Tootsie Magee and the Shpanky Brothers

Meet You There...

2011-01-19T17:34:00.000-08:00

I have a new blog site. I was sick of this one. See you there.

4D

2010-12-06T20:29:00.000-08:00

My Doctor called the other day and asked if I wanted to come in so they could test out their new 4D ultrasound machine. I was burning rubber before I even hung up the phone. Maybe I'm a little behind the times as far as medical technology is concerned but I was STUNNED when I saw the screen. I've never seen anything like it. Actually, that's not entirely true, because she is a spitting image of Spanky. Now if we could just agree on a name.

Who's Bad?

2010-11-01T18:20:00.000-07:00

Love Halloween. Glad it's over though. We went with the pop star/livestock/western theme this year (that's code for, crap we found in my mom's basement). Surprisingly, MJ was kind of a hit. Until I mentioned that I found the faux leather jacket in the little girls section of Target. Then I spent the evening mopping up a giant puddle of, "Maaaaaawwwwm, why did you buy me a girlie jacket? Bahhhhhh!" How do you explain the 80's to a 9 year old? It can't be done.

Tootsie on the other hand, totally dug her costume. As well she should considering that I rocked it when I was 4. Aren't I nice to share?

And does anyone remember the "real live chaps with deer hair" fiasco? There they are folks! Complete with boots, vest, and a strategically placed holster.

Good. Freekin'. Times.

And I Shall Flaunt My Muffin Top

2010-09-19T18:20:00.000-07:00

I'm at that outrageously uncomfortable stage right now where I don't look distinguishably pregnant yet but definitely have that someone please arrange a krispy kreme intervention for that girl look. So much so that yesterday as I was puttering around the kitchen, Shooter walked in and immediately said, "hey mom, your belly looks flubby today". To which I responded, "Shoot', do me a solid and zip it". You know it's bad when your 9 year old uses the word flubby. Actually I just wikipedia'd it. Not a word. But whatever. He got his message across. I'm the flubster.

Normally when I reach this point in pregnancy, I hibernate for a good 4-6 weeks. But considering that I haven't really had that option this time around, I got to thinking. Why? Why do I do that? Why do I hate my changing body? Has society really gotten me to this place where I can't embrace the fact that I'm literally growing another human being? I'm sharing my womb yo! I don't want to be that girl. The one who rags on herself for the entire 9 months (plus some) for gaining weight. Because last time I checked, it's kind of supposed to happen that way.

I distinctly remember 6-7 months ago telling myself that if I ever got (and stayed) pregnant again, that I would enjoy every second of it. So as of right now, I'm making a change. I'm not going to hide. I'm not going to wince every time I step on the scale at Dr. Exceptional's office. I'm not going to ground my kids when they comment on my flubbi-ness (I might pinch them though). I'm not going to smack the mister's hand away when he tries to give me belly rubs. I will however, continually remind him that I'm not a puppy. I'm going to do my best to embrace the fact that this little parasite is going to wreak havoc on my body for the fourth and final time (yes, final. El Finito!!!). Because I know that in 4 years, when she's sauntering off to her first day of preschool, I won't even remember these precious few months of discomfort. That's right. I said "she". We're having another she. But if this "she" is similar to Tootsie in any way, shape, or form? I'm sending her back for a full refund. That being said, we're stoked to be adding another she to our family. I kind of knew it all along anyway.

WHAT? I Was Watching Glee!

2010-09-01T21:16:00.000-07:00

I'm not the kind of person who after a long hiatus from blogging begins her first post with, "sorry for not blogging all summer long". Because really, If I had to guess I'd say that I was probably the only one who noticed or even thought about my lack of blogging. And maybe my mom (probably not though). So no apologies here. However, if you must know, I spent the vast majority of the summer tying to figure out why Tootsie has recently become so obsessed with tying her dolls up with loose bits of rope. After she removes their clothing. Over and over and over again. Oh, and I watched season 1 of Glee. Over and over and over again. But here's a quick run down of the events that weren't quite so morbid and/or cheesy.

This is Tootsie's camera ready pose

This is how my neighbor feels about me...and I about her

Although it will NEVER happen again, I made that bad ass cake with my bare hands (the kid too, but I used my uterus to make him)

Brother #2 (show off)

Brother #3 (also a show off)

Brother #1 (need I say? - it runs in the family)

lesson learned: don't fall asleep with bare feet

Spanky took rather well to this exercise

Back to brother #3 (pffft! show off)

Tootsie got back!!!

Is it just me, or does this pose look somewhat familiar?

Sumer 2009...just sayin'

Me (not showing off)

I'm totally screwed for posting this one but the woman is hot!

Me and Brother #3 We love it when people ask us if we're twins...derrrrr! Also, I am never to be accused of only posting attractively airbrushed pictures of myself. Never.

Shooter jammin' with his teacher. He's totally into it...

And my most legitimate reason for not having the fortitude to blog or do much of anything really...

After 3 miscarriages, this pregnancy is still a little "touch and go", but I have complete confidence in Dr. Exceptional OB and his ability to handle my situation. And while I've become FAR too familiar with my toilet, I've never been so overwhelmed with gratitude. This little bug is truly a miracle.

Blame Google

2010-07-03T11:27:00.000-07:00

Google sucks. They took away my domain name. Granted I didn't exactly make the payment for the year, but that's only because my email flags everything from Google as junk mail so yeah, I didn't get the 60 day notice. Until Google decides to get it's act together and bend the rules just a scoche, I'll be here. At Blogger. Because what Google giveth, Google can taketh away. And let's all hope I don't get slapped with a lawsuit for publishing this paragraph.

Okay. That is all I have to say about that.

So far, summer has been far less excruciating than I originally imagined it would be. After the initial 3 hours of good hard bickering with my kids about doing their jobs (their whole 2 jobs - the horror, I know), they generally tend to entertain themselves rather well. There was that one incidence a few weeks ago where the hose ended up inside the basement (turned on mind you), and that other time when the car was scratched beyond recognition with a brillo pad - never mind. Compared to last year? Let's just say I've been more than satisfied with my children's behavior. That said, I'm totally stoked to be headed to Powell on Monday for a break. Well, a change of scenery anyway.

I want you to meet someone. She's new around these parts. She's my niece, her name is Ella and I think she probably has enough hair to sport a seriously wicked pony.

I know right? I know. I assure you she is sweeter and even more perfect in person. GAH! What I wouldn't give for one more of these. Just one more.

Life. Real Life.

2010-05-24T11:41:00.000-07:00

Someone asked me the other day, "why does it cause me so much anxiety to have pictures of my family taken"? The obvious answer is, "because you're worried that your kids will be uncooperative and needlessly waste a large amount of money". And it's true. But after I thought about it, I realized that it's actually more than that. Over the past several years, I've learned that people don't want pictures of how they look. People want pictures of how they feel. They want pictures that perfectly depict the overwhelming affection they have for their newborn baby. They want one square shot to remind them forever how stubborn their little boy was as a toddler (for better or worse). They want a family portrait that represents what they see in each other. Not necessarily what I happen to see in them that day. And you know what? I'm no different. Last fall we did our family pictures 3 different times. Because somehow we just couldn't seem to get one that reminded me of the real us.

Having professional pictures taken of your family every few years is a good idea (especially if I'm the one you call...). But in all honesty, the pictures in my house that I love the most aren't the ones I spent hours (or even a few minutes) getting my kids ready for. They're the ones where in a moment of spontaneity, I whipped out my iphone.

You don't need high-tech equipment to take pictures that will make you swoon for years to come. You don't need the latest computer program or a high-resolution printer. You need a camera phone or a point and shoot, and a little free time.

Here are a few things I've learned over the years:

- Zoom in. It's okay to not be able to see the top of someone's head. Sometimes, eliminating the parts of the picture that don't "add" to it actually make it feel more intimate.

- Use natural light. In other words, turn off your flash. This one was hard for me to accept but once you start looking at natural light and thinking in terms of the direction of the sun, you'll like your pictures SO much more. One thing I do a lot even when I'm shooting professionally is to set up by a large window.

- Don't worry if your subject isn't looking directly at you. You want your pictures to be a glimpse into someone's life. I don't know anyone who regularly yells "cheeeeese" at the top of their lungs. Keep it natural.

- If your shooting your kids, have them engage in something that already interests them or talk to them about something you know will cause them to light up. And here is the ultimate tip, if you're shooting a baby, jingle some keys. It works EVERY time.

- Experiment with filters and borders. You can find millions of free software programs online. I even have several on my phone. Here are a few I've run across.

softonic

snapfiles

polaroid (personal favorite)

Also, in the digital age, you don't have to worry about running out of film. There's no limit. And in my experience, the more the better. On average, I shoot 200 pictures in one sitting. You can always just delete the ones you don't want (which will be most of them). It makes it all worth it though when you see that one that causes your heart to stop for just a moment. The one that brings to your mind the thought, that's exactly how I feel.

2010-05-23T22:51:00.001-07:00

I took pictures of my favorite set of twins today. I've been shooting them since they were about yea big...

Several times a year I get to follow them around for a few hours at a time, and hope they don't notice that I use the same tricks over and over again to make them laugh. Apparently I'm pretty funny.

But every now and then they get bored with me. I can't blame them.

By the time it started to rain, my jokes had lost their luster. Big time.

Then they saw a bug. So that was good. They even followed it around for a while.

They really are some of my favorite subjects to photograph. And I get to shoot them again tomorrow. Damn rain.

1 Day. Four Little Girls.

2010-05-19T22:38:00.000-07:00

Guess what? I didn't make anyone cry today. Guess what else? I want one of these.

Just sayin'.

This is Tootsie. She just wanted to say hi.

She needs a tan.

Say Cheeeese! Or Just Cry. That Works Too.

2010-05-18T22:37:00.000-07:00

In a nutshell, the picture below describes how well this shoot went. I believe there are exactly TWO of the nine children in the picture looking at the camera. And this is the best one. Can anyone say refund?

But then this kid went solo. I almost swallowed her whole. Is she not the most deliciously sweet thing you've ever seen? I wanted to check and see if she was storing nuts for the winter in those cheeks.

And this? This is Katie. This is MY Katie. If you don't have a Katie, I highly suggest you look into getting yourself one. She is a better mother to my children than I am. She graduates in a few weeks. But we don't discuss such sad things around here. For now, we will all just bask in her beauty and incredible-ness.

My index finger is tired and my left eye isn't closing very efficiently anymore. My picture-taking mojo is running low. But tomorrow? A wee one fresh from the womb. Not my womb. Someone else's womb. Who thought of that word? Womb. It's weird. I shall rather enjoy putting her in baskets and teacups. And making her scream as I stuff her into a hat. Naked.

And I Thought They'd Be Defiant Potty-Mouths Forever

2010-05-12T22:26:00.000-07:00

Two words for you. SEVEN COMMENTS. I can't remember the last time I received seven comments. I now declare myself to officially be "puffed up". The ego is bloated thank you very much. Actually, I really appreciate the insightful comments. And barring any unforeseen ex-boyfriend kookiness, I think I'll just keep on keepin' on. Thanks so much for caring enough about my lack of depth to drop me a line. I shall soon be sharing with you some meaningless, yet juicy little tidbits. One involving my neighbor, the cops, and the Easter Bunny. Oh, yes hu.

In the meantime, there's something else I've been thinking about. Kids. I have'em. You have'em. There's a whole slew of them running in and out my basement door ALL the time (there will more than likely be some whips-a-crackin' this summer). They're not exactly an endangered species. But the weirdest thing has been happening to me lately. I have been loving the crap out of them. I don't know if I've change or of they've changed, but we've recently found some common ground. The Shpanky Brothers have finally gotten to a point where we can enjoy some of the same things. Tootsie? Not even close. She still lives in a world of naked barbies, pink polka-dots and an imaginary friend she calls Suzie-G. All in good time I guess. But my point is that I'm starting to see something different in them. Our ids are finally figuring out how to co-exist peacefully. Harmoniously even.

I've always felt like when my kids were babies, I just grew along side of them. Everything that happened to them happened to me. They were merely an extension of me. But then they turned 3. They desperately needed to identify themselves as individuals who were separate from me. Independence was the goal. And it continued on for years. I said, "red", they said, "yellow". I said, "bed", they said, "no". I said, "if you say that one more time, I swear to you that I will lodge a bar of soap in your mouth". They said, "bring it on, yo". And I brought it on good and hard.

Then? When I wasn't looking, they started growing up. They grew a mini conscience. They began trusting my judgement (we're talking like 60/40 here). And instead of repelling each other, we began finding ways to come back together (I'm still anxiously awaiting Tootsie's U-turn - miracles happen). They ask me what I think and involve me in their decisions. Sometimes. They're becoming people instead of pint-size mommy haters. Shooter even asked me what color elastics he should get on his braces. And he took my suggestion. But the other day, I heard them arguing about who's wiener was bigger, and I immediately realized that some opinions are best left to their father to give.

Somehow though, when I let myself recognize that their worlds are evolving, something inside me hurts.

I have an almost nine and almost seven year old. Granted, they're not exactly riding Harley's and frequenting bars yet, but I can't get over the idea that maybe I haven't been enjoying them enough over the past few years. Sometimes I look at their narrow faces and their long torsos and I can't seem to remember what they used to look like. I know their cheeks were chubbier and their bellies more...who-ish, but I can't picture it anymore. I frequently ask myself why I seem so stuck between the past and the future.

The dumb thing is that the present is what's between the past and the future. And I'm struck with the thought that maybe, just maybe, I'm finally learning to live my life in the here and now. Because they are still my little boys. I am still their mom. And there is still time for me to drink in every last drop of them.

Okay. Who's ready for some superficial gossip???

Shallow Thoughts

2010-05-11T08:26:00.000-07:00

To blog or not to blog? It's a dilemma. It seems to be the thing that always ends up at the bottom of my "to do" list, even when it starts out somewhere near the top. Blogging and laundry. Elusive little buggers. I have however painted and re-painted my fingernails like fifteen times this past week. I even added polka-dots. So yeah, my priorities could use a little fine-tuning.

Recently I've come to the conclusion that I'm getting bored with myself. My blog I mean. I write about the most inconsequential things. I'm no intellectual "Grand Canyon" or anything, but in trying not to put the intimate details of my life on display, I sound shallow. Maybe I am shallow. I just know that for whatever reason, my "line in the sand" has become more and more defined.

So, at this point I can do one of two things. I can make my blog private or I can go with the old "what the hell" attitude and just write what I want to write. I'm guessing that anyone who has a blog has had to make this decision at one point or another. And I'm not a fence- dweller when it comes to decision making. I'm in or I'm out. But I need some advice. A vote if you will. For those of you who have gone private, tell me why you're glad you did. For those of you who haven't, I'd also appreciate your opinion.

Don't worry. I'm not actually narcissistic enough to believe that this is some life-altering decision. It's just something I've been thinking about.

Like I said. Shallow.

Turns Out I Have a Fan!!!

2010-04-08T15:50:00.000-07:00

I'm vegetarian. Like, hard core vegetarian. The kind of vegetarian who shows my kids clips like this to convince them that meat is evil.

I think we can say without any hesitation, that Shooter is one step closer to buying into my theory. Because about 3 minutes into that video, he was out cold. I'm serious. OUT. COLD. Luckily, I noticed the color draining from his face, and was therefore able to lessen the thud. But I'm pretty certain that at this point, we don't have a budding orthopedic surgeon on our hands.

And just when I convinced myself that my mom was the only one who ever read my blog...

Thanks a million Brittany. Fist bump!

I'm new to this award thing, but from what I understand, I'm supposed to pass it along. And so I shall.

blah blah blah, me me me: Mckelle is one of my dearest childhood friends. We used to fight over who got to wear the purple dress in preschool. I love her blog because she's honest about her life. And because her 4 year old rocks.

AHHnna: Anna has become an inspiration to me. She is witty and smart and completely charming. And just as an added bonus, she's vegetarian and she can build a killer treehouse.

Daniel and Julie: Julie makes me want to be a better person. Her optimism and authenticity is contagious. And her husband? He makes the awesomest paper airplanes you've ever seen (that's more of a church thing than a blog thing though).

If You Need Me, I'll Be In My Trashcan

2010-03-31T22:09:00.000-07:00

I sit. I log in. I stare. I type. I delete. I type again. I delete again. I stare some more. I log out. I go watch Pete's Dragon with my kids because no movie in the history of movies can beat Pete's Dragon. This is pretty much the theme lately. So naturally, here I am blogging about how I have nothing to blog about. If your head is about to explode and you feel you need to out click right now? Don't worry about it. No hard feelings.

There's something about this time of year that turns me into a big green grump. I'm not depressed, I'm just pissed off. And you wanna know the worst part? Shaving my pasty white legs. It's a daily reminder of how far away summer still is. So today? I skipped the whole thing altogether. But now the stubs are all rough and grabby on the inside of my pant legs.

WOW! I just read through that last paragraph. If that isn't proof enough that I really have nothing to blog about, I don't know what is.

Oh, I just thought of something. So, today I took Tootsie with me to the doctor's office to get some blood drawn. In the waiting room, she took extra special care to remind me that I would be the one getting the shot. Not her. She was all, "Mommy, only big mommy gools (girls) like shots, not wittoe gools (little girls)". Then, while I was sitting there with that rubber tie thing on my arm (the worst part might I add), she stroked my leg and said, "it's okay sweetie, you be okay". And of course when I was done she added, "Mommy, I so pwoud of you, can I have a suckoe (sucker)?".

Let me be clear, Toots is no doubt nine cents short of a dime. She's my most difficult kid for SURE. But one thing she has going for her is that she's remarkably hilarious. She just has the "funny" gene. I don't know where it came from, but I love it. Most of the time I find myself pleading with the hubs to come home quickly. For the sake of her safety. But I'm pretty sure God knew her hilarity would be her saving grace.

Recent Tootsie-isms:
"Ina have a plicknick" (I want to have a picknick)
"I been finking, whas da truf mean?" (I've been thinking, what does the truth mean?)
"Hey, wes go buy some moneys" (let's go buy some money - she might be onto something)
"Why dat gool got dose big boobs?" (why does that girl have those big boobs - uhhhh...)
*GASP* "Mommy, dis tag on my jammies says, no bedtime for Tootsie" (I checked. Totally didn't say that.)

She's crazy. But she's a little bit awesome too.

This blog post might very well be the most schizophrenic thing I've ever composed. I don't really care. Let's just be thankful I moved swiftly past the shaving my legs paragraph before I over-elaborated (hyphenated? No? Wikopedia is also unsure) on the topic.

Swagsville

2010-03-01T16:01:00.000-08:00

I swung by the DI the other day and saw this lonely little vintage crystal lamp. It looked sad. So I took it home. I couldn't handle the brass embellishments so I painted them white. It was perfect. But then it wouldn't turn on. So I ran myself over to Home Depot and got one of these

and all was well. Now I have this

Aren't you jealous?
See that there mug with the owls on it? It was my grandpa's, and I rather adore it. I also happened upon this swanky little swag lamp. I only swore 3 times while I was hanging it. And there are exactly 3 giant holes in my ceiling. Imagine that...

Also, my china cabinet is finally looking adequately stocked. Sometimes I sit and stare at it just because.

I want to actually use my teacups but they intimidate me. Teacups are for sophisticated people. Not people who use the entire backside of their index finger to wipe their nose (that one's for you Kell).

Attention Defi...Hey Look, a Butterfly

2010-02-25T21:02:00.000-08:00

Like most blog posts I write, I'll probably regret publishing this. But it's something I've been thinking about a lot lately so...what the hell. Here goes.

I have a lengthy list of things I rather dislike about myself. I'm pretty sure most people do. But there's this one thing on my list that's more than just your standard nuisance. It's something I've been running from for as long as I can remember. It's inconvenient and quite frankly a continuous obstacle in my life. I joke about it frequently, mostly in an effort not to seem insecure. No, I'm not talking about my boobs (insecure doesn't even begin to describe that one). I'm talking about the one thing that makes it hard to sit through a movie, finish the laundry, or even to stay focused on writing this paragraph.

big inhale

big exhale

I have ADD. For real. I was diagnosed when I was young and I've struggled with it ever since. I think I actually struggle more with the stigma attached to it than the disorder itself. I've spent my whole life cringing whenever I hear those three little letters. Mostly because I knew that most people associated them with the kid next door who put pipe bombs in their mailbox, lit ant hills on fire, and more or less wreaked havoc on the neighborhood. How about I shed a little light on this for you. ADD or not. Those kids? Were senseless, demented, screwballs. The end. Me on the other hand? I was a pretty good kid. Sure, every once in a while I threw a grasshopper in the microwave just for the sake of shock and awe, but all in all, I wasn't much of a delinquent. Distracted? yes. Rabble-rouser? No. And therein lies the big disconnect.

Most people think that folks with ADD aren't "playin' with a full deck". But that's not it at all really. The truth is, they're playin' with like, THREE decks. Which makes it hard to keep track of all those suits. Got it? No? Okay, let's try this one. It's like watching TV with every channel on at once. Which by the way, I wouldn't recommend. But that's not all. ADD has two entirely different components. You're either a complete scatterbrain, who on your way to take out the garbage gets caught up in straightening the pictures on the wall, which leads to filling in the old nail holes with putty, which leads to noticing how messy the tool cupboard is, which leads to finding chapstick in the tool cupboard, using that chapstick, and in the process realizing that you have a little mustard on your cheek from your sandwich, which then reminds you that you didn't wash your face this morning so you immediately saunter off to the bathroom to do so, but before you even turn the water on, you get sidetracked by the hard water stains on the shower door. An entire bottle of Kaboom later, you start smelling the garbage you left in the hallway 6 hours ago (this may or may not be something that happened last week...). The other component, if you can remember back that far, is the tendency to become hyper-focused on something. To the point that you don't feel fulfilled by much else.

Okay, now let me explain this part a little bit further. I struggled in school. Actually, I did fine in school, but I didn't like it. I didn't thrive at all. The reason? I couldn't focus on that many subjects every day. I still can't. But here's the thing; when I get in my hyper-focused zone, given enough time, I can learn and remember pretty much anything. It's more of a long term thing, meaning that it occurs over the course weeks or even months. Example? A few years back, out of the blue, I went through a sewing phase. And by phase, I mean that I could have forged a serious Vera Wang by the time I was over it. And while I don't sew obsessively these days, it's a skill that has come in handy more than once. These phases come and go at their leisure. I never know when something is going to strike my interest, and hold me hostage. And while getting from the trash can in the kitchen to the trash can in the garage proves burdensome, give me a human anatomy book, a cadaver, and a couple of months, and poof...just go ahead and put "Dr." before my name. Okay, slight exaggeration but still, if you ever need to know the EXACT locations of the Articular capsule and the Medial malleolus of the fibula? You just give me a call.

So now that you have a clear understanding of how my brain works (or doesn't work depending on how you view it), I'll get to the thought that I originally intended to convey (see? sticking to just one channel is NOT an option). And this is the part where I claim that I've accepted the fact that I have this disorder. Except that I can't say that wholeheartedly yet. Because there are still times, moments mostly, when I try to convince myself that I'm just like everyone else. And then I just happen to see reality crouching behind a big rock, right before it has it's way with me. But besides that? Total acceptance.

And here's the part where I make an admission. I'm in a phase. A rather deep and involved phase which has no doubt contributed to my lack of blogginess. It started a month or so ago, when I innocently decided to create a cozy little bedchamber for Tootie. I started imagining what the kitchen might look like with a little color. Or maybe some new drapes. A lamp here and a world globe there. It didn't take long before I had lost all sense of priority. I've learned how to paint and texture walls, install molding (never again), refinish furniture, and thrift shop. I try to keep myself in check but truth be told, I didn't shower yesterday. Which wouldn't be so bad except that I didn't shower the day before either. Today however? We can all breathe a sigh of relief. Without passing out.

I only tell you all of this to explain the past several posts and to preface the upcoming posts. Here's a teaser: they'll all most likely be about ONE thing. This phase could be over next week or next year. Only time will tell. But until then, I shall be happily drowning in a sea of caulk and primer.

My husband mentioned that he hopes my next phase involves laundry. For he would quite like some clean undies...

But I'm more interested in this

and this

with a touch of this

Budget? Smudget.

2010-02-04T17:32:00.000-08:00

About 3 1/2 years ago we moved. I remember thinking at the time that I would rid myself of all my knick knacks, and move on to a sleeker, more modern decorating style. About 1 year later, Ikea opened. And after the initial high wore off, I began spiraling into a deep dark contemporary hangover. I was left with a totally mod, vogued out abode that felt anything but humble. Okay, hang on. I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea here. I love my house, and I really...like my furniture. But I miss my knick knacks. I miss the things that had sentimental value. And I can tell you from experience, that my beloved Ikea can't exactly conjure up stuff like that.

It all started as I was redoing Tootsie's bedroom. In between my trips to Target and Walmart, I began scuttling in and out of a few different antique shops. Then I branched out to my local consignment store. Then I branched out to my not so local consignment store. And then? It happened, I discovered the LOVE of my life. I'm mesmerized. So much so, that I even mentioned it in my last post. That's commitment for you.

During our rendezvous this afternoon, I casually sauntered past this (the vase - not the plastic flowers)

and these...

And a little while later, I saw this

At first I was all, "Naaaah, don't need it." But it was stubborn and resolute. And eventually I was like, "give it to me big boy!!!" Now, we coexist quite harmoniously. He brought a few roommates home, but no worries, they seem to be finding their niche.

Those little yellow numbers there? Twenty bucks. TWENTY. BUCKS. They need a few steel rods nails, and a little paint, but they are charming. And I get the giggles every time I see my 6' 2" husband perched atop.

I'd like to issue a challenge. Get out there, and find yourself some treasures (and then post about them so I can drool). However, I have some words of advise. Two golden rules regarding second hand shopping:

1) Thou shalt not pay full price for anything. It's a thrift store. Be thrifty.

2) Thou shalt perform the sniff test on everything thou considers for purchase. Smell it. More than once. Because no one likes a "smokey" teacup.

Too Bad I Don't Like Tea

2010-01-28T17:26:00.000-08:00

I've gotten a little carried away with the whole bedroom thing. This morning I got up at the butt crack of dawn and ventured out to my new favorite store in search of some vintage tea cups. Me and Super Sweet Store Owner were like, bff by the time I walked out of there. I'm surprised his two bichon frises didn't kick the bucket from all the polish they licked off my shoes though. Actually, they were kind of cute in a gremlin sort of way. But they kept Tootsie occupied so I had the freedom to scout out these little babies...

and this too

and lets not forget about this little set of dishes and tablecloth that I might just snuggle with in bed tonight.

I officially have a new thing for tea cups. I can't help it. Whenever I walk into an antique store, they call to me. I want to rescue them all and give them a good home. Just trying to do my part.

I also made a pit stop and snagged these.

But my most favoritest thing so far?

this

When I bought it, it was white, goddy, and ugly as sin. So I put a call in to a good friend of mine who's like a mad scientist when it comes to painting things and stringing things together. Yeah, I'm rather fond of her. But then the hubs attempted to install it. By himself. And now he only has 7 fingers left. If his electrician friend hadn't stepped in to save the day, he'd be down to 3. Like I said, NOT a handyman.

So guess what else? Someone stole my wallet. Well, technically I left it in the store, but I use the word "stole" because whoever picked it up, took the liberty of removing all my cash, credit cards, and gift certificates before they so courteously turned it in. Which was a HUGE relief. Especially after I realized that the only thing left in my wallet, my drivers license, expires in a few weeks. Remember karmic goodness? This was the EXACT opposite of that. Karmic shittiness!

She's Hot. She Flails. And She Grinds Her Teeth

2010-01-20T09:08:00.000-08:00

Usually when I hear a friend say something like, "I think I'll paint my basement this weekend" I'll be like, "sounds good, I think I won't". And when they say, "me and Handyman Husband are renovating our kitchen" I'm usually all, "sucks to be you". I don't exactly gravitate towards household "projects". It would be different if the hubs had some Macgyver-like skills in that area (remember that guy who could build a bomb out of like, a stick of gum and a toothpick?), but in all honesty, the man has trouble turning a doorknob let alone installing one. So we just don't go there. However, we just moved Tootsie out of her crib. Now, I know what your thinking. "Isn't she like...3?" To which I would respond, "she never climbed out yo." We don't go around pulling kids out of cribs all willy nilly over here. See, it's a delicate process. One that requires much consideration and contemplation. But a few months ago, Toots stuck her foot through one of the spaces between the railings. A jar of vaseline later, we knew it was time to make the switch.

Out went the crib. I'd love to say, "in came the big girl furniture" but that wasn't the case. It was more like, out went the crib, and due to the fact that there WASN'T any furniture, in came Tootsie. To our bed. Every night. I'm just not one of those snuggle-wuggle all nightie-wightie moms. Get the HELL out of my bed, is more how I feel about the whole thing. So it would be an understatement to say that we kicked it into high gear to get a bedroom done for the teeth-grinding bed monster.

Ordinarily, I would have simply just wandered the floors of Ikea until I found everything we needed. But there was a bit of a snag in the process this time. A bed my parents owned, that I've had a serious crush on for years, suddenly became available. And that's all it took for me to get all sentimental and love-dovey about remodeling my daughter's bedroom. I kid you not, my basement? Has become a sweatshop. We have sanded down, primed, painted, finished, cut, sewn, and glued in a way that I never thought possible. All the while, Tootsie has been nestled snug and warm, in my bed. And EVERY night she SUPERGLUES herself to her father. Which means...nuthin' for me. So yeah, we're moving quickly.

I'm in light fixture mode this week. And look at these fine little morsels I found.

That last one might be a little much for a 3 year old.

And look at these rooms...

Bold and bright, but feminine and sweet.

Also, a few years ago, my mom gave Toots this

It's a fairy house. And up until now, it has been pretty much, well, mine. But now it's one of the focal points of her room. Between the fairy house and the bed, I'm a little "verklempt".

The Obligatory Holiday Post

2010-01-04T18:07:00.000-08:00

Is anyone else ever so slightly glad that the holidays are over? Anyone at all? I'll even settle for a simple "amen." No? Then consider yourself warned. You might want to look elsewhere for the holiday cheer you may or may not be seeking. Because I'm so totally over it. Don't misunderstand, when all was said and done, it was holly AND jolly. But for some reason, I'm desperate to get back to the normal-ness I so routinely bellyache about. I don't know. The grass is always greener I guess.

Okay. Having said all that, I must first upload a few pictures. Because I'm only 99% Scrouge. That's why.

Shooter was rather pleased with Santa this year.

Except that he giggles and rolls his eyes whenever he hears the word "santa."

Looks like the magic just got it's butt kicked.

Tootsie's favorite present came wrapped in foil.

Santa took everything else back to the store North Pole.

New cap gun? 4 dollars.

Spanky's happy dance? Priceless.

This is how Toots celebrated her 3rd birthday (Dec. 26th).

What you don't see however, is her puke bowl just off to the right.

Apparently I have a newly developed amphibian fetish.

Meet Chubby Dan,

and Slim Shady.

The kids wanted to name the frogs Frog and Froggie. I told them that it was fine as long as I could start calling them Kid, Kiddie, and Kid-O. How can it be THAT difficult for them to actually utilize the dendrites and axons that I'm pretty sure they possess? Frog and Froggie? For real?

We really did have fun until Christmas night when the stomach flu hit with a vengeance. The upside? 3 year olds don't know it's their birthday unless you point it out to them. Therefore, there is no fall out if you decide to skip it entirely. No really. They totally don't even care.

And then, even though I tried to dodge it, avoid it, and forget about it, New Years Eve happened. Now, we've discussed this before. But just to get you up to speed, I DON'T DO New Years Eve. I DESPISE it. And YES, I realize I'm CAPITALIZING WAY too many WORDS here. I just think you need to be aware of my intense aversion to this particular holiday. I'm sure it would be fun if I were like 20, and single, and in the habit of consuming large quantities of alcohol (I do believe that's key here). But my reality doesn't lend it's self quite as well to the act of ringing in the new year (I spent my entire life up until yesterday saying, "bringing in the new year." Which, by the way makes way more sense. How exactly do you ring anything other than a bell???). Not to mention the fact that I don't make new years resolutions. Ever. But I feel all guilty and left out when I hear about everyone else's ambitions. You'd think I would just get my crap together and make a freeking list. But no. I'm a creature of the most cantankerous kind.

Against my better judgement, I went to a "party" at my sister in law's house on Thursday night. And even though I had every intention of exposing my fellow guests to my grouchiness, I wound up laughing myself into oblivion with my husband's family. We haven't done that in a long time. I didn't even want to leave. Well, until my kids broke their TV. Then I was like, "party's over homeskillets". I think we definitely utilized our welcome. But for the first time in a long time, I totally dug New Years Eve. Mostly at the expense of other people's dignity, but dang, it was fun.

Santa Needs a Brand New Bag

2009-12-13T23:42:00.000-08:00

This year, I was HELL FREEKING BENT on getting all things "Christmas" done early. So exactly 24 hours after Halloween, I started grilling my kids about what (from Costco or Walmart) they wanted Santa to bring them. It took all of 6.2 seconds for them to rattle off their unreasonably lengthy requests that naturally we whittled down to more wallet friendly versions (my 8 year old wanted a cell phone - pffft!). And that was that. We were done with them. Until we took them to see Santa. Did you know that Santa has the uncanny ability of making your life hell? I don't know if it's the polyester beard or the 2 millimeter candy cane but DAMN! That guy totally screwed us over. What do you do when they tell Santa something entirely different than they told you? We've somehow gone from a skateboard to, and I quote, "real live chaps with deer hair." No kidding. The good news, however, is that my mom happened to be at the worlds largest rodeo expo in Las Vegas that very day. So we placed a call. And wouldn't you know it, she managed to track some down. Except that I'm pretty sure they're made of cow hair. Not deer hair.

Problem #2: When Tootsie is watching TV (which is pretty much all day every day lately), after any and every toy commercial, she yells to me, "Ma, I waaan git dat." And just to keep the peace I yell back, "right on homegirl (or whatever)." So now, there's a rock, a hard place, and me, stuck right smack dab in between. But I'm not even kidding you, if Santa brought her that Strawberry Shortcake house, she might very well poop sunshine and glitter. And I just don't know if I can pass that up.

Problemo Numero Tres: Scooter's been thinking. He even said so. He's been thinking about how whether or not a big fat fatty who drives a sleigh led by 8 livestock animals could actually exist. He even asked me if Santa could ever die. How do you answer that question? He also happened to see two Santa's at the same time at the mall (dudes, could you be a bit more aware of how perplexing it is for my kid to see you together?). Ever since then, his faith has been shaken. And I can't help but think, It's almost over, isn't it?

Here's the kicker: Our 10 year anniversary is this week. And I want to know why in sam hell nobody told us that getting married mid-December would come back to bite us in the ass? Shamefully, I had to pull out the old, "but Mom, it's our TEN year anniversary" thing. And guess what? It worked!!!

Suckaaaaa!

And Then I Ordered a Jupiter Jack

2009-12-01T23:38:00.000-08:00

Thank you people. Thank you for taking the time to leave a comment for me in my time of suckishness. I've finally found the guts to emerge from my hidey-hole, and I have all of you to thank for that. So thanks. No. Really. Thanks.

If you thought that maybe a few weeks of wallowing would somehow make me less peevish, you thought wrong. In fact, I've just been jotting down some of my most recent parental aggravations so as to get everyone up to speed. But first I have to tell you about karmic goodness. Because it's not very often that I get to use the words karma and goodness in the same sentence.

Last Friday I was driving home from the mall (because my hidey-hole was becoming unbearably stuffy), and I rear-ended a guy who was driving a chevy malibu. A teal chevy malibu. He was stopped at a stop light and as I glanced down at my cell phone (what, I had a text message coming in), and I NAILED him. I left a mark the size of Texas on his bumper. I almost left the crime scene followed him to the nearest parking lot, swore like hell took a deep breath, and got out of the car. I took another look at the crater I left on his car and prepared for the worst. But guess what happened? He came around to where I was standing and said, "yep, looks like you gave it a little kiss." And I was like, "um, where I come from they call this vehicular damage...but I like your word better." He looked me straight in they eye and said, "it's okay. It's just a car." I have to guess that he noticed my state of bewilderment, because then he went on to say, " I spent my professional life as a police officer. I used to get called out to fender bender accidents where people were so angry at each other. I always used to remind them that it was called an accident for a reason. I promised that I would never let myself get upset over something so trivial." I swear on all that is good and holy, he actually said that. But it gets better. He then reached into his car, pulled out a teddy bear, handed it to me and told me that the best way for me to re-pay him would be to have a very merry Christmas. YES. HE. DID. And if he wasn't like 150 years old, I would have attacked him with one of those happy straddle jump hugs. But I resisted the urge. I simply hugged the old man (arms only) and said thank you while I fought back the tears.

Karmic. Goodness.

And also, because I feel it necessary to prove to..some of you (*ahem*) that there actually IS a reason I have laundry mountains in my kitchen, family room, and hallway(s), here are my latest holiday escape tactics creations.

I'll be taking orders till December 15th. And then? I will be conducting a seyonce as I personally pour gasoline all over my computer and light the match.

You can email me at annielewis@mac.com

When One Door Closes, Your Friends Bring Soup

2009-11-17T11:45:00.000-08:00

I grew up in a bubble. Not the kind that was manufactured by my parents. No. They were the, "you reap what you sew" type. The bubble I lived in was more or less a result of my naivety. Because like most children, I was an eternal optimist. Bad crap just didn't happen. Sure, there were times that I remember being disappointed about one thing or another but, see, I'm a fixer. I'm not a wallower. Me and Thomas Edison, we have a lot in common...except that I got like a 19 on my act and my most genius invention to date is my, "ice in a ziploc" remedy for goose eggs. Patent pending. What I mean is that I'm not one to just sit and stare at the road block. If I can't get over it, I'll go under it or around it or through it. But I won't sit there and cry about it. Or so I thought.

I'm not usually one to blog about personal situations. I've drawn a sort of "line in the sand" that I try hard to stay on the right side of. But I'm about to cross that line. So take a deep breath. Because I'm going to drill a giant hole right through the middle of this road block as I bawl my eyes out.

I found out I was pregnant a few weeks ago. And by the time I decided I was excited about it, the tide had changed. I miscarried. And for the first time in my life, I had that moment where I could have sworn my heart stopped beating. I've never felt like that. It's by far the most gut wrenching thing I've ever experienced. Period.

You know that thing that your kid does when another kid wants to play with one of their toys? No matter how long it's been since they last picked it up or even noticed it's existence, they throw a bloody damn fit when some other kid as much as flexes a finger in it's general direction. It's amazing how quickly you can get to wanting something you didn't know you wanted when you see it disappearing. And the pain of that loss is completely indescribable. I had no idea.

Now, I'm not naive enough to believe that this is the worst thing that can or even will happen throughout the course of my life. I KNOW that there are far more difficult things that I will eventually be faced with. But one thing I've learned from this is that where one door closes, another door opens. It's an old phrase but it means something new to me now. Because on the inside of that proverbial door, were the people who mean the most to me in the world. They were there to hold my hand, watch my kids, bring me food, and give me those reassuring looks that say, "I feel for you." I've been truly touched by the things people have done.

I don't know what the immediate future holds for me. I fully expect that there will be a few more sob-sessions and pity-parties (you can come if you want). But I do know that just because something is hard doesn't mean it has to be bad. And thanks to my closest homies, I think it's been a little less hard than it might otherwise have been.

Still though, it kinda sucks.

I Could Tell You...But Then I Couldn't Run To The Laundry Room Naked

2009-11-03T21:59:00.000-08:00

I've been a little, uh...moody lately (is that what they call it now - Hmmm - used to be "bitchy"). No reason really. I think it's more or less that when the hormone gods smite thee? They smite thee hard. Anyway. Moody. So last weekend, we busted out the old home videos to see if maybe that would calm my troubled thalamus (google it yo). Let me pause here for a moment to give you some very valuable advice. NEVER, EVER begin with the unlabeled tape. Especially if you're kids are huddled on the couch, with their popcorn in hand, ready to see last years sledding videos. Because the unlabeled tape will most likely turn out to be the tape of YOU pushing a small human out of your hoo-ha. Which is probably why you never labeled it.

You see where I'm going with this. Right? Right.

Needless to say. Questions arose. And after 8 years of dodging and distracting and quite frankly lying to my kids (it's easier if the baby just "pops" out of the belly button). I was faced with the question, "how does a baby REALLY get out of the mommy's tummy?" And I knew it was time. Time to face reality. Time to come clean. Time to stop running to the laundry room naked to get my undies out of the dryer. So? We had "the talk." It was basic. But it was definitely "the talk."

I always thought that having this discussion would somehow catapult them into a sea of chaos. And that from then on they would spend their time unraveling all the parental conspiracies that exist (they do so). But so far so good. Now, I'm aware that it's only been a few days, but at this point, they seem completely unscathed by the information we so hesitantly divulged. In fact, I'm not even sure it penetrated the grey matter. But this experience as a whole has made me realize something. You know that part in A Few Good Men where Tom Cruise (cute, pre-scientology Tom Cruise from 15 years ago) gets pissed at Jack Nicholson and he's like, "I want the truth", and then Jack Nicholson is all, "you can't handle the truth?" Well, I kind of felt like that. They wanted the truth. So, I finally decided to trust that they could handle it. "Dudes? Babies come out the mommy's hoo-ha. And I know it seems gross. Actually, it is kind of gross. But because of all the hurting and all the gross, me and Dad have you. And that's how EVERY mommy in the world has kids. Don't tell your friends. Mmm-kay?"

Yeah. Right.

Have Huffy, Will Ride

2009-10-25T20:19:00.000-07:00

Over the past few months the shpanky brothers have become acutely aware of the existence of little league football teams. After several weeks of pleading and whining and stomping and slamming of doors, I finally had to explain to them that there are plenty of activities that I will allow them to participate in, but pee-wee football ain't nevah gonna be one of them. No. Freeking. Way. I'm a bit of a pansy like that.

So last week, my brother was all, "hey, there's a cycle cross kids race on Saturday." And I was like, "hook us up yo." So the shpanky bros. spent the week riding their little Huffys up and down the driveway so they could be ready for this cute little race on Saturday.

Dude, have you ever seen cycle cross? NOT little. NOT cute. And NOT less dangerous than football by ANY stretch of the imagination. GAH! My blood pressure isn't cut out for these sorts of things. And the driveway? Not quite adequate enough training terrain.

But much to my surprise, they actually kicked a little bit of ass (sorry Mom - totally true though).

And my Bro.? He kicked a LOT of ass (sorry again Mom - I promise I'm done with the profanities now)

So did Bro #1's offspring

Against my better judgement, they're already signed up for next weeks race. So naturally I will spend yet another Saturday morning watching from the sidelines, gauze pads and Neosporin in hand. But next year? Football.

1 Card, 2 Card, Yellow Card, Blue Card

2009-10-15T18:34:00.000-07:00

Spanky walked in the door this afternoon and greeted me with a big ol' smooch. He then proceeded to carefully hang his backpack and jacket in the laundry room (FYI: that has NEVER happened before). Before I could convey my complete and utter elation for the unexpected act of obedience, he said, "mommy, you are the bestest, beautifulest mommy in the whole wide world." I was all, "Habbada whoobie whatie?" Then he was like, "mommy, you are such a good mommy that I want to give you a neck rub." I wish I could tell you that my mom-ego was ready to burst at that point but in all honesty, I was a little kurfluffled. You know the old sayings. "If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's a duck". And, "where there's smoke, there's fire." Well, Spanky is just about the smokiest duck you've EVER met. Because after I pulled out my jackhammer and wrecking ball gently probed and prodded as any suspicious mother would, I uncovered the truth. Which was that he had received a yellow card at school. And for those of you who have yet to experience the joys of having kids in elementary school, yellow is one step above blue. And blue is one step above red. And red means that your kid is like.....damaged goods. But when I asked him what happened? He was all like, "Me and Whack-a-doo Kid were being a little bit too noisy. But Mom, you know what's really really good? That I've never had a yellow card ever before." And I was all, "mmm-kay. Honey? Not to be a killjoy or anything, but the glass is SO not half-full right now." Seriously that kid could sugar coat a bank robbery.

I knew this was coming.

I didn't know when.

But I knew it was coming.

Because Every Good Birthday Should Include A Little Facial Hair

2009-10-08T22:38:00.000-07:00

I've been meaning to do this post for some time now. I don't have a good excuse for not having done it yet except that "Dad" is a hard topic for me to write about (this is about dad by the way). Mostly because when it comes to him, the right words don't really exist. He's just......one of those people.

But before I get to the sappy stuff, let's have a little looksie at what transpired at the big 60th bash.

"M-staches" were supplied upon arrival.

*the significance? Let's just say that I'm STILL getting used to my dad's upper lip. I didn't see it until I was like, 26.

And NOBODY was exempt.

This? Oh, this is Baby Mustafa Unabomber. He's harmless.

He really didn't take the whole turning 60 thing very hard. Actually he spent the majority of this past year telling people he WAS sixty (hopefully on accident). So how bad could the real thing be?

Like I said, he's just....one of those people.

Several years ago I read a book called Fathers and Daughters. I think I was pregnant with Tootsie and starting to realize that we needed all the help we could get (girls....'sup with them?). Anyway, there's a chapter in that book that talks about the fact that a girl's relationship with her father affects her life from the day she's born until the day she dies. Now, I don't know what kind of scientific evidence there is to support that claim, but I don't think I really need any to convince me that it's true. Because it is.

It's incredible to me that even as an adult, I still need Dad's affection. I still need him to tell me that he loves me. I still need him to let me cry on his shoulder. I still need him to call me, "Button Button" (really, it grows on you). I still need him to worry about me. I still need to hear him say, "it's na-cho cheese". I still need to feel protected by him. I still need his advice (the difference is that now I actually take it). And you wanna know something? He still delivers.

I'm really lucky. Dad is not only my dad, he's my friend. And that's probably the one thing I admire most about him. Everyone is his friend. It's the truth. Like it or not, if you exchange as much as a, "hello" with Dad? Shi-zam, you're friends. He's actually pretty freekin' cool. And 4 out of 5 dentists recommend him!

So, now? A toast. To the man who inspires many, never gets "bogged down", and quite frankly, rocks the big kahuna on a rode bike.... Happy Happy Birthday (like, 3 weeks ago)!

I love you Papa Bear.

We Be Losers

2009-09-19T22:40:00.000-07:00

Don't laugh. I have a new blog. It's www.greenshakesandgiggles.com. I'm a nerd. I know. Drop in if you want. You can even leave me (and jenny) a comment telling us we're losers. Hey, at least we're nutritionally sound losers.

Food Porn.....Sponsored By Downward Dog

2009-09-15T17:50:00.000-07:00

I went to yoga today in search of my zen. I don't really know what that means, but people? I think I found it. Problem is, my zen might require several doses of aspirin tomorrow. I'm almost positive that I ripped....something while positioning myself in "happy baby" pose. Let me say that again. Happy. Baby. Pose. Do you know how flexible babies are? There's a reason it's not called "happy full grown adult with fully fused bones" pose. Because if for some odd reason it WAS called that, we would all just bag the whole zen thing, give Buddha's belly a little rub down, and hope for the best. That would be easier and oh so much less painful.

There was an upside though. In all my newly discovered bendi-ness, I felt compelled to focus my energy on nutrients today (bendi-ness, nutrients......you see how those two go hand in hand, right?). A good solid workout sometimes gets me in the mood to really fuel my body correctly even if it's only for a little while. So I ventured out to Good Earth to find me some minerals.

Since changing to a vegan diet (maybe 60% raw), the most frequent question I get is, "what the hell do you eat?" Second on the list would be, "aren't you worried your kids are going to be small?" To which I usually respond, "dude, I'm 5' 1'', what are the odds?" But let's focus on, "what the hell do you eat?" Actually, the most accurate response to that question is, "a LOT." Really. One of the major perks to eating the way I do is that I can eat twice as much as the average person. And for someone that simply enjoys delicious food, that's kind of rad. As for what kinds of things I eat, allow me to give you a few visuals....

That last one there? I'm gonna smother that baby all over one of those peachy buckwheat muffins for a late night date with my DVR tonight. Das right. Joy on a plate.

AND, while I was at the store today? There was this young tai coconut in the produce section that was all, "hey there sweet cheeks," so of course I was all like, "oh ya, you're comin' with me". I have some ideas on how I plan to use it but first I have to go borrow my neighbors big ass meat cleaver so I can whack the top off.

The coconut. Not my neighbor.

I Would NEVER Do That!

2009-09-11T10:13:00.000-07:00

My eyes are going to fall out of my head. Actually they might just shrivel up and disappear before that happens but either way, they're gonners. And my wrist? Let's just say that there's no way in hell I'd pass the old "now wiggle your fingers for me" test. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome for sure. This photography thing is risky business. But it's kind of awesome too. Most of the time after a week like this past week I'd be full on ready to run over my camera with my mini van (let me tell you, after seeing what that did to Scooter's and Spanky's bikes? I don't doubt it's flattening abilities). However, I've felt a surge of some sort lately. A "kid in the candy shop" kind of surge. A renewed sense of energy and creativity. Okay, that might be a stretch but at least I've broken out of mug shot mode (that's my default - never fails).

So purely out of feeling like a show off and enjoying the prospect of exploiting other peoples children, I'm going to post some of my recent favorites. And remember that this has nothing whatsoever to do with using my blog to advertise myself. I would NEVER do that....

Ahem.

Having 2 Kidneys Is Overrated Anyway...

2009-09-09T09:05:00.000-07:00

My husbands birthday was yesterday. And I didn't do anything for him. Seriously. Nothing. No, wait, actually I did buy him some cupcakes that were so NOT vegan but we didn't even open them (and luckily today is garbage day....). No cake, no candles, no singing. Nothing. Normally I would feel at least mildly guilty about completely ignoring him on his birthday, but obviously (considering I'm plastering it on the Internet) I don't.

There's this family in our neighborhood. Gorgeous Mom, Gorgeous Dad, and 4 drop dead gorgeous kids ages 2-8. They live with Gorgeous Mom's parents, one of which happens to be suffering from kidney failure. A few months ago, the "Gorgeous" family started going through testing to see if anyone might be a match for Grandma who, you guessed it, is also gorgeous. Turns out Gorgeous Dad was a perfect match for Gorgeous Grandma. Weird, cause he married into the family. No biological ties whatsoever. And without so much as a, "I'd like to keep all my body parts - thank you very much," he offered up a kidney. I'm totally serious he probably wrapped it in bright sparkly paper and put a big bow on top because Gorgeous Dad is one of the most selfless, fun, comical people I've ever met. And since Gorgeous Mom's husband and mom were going to be going under the knife I was like, "um, no offense but you're kids aren't exactly waiting room material." "Drop them off at my house." So I had 2 of the 4 gorgeous kids come over to entertain me. And to be my perfectly logical excuse to neglect my husband on his birthday. Which, by the way, totally worked.

Actually, we were happy and even honored to be able to help the Gorgeous family yesterday. They redefined the word "sacrifice." They didn't flinch. They didn't hesitate. I'm astounded by their courage and their faith. And their kids totally dug my vegan banana bread. But my hair-doing skills need some fine tuning. Seriously, Gorgeous 8 year old girl? May be permanently damaged from my 6 am twisty up-do attempt. I finally just found Tootsie's biggest flower clip to provide maximum coverage and told her it looked "funky." Ya, permanently damaged.

Oh and Hun, happy birthday. Remember, good things come to those who wait....

Vegan Shmegan!

2009-09-03T09:15:00.000-07:00

It's been said that "you are what you eat." If that statement holds any truth, than about 6 months ago I would have amounted to something that resembled a cross between those little frosted animal cookies and Milk Duds. Oh, and let's not forget Diet Coke too. Sometimes I STILL don't understand how that stuff can taste so damn good going down even while it's SO SO bad for you. The irony. It kills me.

The deterioration in my health happened slowly. Over the course of several years. I just noticed little things that didn't seem quite right. Tiredness coupled with insomnia, joint aches and clicks, skin issues - and not just your run of the mill age spots, and finally the digestive trouble. Oh the digestive trouble. I've never exactly had a titanium stomach but this was so much more than just a sensitivity.

I started reading everything I could find about how your diet affects your health. I read about vegetarian diets, high protein diets, dye-free diets, and even a lemon juice - syrup - cayenne pepper diet (no joke, people actually drink that). I decided on vegetarianism based on my COMPLETE inability to digest meat. Then through a random series of events we discovered that my 6 year old had never actually "grown out of" his dairy allergy like the doctors said he had. The chronic diarrhea was pretty much a dead giveaway. So out went the dairy and in came the soy. And basically we were and egg or two away from a vegan diet anyway so why put off the inevitable? Out went the eggs as well. Along with the food dyes, high fructose corn syrup, and bleached white flour.

So now here we are. Vegans. We've entered the world of environmental loonies. But don't even think about asking me to give up my leather belts, shoes, or anything else that adds more Va to my Voom. Because hemp? No. Just......No.

I am, however, going to be posting a lot more about the way we eat. Not because I'm trying to convert you (actually I kind of am), but because it helps to be able to connect with other people who are doing the same thing. Don't worry. I won't be lobbying to save the Bait Fish or to appoint pets with lawyers. I just want to continue on my quest to a healthier life.

This article really helped me clarify my thoughts on the subject, particularly when I began hearing comments like, "you FORCE that on you kids?" And, "vegan children don't get the nutrients they need to grow." And, "why would you deprive them like that?" I'd jump all over these people for being so tact-less but, um, that would be a teeny weenie bit hypocritical of me. Instead, I whip out my defense list. And in case you're curious, here it is:

Things that have disappeared

my all nighters

the 3:00pm collapse on the couch routine

Diet Coke headaches

digestive.....eruptions

frequency of my hissy fits (significantly fewer and less horrifying)

weird grinding shoulder pain

eczema

Shpanky's diarrhea

Other notable changes

significantly improved complexion

Shpanky has gained some weight, still a waif though

my hair grows faster (good and bad I guess)

the whites of my eyes are whiter - I couldn't make this stuff up

kids are happier and more focused........therefore I have seen the light, and it is good

kids are learning more about health, nutrition, and the importance of ALWAYS reading labels.

family looks healthier overall

my husband eats veggie burgers-

and I cry happy tears.....

There's no denying that I more or less "straddled the fence" for the firsts little while. It was hard to break out of the mold and embrace this new way of feeding my family and myself. But once I did, it was almost like this whole new world of possibilities opened up to me. I've discovered the COOLEST products! Not to mention some tricks that have given me a "super mom" complex that may or may not wear off.

Tootsie can throw back WAY more of this stuff than is probably good for her. Oh well, it's better than Kool Aid. Right?

We've also done a bit of an overhaul on cleaning supplies and bathroom products as well. This is my favorite find.

If I didn't hide these, they'd be gone in less than 24 hours.

Ginger Peanut Soba Noodles......we made and partook

And with a couple of these?

We made some of these

At the very least, now if they decide to tax junk food to pay for healthcare (they are obviously oozing brilliance in Washington), we'll be as good as exempt.

It Is What It Is

2009-08-23T19:39:00.000-07:00

School starts this week. So ya, I'm psyched! Problem is, my kids have been staying up till the wee hours. I mean the WEE hours. And we can't just go around changing bedtimes all willy nilly on them. These things take time. So tonight? We begin the process. And I am full-on hiding in my office (door closed, lights off) so as not to be the one who has to wrangle them and drag them to their rooms. The hubs is gonna have to pony up and take one for the team tonight. So far, things don't sound good.

So anyway, I'm here in my office, hiding, and I just noticed a magazine sitting on my desk. It has Alicia Silverstone on the cover along with a wide array of enticing little teasers such as; Drop 10 lbs FAST - No hunger, No cravings (uh hu, riiiiiiiiiiight), and Is it just cramps......OR CANCER? (dude, chill, it's just cramps), and Flat Belly - check Slim Legs - check Amazing Butt - check, Get them in one easy workout (..........I got nothin'). And those are just a few! But you know what? I looked through it. And I gotta tell ya, these articles aren't exactly what one might imagine based on the brief summaries printed on the cover. Lose 10 pounds? Fast? With no hunger? I read the article and my friends, an exercise and diet plan like that? By day 3, you'll be fortunate if you're not tempted to nibble on your bath towels. You'd be THAT hungry. So it goes without saying, that things aren't always what they seem to be. In fact, NONE of those articles fit the descriptions printed on the cover. And where am I going with this you ask? Let me help you navigate your way through my discombobulated thought process. We just got back from a STUPENDOUS vacation to the California coast. I took precisely 234 pictures, 224 of which will be of no interest to anyone except me. And the remaining 10 aren't exactly self explanatory. Ya know? I don't want to post a bunch of pictures that may or may not lead you to a false conclusion or worse, cause you to think me.......boasty. So instead, I have selected, quite gingerly mind you, the photographs that quite accurately depict my family. Which has become herculean by the way. You'd think that 11 adults could reasonably manage 9 children. But you'd be wrong. We are McMullins. And we don't do things the "easy" way. We do things the McMullin way.

No "time out" corners? No problem.

I did NOT say "strike a surfer pose."

No I didn't!

Vacation came equipped with our very own "manny."

The Manny even assisted in the making of home movies.

What a guy.

They were so cute, so cuddly - pay no attention to the giant rack in the white t-shirt.

Shooter's reaction to the DOLPHIN in the background.

Note to self: easy on the "shark week"

We found out that coi poop sticks to grey leggings. Who knew?

There was lots of crack.

Not enough adults. But plenty of crack.

It must have been our lucky day because Dad whipped out one of these bad boys.......

We call this....success in picture taking.

I will spare you all the "after" picture.

So tonight I sit here (I think I just heard someone say, "dad, you're the meanest meanest man EVAR!" - but I can't be sure), hiding in my office because I just can't face what's coming next. I can't turn the page to the magazine because it might not be what I want. It might not be what I hope for. My kids are growing up. My nieces and nephews are growing up. My siblings are growing up. My parents are growing up, kind of. But sometimes it just seems so convenient, so necessary even to stand back and stare at the cover for a while. I'll turn the page when I'm good and ready. Because like a wise man once told me, occasionally things just "are what they are." And my family is awesome. They just are.

I Like Me Spinach

2009-08-11T16:31:00.000-07:00

I have a sensitive digestive system. And by sensitive I mean seriously bitchy. I've tried everything. Pepto, Malox, Bean-o (really, who came up with that crap), Pepcid AC, you name it. Nothin'. And to make matters worse, I'm OBVIOUSLY becoming lactose intolerant in my old age. My last trip to Red Mango ended on the loo. At 2:00 am. So several months back I knew something had to change. And change, I did. I declared myself a vegetarian. Not the chanting, yelling, holding signs that say "PETA" kind. More like the if you enjoy the feeling of masticated cow rolling around in your gut, knock yourself out kind. And you know what? I feel better. I really feel better. I've endured mild to severe mocking but I firmly believe that the worst is over (this upcoming week-long family vacation may prove otherwise but I'll be armed with my Fruit Leathers - apricot AND apple).

So it was just coincidence that a few weeks ago I wound up being talked into going to see the movie Food Inc. I'm not exactly in the habit of venturing out to the Broadway to view the most recent documentary. Because.....liberal agenda. But apparently Food Inc. was produced by the same guy that made Super Size Me and that show, quite frankly, rocked. I would tell you that Food Inc. also [I'm COMPLETELY incapable of typing the word "also" without typing "aslo" first] rocked but that just doesn't sound right. Food Inc. was life. Altering. And I didn't even walk out feeling like I had morphed into a democrat. I felt like me. Only now, me won't be allowing my children within 20 feet of any meat or dairy products that aren't organic. Ever.

I don't want to be preachy. Do I sound preachy? I don't mean to be. But I just can't help but wonder if the health problems that are so prevalent in our society these days could possibly be a result of what we consume. At least in part.

Now let's be realistic here. I'm not saying that I'll be this committed for the rest of my life. Honestly, in 10 years of marriage I've managed to cycle through about 7 different versions of myself, so don't hold your breath. But I don't want to become a statistic. I don't want my kids to become a statistic. I hear cancer pretty much sucks. Therefore, I think I'll continue to down my "green shake" (thanks to the lovely Jenny) for breakfast every morning, and pray to high heaven that we don't wind up with socialized medicine. Because long lines make me pissy.

So try this:

Green Breakfast Shake

1 cup fresh spinach

1 english cucumber

2-3 stalks of celery

1 apple (green, red, fuji, whatev's)

few sprigs of parsley

few shreds of ginger (just to wake up the flavor - not scare the crap out of it)

juice of 1/2 lemon

1/4 cup coconut or rice milk (I use a combination of both)

couple handfuls of ice

Throw everything in a blender and you're good to go.

Operation "Catch Jerk" is in Full Swing

2009-07-20T15:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever tried to watch television with a 2 1/2 year old? If you haven't, my advice to you would be DON'T. But if you have, then maybe you'd like to share with me how you've maintained your sanity.

Tootsie is infatuated with the show Max and Ruby. It's an epic story about a girl bunny named Ruby who constantly nags her little brother named Max. The end. You can see how Toots and I don't exactly see eye to eye on the importance of watching this show. I'm not kidding you, the theme song actually goes like this:

Max and Ruby

Ruby and Max

Max and Ruby

Ruby and Max

Max

Ruby

and her little brother Max

Da-da-daaaaaa (that's the big finish)

I know. With an opener like that, how could it not clean house at the emmys?

And when the show is over and Dora the Explorer starts, she goes completely fruitcake schizoid on me. Plus some. Oh, and I should probably tell you that there's absolutely no way I would lend her space on my DVR to solve the problem. Not even a remote possibility.

So last week, I forced her to branch out a bit and try some other networks. At first she threw herself on the floor and was all, I want Mac and Woo-beeeeee! But I stood my ground, and behold, we've found some new shows that we can both live with. Barely.

And they are (in no particular order)........

*Sid the Science Kid - It's tolerable. Except for when they dance. At which point I change the channel to avoid any television casualties.

*Pinky Dinky Doo - Okay. It's the same network as Max and Ruby but in my opinion FAR less peevish. How can you not love the "story box"? It's brilliant!

*Imagination Movers - Eh, Better than the wiggles. But really, how hard is it to surpass Henry the Octopus?

*High 5 - The girls are cheese balls and the guys are incurably flamin' but the songs are plesant....ish.

Lastly? *the Mr. Men Show - Oh. Ma. Gah. Totally DVR worthy. Tootsie thinks so too. Which is why it is now on the auto-record schedule. Quite an accomplishment around these parts.

And just because I need to get it off my chest, we have a clepto here on Happy Land Lane. A real live clepto who sneaks around in the broad daylight and takes things out of people's garages. Things like bikes, scooters (3 to be exact), tool boxes, and beer. No, not MY beer, Doobie Smoking Neighbor's beer. Wanna know what else? He took my brand-spankin'-new Mr. Clean car wash kit. Oh, he did so! For the love of all that is good and holy, you do NOT rob a woman of her cleaning supplies. And so, I hereby declare......WAR. Hello?.......have you met my kids who play cops and robbers like, ALL day long EVERY single day? They pretty much kick ass when it comes to catching and hog tying the bad guy with bungee cords. So ya. You're kinda screwed.

Camp "Suck-ish"......& A Smattering Of Other Topics

2009-07-16T14:22:00.000-07:00

You know how I titled my last entry "the post I might regret posting"? That could be an accurate heading for almost everything I post on here. I'm always worried about divulging too much information (I have a knack for that), offending someone I know (also a talent I possess), or winding up.......comment-less (never a good sign). In short, I love my family, friends and blog-stalkers (oh yes you are) and I don't want to drive any of them away. But I love my country too (no no, don't out click yet, just hang on for a sec). I know there are lots of people who take on the attitude of, I don't pay attention to any of that political stuff because it scares me, or it's all so dumb, or it doesn't affect me. And you know what? I totally get it. Because I used to feel that way too. I used to even get annoyed when people would talk about it. I just couldn't get interested. It seemed totally unrelated to the life I was living. But several years ago, something clicked and I realized that the life I was living and wanted to continue to live was actually being shaped by the very people I refused to hear about. I kid you not, up until that point, I hadn't even voted. And for good reason. I didn't think it mattered.

I know I know. Jumping on the political bandwagon feels like....trendy or something these days. The more people (like me) pester you to get involved the less interested you are. I'm the same way about the movie Star Trek. Everyone tells me that it's a great movie. They say I'll love it. But every time I have an opportunity to see a movie I downright refuse to see Star Trek. Mostly because everyone has told me I should. I hate being told that I should do or not do something. It's the only word I can think of that automatically induces guilt. I should go visit my grandma more often. I should eat better. I should clean out the drawers in my bathroom. See? Instant anxiety. So why should I care about what is or isn't happening in Washington? I actually believe that the answer is complicated but in a nutshell, where much is given, much is expected. And while I understand the value in maintaining balance in life, I also finally understand the value in being a responsible american. And that means caring about the direction our elected leaders are taking us. It doesn't matter if our opinions are different. It only matters that we educate ourselves enough to form an opinion one way or the other.

And Dude? They're about to pass a new healthcare bill. I don't know about you but I'd rather not have my doctor's office run like the DMV.

Next up. The Shpanky Brothers. They just had birthdays. July 14th and 15th (we learned fast that I'm extraordinarily fertile in October). The senior shpanky brother is 8 and the junior is 6. After the first few weeks of summer (lovingly detailed in my previous post) I made an executive decision to enroll them in an all day camp for a week or two (two). So that's how they spent their birthdays. On shpanky jr's birthday (yesterday) when I picked them up I said, "hey dudes, how was it." Shpanky jr's response? "Suck-ish." No joke. He actually said, "suck-ish." And I fell. Over. Laughing.

Sometimes when my kids have birthdays I do the weird comparison thing with their ages. Like wow, 8 is only 1 year shy of 3 rounds of highschool. And holy crap, 8 times 3 is 24 - I was married with two kids when I was 24. It's that kind of thinking that makes me realize just how quickly this period of time will be over. So this morning I didn't take them to camp. Instead, we played legos and watched Goonies.

But tomorrow? Camp. I can only handle the "truffle shuffle" so many times.

Last week we went to Vegas. I haven't been there for like 6 years. It still smells and there's still LOT'S of large boobies, but we really had a good time. Sometimes it's nice to stay up till the wee hours because you choose to as opposed to someone crawling into your bed with a 104 degree fever.

It's also sometimes nice to see your kids again after they've had a chance to miss you (and vise versa). Because really, is there anything sweeter than one of those genuine I love you - I missed you hugs?

No. I think not.

The Post I Might Regret Posting

2009-06-30T18:14:00.000-07:00

Something happened last week. I don't know how and I don't know why but this something has rattled me to the core.

The details are still hazy but through a random series of events, the cops (my kids) somehow put 3 Year Old Neighbor Kid in prison (the window well), removed the ladder, and proceeded to interrogate the prisoner (3 Year Old Neighbor Kid) who apparently hadn't exactly understood the rules of the game (cops & bad guys), or lack thereof to begin with (and this is the watered down version of the story). I could have handled it but then I found out that this scene had played out more than once. I could have even handled THAT but then I found out that the little sh*$s had been speaking less than respectfully to several individuals (and seeing that I am the poster child of respectful speech, it boggles the mind.....). One of them being Mom To 3 Year Old Neighbor Kid. And to add insult to injury I also discovered that they had been buying ice cream on like an HOURLY basis from Creepy Astro Van Driving Ice Cream Man (who lures children by playing halloween music - in June) and their piggy banks were literally empty. And just so we're clear here, they WERE full. And believe it or not, the list of travesties went on.

You know that part in Pirates of the Caribbean 2 where that octopus monster thing emerges from the ocean and he's so mad at the pirates for shooting canons at his eyeballs that he grabs the ship with all 8 legs and then threatens to eat the ship whole by opening up all his many large teeth filled mouths, while drooling octopus saliva all over the ship just to make his point? Or something of that nature? Ya. It was kind of like that.

Actually that part came later. But you wanna know what my initial reaction was? I cried. Hysterically cried. Like with the huffs and the baaaaaah's. And I don't do that very easily (everyone that goes to church with me is like, "um, liars never prosper") when it comes to anger, frustration, or disappointment. It took me about 24 hours to digest what I had uncovered (in a matter of minutes). But when I did, I quickly got to realizing that we are entering a new phase of parenting. A new era. One that demands we lengthen the leash and come to the realization that bad decisions are inevitable. This is the kind of parenting stuff that nobody tells you about. Not because they don't want to tell you, but because you wouldn't believe them if they did. Nobody wants to believe that their kid isn't the smartest, sweetest, kindest, cuddliest, most adorable creature that has ever lived. Virtually incapable of anything more than the occasional tantrum. Our naivety. It's the only thing that lies between logic and procreation I tell you. Well, that and the .05% failure rate of the pill.

I think most of us know on a rational level that our kids will make mistakes. What we don't know however, is how painful and mortifying it is when they actually make those mistakes. The real ones. The ones that aren't justified by simply saying "he doesn't know any better". Because deep down inside you know they know better. And they know you know they know better. You know?

For the better part of a week I've been analyzing the situation and trying to adjust my parenting techniques accordingly (turns out letting my kids stay up till 11:30 has it's down side - who knew). It goes without saying that I needed to reel them in a bit. And smack their bums a bit. But there's something I keep coming back to. It's the concept that if we couldn't make mistakes, we would never know the pain of making them and the lessons that can be learned from the pain we feel when we do. I don't want to shelter them from that. I don't want them to become teenagers who don't know from experience a good decision from a bad one. Because I have to believe that they really would be worse off. Oh, don't worry. I plan to screw them up nice and good. And honestly I don't expect that any day soon they'll casually comment on how selfless it was of me to oh I don't know, MAKE them? Or lend them my womb for 9 months? But if in the end they can somehow emerge with a small sense of what it means to be responsible and possibly even develop a few decision making skills, I'll be far less likely to hunt down that ice cream man and throw him in the custom designed prison out back. Word on the street is that it kinda sucks.

Then Again, Maybe Not

2009-06-22T15:30:00.000-07:00

Everyone say hi to my new nephew Elijah.

I snuggled with him a bit last night. Then I smelled him. Then my husband was all, "he's SO perfect, let's have another one." And I was like, "okay.....let's." And then on the way home my two year old was all like, "I hate you mommy." And then I was all, "ya, let's hold that thought."

Maybe I just need some more smelling and snuggling to convince me. Yes. Definitely. And maybe a muzzle for my daughter too.

Everyone's a Wei-ner....Or So They Say

2009-06-05T09:04:00.001-07:00

Soccer season is officially over (insert heavens opening). It's always fun for the first few weeks but then? The dragging of blankets, folding chairs, 3 kids, team treats and water bottles from the car to the field and then back again 4 times a week grows tiresome. Really, heaven FORBID we don't offer the 5 year olds a smorgasbord of preservative and sugar infested crap after 30 minutes of exercise. Because WHAT would become of them? Oh, the horror.

Here's the thing though, I have one kid who lives for this sport, and one who is far more inclined to chase butterflies and dig for potato bugs than actually attempt to kick the ball. I have accepted that. The hubs? Not so much. But my point is that they are different. No matter what we want for them, they came to us as unique individuals and that's how we raise them. For example when one gets invited to a birthday party and the other one doesn't, I usually find myself saying something like, "you are two different people so you will have different friends and you'll get invited to do different things, and if you keep acting like a sissie, so help me I WILL pummel you." At which point they usually skulk off to re-locate their self confidence. Which by the way, they always find an abundance of. Kids. They're resilient. They bounce back if you give them the chance. And I firmly believe that they will be stronger individuals for it.

So we've come full circle (or full.....figure 8 - shut up, it's me you're talking to). And the question is, if kids are all different and they are genetically driven to excel at different things, why does the end result of every competitive event have to be the same for all of them? They ALL get a "first place" prize for participating in the science fair, they ALL get a medal for running in the "fun run", and whoopty-freekin'-do they ALL get a trophy at the end of the soccer season. And my kids? They took their trophies home, dismantled them, and used the parts to shoot at the neighbor kids with their sling shots. And yes, I allowed them to live. Although I seriously considered the alternative. No, I didn't (yes, I did).

Competition isn't a bad thing. It's what drives us to try harder. Disappointment isn't a bad thing. It's what humbles us and teaches us we're human. And like Dash said (think The Incredibles - hello force fields and super strength, so freekin' awesome), "saying that everyone's special is like saying that nobody is". It's true that everyone IS special, but we're not ALL special ALL of the time. And that's okay. Sometimes it's fine to just say, "whoa dude, sucks to be you." And then toss in a hug and a hair rumple just for good measure.

Booyah! Take that Ghandi (I spellchecked that and the only other choice is gonad, so Ghandi it is).

Maybe She's Born With It......

2009-06-03T21:22:00.000-07:00

I took some pictures for my friend and neighbor Natalie today. You know that "pregnant glow" that people talk about? She totally has it. No fat face, no chubby feet, just the glow. And her 2 year old? He really is as sweet as he looks.

I Glue, Therefore I Am

2009-06-01T16:14:00.000-07:00

I'm OBSESSED with these little baubles. OB-SESSED! Maybe it's the smell of the glue. Maybe it's the telescopic property of the glass. I don't know, but I've used up an entire bottle of nail polish remover un-supergluing my fingers from each other. And I bought an exacto knife that seriously gives me a high.

Sorry I keep talking about my production of stuff. The little woman is currently working on the potty training so naturally we don't leave the house. Ever. Like even to get the mail. Because.....Niagara Falls. So instead, I glue stuff together.

Let Me Elaborate....

2009-05-20T21:49:00.000-07:00

Apparently I'm craftier than I thought. Remember that magnet board I made? Well, allow me to introduce to you it's close cousin, the clippie organizer.

And those little glass magnets? Just add a loopie thing on the back and a satin ribbon and wallah, I give you jewelry.

I bought resin today. I've never used resin before. I'd like to use my resin but as I was reading through the instructions I noticed a little warning that reads, CONTENTS EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE. Ok, fine. Except that step 2 in the instructions reads (and I quote), "remove bubbles from resin by sweeping the surface smoothly with a propane torch". Quite frankly I'm torn. Create some killer resin pendants or keep all 10 of my digits in tact? I'm gonna go mull this one over and I"ll get back to you.

Craftiness

2009-05-15T08:17:00.000-07:00

See that? I made it. No, I'm serious. I did. Right down to the little glass magnets. I'm not exactly the "crafty" type. And typically I head to Walmart or Target to find household accessories but I saw this on one of my favorite websites and decided to give it a try. In my ignorance I assumed that this would be a cheap little project. Needless to say, it wasn't. When did a little paint and glue become so pricey? Hello second mortgage. But that blank wall in my office will look a little sexier now.

Because She Said So

2009-05-10T20:47:00.000-07:00

She doesn't teach me to be strong or smart or unique or compassionate. She teaches me to believe that I already am all those things.

She also says I'm irreverent. She may have a point.

I love you Mom.

Happy M-day.

She's Cheaper Than Therapy

2009-05-03T20:35:00.001-07:00

It's may of 2009. That means that it's been 30 years since our paths crossed. But I'd be willing to bet that they actually crossed long before that. Of all the people in my world, you are the hardest to put a definition on. You're a lot of different things. I'd just call you my "friend" but that doesn't even begin to describe you.

So I guess all I can say is, I love you. I adore every ounce of you. And the funny thing is that I know you already know that. Because somehow you know me better than I know myself.

Happy Birthday SMF. I couldn't have imagined a more perfect night. And as always, it was an honor to be by your side.

Um...Psssst, You Have a Flower On Your Head

2009-04-26T21:25:00.000-07:00

I gotta get me some of these!

Because they're cute yo!

*Big thanks to the Ita twins for laughing at anything and everything.

CIA? Pfft, What Do We Need THAT For?

2009-04-24T07:56:00.000-07:00

I'm this close to blowing a gasket over this one.

What do you say we get the pictures of what they've done to our citizens and compare the two? And Nancy, you've GOT to ease up on the plastic surgery. Oh, you've never had plastic surgery? Right, my mistake. I thought maybe you had, but that nobody ever TOLD you about it. Because that happens sometimes....

It's true, my snarkiness has reached a new high. I need a vacation.

No South Beach Here....

2009-04-16T21:27:00.000-07:00

Pardon the food theme I seem to have going lately but I think I might be onto something here. Now if I tried to make a loaf of bread the end result would be Pepto and oven cleaner. But bagels? They're an entirely different story. What with the kneading, and the boiling, and how do you do that? I'd of never thought it possible. But people, I'm telling you once you try homemade you quickly realize that Einstein's is nothing but a lie.

So I guess you know what we'll be having for breakfast tomorrow. And for lunch tomorrow. And for dinner tomorrow and then again for breakfast on Saturday.

What?

Carbs?

Where?

They CAN Learn New Tricks!

2009-04-12T22:02:00.000-07:00

He gave me shoes, and cupcakes, and a surprise dinner with my dear friends.

And he was rewarded accordingly.

Ch Ch Ch Changes

2009-04-02T20:24:00.000-07:00

Due to the fact that it's Thursday and that I'm beyond exhausted and that I think the walls of my house are literally closing in on me, I went shopping with SMF tonight. Because that's what SMF's are for. Their most fundamental reason for existence is to come up with a ploy to get you out of the house so the two of you can meander the isles of Target and analyze why "the ex" would have put a picture of his hotness on facebook. The nerve! Oh, and to giggle and snicker while rummaging through the racy lingerie (yes, we're 10, thanks for asking). And to quarrel over who would kick who's tuckus between Tinkerbell and Thumbelina (totally Tink). And to admit to each other that we're scared to have daughters that might turn into the hideous little ogres that we recall being ourselves (we're so screwed). But also to gush over anything with even a hint of pink. And to declare ourselves liberated in terms of body image, except for here, here, here, here, and here. And to agree with each other that nothing will ever even come CLOSE to that night 15 years ago when we stole the car and drove to our Boyfriend's (at the time) houses to get a little action. And then SMF goes a yammering about her latest epiphany regarding financial organization, the money envelope (we share an affinity for Dave Ramsey). She gets so excited about showing me this that she looses all appendage control she seemed to have been demonstrating, and flings her money right into the air. Were talking 500 dollars in $10's and $20's fluttering down to the ground. Naturally begins the roaring of laughter and the crossing of legs in an attempt to prevent leakage. Because 30 years and 3 pregnancies (each) changes things. But not everything.

700 Calories in 30 Seconds

2009-03-30T10:15:00.000-07:00

I saw these on bakerella.com and started licking my computer screen. I didn't quite get the desired result so I went with the next best thing, I made some. If you listen carefully you can actually hear my jeans exploding. I'm no Martha by any stretch of the imagination but I kindof kick ass when it comes to brownies.

*I'd let you pat me on the back but it seems as though I beat you to it.

What, Does That Make You Uncomfortable?

2009-03-24T10:12:00.000-07:00

On Monday morning, my spin bike and I were having a little rendezvous when I heard a knock at the front door. Ordinarily I wouldn't bother to make the trek to the door in my bike shoes (they make me look somewhat handicapped when walking and sound freakishly similar to tap shoes on the hard floor). But I noticed that the shutters directly next to the door were open, suggesting that whoever was out there had most likely already caught a glimpse of me in my spandies (an unfortunate reality) and knew I was home. So I dismounted, picked my wedgie, and ker-plunked my way to the front door.

I swear I had opened the door only a third of an inch before I heard someone say, "hitheremissmynameisjamar howareyoudoingtoday i'mtryingtogettoknowpeopleinthearea andWOWyoureallyhavesomeniceneighbors". Awesome. A paranoid door to door salesman practicing to be an auctioneer, and there I stood in my bumkins and bike shoes attempting to ignore brutal case of sweaty-crack. I don't know what most people do when faced with one of these fine individuals but I almost always fall into their trap. I have been cajoled into purchasing a long list of items which includes but is not limited to, a freezer FULL of chicken, a daily newspaper subscription (I only recently caught on to the concept of online news), weekly milk delivery, a water softening system, and a cleaning service (that never bothered to actually show up). It's mind boggling that my husband dareth to leave me and the checkbook home alone together.

So anyway, he rev'd up his bs engine and took off with what I could only assume was the same speech he'd already given half the people in my neighborhood. I was right. And about eight minutes in (as teeny tiny icicles began to take shape on the tip of my nose), he unbosomed the paperwork. And by paperwork I mean a faded ragtag sheet of paper that was adorned with numerous specks of spittle. He proceeded to point out that "all the proceeds will be sent to the troops in Iraq". To his credit he looked like he was telling the truth even though I almost told him that his pants were on fire. But after I noticed that his t-shirt said tangled and violent, I feared the reprocussion that might have come from my accusation. He continued on with his spiel and.......what was that? Did he really just look at my ta-tahs and then say, "Miss, I can tell you're feeling chilled"? Well turn me upside down and paint me blue, he did! And that was it. He told me to "have a lovely day" and he left.

The thing is, that I spend a lot of time bellyaching and griping about the girls, or lack thereof. But let's give credit where credit is due on this one. That man would have walked away $50.00 richer had he not noticed my icy condition. These babies don't do much for me, but if they can repel a guy who was trying to pull the wool over my eyes, they're gonna get what they deserve. A nice lacy padded number with gel inserts and cleavage enhancement. Grrrrrh!

Quick memo, then I really will end this. If I haven't visited or commented on your blog lately, there's a good chance it's because you went all private-o on me. So if it's not too much trouble, please, let me back in? annielewis@mac.com

Um.......Jen Lambert, Kim Gillespie (I know you're married but your just such a Gillespie). That would be you.

I've Been Goosed

2009-03-21T16:32:00.000-07:00

There are lot's of things about my life that I consider to be not awesome. For some reason revealing that little can of worms comes easily for me when I'm plopped down in front of my computer, Diet Coke in hand (examples: here, here, & here). But there's something you should know about me, and I don't even care if it sounds like I'm bragging. Mostly because I totally am. My childhood? Was STELLAR! Not like cell phone, video games, designer shoes stellar {although if I remember correctly, my parents did cave when pestered repeatedly for an Atari system. But are you kidding me? Donkey Kong and Pac Man? Sweeeeeeet!}, it was more like dogs, turtles, pigs stellar. The animals were abundant. Actually it was kind of a neighborhood theme. Pets, long summer days, kids running barefoot through dog crap, it was bliss. I think I wore shoes like twice before I was 12 years old (at which point I turned into a hormonal fire breathing dragon but we'll discuss that some other time).

One summer day however, I took a shoeless stroll to the neighbor's little bunny breeding hutch. I don't think their intentions were to actually breed them but do you know what happens when you let bunnies shack up together? That's right. Bow chikka bow bow! Anyway, in the back yard with the plethora of rabbits (or pack or pride or whatever they refer to themselves as), were also some geese. A flock, if you will. I liked the geese, but on this particular day I was smitten with the baby rabbits, so the geese, eh they were secondary. But the encounter didn't exactly go as planned. The one goose, the big one with the jacked up tail feather? He wasn't down with being a B-lister that day. I thought I detected a little resentment the moment we made eye contact but it turns out that I seriously underestimated his wrath. He charged. And I ran. Out the gate and across the lawn. And somehow in my panicked state, I concluded that my safety lie a top the neighbors trampoline. So I jumped. But it was not to be. Because geese? They fly. So it didn't take long for him to catch up and chomp my right butt cheek. Now, I know "geese don't have teeth", but I'm pretty sure this one was highly evolved because I swear I saw row upon row of razor sharp canines. Maybe. There's a chance I imagined that part. But that goose encounter is seared into my memory. It forever changed my feelings towards anything that says honk. Or quack. Or even "Hi friends, welcome to Sesame Street".

I don't tell you this story to discourage you from discarding all stale bread at your local duck pond. I tell you this story to preface the question, do I want more kids? I know, that transition was totally seamless. Truth be told I've been distracted by my children's long term diagnosis of ants in their pants and haven't given the idea ample consideration until recently. Although I use the word consideration loosely. I know I bash them (my kids) quite frequently here but for the record, they are very, very cool. Each one in their own way. Even with their standard flibbartygibbets, I am glad to have a piece of them. This I know. What I'm unsure of is how many times I want to test my fate.

In my experience, having 2 kids didn't rattle me any more than having 1. And having 3 kids didn't rattle me any more than having 2 (okay, I'm sugarcoating that one just a bit). But I'm unsure of which number will be the straw that broke the camels back, the other shoe that dropped, or the goose that bit me on the ass. See how nicely I tie that together? How many times did I hang with those gooses (I know, spellcheck doesn't like that word either) before one decided to biopsy my hind quarters? Maybe it would be that 4th kid that would tip the scales just enough for me to wind up using a nerf blaster to hold up a local Walgreens, and demand their entire supply of Xanex. But on the flip side, maybe it wouldn't. For now my beloved IUD is staying right where I put it (technically, Dr. Cute OB "put it". Not me.). Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying it's gonna stay there forever. But I'm not ready to dislodge it just yet. Because I'm allergic to latex. That's why.

"It" Has Arrived

2009-03-18T13:32:00.000-07:00

Anyone up for movie night at my house on Friday? No, really, I'll even supply the Jr. Mints....

I Has BIG Smarts

2009-03-11T08:47:00.000-07:00

We went, we wore stupid shirts, we worked, we came home. That was pretty much the gist of our trip. Now on to more important things.

Wisdom. I don't have much of it. But sometimes I trick myself into believing I do. Like when I was talking with a friend about her 3 year old who lately has been acting like........well......a three year old. She was spouting off her frustrations with the tantrums and the name calling and the naughty words (all of which he totally learned from my 5 year old) and instead of really listening and actually hearing what she was saying, I pulled the old advice rabbit out of my hat. I don't know why I do that. It's probably an attempt to ward off an inferiority complex or something. But I totally just cringe at myself when I fall into the impart my knowledge trap. I'm working on it. And I'll get there. But if by chance you catch me on my high horse, please, feel free to push me off.

Also, this happened......

She's my niece. Her name is Marley. And I want to EAT her!

I'm totally serious when I tell you that my uterus literally lept out of my body and made a grab for this one. Don't worry though. I smacked it around a little and reminded it that it's already had 3 turns.

I think it's lobbying for a 4th.

But that's an uphill battle.

One more subject change. Big Love. I've never seen it (someone ratted on me and my free HBO........hoser!). I'm not justifying the layout for Sunday's show but come on, admit it, everyone loves a good scandal. Let's not get our panties in a knot over this.

*Please excuse the smattering of topics here today. It's the jet lag. Ya, totally the jet lag.

*ahem*

My Rope? It's Nearing the End

2009-02-26T12:25:00.000-08:00

The hubs invited me to go on a little work trip with him in a few weeks. At first I was all, hellz ya, shopping and dining and sleeping in! But then he threw a little wrench into my plan. He was like, what size of shirt do you wear? Whaaaa? Sounds like an innocent question but after I scratched the surface, the magnitude of his deceit became apparent. There will be no shopping, no sleeping in, and by dining he totally meant Weinerschnitzel. It's a convention. For work. And he's running the booth. The shirt question was just the "smoke and mirrors" way of telling me that I will be sporting the company logo while I aid him in his efforts. So, yes. I am in fact going on a "work trip" with him. To work.

This actually isn't the point of my post though (and you thought I was through whining....silly you). What I'm trying to say is that whenever we have a getaway (or workaway) approaching, I start feeling like we need to have loads of family time. Ya know, to make up for the 3 whole days that we'll be away........working. You're right. I'm a dink. But I've given up trying not to be so now we all must suffer. Anyway, we spent the weekend trying to enjoy several family activities in light of the possibility that we may get mugged and killed on our (labor intensive) trip and never return. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

Saturday's activity involved letting the whole family help make dinner while we watched the Jazz game. Just to mix it up a little we invited my best friend and her family over (I like to call her Soul Mate Friend who's kids are as enthusiastic about flinging themselves off entire flights of stairs as mine, SMF for short) because the chaos level just hadn't hit overload yet. And by the time SMF and I began mopping up the third cup of spilled milk I had this little flicker of a thought, why is it so bloody hard to have fun with the kids?

Do you ever feel like that? I'm not trying to complain here (actually I am, I just camouflage my grievances with words like flicker) but sometimes I wonder. Am I trying too hard? Do you create the warm fuzzy memories or do they just happen? Am I doing it for them or for me? And honestly I don't know the answers. What I do know is that I'm ready for a recess. Dorky shirt or no, my bags are packed. And that is exactly it. For me at least. If I didn't get to the place that most people refer to as, the end of my rope, I most likely couldn't agree to get on a plane and leave my kids in the hands of a stand in.

So, thank you Stand in (you know who you are). You make sanity possible.

She's a Crafty Little Nudest

2009-02-17T18:32:00.000-08:00

I had an appointment with my shrink today. What? You don't have one of those? You really should look into getting one (make certain they come equipped with a Lazy Boy because, Ahhhhhh and sometimes Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz). The boys were at school but the "Little She" had to tag along. Of course I crammed my bag full of toys. Actually they were more like pieces of toys because nothing in our house would actually qualify as a whole toy these days. Anyway, as I sat down to therip-ify she immediately whipped out a Cinderella doll from I don't know where. Technically I'm against any doll that's suggestive of an unachievable boob to waist ratio. Or any toy with boobs, really. But I made an exception here because Rich Sister-in-law just got back from Disneyland and deemed it necessary to "buy the kids a little something". Turns out my 2 year olds "little something" has some serious fun bags and removable clothing. So, Shrink Dude and I got to talking and I let the discovery of the Cinderella doll slide. Bad call. Because about 2 minutes later the Little She handed me Cinderella's clothes and then proceeded to say, "Cinna-ella's bar ne-ked Mommy. Her's boops er blue, see?" Oh, I see Honey. Now go sit down and play with your naked princess while Mommy gets slapped with a law suit. And while your at it, would you like a little Heineken in your sippy?

And here's where I try to redeem myself a little bit. My kindergarten kid? He was totally "U". I gotta hand it to him for actually linking arms with "Q" in the midst of his girls have cooties phase.

Did you notice the two little home boys in the back? They seemed to have missed the memo regarding "Sunday best". Or maybe they were the DJs.

And here's where anyone who's a liberal is going to want to exit. Like now. Unless you can refrain from sending me hate mail. Because I'm about to make a snarky remark about our professionally lame government. Since when did "change" become socialism? Good to see we're headed to hell in a handcart. Don't hate me because I'm a conservative.

Ashton was a No Show

2009-02-10T20:47:00.000-08:00

Two posts in 1 week. I know. Toot toot (that was my own horn). I was going to wait till next week to post this little gem of a story but "don't put off till next week what you could do this week" or something. Whatevs'. Anyway, as you're all well aware by now, I'm not "Wonder-Mom" by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, usually I can be considered quite the contrary. I'm okay with that. Honestly. I am. But sometimes it's nice to be reminded that I'm not complete pond scum (yet).

I was searching through racks upon racks of clothes at Babies R Us the other day. [Looking for clothes for my 2 year old there is a little like having Barney over for a play date. Overkill on color, lacking in style, and side effects may include: nausea, vomiting, dizziness, blurred vision, decreased sex drive, ringing in ears, and dry mouth. Thank you wikipedia.] As I realized that this labor of love would end up fruitless, I turned to leave. And as I was walking out, I noticed a woman in the toy section struggling with her 2 children (maybe 3 and 5 years old). As she finally wrangled them to the ground, one broke free and in the exuberant glory of his escape, managed to knock several Big Bird toys off the shelf and sent them skittering across the floor (haven't we all been there?). Apparently the Big Bird incident was the straw that broke the camels back because I kid you not, this woman came COMPLETELY unglued. There was gnashing of teeth and much yelling. Not like the low, under-your-breath, mad as hell but don't want to summon security yelling. Like the screaming at the top of your lungs because you need a tranquilizer yelling (actually I have done that, but not anywhere that ends in "R-US"). Needless to say, I think I pee'd a little. It was THAT loud. And the best part was about mid-rant when she chucked some animal crackers at her kid said "WHEN IN THE HELL ARE YOU GOING TO LEARN TO BE NICE". I almost stuck around just to make sure I hadn't been punked.

It's good to know that there do exist lines that I haven't crossed yet. I'm not saying I wont. I'm just saying it hasn't happened yet.

*And for the record, Babies R Us carries many useful child rearing supplies. Just not the kind you dress them in. Or throw at them.

Less is SO NOT More!!!

2009-02-09T13:26:00.000-08:00

What. A. Rip-off.

I don't want to name any names here but it rhymes with "shmounty".

Going Once, Going Twice....

2009-01-27T09:51:00.000-08:00

I'm sure this will be of absolutely no interest to most of you in which case you'll want to out click asap. But if by chance you are in the market for a totally rockin', out of this universe, stellar camera, you're going to want to stick around (gotta utilize the free advertising opportunities). Because mine? It's available. I've had it for a little less than 2 years and not only has it never had a problem (canons rock like that), but it kinda turns me on. Anyone who knows me knows that my camera is important to me. Like more important to me than my children.

It's a canon EOS 5D. It's a full frame and has 12.8 megapixels among other noteworthy features. If you need more info, just google it.

It includes the camera body, battery, charger, memory card (2 gb) and original instruction manual.

Shut up. I had to use the crappy camera to take pictures of the awesome camera.

I'm asking $1250.00 OBO.

Any questions, e-mail me at annielewis@mac.com

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, I Love Oregano

2009-01-25T12:23:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the ever lingering inversion, I've been doing a bit of reorganizing around the house (heaven forbid we should actually inhale non-circulated air). It feels good to de-clutter. Maybe someday I'll regret chucking my old dance company costumes but for now, b-bye (I did keep the little pink, crushed velvet number just because.....crushed velvet). However, about mid-way through my project I started to notice that I've got an astounding number of multiples of certain things. Like:

-pencils

-duct tape

-nail polish remover

-apple scented tea light candles

-garlic bread sprinkle

-band aids (hello kitty and batman just to name a few)

-and oregano

The oregano. Oh, Sweet Mother of Mercy, the oregano. I guess when I'm at the grocery store having forgotten my list, oregano is the default item. Our food storage is non-existent but it's good to know that in the event of a natural disaster we will be well manicured, fashionably bandaged, and we'll be free to do some aromatherapy with our candles. The light by which we will feast on our spices. If we actually had a lighter. Or even two rather abrasive sticks.

Oh. And then there was this:

I was making cookies (I needed a break from organizing all my super-useful household items) when I realized that there were no chocolate chips. Actually no, there WERE some because I bought some on Thursday. But they had mysteriously disappeared since then.

me: Hey, where are the chocolate chips I bought yesterday?

griff: I dunno.

me: Eliot, do you know where those chocolate chips are that I bought yesterday?

eliot: Uhhhhhh, No?

me: El, look at me and tell me the truth. Do you know where they are?

eliot: Mom, no. Geeze!

me: Eliot, you and neighbor kid were upstairs for a long time yesterday (which NEVER happens unless there's trouble). What's that bruise on your face? Come-eer. UH! That's chocolate! Wherearetheyyoutellmerightnowori'llsmackyourass!

eliot: O-KAAAAYYYY (going up the stairs, stomp stomp stomp) GEEEZZZZZE!

eliot: (walks back into the kitchen with chocolate chip bag filled and I mean filled with money) Here mom.

me: What the hell? You ate ALL of them? And where on earth did this money come from?

eliot: Neighbor kid gave it to me.

me: Neighbor kid gave it to you?

eliot: Well no. We traded.

me: What did you trade him for FIFTY dollars?

eliot: Marbles.

The little chump stole and consumed an entire bag of chocolate chips and then used the empty bag to house the fifty bucks he conned off the kid next door. Under normal circumstances one might be concerned about this type of behavior. But me? Eh, don't care. This is Eliot we're talking about people. And I could tell you stories about him that would make this one seem like humanitarian aid.

Count Your Losses

2009-01-19T19:52:00.000-08:00

Things I've lost:

> My wallet

> Other people's pictures. Several times. Recently.

> My temper

> My kids (although security at Fashion Place Mall passed that test with flying colors)

> Chapstick (over and over and over again)

> Sleep (on a nightly basis)

> My desire to watch Greys Anatomy (icicle breaks loose falling directly into Yang's gut at the exact moment she happens to slip on the ice landing belly up........What. Evar!)

> My composure

> Every race I've entered. Ever.

> Sunglasses (always the hot ones, always)

> My jury duty notice (tee-hee)

> Bladder control (ahh ahh ahh-CHOOOOO! - bless me. And pass the Depends)

> This game on Saturday night (the fake smile on my face should be all the explanation you need)

*Except that I still think Daniel and Ryan cheated. And maybe Natalie too.

*Never mind that Ryan's head is seemingly over inflated and completely blinding in this picture (that's what happens when you put the camera in the hands of your 7 year old at 10:30 pm......or anytime, really).

> My kid's tooth

> My neighbor's kid's tooth (I'm not really for the whole crazy little winged woman who carries unlimited amounts of cash and stashes molars thing anyway.....obviously)

> The bottoms to my favorite swimming suit (there was a wave runner, a tube, and me hanging too far off the back) (and did I mention the profanities?)

What have you lost?

I Mean, What I Meant Was........

2009-01-11T19:55:00.000-08:00

Did you ever have that day where you were taking pictures for someone (a rather important, middle-aged, female someone) and you were at the point where she was all posed, ready to shoot and you told her to "bring your chin down just a little bit" and she replied "oh dear, that makes my jowls more noticeable", but because you were preoccupied and didn't quite catch what she said, you responded (and I quote), "no no, they look cute"? But you proceeded to take picture after picture, snapping away until about 3 minutes later when the "jowls" comment finally entered the grey matter? And then, you were so obsessed with trying to come up with compliments to counteract your unintentional insult that your pitters seeped down to your waistline? And when she was leaving, you did that weird thing where instead of just saying "take care" or "see ya later" you kinda combined those two phrases in a sort of slurred fashion and said "take-ck-she-later"? Did you ever have that day?

Yeah?

Me too.

It's a Girl Thaaang

2009-01-05T20:59:00.000-08:00

Everyone meet my girls (my friends, not my rack). The plethera of boxes in my basement threatened to swallow me whole before I could find an old picture that accurately represented the entire group (there are a few missing), but you get the gist of it. These are my high school sweethearts. Most of them I even went to jr. high with. Actually, most of them I went to elementary with too. And a few of them I've known since the day I was born.

Except that now days, they look more like this (again, a few were m.i.a. when this was taken and please pay no attention to the midget wearing polka-dots standing in the front row)...

They've moved on from soccer players to soccer moms, from cheerleaders to business executives, and from sterling scholars to college graduates. But it seems like nothing has changed at all. We're spread across the country, the world even (we lost one to Germany - freekin' husband that works for the department of defense) and don't see each other very often anymore but when we finally re-unite, it's like we haven't missed a beat. And at this point in my life these friendships are invaluable to me. They are true. They are without guile. They have stood the test of time.

And y'all thought I wasn't sappy.......

New Years Resolutions, Not Included

2008-12-31T19:56:00.001-08:00

I blog at night. I drink large quantities of Diet Coke at night. Sometimes, they overlap. And considering that tonight is New Years Eve (Ya, I know, one of these kids is doin' her own thing), I feel compelled to preface this post with a warning.

WARNING: I will not be held responsible for any blog fodder that may or may not offend (the envelope, it will be pushed).

There are a number of things that need to be discussed tonight. Most of which I have a love/hate relationship with. So grab your drink of choice (mine will most definitely be the brown bubbly), settle in, and let's make some memories.

In honor of the holiday at hand, let's start with new years resolutions. I love/hate them. The concept of making and reaching a goal is honorable. Then reality comes-a-knockin'. Dude, work out? EVERY day? Let me just save you the guilt induced binge attack you'll be facing in 2 weeks (if your lucky) and share with you a little secret: baby steps. I worked at Golds Gym for 10 years (the why and the how are still a mystery) and every year when January 1st rolled around I knew I had to gear up for my classes to be overflowing with all the new years "resolution-ers". But I always knew that the challenge would be short lived. Slowly but surely the enthusiasm would wear off and soon I'd be back to my original little pack of groupies (LOVE them). Jab-Cross? Round house kick? Hellz ya! So much easier without the crowd. My point? If I remember correctly, is that January 1st is kind of my nemesis. My green goblin if you will. So this year, I've decided to focus on my life's resolutions. The stuff I want to do before I kick the bucket. Because, guilt schmilt! So here goes. Don't laugh.......out loud at least.

1) See the space shuttle blast off

2) Read the bible-cover to cover

3) Learn to really play tennis

4) Travel to Israel (this one's not looking good)

5) Meet a real live monk (I dunno, I'm curious)

6) Become an RN

7) Finish an Iron Man competition

8) Learn to make baklava

9) Join a bowling league

10) Pay off my house

If you have a second, tell me some of yours. Or not. No pressure. Just remember, secret keepers never prosper. Now SPILL IT homies!

Next on the list would have to be the cross-contamination of toothpaste flavors. It's a problem. In my world, it's a BIG problem. Ryan's and my toothpastes despise each other. Independently they're fine. Fresh. Minty. But after we brush our teeth, we can't breathe within a 5 foot radius of each other (let alone go in for the "good morning" kiss). Because what happens when our toothpaste breaths mix is really quite something. It smells like hot, minty garbage. Something must be done. And switching to his brand is totally not an option. Because me and Aquafresh? We have a chemistry. And I'll-Be-Damned if my marriage gets in the way of that.

Moving on. The Jones's. The hypothetical Jones's. The ones we try to keep up with. Ya know'em? I considered stealing their cat and torching their house. But then I watched "Lock Up - Extended Stay" on MSNBC and decided against it. Have you ever seen that show? And I thought I was hostile. The Jones's.....right. I recently read a quote by Dave Ramsey that kinda rocked. It said: "We buy things we don't need with money we don't have to impress people we don't like". I don't exactly not like anyone imparticular (it is too a word, so say-ith I). Except for this one dude on my street that smokes cigars out in his front yard (that's like 2 feet away from mine) and when my neighbor friend asked him to please not smoke when the kids are playing outside, he was all like "it's a myth that smoking is bad for you", and she was like "really? Is that why your skin looks like rotten leather and you can't take 3 steps before you hack up your own lung? Fascinating." No, I don't like him (and that may have been the LONGEST run on sentence I have ever written). So let's wrap this up. I might fantasize about that Master Craft sitting in your driveway or those Rockin' Republics in all of their rump-tightening glory. But I have a woofel bat with life-long goal #10 written on it. And I know how to use it. On myself. And my kids. And their father. And possibly the Jones's and their cat.

Lastly (c'mon, hang in there). The vampire books. I'm walking a very fine line here. I'm not really for or against them. I've read the first two books and dragged my husband to the movie (he's such a sap. He LOVED it), so who am I to judge? But I can't seem to engage. What's wrong with me? It took me an entire YEAR to read the second one. The story line is intriguing but I can't handle all the "and then he breathed on my neck" crap. It's probably the same reason Valentine's Day makes me queasy. Something had to have happened to me in the embryonic stage. I want to like the romantic stuff. I even sometimes TRY to like the romantic stuff. But I don't like it. I end up feeling like a phony. Like an impostor. I'm looking into therapy. Lot's and lot's of therapy. But until then, Edward, easy on the icy spine-tingling caresses. I only have so much Zofran in my medicine cabinet.

Happy 2009! Peace on earth.....n'stuff!

*I should mention that the hubs just came shuffling into the office because he feels it mandatory to kiss someone, anyone, when the clock strikes 12:00.

**Too much sentiment, can't breathe.

She's Totally a Chick

2008-12-26T21:28:00.000-08:00

Tootsie turned 2 today. If you ask her, she'll tell you she's 5 (she only knows two numbers, 2 and 5). But I assure you she's 2. She wanted to wear her tutu and her leg warmers today for reasons I can't begin to understand but since I put the kabosh on presents (dude, she's 2) I decided to roll with the outfit. When I asked her what color she wanted her cake to be? She said "pink". And when we were getting ready to go tonight she requested her "bootiful shoes". She got two dolls for Christmas. A boy and a girl. She'll only play with the girl doll. And her latest word is "spar-ky (sparkly)". So if you do the math: tutu + pink + bootiful + shoes + girl + doll + spar-ky= Holy hell estrogen is a potent hormone!

But then she farted. And laughed hysterically at herself. So I think we're still okay.

Happy Birthday Peanut!

Hey Mr. Elf, How's it Hangin' Yo?

2008-12-21T21:12:00.000-08:00

I'd go over the whole "our weekend before Christmas" thing but come on. Haven't we all spent the weekend doing the same thing? Ham, eggnog, cheese balls, ridiculously chintzy gifts for the over-paid, not authentic enough looking Santa to give the kids? Oh wait. Let's go back for just a sec. I guess not all of us had the Santa came to the family party experience this weekend. In fact, some of us got completely stood-up by Santa this weekend. And by us I totally mean US! Ya, he bailed. So what's a host to do when the guest of honor is a "no-show"?

Get ready.

This might be a little bit painful to see.....

Don't say I didn't warn you......

Apparently you break out the sunglasses and gold parachute pants.......

and you toss in some red fishnets to make yourself appear as "elf-like" as possible.

No. I'm not EVEN kidding!

I'd like everyone to take special notice of the Christmas booties

adorning Elfie's feet.

I'm a little hesitant to claim this man as my father but he is indeed just that. I too sometimes wonder how I came out even slightly unscathed. It's a mystery. And when Dad plays a role like this, there's no telling what accent he will unintentionally throw in. This year he seemed to flip-flop between spanish and hindu. Although I think I detected a little german too. "Vat you vant Sonta to breeng yoo dis yar?" "Oh-kay, I tall heem".

Good effort dawg.....good effort.

And this is a fun little snippit of information. My boys have been jammin' to Dani California by the Red Hot Chili Peppers this past week. At first I was beyond thrilled. Because Rudolf? It's wearing on me. But then I noticed how accurately they seemed to have memorized the words. It goes a little something like this:

Black bandanna, sweet Louisiana

Robbin' on a bank in the state of Indiana

She's a runner, rebel and a stunner

On her merry way sayin; baby whatcha gonna

Lookin' down the barrel of a hot metal 45

Just another way to survive

And then we'z be kickin' it boyyyyyy! Cuz, das whack!

And have you ever played the game Bananagrams? I kinda kick butt at that game. My brothers may beg to differ. But the truth hurts.

Don't Bother Me, I'm Reminiscing

2008-12-14T20:05:00.000-08:00

And we thought they knew what they were talking about when they said "never go to bed mad". We were so sweet. And so stupid. And now nine years later we finally get it. Take an ambien, hit the sack, and if you as much as breathe in my general direction I'll punch you in the throat. But when the sun comes up? Odds are I'll be back to thinking you're kinda rad. Because you kinda are. Rad.

Happy Anniversary "Ry-Guy"....

or do most people just call you "Lew"

*Please ignore that there appears to be a large wad of Bubblicious in my mouth.

**And that obviously whoever made the jeans I'm wearing seriously misplaced the left pocket.

Brownies and Boops

2008-12-07T20:05:00.000-08:00

I'm quite certain that I've gained a solid 10 pounds this week. I wish I could say that I've been working out relentlessly so it must be muscle weight. I wish I could say I've inexplicably grown 3 inches. Hell, I'd even settle to call it baby weight. And by settle I mean sue the IUD manufacturers for a LARGE sum of money. But what's actually hindering my ability to get my jeans over my butt is my last post. I don't know where you people are getting these recipes you keep sending me but my ever-expanding waistline thanks you. Not to mention my husband who now believes that dinner can be created from something that doesn't come out of a Totino's box and a tin can. In all honesty, I have enjoyed every single over-consumed calorie. There was Asian Orange Chicken, Lasagna Soup, and a curry dish that sent me into a state of euphoria. Marshmallow Brownies, Carmel Corn, and Urban Legend Cookies. Can you say "nom nom"?

Note to self: get butt to gym! Like SOON!

Note to Amigos: Mas! Mas!!!

Oh, and Ivie? She's been interested in only one thing lately. My bra. No joke. She puts it around her neck and walks around the house saying "mah boops, mah boops" (translation: my boobs). And if she and I really are genetically related (the jury's still out on that one)? She's in for a disappointment of epic proportions. Because last time I checked, the proportions were 34 and A (almost). Badum-CHING! Sorry babes. Start savin'.

My Christmas Wisk......

2008-11-29T16:54:00.000-08:00

Christmas shopping during an economic downturn can cause inadvertent creativity. I can totally get behind and am 100% FOR homemade gifts (go etsy!). But not when they are made by yours truly. Because you will without a doubt wind up with some serious random crap wrapped in cellophane (or thrown into a gift bag that I most likely received from someone else last year). So I got to thinking. Maybe instead of reaching for the rhinestones and craft glue (which would only end with completely insincere "thank you, it's SOOOO cute" 's), I'll ask for some help. This is where you come in. Yes you.

I need recipes. Good ones. But not like Martha Stewart complicated (have you ever tried to make something from her magazine? And did it turn out ANYTHING like the picture? I rest my case.). I need recipes for things that are possible to make with three energizer bunny on speed-like children pouncing around the kitchen. Because these recipes you're about to give me will most likely be given (maybe even in the form of a book) to my sister-in-laws, most of whom have kids that are very much like my own. They run. Fast. And occasionally scale walls. Two words: cooking mayhem.

So here's the deal. E-mail me your favorite recipes. They can be for anything. And if you send me 3 or more recipes? I'll send you a copy of this.......thing I'm making (which you may or may not consider a reward). I'd call it a "book" but that could create some unrealistic expectations. So we'll stick with "thing".

Email me at annielewis@mac.com

and if you feel so inclined, leave me your address {you can also contribute via comment but you might not want to leave your address. There are some serious wack-a-doo's out there}. And if you happen to be one of my sister-in-laws and you're reading this? SURPRISE! Your getting recipes for Christmas!