Let me start off by saying I had a great Christmas. I spent time with my family, traveled to see both of my sisters and even managed to see my Dad one night. Santa was good to all of us (especially my little one..who can't figure out what to play with first so just throws a tantrum) and I have discovered that I should have been in a rock band in high school - thanks to my brother in law showing me Rock Band on his Wii. Yes, I'm that freakin' cool ya'll.

I would have had 100% on Eye of the Tiger if my daughter hadn't walked in front of the tv.

However with all good things - there is the bad.

And the bad was me, curled up in the fetal position in my Hampton Inn bathroom, sobbing in pain, pleading with my husband to bash me in the head with the closest blunt object, to put me out of my misery.

Not to get on a high horse or anything, but people who don't GET migraines, don't GET migraines. It's difficult to discuss with people how bad they are, because all they are doing in imagining their worst headache. There is no comparison.

I've been suffering with migraines for about 15 years now. However, unlike many, mine aren't often and they are very sporadic. Like, they will go away for a year - but then I'll get one every night for three weeks straight.

Each time it happens we try to figure out what the trigger was that started the spiral. Mine usually seem to be neck/back triggered, with a side order of food/drink related. Over the years we've cut chocolate, processed food, and a year ago we cut out beer from a can. Each time we've managed to find the trigger - they stop. Which is obviously great. Go to any migraine sufferer website and they'll have a list of the most popular triggers. Chocolate, Processed Food, Cheese, red wine, BEER and ASPARTAME.

You see how those are capitalized? Yea, I was trying to make a point.

I'm currently in day two of my beer and aspartame detox.

And I can honestly tell you, without a shadow of a doubt, that a world without Diet Coke and Michelob Ultra sucks ass.

I was completely paralyzed at the grocery store today. My brain just went numb. Without my cart weighed down with beer and diet coke, I was unable to make any normal decisions.

I think I bought a mango and some hummus. I'm not entirely sure why.


Done Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


As I sit at my desk writing this, I looked around and all that I have accomplished in a short period of time....and well....damn, I'm good.

I've baked, shopped, wrapped, cleaned, wrapped more, baked some more...and will get around to the more cleaning at some point.

Santa's presents are wrapped and hidden downstairs. Last trip this morning to the grocery store, bank and last minute details taken care of.

All I have left to do is shower, dress and join the festivities of the day.

We'll start our celebration at 5:00 for a candlelight service...Which is always fun with a little one. "No! You'll set Mr. Smith, who I might add is 85, on fire! No, you can not hold the candle!" "No, we don't sing Santa Clause is Coming to Town at church"

Afterward, we'll head to friends of the family for some Christmas Eve boozing - where I hear Santa might show up. Good for me, since it didn't even dawn on me to take her to the mall to see him. (Award For Mother Of The Year, right here folks!)

Lastly we head to the parental house - for more Christmas Eve boozing and what I'm sure will be a bigger haul than Santa will bring.

Rush home - hang stockings, glass of milk and cookies (crap I forgot the carrots!) throw her in bed, get everything from it's hiding place, PRE-SET THE COFFEE MAKER (very important), and get a few winks in.

Morning will come all to early in this household - and once she's gathered all her loot. We'll hit the road to NC for merriment with the sisters.

Which I'm sure will involve some sort of Post-Christmas boozing.

I'll be heading to detox when I get home on Sunday.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas. Truly. May these days bring you family, friends, love - and sanity. And when you feel yourself reaching for the roll of duct tape to bind and gag your mother in law....grab a glass of wine and hide in your bathroom.

Merry Christmas!


My Christmas Funk Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


I love this time of year. I really do. I love the shopping and the decorating. I love the baking and going into debt. Picking out the just the right present for someone...something I know they aren't expecting or something they would never think to get for themselves.

I love fires going in the fireplace and staying up late on Christmas Eve with my family. Singing by candlelight at Church and seeing friends that I hadn't made time for all year.

Maybe it's the fact that we took a vacation, and so everything "holiday" related hit me square in the face the second I touched down at IAD....but I'm in a funk. I look in the mirror and hate everything that is looking back at me. I swear the sun has not shown itself in 7 days. And my kid has been possessed by some smart ass little elf for the last week.

She'll say "NO"...and then laugh like a mad lunatic. I kid you not.

We ordered some drinks at Starbucks and I ordered a strawberry cream thing for her - with no whip. No reason to give her more sugar. They, of course, gave it to us with whip. So, my husband tried to suck it off the top real quick before he gave it to her. He spent the next 15 minutes trying to get whipped cream out of his nose. That's the hardest I've laughed all week.

So, I'm standing in the kitchen right now making 10 different banana breads for her teachers. Yes, 10. Then they will be individually wrapped and placed in their Christmas goodie bags with the other stuff. I haven't wrapped a single thing and I'm trying to figure out when I'm going to do it - so she won't know they are from us.

Bitch, bitch, bitch. Right?

So, time to take some stock in what I've got.

We've got our health...Cliche, sure. But it's true. All of us.

While although we struggle, the repo man is not knocking on my door to take our cars away. We've got
friends and family that we know would do anything for us, and us for them.

This last year I've seen friends fall in love and marry. I've seen a friend who had previously lost a child, finally have a beautiful baby girl.

I've seen a friend of the family give up part of his liver to save the life of a man he had never met.

Also, this last year, I got ya'll. I've enjoyed writing here more than you'll know. I would like to think I've made some connections...That if/when I see you, we'll be able to instantly hang.

Those are the things that I need to see when I look in the mirror.


Magic'ed Out Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


Or other working title is "Introducing The Magic Taser"....

For the first solo vacation the three of us have taken since she was born, I think we did okay. Better than okay, actually. Not once all week did my husband and I yell at each other or even attempt to drown each other on Splash Mountain. And for the most part, the 4 year old managed pretty well.

Except for this morning when I tried to drive nails through her arms and make her eat liver...Which is code for, I asked her to put her pants on. I know...I know....I'm a total bitch. If you can't enjoy The Magic Kingdom pantless....What is the point really?

However, regardless of the amount of times I've been here, I always come up with new and exciting ways that Disney could better themselves.

1. Parts of the sidewalks should be assigned as No Stopping At All. These rules should be enforced. By aircraft if necessary. It's got to be in my Top 5 pet peeves while here. People who are making good time right in front of you and then decide to stop - quite suddenly - to look at a bird or something. You end up nailing them in the ankle with your stroller, and they get pissed at you, or you swerve at the last minute and take out the old lady in the motorized scooter.

2. Each parent and Cast Member should be issued The Magical Disney Taser upon entering the park. You get 5 shots for the day, no more. These can be used for any reason you like, however, we strongly urge you to use them on other parents. Those parents would be the ones that, JUST LIKE YOU, who waited an hour to get a picture of their kid with Mickey, decide that they are going SPEND a hour with Mickey. They want to discuss their childs hopes and dreams of the future. They want to video tape the whole conversation. They want Mickey to sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee and kick back for a while....All the while my kid is foaming at the mouth to get her hands on that guy. It never seems to enter their minds that there is actually, a PERSON, inside that suit - sweating about 9 gallons of water and dying of heat stroke. Get in. Get out. There's a good chance in about 30 minutes she's going to be whining about something else anyway.

3. The taser can also be used for parents who allow their children to walk out of the house wearing questionable clothing. Accidents are going to happen, sure. For the better part of Wednesday my daughter walked around covered in chocolate ice cream - however I made sure that her butt was at least covered all day. There shouldn't be such a thing as 'ho wear' for eight year olds. I'm just saying.

All in all, a great trip. Sore and broken, we return home tomorrow - back to work and school and very cold weather from what I understand. How have ya'll been?

It's 8:30 on Tuesday morning, and I can't believe it's already Tuesday. There is really just so much to see here - and so many things that a 4 year old girl wants to do.

I picked this week to come because statistically the crowds are the best of the year, however, I've still been surprised by the crowds. I keep forgetting that it IS Disney....it's not like we're going to walk through those gates and be the only people here. Once again, my expectations were a bit high.

However, we've had a great time so far. We've had a chance to see almost every character and get some pictures - except for Cinderella. And let me assure you that if I don't find that lady before weeks end, I will burn in flames as the worst mother ever.

Some other random musings about our trip so far.

Beer from China really isn't all that good. I should have remembered that from last time. However, Beer from Germany...always good. Interesting side note that Beer from Norway is actually not from Norway, but from Denmark. (yea, we had some beers yesterday)

Shin splints suck ass.

There are still some extremely rude people....even in the happiest place on Earth.

I find it amazing how fast, just a family of three, can destroy a 2 bedroom condo. If you walked in right now, you would think we've lived here for years.

Some people just should NOT sing Karaoke....regardless of booze intake. My husband and I sat on our patio last night and listened to the festivities down by the pool and heard the worst rendition of Stairway to Heaven. Ever. No really...Ever. Not to mention...is that really a Top 10 Karaoke song?

It is impossible for us to get out of here before 9:30....So, I guess I should shut up now.


The Unexpected Trip Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


My husband and I had been going back and forth for months about a trip to Disney World. One day we were going to do it...the next we weren't. It finally came down to the fact that if we went it would be so financially irresponsible that we probably wouldn't have fun...(well...I would, but I would regret it when I got home.)

Fortunately, we didn't bring it up with her, so we didn't end up crushing a little girls dreams. I imagine that most 4 year old don't understand fiscal responsibility.

We squished the whole idea a couple of months ago. Interestingly enough - the very next day at work - a co-worker of mine was in my office discussing the plethora of Time Share points that she was going to lose by the end of the year because her husband couldn't take any more time off.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

She gave them up for free too! She is SO getting a nice gift for Christmas. Probably a very nice Goofy Sweater.

So, I've got a 2 bedroom time share a stone's throw from Epcot and we leave in T Minus 1 day 20 hours. I've been frantically trying to get everything done....Stuff at work, stuff at home, packing, cleaning and general "getting ready for a big trip" stuff.

I've experienced something in the last few days that I don't think I've ever before. I've always considered the lengths we've gone with technology have always been there to help us. Haven't we all thought "What would I have done if I hadn't had my cell phone?" when trapped on the side of a road. Or "My gosh, if I didn't have email I wouldn't' talk to half of the people I know"...and of course "If it weren't for digital cameras we would only have about 9 pictures of our kids"....

But when it comes to packing and leaving my house for a week - I find myself paralyzed with what to bring and what not to bring. I was almost hoping that the apartment wouldn't have internet capabilities, because then that would take the decision out of my hands. But no, they do. So, of course the lap top goes...

and the camera, and the cell phones, and her movie player, and his laptop, and iPods, and cords.....holy shit...what are all these CORDS for....

Wasn't there a time when I would have just thrown my jeans and some make up in a bag? Now my carry on is bigger than my suitcase - because I have a Best Buy full of crap in my bag.

And because I'm bringing the entire Army of electronic devices with me....This was my way of saying I'll try to share some stories with you while I'm gone.

And by the way - for those of you with kids - having Santa AND a trip to Disney World REALLY tips the scales around this time of year. Yesterday she stroked my face and told me I was beautiful, and then complimented my driving.


Kenny G Rocks Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


Before I go any further I want to make sure you understand that on my daughter's second birthday - she woke up and decided that she would no longer require a nap. This wasn't a discussion she had with me, she didn't even ask for my input. She just made the decision in her head, and for two years has stuck to her guns.

No matter how much I beg, plead, threaten or bribe. She didn't even nap when she was brought home from the hospital after having some major (well...major for a 4 year old) surgery.

So you can imagine my surprise when having a conversation with one of her teachers the other day - she used the words "When she got up from her nap yesterday...."

"I'm sorry, rewind, when she got up from her what now? She naps here? Not just the required by law she has to be quiet for a little while time...But honest to goodness eyes closed and dreaming of sugar plums actual sleep???"

Turns out that YES, she does occasionally sleep at school. Well....what do you know.

I was quickly given the run down on how they make this miraculous event happen.

I am happy to say that after a 4 day holiday, I got TWO, count 'em bitches, TWO NAPS!!!

On the couch, wrapped in the magic blanket, fire giving a nice soft glow (I threw that in on my own), and the holiday albums of Kenny G playing from Mommy's laptop.

This year, THAT is what I'm thankful for...that and the teacher that took pity on me and told me her secrets.

However, when I try this again, I'll need to situate myself better - I was afraid any movement would end the peace, and I got stuck in an extremely uncomfortable chair for an hour and a half.


With Lightning Speed Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


For the last few years my husband has had to travel quite a bit around the holidays. Turning into a bit of a tradition to tell you the truth. This year is no different - and my husband has spent the better portion of November not at home. You get used to it after a while - and as long as the time away isn't all packed together, my daughter, for lack of a better term, accepts the absence.

With my husband out of the house - all things are, of course, left up to me. Pick up and drop off, laundry, dishes, meals, shopping - and as she always does when he is gone - the emergency trip to the doctor. This last time was no different. Seems she's come down with (and I quote the doctor) an "adult sized - full fledged sinus infection" (hence my absence here).

Anyway....years ago, when she was just a baby, I didn't handle the traveling very well. A new time mother and scared of every sound she made, I was always convinced that something was going to happen to her - or worse, something was going to happen to me.

I've gotten over that....a bit. I keep it together during the awake hours, but once I crawl into bed, I will typically just lay there and stare at the ceiling. Inevitably my imagination will get the better of me and I will convince myself that the boogie man has been casing my house and was just waiting for my husband to leave town. Every sound from the house makes me sit up and I turn the baby monitor to deafening levels. I have actually been known to create traps around the house to warn me of intruders. To keep the hours of laying in bed and freaking out to a minimum, I will try to stay up as long as I can and force myself into pure exhaustion before even going to bed.

However, last Tuesday night my worst nightmare was realized. At 3:00 in the morning a man was in my daughter's room.

Instantly awake and alert, I jumped out of bed and grabbed the closest thing I could to pummel the intruder. (I'm sorry to say the lamp has seen better days..kind of forgot it was actually plugged in) I ran down the hallway and burst into my daughter's room.

She's sleeping soundly....and there appears to be no man. Great...Now I'm hearing things.

But then he speaks again..."Where the hell are you!?!"

I'm tiptoeing around my daughter's room - wondering where the hell this asshole is - and how is my daughter sleeping through this..

"I. am. speed", he says.

"Wait a minute....."

It's her freakin' Lightening McQueen race car. Who is "parked" inside her doll house and somehow short circuited or something - because the damn thing won't shut up.

I grabbed him...and the remains of my lamp and went back to my room.

He's now wrapped in two t-shirts and shoved inside a tampax box in my bathroom.


Crying Strangers Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


To most people, it's a boring and often very cold job. But to a 4 year old, getting the mail is an adventure. Taking that not so long walk down the driveway, opening the door and seeing what secrets are inside is very exciting ...and the question that always follows..."which mail is mine?".

I, of course, give her all the junk mail and tell her that her name is "resident".

Today's adventure, however, turned out somewhat different.

There are those times in your life when you just happen to be in a place...at the same time someone else is in that place...and there really is no reason to explain why you are both in that place at the same time - except maybe with out knowing it...one of you needed to be in that place. Crap...did that make sense at all?

My husband and I are not overly neighborly people. It's not that we're mean or snub our neighbors, we just don't have much of an opportunity to get to know them. No one knocked on our door when we moved in with fruit baskets and even though we live in a neighborhood, the traffic can be pretty fast (assholes), so most of us don't let our kids play out front. I wave in the morning when I see them, and smile if I'm working in the yard...but in all honestly, have never really knocked on anyone's door and introduced myself.

Makes for borrowing sugar troublesome.

So, my daughter and I set out on our trek of getting the mail when right at the same time a lovely older women and her beautiful, to what it looks like to me, pure white Husky. I've seen her walking her dog before - and have always appreciated when she picks the crap out of my yard. No, seriously, I have no problem with any dog crapping in my yard...As long as they pick up after it.

So, we're walking down, and I start my normal parenting thing..."Don't ever run up to a strange animal...Always ask before you touch....Blah blah blah", when she says "Can I touch him?"

Lady: "Of course you can sweet heart. He's not feeling very well today, so he may not lick you"
Me: "Ok, sweetie. Be gentle. Puppy isn't feeling well, so be real nice, ok?"
Child: "Ok. I'll be nice.

She spends a few minutes patting his back and rubbing her hands in his fur, which I have to admit was difficult for me not to grab this dog and rub my face in him. He was that pretty. And SO patient and kind with a small hand grabbing and poking.

I stopped to ask what his name was and why he wasn't feeling well - she informed me that they just found out today that he has very advanced cancer and is currently in kidney failure. He didn't have too many days left.

And he's sitting in my front yard - letting a strange little girl hug him.

I teared up and put my arm out and held hers and said the only thing I could..."I'm so sorry"

Next thing you know two total strangers are crying next to a mailbox.

I still don't know her name - or the dog's. But I think I'll notice when they don't walk past my house anymore.

I realize that it's not even Thanksgiving yet - but I'm starting to have a few Christmas panic attacks. What can I say - I like to be prepared.

Moving our daughter out of her regular day care, and into a private school was by FAR the best choice we have made. She's learning so much more, and more importantly, she is so much happier in this school. The teachers actually teach, the parents are involved and the school seems to actually care.

All that being said...it's taking a toll on our check book. Higher education comes at a price.

Driving to work yesterday it dawned on me. I need to start thinking about Christmas gifts for her teachers. I believe that's proper, right? Last year - it wasn't a big deal. She had two teachers and an assistant teacher. Gift Cards all around. Who doesn't like a gift card?

This year?

4 main teachers and 6 assistants.

10 People Total.

What the hell am I going to get for 10 people??

If you guys have ANY ideas - throw them out there - I'm desperate.

Can you imagine the gift I get for my mother this year? A card that says, "Sorry you only got this crappy card, but your Granddaughter has 10 teachers and they took all my money!"

My husband and I were not on the first wave of consumers that jumped on the Tivo/DVR idea. Admittedly, we were intrigued, but it took us a little while to get there. As a matter of fact, my husband gave me my first Tivo as a Christmas gift in 2003.

One of the best presents I've ever gotten.

Now five years later - I honestly don't know how ANYONE survives without one. Well, maybe those people who don't watch tv...or (gasp) those folks that don't even own a tv...But I don't associate myself with those people. Freaks.

Having a Tivo if you have a child is also a must. Having children can be very unpredictable...So, there are no worries if in the middle of Survivor baby needs a diaper change. Just hit pause. No harm - No foul. It also works as they get older. My tivo is filled with Season Passes to Sesame Street, Little Einsteins and Johnny & The Sprites.

So, you see - my tivo is also HELPING me. Good device...gooood device.

However, I've noticed over the last few months that there are some shows that we just aren't watching. Even though we've asked Tivo to record them for us - when we finally get her down and asleep - we're choosing not watch them. We go for something else. We've got weeks of certain shows just piling up.

The shows that are piling up..... shows like CSI. It's just so dark - so depressing. I used to LOVE that show. Always interested to see who the new bad guy was - how were they going to crack the case - all the cool gadgets they would use in the lab.

But now I find myself saying "Can't they EVER turn the lights on"...

(as a side note: if you aren't watching Bones - you totally should be. All the procedural drama like CSI but with funny characters and humor. You get all the cool forensic crap without all the gloom and doom. Very cool show)

I just don't have enough time in my day to give up and I would rather watch someone get voted out of the tribe or see if Meredith is ever going to get her head out of her ass.

So, what about you? What shows do you watch? What shows have you cut off?

A couple of years ago I got this lovely blanket as a Christmas gift from a friend. There wasn't anything overly special about it - other than it was soft and smushy and felt good wrapped around me on the couch. Oh, and it was red. And I like red. So that was cool too.

Over the years, the red blanket has moved from the couch to my bed. Mostly because I have a dark green couch - and the red blanket was making it look like I was celebrating Christmas all year long - but also because it's soft and smushy and feels good wrapped around me - so I thought it would serve a good role in my bed.

I was right.

Every night, winter or summer, I put my red blanket over me and snuggle in.

Then I took some stupid pills and screwed the whole thing.

Let's set the scene. My husband had gone out of town, which isn't too terribly out of the ordinary, but this trip was a LONG one, and about five days into the trip my daughter started to lose her shit. Sleeping was not happening. Eating was not happening. Smiling was never going to happen again. EVER. So, in a moment of panic and sheer exhaustion, I offered the Red Magic Blanket if she would just shut up and go to bed.

Now we're six months later - and she asks for the Magic Blanket every night before bed. And every night I give it to her. And every night at MY bedtime, I sneak back into her room and take it back.

I told her this morning that maybe Santa would bring her her very own magic blanket...Her response...

"No, just have him bring one for you. I have one."

Well, maybe not the World, but it was certainly heard around the entire 2nd, 3rd and probably 4th floors of my daughters pediatricians office.

Yesterday was the dreaded "Well Health Check Up" that every kid has to have on/around their birthdays. And as every parent knows, there isn't one between birth and grade school that does not involve shots.

Now, while I am a big fan of making sure that my daughter does not get a horrible disease, like Polio or something...I still wish there was a better way of getting that juice into her system. Don't you think some researcher somewhere could come up with a fruit smoothie cocktail or something that would be easier to give to kids? Well, sure, I realize that you are spending your time trying to cure Cancer and shit, but I swear that I just heard the results of a research study that said "women with large breasts have a slightly less chance of getting breast cancer if they drink three cups of coffee a day..."Seriously?! I think these folks could work on my cocktail idea.

So, we're at the doctors office, and I had been warned before this visit that the 4 year check up "was a doozy". Honestly, I wish they hadn't told me that. I stressed about it for a week leading up the visit.

So, we see the nurse (her vision is great), we see the doctor (she can talk and jump on one foot, all good things I'm assured) and then we wait for the next nurse.

We wait.

We wait.

She's sitting in her drawers, and I'm trying to entertain her with the crap ass books that are there. But she knows what's coming and I know what's coming - so we're both just kind of humoring each other.

Bad Nurse comes with 7 shots! Apparently, last year they "forgot" to give her one she needed, so they have to tag it onto this one. Make matters worse, I wanted to get her flu shot while we were there...So, we need to stick this kid 8 times.

Now she's got eight little puncture wounds and every inch of her body is covered in red, yellow and blue band aids - and she's pissed as hell - at me, of course. Cause, seriously, who could blame her? I'm the one that drove her to this torture chamber.

Trying to make a kid smile after 8 shots with a fuckin' sticker or a lollipop is ridiculous.

So, if she asks me to buy her a Pony, I'm totally going to do it.


Follow The Path Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


I've always enjoyed clicking on the "recent keyword activity" button on my stat counter, and look through the truly bizarre things that people type into Google...and get to me somehow.

I'm quite certain that unless they actually typed in Minivan Soapbox, they were very disappointed when they got here.

You would not believe the amount of hits I get on the words "RachelRaySucks"...which is unfortunate, because I don't mind her at all - but I wrote a post about a millions years ago about how sad it was that someone could hate someone else so much, that they would devote their time and a website to how much they hate them.

Some other interesting searches that have landed people at my door...

take the responsibility choke experiment - Is this like those trust tests, where you fall backwards into a friends arms? Or should we translate it literally...How responsible are you with your choking? If you kill them....You get a fail grade?

need a pimp - I honestly don't think that Pimps advertise on the internet. But what the hell do I know? Maybe they do....I'm sure somewhere on Craigs List.

aggressive famous actors - Apparently, the normal run of the mill actor won't do for this person

broccoli soap selling - Ummmm....No. Just no. Don't ever try to sell soap that smells like broccoli. I mean, seriously, no good can come from this.

And an unbelievable amount of people are apparently looking to put in mini blinds and or window treatments on the windows of their minivan...And apparently they think my website is going to help them....Not so much.


Magic 101 Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


I would like to begin by saying that I realize that food/dinner time problems with children are very common. I would also like to make sure you understand that I am not a complete idiot, and that while I realize that THIS particular problem is probably nowhere near how bad you had it - I'm still going to bitch about it.

I blame the internet actually. I spent so much time before she was born, scouring every resource I could about babies, caring for babies, caring for ill babies, caring for babies born without heads and or feet - that by the time my due date came around - I was consumed with the notion that she would be born without a head and/or feet. Color me surprised when she emerged with all extremities, and what the nurse said what a perfect 10.

At that point I passed out cold - I imagine because I didn't know what to do with a child that actually had a head. Well, it was either that - or the fact that Mr. Epidural cranked up my dosage. I loved that man...sigh.

Anyway, so I had this baby. And I was a freak. Wash your hands before you touch her. Don't ever walk away from her. Yes, I realize she's only 3 days old and has not one functioning limb, however, MY child will be an overachiever and won't you look like an asshole if today is the day she decides to get up and walk. No, she can't stay overnight with her Grandparents, it's been like 20 some years since they've had children, what if they give her strawberries, or peanut butter or a Lobster Tail? What would we do then?

So, you can see where introducing solid food into her diet was not something I was really eager to do. Frankly, I'm surprised I'm not still feeding her baby food.

By the time her pediatrician sat me down and explained to me that she would not choke on mushed green beans, and to get over myself, we were past the point of no return. Put solid food in front of her - and stop the baby food cold turkey.

It only took about a day - but I was convinced that she would STARVE in that time frame, and I think I cried straight for two days.

So, because of the whole I'm a horrible mother and I withheld food from her for a whole day until she ate it - We've typically allowed her to have an opinion about what she wants for dinner.

Most of the time this involves Shell Pasta, with a vegetable and a fruit.

See, really not all that bad right? She actually chooses to eat a vegetable every day. Fruit is the snack of choice in our house - she'll eat beets right out of a can.

So, what am I bitching about, right?

Well, because I've allowed her to have an opinion about food - She thinks her's is the only one that counts. She'll actually stay mad at me for days if I don't have shell pasta in the house.

All of the above actually has nothing to do with why I sat down to write. I just wanted to tell you that she's got these popsicles that she is allowed to have after dinner. They are wrapped in white shiny paper, and for the most part, you can't see through the paper to see what color the popsicle is.

So, every day after dinner she'll ask to have a popsicle and always wants to know if I can pick the same color she had the night before. I've managed to do it, like, four nights in a row now.

Last night she leaned over to my husband and whispered in his ear "Mama can do magic!"


I Think I Need A Pimp Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


During a routine "How was your day?" conversation with my husband, he told me that there was a possibility of him picking up some over time in the next few months - and wanted to know if I was interested. It's a loaded question really. On one hand we could really use the extra money to get our financial train back on track, but on the other, I have to accept single parenting while he's gone. You see, most of his "overtime" will involve him being in an entirely different city.

However, paying for things like bread and heat are important. So, we agreed. Go forth and work yourself to the bone.

I, on the other hand, do not have the possibility of working over time. I don't know if ya'll have heard or not, but the real estate market sucks ass right now. I suppose it works out well - if he's working overtime and I'm working overtime....The private school we have her in would have to work overtime - and I've heard that they don't take kindly to leaving your children there overnight.

But I still want to be able to do my part. If there is some extra money to be made - I want to help.

I asked him if I should sell my body on the street corner, but he wasn't too keen on that. I don't think I would make much anyway. I hear that stretch marks and c-section scars aren't sexy. I would also say things like "Could you please hurry it up? Lost is about to start!" I don't see myself getting referred to anyone else.

So, what does any self respecting out of work hooker do? I hock my shit on ebay.

Problem is, I think there is a part of me that thinks I'm going to pay off our house with the oodles and boodles of money that I'm going to make. Nothing is safe in our house. If it isn't nailed down to the counter it's ebay fair game. I've even taken things from OTHER people to sell on Ebay. So, essentially not even our neighbors garbage is safe.

"Oh, honey, that's a nice sweater"
"Babe, can I wear it ONCE before you sell it to someone else for $2.99?"

Every day I find something new that I could sell, and put it on our dining room table. Which, by the way, is not a dining room table anymore - it's a junk warehouse.

It's going to take me years to sell all this crap.

Chances are, by the end, I'll have an empty house, a very good relationship with Upga the Postal Worker, and about $53 dollars.


Believe Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


There have been very few blogs I've read in the last few months that have not touched on some sort of political viewpoint. I admire those that can put their feelings, often quite passionately, out there for all to see - and viewpoints of others be damned. They feel the way they feel - and use their own personal space to tell others how it is.

I, on the other hand, tend to shy away from all things important. Not because I don't feel passionately about them - but because of the fear that someone may not like what I say, and then my comment section is used as a sounding board for what an idiot I am.

However, with the election looming in the very near future, I thought I would take this time to let you all know a few things that I do believe.


I believe in Free Speech - but think that people often confuse free speech with the right to insult others. You can make your point - even loudly - without calling other people names.

I believe in the right to Bear Arms - but I also reserve the right to not allow my daughter to play at your house - that doesn't mean that you and I still can't be friends.

I have no problem with people wanting to live in this country - but I believe that you need to do it the right way and learn the language.

I believe that anyone that hurts or abuses a child deserves a special place in hell.

I believe in God, Heaven and Hell, and in being the best person you can be.

I believe that our elderly are getting a raw deal, and that my Grandparents lived through some things that I could never imagine.

I believe that if you are right for the job - it does not matter what color, race or religion you are.

I believe that Love gets you down the aisle, but hard work is what makes it last.

I believe that money doesn't solve everything - but it does help to have some.

I believe in the Family - and that your family are those that stand behind you no matter what.

I believe in the Tooth Fairy, Santa Clause and Fairies. Pitching a tent in your backyard and sleeping outside. I believe in playing in the mud and picking wild flowers - Cuddling under blankets and calling in sick. I believe in setting boundaries, but knowing when to let her be free. I believe in holding hands and kissing in public - Sunday football games with hot wings and beer.

I believe that a smile and a "thank you" can make someones day.

I believe that we are what we make ourselves - and that each of us could probably work a little harder.

And I believe that I'm going to go upstairs right now and play.

I have a review going live today for BlogHer and Disney - celebrating the release of the new movie Tinker Bell - we've posted it here, at our Reviews For Change site. Please feel free to check it out.


The Catch Phrase Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


It's been pointed out to me that I have a few "favorite" phrases. Certain words/phrases that litter my every day talking. These phrases are:

"Clearly" as in:
"Clearly, I should not quit my day job and blog full time"


"OK Seriously?" as in:
"OK Seriously? Yes, that dress does make your ass look like the back end of a Volkswagen!"

Now that MY favorites have been pointed out to me - Let's pick on some other people shall we?

My friend:
"No stretch of the imagination"
She uses this all the time. I can only assume that to her, the majority of her friends have very uninspired imaginations, and can therefore never move beyond the ordinary.

My Daughter
"I'll like ___ when I'm six"
Not making that up. I have a list of about 30 things that she has decided she does not like at all - but she will when she turns 6. Her birthday party is going to be very strange if I decide to serve all the things that she will instantaneously start liking. Broccoli, broiled chicken and yogurt make for one bitchin' 6th birthday party.

Our very own - Ms. Picket
Apparently her kids are extremely bright, however, their mother can't spell the word wicked (....you know I poke at ya honey...I love ya more than my luggage)

My husband:
"Doesn't Surprise Me"
Swear to God, that's his favorite response to anything I say.
ME: Holy Shit, Honey! Bill Gates came into my office today and starting giving free computers away.
HIM: Hmmm....doesn't surprise me....He's probably trying to work on his image.

The only way that story would surprise him would have been if Jessica Biel had delivered those computers....Naked.

My Sister:
"However, Comma"
Let me make this very clear....she says the word comma. I would really love for her to start vocalizing ALL punctuation.
"Hey Exclamation Mark Do you want to go grab a beer question mark There's a bar around the corner period"

Ok Exclamation Point Your turn period What's your 'word' question mark


Pantry Into My Soul Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


Some jobs have to be done all the time. Toilets, laundry, dishes, etc. Some jobs only need to be done every so often. And there are those jobs, that always seem to take a back seat. Spring cleaning, organizing the garage, cleaning the top of the fridge.

Today was pantry assessment day.

When I got back from the grocery store, I realized that the food that was actually able be put away, was directly proportional to the amount of space I had left in the pantry. Therefore, half of today's shopping was going to have to stay on the counter.

So everything came out. Everything.

Now how many women do you know that would be willing to show everyone all their crap AND their messy kitchen?

First I would like to know why I felt inclined to buy Creamy Broccoli in a box. Second, I would like to know why I've held on to it for three years. Do you suppose every time I saw it I thought "Hmmm, not today - but maybe tomorrow I'll be in the mood for processed creamy broccoli"...

My dreams of fashioning the longest pasta necklace will soon come to pass.

I'm sure I'm keeping this for sentimental reasons. DOES Chicken Broth go bad?

What the shit is this doing in my house? Not only is it instant...but it's decaf? AND it's half empty? WTF?!?!

Sadly, I remember buying this. It was back when I was younger and wanted to be classy with my girlfriends and we made Mimosas. Even sadder is that I was about 24....which means I have packed and unpacked this damn bottle for 10 years, through two marriages and three houses.

Ironic, don't you think, that someone who very rarely cooks has this many fuckin' bottles of spices?

This had to have been a gift. Foengreek Seed? What the hell is that? (fyi - spell checker doesn't even know what the hell it is)

Here's another one. I'm sure you Chef's out there are rolling your eyes at me and thinking how sad I am because I don't utilize my Sate and Foengreek Seed spices...but I can honestly tell you I have never seen a recipe that called for it.

Seriously? Pickling Spice? As in the thing you use when you want to PICKLE SOMETHING? I don't even EAT things that are pickled...I'm sure as hell not going to MAKE something pickled.

So, there you go ya'll. The contents of my pantry. Maybe next week we can have a tour of my bathroom cabinet. I'm sure we'll find some treasures under there. Maybe toxic mascara from 1989.


When Wicker Attacks Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


For the most part, I consider myself a tidy person. I like for things to be where they belong - safe and snug in their hiding places - leaving counter tops and tables clear. Shirts and sweaters folded and put away - shoes placed on the shoe rack.

Then I had a child.

The former tidy-self I was is still in there - and tries to break free every so often - but to be honest, keeping up with the clutter is an often pointless task.

Who knew children required so much crap. In the beginning it was just bottles and bibs, which I could store in cabinets. But now it's every Lego imaginable, Play-Doh, 40 Barbies with their matching outfits, 28 trees worth of coloring books, puzzles, games, movies, train sets and those fucking toys you get at McDonald's.

It's everywhere.

Since I can't keep up with the clutter, I will make wise decisions in my furniture. Every coffee table I own is hollow or has drawers. The ottoman is hollow. I have baskets everywhere in the house for random droppings. My husband even has a basket for his keys, phone, change and iPod.

But now I have a basket problem.

They're fuckin' everywhere. I don't know where the hell anything is - because it's hiding place could be in any one of the 50 baskets strategically placed around the house. If I have to walk over something, I'll just pick it up and put it in the closest one.

If Princess Barbie wants to have a whole outfit, she'll have to travel to every room in the house, because I assure you one shoe will be in the bedroom basket, while the other will be in the kitchen basket.

The reason for this post? I cleaned and organized the kitchen/living room on Tuesday. We've managed to keep it clean for TWO. WHOLE. DAYS.


Schooled Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


I had an interesting conversation with a colleague the other day.

We were all standing around the front desk discussing the economy in general, and someone asked if by me working full time, I made a profit after paying for pre-school. I laughed a bit and said I made enough to pay someone else to educate my child and what's left goes to beer. A gentlemen that was standing there jokingly said "Oh my goodness - What a horrible mother for working full time"

He then went on to say that the reason the economy is in the shitter is because of women.

I'm totally not kidding.

This is his theory.

Many moons ago, when women stayed home to tend to their homes and their children, our strong men went to work. With men being the only one that worked outside of the home - every household only had one income.

Then women wanted to work as well. All of a sudden some houses were TWO income houses.

So Joe, who owns the local TV store, who used to sell a TV for $50, can now sell it for $100 because he knows every household is making more money.

Did the follow the thought process?

So, basically women are bitches and we've ruined the world.

He assured me after this conversation that he was totally kidding....But I'm keeping my eye on him.


Dancing, Batman & Poop Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


There's an old saying...

"If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"

I suppose it's the same for blogging. If you don't have anything witty and interesting to say - don't blabber. That's basically where I've been the last couple of weeks.

At first it started with nothing witty to say. There's only so much stuff you can type about a 4 year old before people start thinking you have nothing else in your life to talk about. Then all of a sudden I had too many things to talk about, and couldn't decide on just one, so ended up not talking at all.

Then the Fall TV lineup started - and my addiction to TV is much stronger than my addiction to you people. However, I will share a few things from the last few weeks.

I told ya'll before that she's a dancing queen, right? Well, interestingly enough, the next day I took her to school and her teacher pulled me aside to let me know that they thought she may have some "natural talent" for dance. So, what does any self respecting mother do - I stuck her in a Saturday dance class.

$67 dollars for shoes and $275 for the class - and off we go.

It was supposed to be 15 minutes of ballet, 15 minutes of tap and then 30 minutes of gymnastics. She had her gym time first, and then a mad dash to get the ballet slippers on. After only 5 minutes of ballet - I could tell that the instructor was losing her. Screaming the word PliƩ over and over can't possibly be fun at this age. She walked out of the room and proceeded to tell all of the parents how BORING ballet is. I managed to get her to wait for a while, give it a shot - because I'm SURE that tap will be awesome.

Not so much. 12 four year olds in a small room all wearing tap shoes. She ran out of the room with her hands over her ears - forever scarred by how incredibly loud it was.

She starts full time gymnastics this Saturday. Apparently it's much quieter in there.

I've been waiting patiently for Lego Batman to be released for my PS3. It finally did - and any chance I get I'll plop down and get through a level. I've learned that I can't play video games unless my husband is watching me. Three times now my little lego person has gotten stuck in a room and I can't get out. Three times now I've had to grab my husband and ask him to just sit on the couch for a minute. He'll walk in and be like "Why not use that door?"

It's either some magical male ability to master video games - or I desperately need to get new glasses.

The only other news of interest (and I use that term VERY loosely)

Four times in the last week and a half I've had to pick her up from school early due to some major pooping issues. Last week they assured me that it was "going around the school" - some stomach bug thing. Some parents even took their kid to the doctor to confirm - and it is, in fact, some simple little bug that will work it's way out.

Just need to do a lot of laundry.

Well, that was last week. And all of the other kids are over it - except for ours (she's an individual, no?) Now people are thinking that maybe she's got an allergy. Because this amount of poop never happens at home - ONLY at school. And I can only send her to school with so many pairs of pants. Apparently it's not cool to crap in OTHER peoples pants. (I owe that mother about $10 bucks for her kids pink leggings)

So, that's it for now kids. Hopefully the clever witty me is back in the saddle - and that I can come up with cooler crap than, well, crap.

I know I've told ya'll before, but in case you forgot, I have Tuesdays off of work.

Every Monday that rolls around, I think to myself "This will be the Tuesday that I take for me". I won't do laundry, pay bills, or go to the grocery store. I'll paint my toes. I'll take a nap. I'll read a book. However, every Tuesday that follows finds me at the grocery store, paying bills and doing laundry.

So, this morning on an early morning Target run for a tutu and ballet shoes (I'll explain later), I take a quick stroll through the costume section. I know full well that I won't get anything, because seriously, what kind of mother would I be if I got her a costume and didn't give her a chance to have an opinion (a smart one, I imagine). So I'm very quickly going through, just to see if anything screams at me, when I notice this very tired looking mother of two, debating with her son over what HIS costume will be.

"Lion or Bee, Johnny? Please pick one"
"(sigh) Johnny, PLEASE, just pick one - or pick anything for that matter. We're running late."

I walk by, and pause for just a moment, to share a look of empathy and smile at the exhausted mother. Because that's what we do, right? It's our clubs secret handshake, right? The "our children are secretly trying to kill us" club.

She smiles back. We exchange a few words. She asks how old mine is (apparently making sure I'm really IN the club). Whole conversation is about a minute. Tops. I say "Good Luck" and start to push my cart away.

But she keeps talking.
And talking.

I'm almost into the kitchen appliance section, and she's STILL talking to me. But at this point she has to scream so I can hear her.

Don't you think that pushing my cart away was the hint that I was done. I did my mandatory "I feel your pain" thing...Shouldn't I be free to go now.

Not but 30 minutes later, with all my half price merchandise in hand, I decide to treat myself to a Starbucks before I hit the road.

I order and while waiting for my drink, I overhear the two women behind the counter discussing her chronic and debilitating sinus infections. Apparently she's on antibiotics almost all the time. Her doctors can't seem to help her, blah blah blah.

And then it happened.

I became the crazy lady that WOULD NOT SHUT UP.

I tell her about my husbands sinus problems. I tell her about the revolutionary Neti Pot. YES! I explain the inner workings of how to CLEAN OUT YOUR NOSE. I even tilted my head to demonstrate. I was mortified, but I couldn't seem to stop. In my head I'm thinking "Holy Shit Kerrie, You. Are. Talking. About. Snot." TO A STRANGER.

However, I can at least tell when people are trying to get away from me. Not to mention there was a line forming. So, I hauled ass out of there.

I think I have to find a new Target.

While although my head is a bit cloudy this week, with all the antibiotics and what not, it has seemed that my child has been a bit more odd than usual.

First thing I noticed...when the hell did she become a Solid Gold dancer. Let me assure you that dancing....not something my husband and I do a lot. My husband...Never. Not even at weddings. I have danced, and do enjoy it on occasions, but seldom do it at home...with no music. But over the last few days my daughter has been doing the "Hey Mom - Watch This!" thing. And every time she's bustin' a move.

Weird thing is....She's pretty good. A little too good for a 4 year old if you ask me. I'm starting to think that when I'm not looking she's changing the channel to MTV. Cause this kid has got some moves!

In addition to the Baby Baryshnikov, I've been trying to explain to her this week about germs. Mostly because when one of us is sick....that's when she desperately wants kisses or to sip my drink or lick our spoons. She's not really 'getting' the whole germ thing though.

While putting her down for bed last night.....

"Mommy, you didn't kiss me good night!"
"I know sweetie, I'm sorry. Remember mommy told you about germs? I can't kiss you on the mouth...I don't want you to get sick too."

She thinks about this for a minute.

"Ok. I'll kiss YOU on the mouth"
"Heh. No, sweetie. That's the same thing"

She thinks again.

"Ok, how about here?" (she points to the top of my boob!)

"Yea, um, no"
"Well...well because that's just weird"

Again, thinking.

"Ok. Give me your armpit" (she's quite serious)
"Yuck. No."
"Again. Weird!"

She sighed deeply and settled for kissing my knee.

I can honestly say that I've experienced a lot of weird things before...But no one has every requested some alone time with my armpit.


Down and Out Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


We hit the road again last week to go back to the Outer Banks. This time to see his family. This time a much shorter trip. This time we decided to vacation with a Tropical Storm.

Our time was cut very short as we decided to leave a day early to miss the heavy parts of the storm. It didn't exactly work out the way we wanted it to. We essentially drove for two days IN a hurricane.

Throw that on top of an accident on I64, that shut the entire road down - with a 4 year old in the back that had to go potty so bad her eyes were turning yellow. Note to self: Don't even drive to the freakin' mall without a portable potty in the car. Trying to aim a 4 year old into a 7-11 Big Gulp Cup is no easy task. Ask my husband. He has the pee stains on his shoes to prove it.

We walked in the door on Saturday in hopes of curling up on the couch for two days and doing nothing but watch bad movies - but our basement flooded again.

The second we took care of THAT. I got sick.

All in all - a fucking fabulous week.

I've spent the day home from work, curled up on the couch with my laptop. I've ordered and watched the entire season 6 of Sex and the City. Don't ask me why...I'm sick....I make bad choices when I'm sick.

19 episodes and $40 dollars later. I have a few thoughts.

Who are these people? Are there really single women living in New York that spend $500 on a pair of shoes? I spent most of my 20's single/dating...I never acted like that. Are there really women who relate to this show? I suppose it gives off a bit of a "I Am A Fabulous Woman" vibe....but if I had had as much sex as Samantha Jones, my friends would have called me a whore and my mother would probably never speak to me again.

It did make me wonder though....Do you suppose Sex and the City is where blogging came from? Every episode is her throwing some unanswerable question out into the cosmos.

I called my best friend about an hour ago and confessed my six hours of iTunes watching. I told her that the one thing I kept thinking while watching all of these episodes is that she IS Miranda Hobbs.

She told me that I was Charlotte.

I don't know how I feel about that.


Trust No One Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


For the most part I would consider myself a strong, independent woman. That's not to say if a man is around I won't ask for help for the things that I don't want to do, but if one wasn't around, I would try to do the things that need to be done. Kill the spiders, mow the lawn, change ceiling light bulbs, etc.

So this morning finds me in the car, heading off to get the car ready for another road trip. Washed, gas, tire check and oil change. About 5 minutes away from the Jiffy Lube, I start my inner monologue. "Oil Change and Tire Rotation...and that's it" "Oil Change and Tire Rotation...and that's it".

As I pull up to the bay doors, I can see the twinkle in the mens eyes and can almost hear them say "We've got a live one boys!"

I continue with my mantra..."Oil Change & Tire Rotation...and that's it!"

I hand my keys over, stand proudly and say in a loud authoritative voice "Oil Change & Tire Rotation, Please"

He nods and takes my information and goes in for the kill.

"Yes, Ok Ma'am, I see you are quite responsible about getting your oil changed. That's very good. Now, it seems that you are due for some other services. Your tubes needs to be flushed, you falange gaskets needs to be replaced, your wigglyworms and googleybobs need reworked. Your entire engine needs to be flushed in peroxide and a ritual virgin sacrifice needs to be made in the name of Minivan. How would you like to pay for that?"

I freeze. I know what I should say. Why is it that every time I do this I feel like a 11 year old girl. What the hell IS a falange gasket and does it really need to be replaced? Where am I going to find a virgin sacrifice this early in the morning? What would my dad say if he were here? Should I call my dad? Does he know a virgin I could call?

I stand my ground and just get an oil change & tire rotation. I pay and drive away. But I'm still wondering all the while if my car if going to blow up because I didn't flush my tubes.


If that wasn't bad enough to make my stomach hurt and make me wonder if someone was going to come take my "I Am Woman Hear Me Roar" member card away...I then go to get my hair cut.

Since I can't drop $180 for a hair cut and color, I'll frequent the local hair butchery...about once a year. I know it's horrible, and I'm not very nice to my hair, but since it's all turning gray anyway, I figure my hair isn't very nice to me.

I hesitate momentarily in the waiting area of the salon, as I think that maybe getting my hair cut and styled by someone who apparently hasn't seen the inside of a shower in three days, might be a bad idea. But I have things that have to get done today, so I proceed.

She wraps me in a plastic robe, pulls out my head band, runs her fingers through my nappy hair and asks what we need done today.

"Just cut off the dead parts, please"

"hmmmm. Ok. Well, I suppose we could shave your head..."

"Yea. Um. I don't think that's a good idea. Why not just cut off as much of the dead without making me look like Telly Savalas?"


Through The Years Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


I totally stole this idea from Undomestic Diva...but she kind of invited people to steal it...So, I don't think I'm breaking any major blogging rule by doing this.

If you've got some time (and I mean quite a bit of time), go check out YearbookYourself.com. Simply upload a picture of yourself and see what you look like through the ages.

This may be the only way I'll ever post a picture of myself.

Cinderella opens in theaters, and Silly Putter is introduced.
(i would have seriously sucked as a 1950's wife)
The Hula Hoop and Rice-A-Roni
Marilyn Monroe found dead & Johnny Carson hosts The Tonight Show
(what in the hell is that on top of my head)
The Supremes go to #1
(and clearly I think I AM one)
Watergate & The first issue of People Magazine (oh, and I was born)
(Marsha, Marsha, Marsha)
Blues Brothers on Saturday Night Live & Diff'rent Strokes premiere
(by the way - I'm seriously considering changing my hairstyle)
US Olympic Hockey Team beats Soviet Union & HP first personal computer
(the female equivalent to a bowl cut?)
Nelson Mandela inaugurated & Pilot episode of "ER"
(sad thing - this is actually not too far off the truth for me. Aqua Net anyone?)
Nintendo 64 goes on sale in US & Quake computer game is released
(I kind of like me as a blond)

Share your pictures/links here if you do them!


Juvenile Delinquent Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati


My mother and I had a very basic understanding during my teenage years.

Don't have the school call me.
Don't have the cops call me.

While although I had some pretty close calls, I can say that neither of those things ever happened.

I can not, however, say the same for my childhood years.

I'm not sure how old I was, or even what time of the year it was. I do know who my accomplice was though. It was Greg. And to this day I still blame him. Most things were his idea, if you must know.

I'm sure it was closing in on the end of summer vacation, and the many things that we entertained ourselves with were becoming boring and mundane. With nothing to do except watch The Great Space Coaster, go to the pool or sneak a drink out of his mom's wine jug - somehow the idea of destruction of private property seemed like a grand idea.

With huge rocks in hand, we settled on the corner sidewalk IN PLAIN SIGHT, and played tic tac toe on the door of our neighbors RV. With rocks. We scratched our tic tac toe board and doodles into the paint of his RV.

Oh, I forgot to mention who our neighbor was.

He was a cop.

We were fuckin' Einsteins, Greg and I.

I'm not entirely sure how the story ends. That could be because so many years have passed - or it could be that we were beaten within an inch of our lives. It's all a bit fuzzy. But I'm fairly certain that Greg and I were adamant about how it was the others fault. I don't really think our folks cared much at that point.

After spending a week with sunshine, ocean and family - I've made a decision.

I don't wanna a job, live in the suburbs, take children to school, do laundry and pay bills.

I wanna live at the beach and start drinking beer at 11:00 in the morning while trying to even out my tan. I want to read under an umbrella while my daughter sleeps not but 20 feet from the ocean.

Needless to say, we had a very nice vacation. We had some bumps along the way, but after everything is said and done - I'm totally doing that again.

Few little interesting tidbits of the vacation....? Hmmm....Let me think....OH! I know, you'll like this one.

My daughter asked me to turn OFF the ocean. I'm totally not kidding.

She had started the week sick and grumpy and all together not fun to be with. On day two I suggested she lay down for a while with her towel and try to sleep. Surprisingly she curled up in the shade and closed her eyes. (Seriously...The fact that she would do ANYTHING I suggest is a miracle) However, not but a couple minutes later she opened her eyes quite dramatically and pointed her little four year old finger at me and instructed me - quite loudly - to TURN OFF THE OCEAN! IT KEEPS WAKING ME UP!

About mid-week the folks offered to watch the sweet, well behaved, little darling for a couple of hours and give my husband and I some time to shop in town. We drove into town - and instead of perusing the goodies of the local shops - we ended up spending two hours in the local pub drinking beer and playing arcade games. We are total dorks.

I lost most victoriously at Texas Hold Em, but won at Dominoes. I ate two helpings of the most sinful Eggs Benedict, and then sucked on Tums for the rest of the morning...getting older sucks. I actually wore sunscreen every day...one more sign of me aging. And pretty much drank my weight in beer....but I suppose that's no different than any other day.

Upon arriving home, my daughter walked in through the garage door, looked around our house and then threw a fit because "I DON'T WANT TO LIVE HERE ANYMORE".

It's good to be home.

In the beginning I wasn't going to get guest writers while I was out of town. But then the "Great Interview Experiment" dropped in my lap - so I had one thing to pre-post. Then in a moment of genius I asked my Dad to write for me (ya'll met him, remember?). And since I got TWO posts, why not go for THREE! I am thrilled to have Ms. Picket visiting us over here. She is truly one of those people that if she called me tomorrow and said she was visiting my state, I would totally let her crash on my couch and drink my beer. And ya'll know I don't share my beer with just anyone.

A few weeks ago, Minivan asked a question: would you erase any bit of your life if you could?

I was utterly all-positive thinking in the moment and said no and that every bad move brought me here and – cue music – and blah blah blah. Turns out I must have been having a weirdly good day, because I couldn’t stop thinking about that question and realized, um yeah Minivan dude: truth is, there’s like a thousand moments I would like to erase.

I’m not saying I would want to end up in different place, but FUCK YEAH and OMG and IS THERE A WAY?? Because ugghhhhhhhh: there are too many to count.

This is just one:

In a moment of extreme youthful disregard for my safety folly, I said yes when the Boy suggested we split for the night to his parents’ weekend house. We’d only known each other a few drunken hours but, still, we’d spent most of it in deep, DEEP serious intellectual thought so I figured we were basically in love.

I have no idea now what we were talking about, but that’s mostly because I probably had little idea then. I’m pretty sure I bullshit my way through most of the conversation the minute that I realized that this dude was in college for a reason – to learn something that would matter to the world – and that my usual repartee of music and songs and bands and concerts would probably not impress him.

He was all kinds of cute so I did my best bullshit, and when he asked me to move away and marry him spend the weekend with him, I said I win! let’s go. And we did. It was two hours away (who knew?) into a whole other state, somewhere in some Massachusetts wooded town where no one would have found me if he’d killed me, but the good news is he didn’t. The other good news is I kept my pants on the ENTIRE night (if you must know) (and which is probably some sort of miracle) and the whole escapade was pretty tame, come to think of it.

He made me a spinach omelet in the morning and even though I hate spinach, I ate it. We drove home and he let me play all my favorite songs and I sang every word to every one, my feet on the dashboard, my hair flying out the window, singing at the top of my lungs in my best Neil Young and Jane Siberry and World Party and Joni Mitchell and Joan Armatrading and the Beastie Boys.

I do not regret one minute of that weird weekend.

What I regret, and wish to erase, is the weekend later. The weekend after the Wednesday that I visited him in his apartment and should have realized that our love affair was pretty much neither. When I should have gotten the clue, but didn’t. When I should have read the signs, but wouldn’t.

The weekend later (after that Wednesday), we met at a house party of our mutual friends. I am pretty sure I actually dressed up for the event, and by “dressed up” I mean I chose the perfect jeans with the perfect holes and the best t-shirt that wouldn’t make my boobs look slutty huge but still hot.

We rendezvoused on the stairs. I knew this was the moment he would tell me that our weekend was the best thing that ever happened to him and that it didn’t matter that I really didn’t “get” Sartre or nihilism, I was the one for he’d been waiting for.

I looked up at him with my best come hither eyes and the sexy face that I’d been working on for about two months, and he said, “Do you need to puke?”

So yeah. Erase. Delete. Forget. I wish I could skip all of that ickiness and jump to the part when I was laughing my ass off and not thinking about my face or my boobs, because that’s when the really good offers came. And when my sexy face was, well, just my face.

I hesitated in asking this person to guest write for me while I was out. I felt bad at first, thinking that this isn't exactly what he "does". I felt like I would be taking advantage of our relationship, so he would feel obliged to say "yes". However, even though I felt bad about all those things...I still asked him. I'm 95 percent sure he said yes to writing in my absence because of his undying love for me....But there is a 5 percent chance that he did it because I could write vicious lies about him on my blog...and tell everyone that he's a democrat. So, I'm sure he's probably just saving his own ass. So, with out further delay....My Father.

As the Editor-In-Chief of Funn-E-Stuff.com (also known as the Big Kahuna), I have been asked by Kerrie to be a guest writer on her blog while she is away, soaking up the sun and sand at some tropical paradise. While as a fellow blogger I might just say, “bite me” … as her Father I am obliged to help as best I can.

What seems appropriate would be to tell you all some story from her early years, prior to husband and spawn … something prior to her coming of age and responsibility … but I decided to go back much farther in time. In fact, she may not have yet been born when this story took place.

In a land far away and a time beyond remembrance, Kerrie’s mother did something very wonderful (who remembers) for her next-door neighbor.Because the neighbor’s dogs had just delivered an enormous litter of puppies, Kerrie’s mother was given “the pick of the litter.”

Sensible people might have said something like, “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take one of your prized puppies,” but no … not Kerrie’s Mom. Without hesitation she pointed at the best of the lot and said, “I want him.”

Thus we (yes, as Kerrie’s father, I am included in ‘we’) became the proud owners of a German Shorthaired Pointer. We were already the servants of a Siamese Cat that was in charge of our side of the duplex, and now we added a dog. Being the man of the family I was only too proud to see a male dog … Man ! Dog ! Yes! …

While we lived in a usually warm climate it was particularly cold when Buckwheat came to live with us and he needed to be inside the house.Since we had a daughter under 4, we still had a portable “play pen” that seemed to be the perfect place for Buckwheat to hang during the days until he learned to have his bodily functions outdoors.

One day I walked into the room with the puppy to find the cat walking the edge of the play pen (as only a cat could do on a rail not more than a ¼” wide). I watched the cat circle, tormenting the poor puppy below watching. Then she gently dropped to the floor of the pen and proceeded to bat the ears of this puppy, bite and scratch him. Believing that all animals understand us when we speak to them in human terms, I leaned over the side of the pen and spoke to the cat, “You need to understand that this dog is now a puppy. In a few months he will be 10 times larger than you and 20 times stronger.

I actually believe that the cat looked at me and gave me the “cat bird.”

Now we advance in time … maybe six months. The local Vet has said that ours will probably be the largest German Shorthaired Pointer he has ever seen. This dog has consumed a two quart bowl of leftovers in no less than 3.2 seconds (an Olympic record?). He has eaten the rubber coverings over the outside telephone connections. He is a great pet, a superior looking dog and a pure eating machine.

Now we come to the day that the cat, her royal highness, is laying on the back patio … as royal cats do … in the royal curl (you cat people understand what I’m saying) with her head up and her eyes closed, so that we can all worship and admire … when the dog walks in.

Buckwheat is now a full grown dog … and as dumb as it is possible for a dog to be … totally lovable … certainly a man’s dog. I stood there in the doorway, watching and somehow knowing what would happen. The thoughts of my warning to the cat came back to me …

The dog calmly walked over to the cat and took her head into his large mouth.

“OMG … He’ll eat anything … he’s going to eat the cat!” I yelled.

Buckwheat raised up and then shook his head from side to side … almost leasurily while the cat hung limply. Then he set the cat down quite gingerly, opened his mouth and released her … and I swear … looked up at me and laughed.

After the dog walked away, the cat sat calmly and somewhat regally for about 15 minutes … wiping dog slobber off of her face. She refused to look at me and admit that I had warned her that … some day … this would happen.

I signed up at Citizen of the Month a while ago to take part in the Great Interview Experiment and was thrilled to get the chance to interview Carmen, Mom to the Screaming Masses. I learned quickly that I may be decent at blogging, but any dreams I might have had of becoming the next Anderson Cooper have been shattered. However, Carmen humored me and answered my questions, even though I forgot about one of her children. Here is our interview.

#1 - Why did you start blogging?

I was home alone for long stretches of the day with my four children, pregnant with my fifth and wanting badly to stop feeling as if I was going crazy. I had stopped attending La Leche League and the local attachment parenting group - I no longer felt as if I belonged. No one had as many kids as I did, and I felt as if I had grown beyond what those groups offered. I sought interaction with others and thought I could get it on my blog.

#2 - It appears you have FIVE children. What would be the number one baby item that you could not have lived without?
Um, I actually have six. Seven if you count The Hubster. #1 baby item - it would have to be my baby sling. I used slings with all of my kids, carrying them until they were over 2. No one ever saw my babies faces until they were at least four months old, so great was my love for the sling. I have given away just about all of my baby stuff, but I kept my leopard print sling and my blue stripe Mei Tai. I LOVE slings. I've been known to accost people in stores and at church who are using them incorrectly, and giving impromptu lessons. I even sold them for a brief time.

#3 - When and how did you and your husband meet and fall in love? (And how did you get him to do the ironing the other day?) :)
I met my husband at church - I was selling Christmas wreaths for the youth group - I was 19 - and he was selling raffle tickets for the choir - he was 35. He joined the youth group at dinner after Mass, and we went to a movie that night. That was November 19, we got engaged November 30, and married December 16. A bit brief. How did I get him to iron? It's all about the (Catholic) guilt, baybee.

#4 - What would you consider to be your best trait?
I am persistent. That's about the best I can come up with right now.

#5 - What about your worst?
I'm stubborn and always convinced I'm right. Always. Even when I'm wrong.

#6 - If stuck on an island for a week (sounds nice huh?) and you can have one thing to eat, one drink and one book...What would they be?
One book is so easy - it'd be one of The Diana Gabaldon books, probably #4 - Drums of Autumn is my favorite. One thing to eat would either be a pizza of some kind or a pasta dish - yeah, I'm a carbohydrate/cheese/tomato addict. One drink - Diet Mt Dew or plain water. Or maybe the iced coffee that I make by the gallon. ;)

#7 - Clearly you've lost considerable weight...What was the hardest thing for you to overcome?
See above - I LOVE to eat carbohydrates - in the form of white bread and butter, cupcakes, cookies, pasta, cheese, and Mexican food. And booze. I love a good mixed drink or three.

#8 - What is it that you would like people to take away from your blog?
That parenting is hard. That it is hard for everyone, no matter how easy they make it look. That it's ok to lose your shit once in a while, to be human and say "I'm sorry - I made a mistake and screwed up."

#9 - Do you see yourself still blogging in say 5 years, even 10?
I sincerely hope I'll still be here and still have stuff to say - and that people will still want to read me!

#10 - 3 interesting facts about yourself that maybe we wouldn't know about you.
Huh. I won Most Talented in my high school beauty pageant. I can't sleep unless the room is totally dark, very quiet, cold - and not touched by anyone. (makes me a lousy wife, I know!). I am a romance novel junkie - although I skip the smutty parts - and don't read junk like Harlequin, but read many, many books in the course of a month.


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I have a somewhat addictive personality. That personality trait - coupled with my love of a routine - often makes my life...predictable. If I find something I like, I stick with it. For a long time.

Perfect example. I tried a Stouffer's Chicken and Spinach Flat bread pizza a couple of months ago. I now buy them by the truck load. Even my husband has noticed, and if he goes to the grocery store, he'll come home with EVERY chicken & spinach pizza they have.

"They only had five of them....Sorry"

Well, this lovely quirk of mine has reared it's ugly head again. However, this time I'm blaming my mother.

Typically, TV watching is not something my mother and I have in common. I watch a LOT of it, and she watches occasionally. I have, however, made some huge advances in my plot of turning her to the dark side. It only took me about 7 years to get her to watch Survivor, and after watching some Sunday football at our house, they finally caved and got a DVR.

There seems to be a new development in our tv watching relationship though. She found a show she likes, a lot, and I didn't lead her to it. She did it all on her own. I'm so proud of her. She likes this show so much that she even bought them on DVD.

The problem though is that I don't watch this show - I never really had an interest. But what is it about this show that she likes so much? I must find out.

So, I sat down and watched the pilot episode of The Closer.

Of course, now, I have watch every episode in Season 1 and 2 in the span of a week and a half and my southern accent is coming out all the time. I HEAR Krya in my head. I'm smiling at the cashier of the grocery store ... "Thank You. Thank You Very Much". I'm getting strange looks from my daughter and my husband is telling me I shouldn't watch so many of them back to back.

So, that's where you'll find me after 8:00 tonight. Curled up on my couch with a Chicken & spinach Pizza, watching the first episode of Season 3, pausing every five minutes to see what's going on in The Olympics.

This is exactly what happened when I fell in love with Buffy.

At least this time I won't start thinking that I'm a super hero and start carrying a wooden stick in my purse, on the off chance I might run into a creature of the night.


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When it comes to sleeping, my husband and I are boxing champions - each going to their respective corners and not coming out until the bell is rung. We aren't "in the middle" cuddly sleepers, lovingly wrapped in each others arms. Our bed has an imaginary line down the middle and we both keep to our sides - unless, of course, something interesting is happening in the middle. I have no problem with this, and I don't think that he does either. We both like our space and find it difficult to sleep if we have to navigate our way through an additional pair of limbs and listen to an extra heart beat.

Like most of America, he and I watched a great deal of The Olympics yesterday - swimming, gymnastics and beach volleyball. All very exciting - and we were happy to see Michael Phelps win his first gold before we turned in for the night. I'm thinking though, that the amount of tumbling and swimming that I saw yesterday, might have had an impact on my dreams

I woke up at around 3:00, rolled up like a mummy in our sheets, my body pillow wrapped around my chest like some life preserver and so far on his side that he was clutching the side of the bed to keep from falling off.

In my dreams, I'm a hell of an athlete.