". This would be for people who are going to write checks as opposed to using their ATM card. This lane also applies to those annoying assholes who don't start writing the check until AFTER the groceries are totaled.

The eighth lane would be "found tons of stuff with no price marked" lane. That way nobody would be groaning while the clerk is running numerous price checks.

The ninth lane would be "rectal cranial inversion" lane. This is the lane for people who just don't get it.

Here's how this one works. Say a "chatty" gets in a "HTHU" lane. She/he gets one warning and a flag goes in the computer that is attached to their club card. If they get in the wrong lane AGAIN, that is their last warning. The only way they can pay the same price as everybody else, is to forever use the RCI lane. Or else, they would be charged MORE for the same groceries.

I leave it up to the rest of you to help me with more lane categories. Don't be shy. Chime in.

An Evening - Make That Morning - in the ER

My children don't like me to sleep. They really don't. They are afraid if I become well-rested I will be a rational person instead of a screaming monster. They secretly like Monster Mom. They must BECAUSE THEY WILL NOT LET ME SLEEP!

SJ might sleep a four hour stretch if I'm lucky. The last four hours of the evening, he is up at least four to six times. He is my insomniac.

If by some miracle, he is asleep, A is up. She is whining to get in our bed because she wants to sleep with SOMEBODY. I guess the dog doesn't count despite the frequency with which I have to wash her stink-ridden quilt.

Last night it was J's turn to keep me up. At least it wasn't for a trivial reason like it is with the other two. She was actually sick and needed medicine, not just bragging rights about putting bigger bags under my eyes.

At two-thirty a.m., she woke me up.

Her chest hurt and she was nauseous. I assumed heartburn. SJ was laying across my arm, sleeping. My husband woke up and since I didn't want to wake SJ, he volunteered to go in the kitchen and get J some medicine.

He walked partway down the hall, came back, went in the bathroom, then got back in bed.

Then when I asked, "What about the medicine?", he replied, "Did I miss something here?"

Yes, dear, only the choo-choo train to awake land.

I need to add here that my husband is a very deep sleeper. You can have a conversation with him and he won't remember it the next morning. He may appear to be awake but he is NOT awake. In fact, talking with him when he is in this state, is like teaching the pythagorean theorem to my dog. It can't be done.

SJ was stirring so I put him on my shoulder and got some Prevacid for my daughter. I told her to take it and let me know if it helped within half an hour.

Then SJ and I laid down so I could get him back to sleep. I could hear J moaning. Fifteen minutes later, he was out again so I asked her how she was.

"I'm having trouble breathing," she said.

So I googled her symptoms and had her try drinking a soda. This was in case it was gas so she could maybe burp it out.

I called our HMO. When they heard her symptoms, they said usually they would recommend calling 911 for that set of symptoms. Rather than calling 911, I drove her to the ER. I figured if she had been going to collapse she would have already done it.

SJ woke up when we were getting dressed so he got to come along for the ride. He thought it was a grand adventure. Instead of making him go back to sleep, I was taking him somewhere.

J had to have a chest x-ray and EKG. She turned out to have an inflamed esophagus. She had to drink a vile tasting fluid that numbed her mouth and esophagus.

She seems fine today, but we have to follow up with her doctor.

The highlight of the visit was the man in the curtained area next to ours. I first noticed him when he yelled, "Nurse, I'm gonna drop dead in here."

He then proceeded to fart quite frequently. Fun stuff. I told J she was lucky the stench didn't come through the curtain.

We got home just after five. I grabbed donuts and coffee on the way. Caffeine AND sugar - my favorite morning combination.

If SJ has insomnia again tonight, I just may have to kill him.

We're Having a Birthday

"A" informed me of some important stuff tonight. She told me from the back of the van about what they learned in school today.

"There was this tan guy and he died and we celebrate his birthday on January 16th. I can't remember his name."

I said, "Are you talking about Martin Luther King?"

"Yes that's him. We have to celebrate his birthday."

"Okay," said I, "I'll make a cake and we'll celebrate on the 16th." (Hey, any excuse for cake!)

"How old will he be?" she asked.

"Well he's dead," I said.

"Oh well, he can be thirteen and we have to put his name on the cake."

"Okay, can I just put MLK since it's easier?" I asked.

"Sure," she said.

So we are going to celebrate Martin Luther King's birthday. I need to bone up on my history so we can have an educational birthday party. I wonder what Mr. King's favorite cake flavor was.
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Something that I keep forgetting to mention is a sight I saw last month. I saw a mini-van...WITH...SPINNING HUBCAPS!

Everybody knows the only thing cooler than a mini-van is one with spinning hubcaps.

Soccer moms all over will be clamoring for this.
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Cindy Sheehan and Sean Penn came to the Sacramento area to criticize Bush and his administration's policies in Iraq.

Sean Penn showed once again the kind of brainiacs that live in Hollywood.

This is straight from the newspaper.

("Penn said Bush and the war in Iraq have made it hard for him to give up his addiction to cigarettes. "It makes it very difficult to quit smoking under this administration," he said.")

Huh?

Well his career may not be smoking, but he is.

I'm not a Bush fan myself, but c'mon.

Maybe They Should Hang Garlic Also

When our new next-door neighbors told me they were home-schooling, church-going people , I knew we would never be bosom buddies.

My most often used curse exclamation is GD it! My voice also carries.

The house in the foreground of the picture is ours. If you look at the stop-sign shaped window in the top of the next door house, you can see a cross in the window. THEY ARE TRYING TO WARD US OFF!

Good luck, oh neighbors of mine.

Getting the Morning Paper

One of the pleasures of the newspaper is reading it in the morning.

Of course I prefer to sneak out in my pajamas and get it.

I can't do that here. This is our driveway. Our mailbox and newspaper boxes are on the opposite side of the road. It is impossible to sneak out to get the paper in your jammies and not get caught.

Dammit!

He Don't Need No Stinkin' Stuffies

Both my girls have cuddled stuffed animals. I thought eventually my boy would also.

He snuck back into bed the other morning so he could cuddle a chassis.

I had to snap a picture, of course.

New Year - New Recipes

My husband purchased two new vegetarian cookbooks for Christmas that I requested. I have been trying them out. This is the tofu-cabbage stir fry being held by my smart-ass daughter.

Not A Pity Party

So, Old Hoss asked how my husband felt about the fact that I let myself go. Now, I feel like I have to explain myself, thus boring you all to sleep in the process. While you are yawning, don't forget that this is ALL Old Hoss's fault. Hee hee

First of all, I am not trying to have a pity party, just state the facts.

I'll start with the positive which is my husband loves me and never nags me no matter my size. I feel the same about him. He goes up and down also. We are, neither of us, svelte.

I had already put on some excess weight when I met my husband. I also had an eating disorder which I don't have anymore BUT it also helped keep the weight down.

We moved to San Jose, just the three of us. (husband, myself and J.) I gained more weight. Husband and I ate out a lot and enjoyed it. I gained more weight.

For a short time, I lost some. I was attending community college, which I loved and volunteering one day a week at J's school.

Then my biological clock began ticking, because at the age of 28, I was sure I was ancient. Yeesh.

We conceived A. I became very sick and took a semester off college, which became seven years.

When A was two months old, we left San Jose. Houses started at half a mil, so we had to leave the city we loved.

We moved to where we live now and purchased a home. A new baby and a new home are good things but they bring a whole new set of stresses. I was all alone with no friends and a new baby. Somebody pass the chocolate.

Anyway, the weight has crept on over the years until I barely recognize this jowly woman looking back from the mirror.

Really, it would be great to buy clothing that wasn't made by the same people that design tents for the circus.

It's paralyzing even to figure out where to start with losing fifty pounds. Really, chocolate is my drug. I probably spend as much on it as other junkies spend on their illegal drugs.

And I have done this ALL BY MYSELF. It's my own fault. I'm not crying tears in my beer, er hot chocolate. It's a lot more fun to poke fun at myself.

I make fun of everybody else. Why should I be immune?

Now my husband is going to take me out to a "day after the anniversary" brunch. See how I am.

PMS

The PMS monster is here this week. She doesn't manifest every month, but when she does - watch out.

If I had a bucket of nails, I could chew them up, form them into bullets (with my mouth) and then shoot them from said mouth, thus ensuring the death of everybody that annoys me. That would be everybody that breathes the same air as me in a one-mile radius. Annoying, breathing people!

I walked outside last night to get my colander from the RV and the cat was screaming to be fed. I sang him a cheerful little song about how happy I will be when he dies. Maybe there is a reason the neighbors avoid me.
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There was a blurb in the paper about Charo. Does anybody remember Charo? Her full name is Maria Rosario Pilar Martinez Molina Baeza. Try saying that five times real fast. Charo works for me.
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You know you are doomed to drive slowly when the car in front of you has a man with a fisherman's hat in the driver's seat and the lady in the passenger side has the ever popular haircut I call the "silver poodle."

My very favorite senior lady haircut is the "pink poodle." You know the look, when they have tried to dye it red and it didn't quite take. The pink poodle is usually accompanied with bright red lipstick.

Well, at least they are still trying. I think that somewhere around seven years ago I subconsciously gave myself a "quit giving a crap about how you look" card.

Cooking Help Please?

My husband purchased for me, for Christmas, the "Student's Vegetarian Cookbook".

I made a Pad Thai recipe. The sauce called for:

3 TBS fresh lemon juice
3 TBS ketchup
1 TBS sugar
1/2 cup soy sauce

It didn't sound like pad thai, but I tried it. It is awful. Is there anything that anybody can think of to add to these noodles? I hate to waste all this food.

A Little of This, A Bit of That

Nothing hugely eventful happened today. It was a pretty nice day. I didn't get any housework done so I am a failure as a mother, but it was still a nice day.

"A" wore her new Hello Kitty pajamas to school. They're really cute and don't look very pajama like. I gave her the option of wearing something else and she was brave enough to wear what she wanted to.

When I walked her to the classroom, a (snooty) little girl named Rachel walked up and asked, "Allison are you those your PAJAMAS?"

"Yes," I said. "We thought they were such cute pajamas that they would be good to wear to school.

Miss Snooty sneered, "Annabella has a pair like that."

I replied, "Well then we know Annabella will like them." (Anabella is THE fashion maven of second grade.)

"Besides," I said, "A's" older sister, who is in high school, wears pajamas to school all the time. It's a fashion trend."

Rachel smiled at me then. It may have been a pitying smile as I was talking about fashion trends while wearing sweats, no make-up and my crazy hair.

The end result was the same. Nobody teased my child about her pajamas. It may have been because they were scared of her crazy mother. Whatever works, huh?
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SJ had his occupational therapy today. He was bursting with energy. First, the kids play with different toys designed to give them sensory input. Then they go sing a few songs, always the same ones. Then they have a snack and juice. While we were having the snack, the little girl next to us started flapping her arms. Those kids, SJ included, are an arm-flapping bunch.

Maybe I have mentioned before that SJ has an unnatural clock/watch obsession. Wherever we go, he finds the first clock and yells, "KWOK."

He points at people's watches and says, "Watt!" He used to call watches "kwoks" but now he knows the difference.

Every time we get to his OT, he walks around the building pointing out every clock he can find. "Kwok, kwok, kwok," he jabbers. He probably gets called "clock boy" behind his back.
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After OT, we went to the store to buy some bed pillows. The first thing SJ saw when we walked in the store was a big clock. They also had clocks for sale and he wanted to hold one while he was in the cart. He kept saying, "Open" so I had to put it back on the shelf. Later, we found a little blue alarm clock for a dollar so I added another clock to his collection.

We browsed the store, grabbed the pillows and some other stuff. My grand total was around thirty bucks. Pretty pricy for two pillows, huh?

From now on, I have to walk straight to what I need and then WALK OUT. Of course, I'm lying to myself if I think that will ever happen.

After we went to the store, we went to the Rite Aid drugstore next door for ice cream. Rite Aid used to be Thriftys, but then Thriftys went out of business and became Rite Aid.

There aren't many Rite Aids around anymore. The ones that are still around carry Thrifty brand ice cream. It's good stuff.

Thrifty used to be known for its ice cream. They had an ice cream counter that was just inside the door. People came in to get cheap, but good, ice cream cones.

I worked in Thrifty's for a short time and there was not an assigned ice cream scooper. When people came in for ice cream, whichever cashier drew the short straw got to scoop it.

It was hard as a rock and a total bitch to scoop. Rumor had it that a girl in one of the stores broke her wrist scooping it.

Every time I had to scoop it, I was cursing under my breath at the freaking SOB's waiting for it.

But, I digress. Their ice cream is really good and it was only 2.49 for two quarts.

Dryers (Edy's)ice cream rarely goes under four-dollars when it is on sale. Also, they, and most of the other ice-cream makers, have changed the box size from two quarts to one and three quarter quarts. Sneaky, huh? It's yet another way to part us from our hard-earned cash.

I grabbed double chocolate malted crunch, chocolate chip and pistachio. I was also eyeballing the rainbow sherbet and pecan praline. Even we can only eat so much ice cream, so I decided to save the other flavors for later.
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SJ has a new quirk that I haven't mentioned yet. He washes the windows - only he does it by spitting on his hand and rubbing it around the window. Most of my windows are now spit smeared.

This kid is strange, very strange. I don't mind at all. He makes life quite interesting at times. He is my arm-flapping, spitting, clock-watching kid. Not everybody gets lucky enough to have a kid like that.
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Tomorrow is my eleven year wedding anniversary. In eleven years, we have gone from one kid to three, from an apartment to a house, moved four hours away from our folks and have gained (I aint' saying how many) pounds.

Mad for Mornings

Ah, morning time. A new day is starting. What surprises will there be? I always greet a new morning with a bounce in my step and a smile. But, seriously folks...mornings stink!

I heard J get up this morning. She gets up at six and I get up at six-thirty. I smiled a little, thinking that it was a good thing that I had another half-hour to sleep, because I was exhausted. "Mom, I overslept. It's six-forty."

Ugh.

SJ was in my bed so it took another ten minutes to talk him into emerging. My lower back hurt like the dickens, as it does every morning. Part of the reason for this is because we need a new mattress. A bigger reason is because I need to "strenthen my core." This is gym talk for getting off my lazy ass and doing some crunches.

Down the hall I shuffled. I can't even think that early in the morning. I'm on auto-pilot - very slow auto-pilot. It took another five minutes to get SJ off my hip. I bribed him with grapes that I had one-handedly washed and put in a bowl.

I needed to tinkle, but J was in my bathroom showering. I didn't want to dodge the land mines of puppy urine in her bathroom with sleep- blurred eyes so I held it.

I packed J's lunch and A's lunch. Then I packed A's morning snack and her after school - before tutoring snack and filled her water bottle.

Once, in the middle of this process, I told A to get out of bed. She didn't budge.

After everything was packed, I told her we had twenty minutes to get out the door. She wasn't hungry. I decided to feed her crackers or something on the road.

I handed her clothes to her. She got them on. I ran in my bathroom to brush my teeth and hair. I'm not pretty in the morning. Well, to tell the truth, I'm not pretty any time of day, but mornings are worse.

I came out of the bathroom and A was complaining about her new jeans. They kept falling down. We had four minutes to get out the door. I grabbed her some leggings, but no she WANTED JEANS. I found some jeans and gave her some shoes and said, "HURRY!"

She had to have help with her jeans and have her shoes tied. I got this done, grabbed SJ and threw a sweat shirt on him, gave A her backpack, told J to grab her lunch and rushed out the door five minutes late. (as usual)

I remembered on the road that A hadn't had her breakfast. I asked J to open her backpack and pull her out half of the lunchmeat from her lunch. (She doesn't eat lunch meat in sandwiches. She likes it by itself.) J did it begrudgingly. Apparently, she would rather have me drive into the ditch while I'm trying to do it myself.

J got to school on time, but I have to go east from our house to get her to school. Then I have to turn around and go west to get A to school.

The traffic was horrendous around A's school- also one of those daily annoyances. We parked by the road and I started walking her to school. We had to park a quarter mile away from her classroom - not joking here. The five minute bell rang.

"Hurry," I said. She continued to walk as if she were slogging through mud.

I finally got her to run a bit. I commented, "My Grandma runs faster than that!"

"MOM, just GO AWAY!" she yelled.

I watched her to the gate. I'm sure she started walking again. I doubt she was on time.

Did I mention that this was one of those mornings where SJ decided to be cooperative? Imagine a morning where he isn't cooperative. They happen.

SJ and I drove home. First order of the day was making some darn coffee.

I know that I am a stay at home mom - not technically considered a working mom. When do working moms get out of bed? It must be five at the latest? Do they even sleep at night?

Ah, mornings gotta love 'em.

True Confessions

There is something that I have never confessed on this blog. My family and friends know but it is not general knowledge that my almost three-year old is still breastfeeding. While this is not a big deal in other countries, people in the U.S. tend to find this quite disgusting.

I am, by no means, a lactation nazi, more like a weaning wimp. I am not anti-formula, just anti-screaming kid. All my kids have, in fact, had formula. I know many people who fed formula only and their kids are as smart as, if not smarter, than mine.

Things were not always this way for me.

My first child, J, took a pacifier. At the age of ten months, she decided she didn't want to breastfeed anymore. Her pacifier was much more convenient. Instead of giving her formula those last few months, I gave her (gasp) cow's milk.

Weaning was a piece of cake, I thought, until A came along. She didn't want a pacifier and refused to take one. She wanted her breasts and wasn't giving them up. She also talked extremely early so once in line at the store she said, "Mom I want booby time." It's moments like that when you really appreciate your children.

Finally, when she was three, I weaned her. She did not give up happily, but I could at least explain to her that she was too old.

Within a week of weaning, I conceived SJ, with my husband's help.

SJ is another booby baby . He loves to nurse. Efforts to thwart him are met with the stubborness of a mountain goat. He has his own word for the breasts. He calls them "bup." When he wants to nurse, he comes up and says, "bup." At least I won't get embarrassed at the checkout counter as long as I can keep him from rubbing on them in front of the clerk.

There are some advantages to breastfeeding this long. It isn't all bad. I am his security blanket, comfort when he gets hurt and a source of nutrition. He is also very rarely sick.

There are disadvantages also. He doesn't go to sleep without nursing if I'm around. He doesn't sleep through the night. My husband hates it and he wants "his" boobs back.

When SJ is nursing on one side, he likes to have his hand on the other side. I guess he is keeping his options open. This makes my husband crazy. He will come up and put his hand on the breast and push SJ's hand away. SJ tries, in turn, to push Dad's hand away. Meanwhile, I am the victim of this titty tug of war.

There is a book coming to me in the mail called "The No-Cry Sleep Solution for Toddlers" that I will be using to help him wean. It's the slow, gentle approach to weaning. It takes about a month. This is going to be a long sleep-deprived month. At the end of it, my husband at least, will be much happier. (I hope.)

Wish us luck.

My Apoligies to Hoss and Bearette

That stupid post worked earlier. Then it just quit. So I deleted the darn thing. It was rather tasteless but funny.

Resolution Time

It's that time of year again, time to make the New Year's Resolution. I have NEVER kept a New Year's Resolution. Once, in high school, I kept one. It was to lose weight. My "diet" lunch consisted of soda and a candy bar. I lost ten pounds. Isn't it great having the metabolism of a teen? Boy did that go away quick. My body said, "Hey, you're twenty now. Poof!"

It is time to make some resolutions I will keep, so as not to feel like a failure.

1. I will eat replace high fat sweet foods with high fat salty foods.

2. I will scream like a raving maniac every time that somebody cuts me off in traffic.

3. I will teach SJ some new words. Look at the above resolution to see how.

4. I will quit shaving the bottom half of my legs so they will match the top half.

5. I will allow my dirty laundry pile to grow so high that it blocks my bedroom windows. Working on that one too.

6. I will double the amount of time that I visit the gym. Hey, I can go from once a month to twice a month.

Well six resolutions are enough for me. It will be hard work keeping them, but somehow I will manage. What are everybody else's resolutions? Quitting reading my blog is not an acceptable answer!