August 31, 2005
His little eyes popped open 20 minutes before he needed to be up.
Is it time for school mama? Do I need to get dressed?
Me: Sure, you can get ready if you want.
He got up, pulled on his pants and decided to wear his Gymboree shirt over his white t-shirt. Not only did he get dressed in just under a minute but he put his socks and shoes on right away.
LiL' J: OK, mama, let's go. I'm ready!
Me: But little man, you haven't even eaten yet and you still have about an hour before school started.
LiL' J: But I'm not hungry mama. Let's go, I don't want to be late. I'm all ready. Don't I look handsome?
My littlest one is a kindergartener and he's more then excited about it. He had no fears. Just total excitement and eagerness. He couldn't wait to go. It was almost impossible to convince him to hang out and relax. I think if my stalling hadn't worked we would have been waiting in front of the school for about 45 minutes until everyone showed up. This year since there was 11 new K4 students, the helper that LiL' adored is teaching K4 and the regular K5 teacher is back doing her thing. He'll miss Mrs. L but he has a new helper he'll become fast friends with.
There are 16 kids this year and THREE Jake's . Not Jacobs, but Jake's. Yes, that poor teacher. On the very first day the teacher asked another student to give Jake a pencil. He brought it to my LiL' J and it was then I think the teacher realized what she was in for. One more day and I've got 3 1/2 KID FREE hours.
August 30, 2005
I have no words. I watch the news and I'm stunned. I look at the pictures and I cringe.
My prayers and thoughts are with everyone there and all their family.
August 29, 2005
Look at all these lovely birthday wishes I woke up to. I think the wonderful Storm sent them all over. Sneaky girl.
I thank you all. It's so sweet you'd take the time to make my day full of yumminess. And I needed it since my inbox had an email for a plastic surgery consultation. Apparently since I was born back in the dinosaur age I'm starting to look like it as well? Oh, and they think I need a bigger penis? Fools.
I wonder if I'll get an email from crossfire about my free blue convertible? Now, that would be more like it.
August 27, 2005
I still don't feel grown up. I'm almost 32 and I don't look like it or feel like it most days. My poor, poor kids.
Now, I realize some of you might want to buy me a gift. If you have some spare change laying around and feel inclined I won't stop you from buying me this in the convertible.
Just between you and me, I have a little bit of money already from my mother-in-law and a very cool friend.
I can't wait to shop. My desparately in need of a manicure hands are rubbing together, thinking of all the ways to spend my money.
What should I buy? Bath and body? Candles? Sterling silver jewelry? Make-up? Skincare products? Camera lenses? Stila lipgloss? Sexy panties. Shoes? Do I get a manicure and pedicure?
A NEW HANDBAG!!? Oh, how I love purses and handbags.
I never spend my money on myself. I use it for the kids school clothes, bills, groceries or I'll let R take it. But this year I feel like saying, me, me, me. I'm a kid in a candy shop. And I want, want, want.
August 26, 2005
OK so besides the fact I'm admitting I don't like her dog, ((Shhh) I'm also publicly admitting that R is way randy.
No, not R for Randy, he's Randy as in Australian randy. And did I mention his mom arrived Wednesday? That she's sleeping in our livingroom, which is below and to the opposite of our bedroom?
He's randy as in knock things off the dresser and hope you don't break something kind of randy. Throw me down and ravish me randy. Is it psychological? As in he's gonna have his way with a hot babe in his room and mom don't know about it?
August 25, 2005
1. What is the ratio of sexy panties to granny panties currently in your possession?
There are no granny panties in my drawers. Ew. I'm not a granny panty girl. Truth be told, if the world cares about my panties I like leather, lace, satin, strings and sexy pretty little things. I also love super hero boyshort panties that R buys me and I have a collection of bikini holiday panties. Peppermint candy anyone?
2. Pretend you won one of those “make your dream come true” deals that Oprah is always giving away. What would you ask for?
3. Describe your high school days in one word.
Highschool? Is that what I was supposed to be doing instead of being pregnant in my Sophomore year?
4. If you could shag any celebrity in the world, who would be your top three picks?
I could care less about celebs. Besides, who says they'd be good in bed? My husband is a
5. If you had all the money in the world, more than you could ever spend in four lifetimes, would you eat some??
Nah, I gave up eating money years ago. It made my hips look big.
6. Tag Three People: Miranda- She's bootylicious like me, has adorable little boys and is even more open then myself. She's a cool mamacita. #28- he's new on my blogroll. I predict he does not wear granny panties and might have to choose more then 3 celebrities. Kate- She's my geographical opposite. She's from Wisconsin transplanted to San Diego, now in L.A. I'm from San Diego transplanted to Wisconsin. When she blogs all things Milwaukee I know all about it. When I pine for San Diego treasures missed, she knows all about it. It's a small blog world.
August 24, 2005
August 23, 2005
It was tedious.
It was an inconvience.
It was getting very old.
We tried many times to get you to cooperate. You stubbornly refused. We made sure all the picture software was up to date. We cleared disk space. You have memory the size of Dolly Parton's ta-tas. We ran anti-virus. We gave you a firewall that any computer would be jealous of. You're wireless, most computers would purr at the royal treatment you've been given.
Why, oh why are you so stubborn? Something had to be done. He was trying to coax you, just help you along. I'm so sorry it went terribly wrong and you won't boot anymore. Rest assured he's working on you. We haven't forgotten you. My internet withdrawl is in full throttle, you can be sure he's on the case.
And yes, I'm currently on his PC. The Black Beauty. Don't be too jealous, I won't be lured by her sleek black monitor and keyboard. Or how fast she is. It's just that it has been days with no writing, no emails, no blogrolls, and no surfing. At first it was a nice break. I distracted myself by reading through my vintage BH & G magazines.
Did you know housewives in the 1950s used to clean in their heels? As if I didn't feel inadequate already. I'm not even out of my pajamas some days and those ladies were cleaning and cooking in full cocktail party get-ups. Pfffft. I decided to try it out. I went into diva mode, put on a dress and my black high heeled boots and dusted. My feet hurt.
He's been trying to fix you for days. I've cleaned, washed walls, got caught up on laundry and wrote lists. I have my top tend trips all planned out when I come into money.
I WASHED WALLS for crying outloud.
I started talking to the fish. Her name is Roxy. I wanted to know why she hasn't died like all the other fish. Not that I'm a fish killer, but she's something of an oddity in a house where every golfish has died within forty-eight hours or less. She's not talking. Yet.
She's named after our French exchange student who won her from the AWANA fair. Little kids were throwing ping pong balls into her tiny fish bowl all night. We didn't even have a tank for the first two weeks because we were so busy running Roxy all over town. Her water got so dirty and green you couldn't even see an orange fish was in there. The kitchen started smelling like a pond. Yet she lived. I'm totally digging Ms. Roxy now. She's quite a survivor. But talking to a fish gets boring...
I've contemplated having a tea party with the cats.
I'm not trying to replace you, even though The Husband's Black Beauty is fast and reliable. She even has fancy screensavers and a password. I know you must feel discarded and threatened. But, I'm in dire straits here. You have been a part of my life and daily routine. You're the gateway to the outside world for a stay-at-home mom. Then you just take it all away?
I still miss you though. And a new snazzy PC can't replace you. You're like an old friend. Steady. Loyal. True.
You have to behave though.
Please behave. Or I might do something really crazy. Like taking up decoupage.
August 19, 2005
I received this comment today:
"Melissa,I am Josiah Atchison's Aunt, Dawn Burchfield. My son came across your site today and I was moved by your kindess and support. Thank you so much for posting this on your site. FYI, Josiah went to the emergency room yesterday (8/17) and the MRI showed a 40-50% increase in the tumor. He will be in the hospital for several more days. Please pray for healing, peace, comfort & wisdom for Dan & Maria. Again, thank you and God Bless! Your sister in Christ, Dawn"
I just want to say that I'm so sorry to hear he's still struggling and the tumor has increased. I will keep praying and ask every prayer warrior I know to do the same. Dawn, Thank you for personal update. I'll be checking their blog more often and hoping and praying good news will be posted.
Here is my original blog post about Josiah:
For an up to date look at Josiahs progress and prayer requests visit his father's blog.
August 18, 2005
You're just a sick freak.
Let's face it. I know it and you know it too.
- how to make breast milk sexy if your not pregnant
- 12 year old that poops in her goodnites because the parents say so
- loaded his pants
- living waterfalls crack
- mechanical s*x live models
- me to go in my pants
- pregnant at 12 what can i do?
- woman in poopy diapers
- goodnites dork
- fotos of 13 year olds have s*x with virgin boy
There's nothing here for you. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
But, I'm going to give you some advice before you leave.
First, go see someone and get your whack-ass thinking and hobbies in check. Right now. Or go move into a concrete box with no internet and semi-adequate ventilation. For a long time. Maybe forever.
So you had a bad childhood? Who didn't have a dysfunctional childhood to some degree? Get over it. The world's full of harmless, decent, albeit a little anxious and neurotic people in therapy so they can discover their as normal as the next person while the world's psychopaths are volunteering at church carnivals and driving school busses. And spending their work day searching for dirty, scumbag things. And the internet being what it is, both a blessing and a curse, brings some of you to me. I'm over it.
Second- Voluntter at the zoo cleaning up dung if you're so dang obsessed with sh**. Freak.
Third- Smash your computer. Go ahead. Take a hammer and just smash it to pieces. If might be fun. If not, -oh well -it will do all of us a favor. Anyone sitting around searching for freaky nasty-ass stuff like that should be denied access to a computer.
Instead try the library.
What a sight that would be. Can you imagine seeing somone walking up to the librarian and inquiring: Do you have any books for people that crap their pants on purpose and like to watch mechanical s*x live models while on waterfall crack? If it has a little kiddie smut and tips on making breast milk sexier that would be preferable.
What's that you said?
You mean you don't want to admit these things to anyone in public?
No, I didn't think so. Get Lost.
August 17, 2005
Am the most lovey patient mom today?
Today, not so much.
I love these kid will all my heart and soul. I just don't like them very much.
Today, I want to pretend they're not mine.
Thank God I'm not an animal because some mammal mothers have been known to eat their young.
Today is one of those days.
I was seriously asking myself why I haven't gotten my tubes tied yet?
Today I could call the doctor to take care of that.
What part of no don't they understand?
Why must they pile everything up on shelves in their closets and call that "cleaning their rooms". Something fell on my nose and it hurt like hell. I think it's broke. I have a bump. I'm not vain but who wants a bump on their nose?Do kids mistake being low on groceries as a sign that they will not get to eat again for seven days so they have to stuff every bit of food in the house into their mouthes, armpits, shoes, wagons and any other spot they can find? Do they think it's a competition to see who can eat and drink the most and clean the fridge out?
Then ask me: MmmOmmm, what's there to eat?
When I hear my
It only works for awhile. Then they start hollaring, IS MELISSA HERE THEN?
Dang, I knew I never should have taught them my first name.
Is it wrong that I have thoughts of lining my kids outside to throw water balloons at them?
Wait, they might like that.
Do I have to wait until I'm dead to ever have anything to myself? To have my belongings left alone?
I know I shouldn't complain. I'm blessed to have four
And did God give me Snoo to test my patience? I know there's something other then rocks in her head. No, really, how many times must I say the same thing? Sometimes I think she's 3 years old.
And what in the world would possess an almost 13 year old child to EAT sunflowers seeds out of the dirt that sweaty shirtless men spit out of their mouthes?
When I ask her, WHY?
OH MY GOD.
DID YOU ACTUALLY EAT THOSE SUNFLOWERS SEEDS IN OUR FRONT YARD? FOR ALL OUR NEIGHBORS TO SEE? THEY ARE GOING TO THINK WE STARVE YOU TO DEATH. WHY ELSE WOULD ANYONE EAT SEEDS THAT WERE SPIT OUT OF A STRANGERS MOUTH?
FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS PURE AND GOOD PLEASE TELL ME, WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?
Child: Well, I thought about that so I didn't eat the tops.
HUH? WHAT? Am I miss something?
PLEASE GOD SEND THE CALGON MAN. Heck, I'll even take the Fed Ex man.
Is NOT clogging the toilet with a volley ball sized wad of toilet paper too much to ask?
I was the one that had to put gloves on to dig it out. I want a raise.
WAIT. I do this for free. Because I love them. Because I voluntarily decided to be a mom and housewife.
Was I smoking something? If so, could someone please send some more my way. I think I'm going to need it.
Today hopefully will be over soon.
August 15, 2005
Even though I have serious doubts that at five he's truly ready for his first sleepover.
Even though I have a peculiar rule of limiting friendships with neighbor's children.
Even though LiL' J is still regularly sleeping in our bed.
Even though this boy is eight and is probably over here in large part because of LiL' J's cool toys, gamecube and big brother's xbox.
LiL' J has watched his brothers friends stay the night over and over. He's watched his sister's friends stay the night over and over. He's watched them all leave for sleepovers and he's begged to go with them.
He's wanted so badly to be a part of sleepovers that when their friends are over he hangs out with them until I hear, MmmOmmm, come get Squishy, he's bothering us.
So, now it's LiL' J's turn. I finally gave in. I figured, what could go wrong?
Hmm, do I smell trouble?
To prove that he could be a good host he brought out a bowl of green grapes to snack on. He set aside Batman spegettios for the both of them. LiL' J never shares his Batman spegettios.
He makes me "beautiful wunches" He's persuasive. He's charming. He's so darned cute.
All that aside, how could I say no to this sweet face?
I love getting to witness all these firsts. All except a few and I wont even think about those right now.
August 13, 2005
Some of you, who shall remain nameless, still need to be reminded to click on the photo for larger view. How many times do I have to tell you that? You know who you area. Ahem.
Also known as the cream puff. Mmmm mmm good.
Mooch and Jake on the Herb Kohl's Cow
Flavored milk for 25 cents. After moving here from San Diego, I couldn't understand why so many people wait in line for MILK. Now, it's a traditon and I must say, the root beer flavor rocks.
At 25 cents a cup, you can get TWO flavors. Or three, four... as some milk crazed cheesheads do. Mooch likes Cherry Vanilla and Chocolate.
This was the year of dysfunctional animals.
Roosters with anger management issues
Stoner Rabbits- Here its eyes are actually sort of open. I was tempted to buy it some doritos and twinkies.
Over eaters anonymous rabbits- it wouldn't stop eating
OCD Bunny- This little thing kept washing its paws over, and over, and over, and over
I guess I would be too if I was sitting in a pile of my own crap.
Here are Mooch and Jake, doing what they do best, contracting germs
Jake feeding the fence
A Friendly goat. I think it wants to be discovered and grace the cover of a farm magazine. I don't know if it was trying to smile at me or possibly eat my camera.
Goat pillows. I wonder now, how do they decide who gets to be the pillow? What about the other goat? It has to sleep with its head in the air while the other one lays on its ass?
Jake finally gets his elephant ear. He
Richard seemed grumpy, yet he kept saying I seemed grumpy. I actually wanted to leave him at the fair and take home a farm animal instead. Mooch had her moody moments and I just keep thinking it felt odd with only half the kids with us. Then my camera started acting up and I couldn't take street shots of the fair goers. The full set is here.
The 2005 State Fair is gone, but for now I love you drooling with the famous cream puff.
August 12, 2005
I'm having a poopy kind of day.
I'm out of chai. Thus I had to face the truth that I'm a morning caffeine addict like the rest of you, even if I hate coffee. (it gives you poop breath, you know)
I should just go back to bed. Or better yet hide in my room and belly dance.I found out my mother-in-law is coming to visit in JUST OVER A WEEK. I'm cool with my mother-in-law, however she brings her dog with her. I sometimes wonder if he is one of satan's spawns, coming to taunt me into insanity. The dog barks at everything. Every little freaking noise. Imagined or not. If someone farts, he barks for 15 minutes. He sheds like a new mom. My cats hide in the my closet so they can piss in my suitcases. I stick my tongue out at the beast when no one is looking. It doesn't seem to make me feel better. Yeah, so I'm a little childish.
My house is a total wreck. I'm suppose to be hosting a 5 day club next week. For my heathen readers, that's a little backyard club where teen's come to teach Bible stories to neighborhood children, while they get pumped up on sugary treats. At least their houses are right next to mine so I can send them home when they announce to the group, "I have to go poop". Why do kids feel they need to tell you that? That's nice, I'll alert the press, now run along before I have to call a clean up crew. Sending them home is good. They can't accidentally find their way into my goodie jar after they
Did I mention I was out of chai? I haven't had my morning caffeine. I hear elephants thumping upstairs. And I didn't get to drink my liquid patience. PLEASE MAKE THEM STOP.
At least my mother didn't ask for money or to come live with me. Not that I hate or anything but who wants their mother to living with them? After telling her about her grandchildren (without being asked) she breaks in, "Yes, that's nice about the kids, we can talk about them for a minute" Then on to her. It's all about her. She's working hard. The days are long. She's up very early. She's out in the sun all day..... I know, you're all shocked. No one else has ever done that before.
And why couldn't she do this when I was a kid? I digress...
There's a million tiny red ants in my kitchen. They were in my salt shaker. What for?
I want to tear up the carpet in this house. It's getting smelly. Carpet is evil. Carpet is a mom's arch enemy. Why the heck would someone ever put carpet into a diningroom? Are they sadistic?
Wah, wah, wah.
Then I got to thinking. At least I'm not giving birth in a stinky barn while thousands of people watch me poop myself.
That's something to be thankful for. Oh, and sorry I either made you gag or lose your appetite. But you shouldn't be eating at the computer anyways. Tchah.
August 11, 2005
Whenever she can't make life work, she runs to me or YNP.
She knows she can get a job there whenever she needs one and she can aquire cheap housing.
She called me because I didn't call her back fast enough after she sent me a two sentence email telling me we should "talk". I never know where I can reach her so I rarely bother calling her anymore.
She had that sound in her voice. I want to believe it's just because she misses me and wants to update me on what's going on in her life.
Yet, history usually contradicts otherwise. It's a secret wish of an adult daughter. I confess I know things will never be 'normal' between us, whatever normal is. Yet I have that little bit of hope.
Does she need money?
Does she want to move back in with me for the upteenth time?
Does she want me, the child, to give her advice on how to live her life again?
I guess I'll find out when I pick up the phone.
Oh, and did I mention I hate phones?
Yes, I hate, hate, hate talking on the phone. Imagine that. A girl that dislikes the telephone.
I don't like answering them. I don't like talking on them. A matter of fact, caller ID is a phone-a-phobics best friend. If I don't know you or don't feel like talking to you, I'll click 'end' so the phone stops ringing.
I can then forget you're trying to reach me.
Uh, but I've never done this to my mother. Often.
August 09, 2005
I love, love, love to dance. I skipped walking and went straight to dancing. I was never put into lessons though. My mom wasn't the type. In order to take your kids to soccer, dance or gymnastics lessons you have to either wake up, put the bong away or come up with a few dollars to spend on someone other then yourself.
I'm not bitter.
I was a natural anyways. I can remember being as young as 5 and dancing for potheads at parties. I grew up in San Diego and my mom often took us to the beach for bonfire parties. We'd be there all day, sometimes into the night.
When digging up crabs and hunting for seashells grew boring I'd dance. While all these strangers sat around playing the guitar, singing, laughing, arguing all behind the influence of weed, LSD and booze, I'd dance.
I can still remember the feel of sand between my toes.
Warm. Soft. Silky.
I can still smell the air.
Tangy. Salty. Fresh.
The ocean breeze was cool, calm, addictive.
Addictive. Yes. I believe this is why we stayed the night on the beach so much. My mom was something of a gypsy with gypsy friends. I'd watch people walk around with a basket full of kittens.
I chose a black one.
Kittens don't like to dance.
I'd dance for my own amusement. It kept me busy. It kept me distracted from the world around me. The way my mom lived.
I'd get lost in my dancing. Then I'd realize half of those strangers around the bonfires sat watching me. Memorized surely not by me alone but their high, yet fixated by a little blonde girl twirling in front of a blazing fire.
I tempted the orange embers to burn me.
If no one played the guitar I would dance to the music in my mind with a deliberate rhythm. I suppose if you're high this can be a bit entrancing.
When I was about 6 my mom start dating a divorced man with two kids. His daughter lived with the mom and the little boy lived with Mike. The first time I met him he was having a party at his house.
My mom brought me as she alway did. My mom either liked getting high with her only child watching near by or she was too lazy/broke/stupid to get a babysitter. Supposedly I'd want to go since his daugther would be visiting and they just had kittens.
When we arrived I think I got to see the little girl for barely half an hour. She was supposed to be going to bed and was allowed to bring out a kitten for me to see. Why my mother didn't let me go to her room to play or even to pretend to rest, I don't know.
I just remembering sitting and watching a bong being passed around and guests of his home getting drunk. I sat near my mom, protective of her. Then I noticed she and Mike were kissing. That was enough to send me scrambling.
I found the stereo. I remember the silver stereo component with a huge silver knob. I found music I liked. Fleetwood Mac. I danced, distracted from the world around me.
Then I noticed a large bald headed biker staring at me. Learing. Too interested. With a look I had seen other men give my mother. He creeped me out. I stopped dancing. He kept encouraing me to dance again. All of them laughed and talked of what a cute little girl I was. How I was such a "natural". I hid myself in the corner and refused to come out at his request or offers for piggy back rides.
My mom would say, "Yes, she can dance like nobodies business."
It took me a long time though to realize why I'd stop dancing. I didn't like the attention at all whether I was 6 or 16. I just loved to dance. I loved to dance for ME.
In my early twenties I was drawn to belly dancing. I was going through a terrible depression at the time. I was suffering from late onset post partum depression and didn't know it until much later. Until it was too late. I had never had such intense anxiety or irrational thoughts.
I knew that after having 3 kids by the time I was 20, I was burnt out. I felt lost.
I couldn't even remember what was missing but I knew something was.
Then I saw belly dancers.
It ignited a flame in me I had tucked away. I wanted so badly to dance. To just dance everything away. But with 3 little kids, a husband both working and going to school, very little money, it was a distant dream.
An intense desire was still there though. I had this misconception of belly dancing.
It was for the gypsy kinds, something I loathed for many years after my childhood experiences.
It was for pagans. I was trying to understand my Christian faith.
It was for the viewing pleasure of men. I disliked attention from men. I hid under momness to avoid looks, comments, a jealous husband.
When I was young, religious relatives would comment that my dancing needed to be discouraged. My maternal grandparents were members of Shadow Mountain Community Church. They were not very judgemental but I still felt self conscious.
"Baptists don't dance" I remember this etched into the back of my mind. When I came to a place in my mid 20's when I rededicated my life to Christ, there was this feeling I had to give up my desire to dance. Even though every part of me wanted to move to the music.
Nice, Christian mothers don't dance. Surely, they don't belly dance.
Between the craziness of life, misconceptions and doubts, my need for dancing still lay dormant.
Apart from God, family and photography, I can't think of anything else that is such a huge part of me. I possess a complete and total passion for dance.
Sure, I had danced at home to the radio or with the kids. But it wasn't enough. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to dance. I put the music on and danced for myself. I started looking for belly dance classes.
Just like some people can't understand my need for dancing, I can't understand when people don't feel the least bit inclined to move to the music. I can't relate at all to the absence of dancing.
Last year Richard bought me some Middle Eastern belly dance DVD's. I've been hooked ever since. It's a sensation like nothing else and it's completely for me and me alone. There's no pretense. No one to make happy. Just me and the power and rhythm of my own body.
Now, I've outgrown the DVD and will begin lessons soon. Then I hope to take the train down to Chicago to study American Tribal Belly dance at Read My Hips.
This nice, Christian mother dances. Yes, I even belly dance. I make no apologies either. If I get good enough I will even join a troop. A matter of fact, my goal is to be that good in 2 years. Just dancing for myself and watching the inspirational dance of women like Rachel Brice sets me off.
When I'm dancing shivers run down my spine. Chills run through my body.
I'm lost, but in a good way. I feel like me.
August 05, 2005
Stacie over at Mommy's Busy Take a Number shared her sister's blog, Hip Young Mom with me. Manda is apparently a reader and a fellow mom of an ADHD boy.
I had no idea girl, but thanks Stacie for letting me know. Now I can give a shameless plug for these two fantabulous bloggers. I don't usually post about other bloggers often or readers, but it's for a good cause.
So, please go visit Stacie and Manda's blog. They are blogging for a great cause and a charity that is close to my heart. I ended up sponsoring her.
I just lost my grandma to cancer this Janurary. When I found out they were blogging for The American Cancer Society I knew I had to help out. They also lost their grandma last year to this dreaded disease.
If you're brave and a good sport, maybe you Want to see a boob for a buck? Come on now.. You know there's a naughty little part of you that wants to slip a dollar into her bikini top.
And no, this is not some nasty site. I don't roll like that. Just a fun post from Stacie and a Hip Young Mom having some fun for a good cause.
Think about how hard her little man had to work to give her those nice melons. She's rightfully enjoying the perks of nursing. I remember my lovely milky bosoms. I want them back, only without the milk.
Surely you can spare one little dollar?
Just click on Stacie and Manda's BLOGATHON 2005 button. It's easy, painless and you won't regret it. Click here to learn all about sponsoring.
Oh, and If you're a music lover and support music education then visit Daria . She's blogging for The Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation
Hurry though, tomorrow's BLOGATHON 2005 so don't wait. I think you can sponsor through Tuesday.
Come on, be a do gooder.
August 04, 2005
I'm a naive girl. I had no idea such lists existed.
Hmm, Dawg, thanks I think?
This just goes to show mama was right to beware of a man that suddenly wants to talk "spiritual", go to Bible study with you and listen to all your deep thoughts.
Hey, don't I get a coffee mug or something?
This is the first season though where I've really had to watch it. Yet, it's totally aggravating to me. I want to reach into the TV set and smack some people.
For one, James has no kahunas whatsoever, so the only way he can play the game is to be an annoying, lying snake who disses his own girl. Don't get me started on Sarah, she's playing the game like a dunce.
Oh James, I can't be without James. What will I do without my James? I have to save James! James is so misunderstood. I'm such a dumb girlfriend. I'm so sorry, did I mess up? Did I make the wrong choice? How should I wipe my own hiney, dear James?
She's not Sarah, she's James' girlfriend.
During tonights HOH competition I couldn't contain myself.
Take out James. Take out Sarah. God forbid Sarah should win, she can't think for herself. She'll spend all her money on self-help books.
And what's with this Cappy garbage? Eric wasn't any good at playing the game. He just knew how to run a militant day care center. No little man is going to tell me when I've had enough ice cream. Unless the fool wants to get his butt kicked.
Eric was SO important in the house? How so?
Can we have a moment people. Please, can I get everyone's attention...
No, as a matter of fact you can't. Bite me. Blech.
Don't get me started on Yvette. What's with the evil people always winning BS?
The houseguests didn't come in from the dark side, they just split off into little cliques which is bound to happen when one of the criteria for BB is an emotional IQ of twelve years old. Yet Yvette has some sort of sad, pathetic, misquided, CAPPY IS THE STAR OF MY UNIVERSE complex. Puke.
Where's Cappy? I need Cappy.. I can't think for myself without Cappy.
Cut the Cappy crap. Be quiet already.
What's with the weak chics this year anyways?
And did Yvette get rejected by one too many blonde Barbie lesbians? She's totally got it out for Janelle and as far as I can see it's all some personal hang up.
I so want Janelle to win HOH soon. I think she may be the only woman in the house who can think for herself and kick some booty.
Listen America, if you vote for
Yes, I know, it's sad I seem to care so much. A girl needs a distraction sometimes. That said, carry on.
August 03, 2005
I'll be 32 on the 29th of August. My son, J, is 15. Tomorrow morning he'll be waking his groggy teenaged butt up at 6am to head off to his first day of big boy work. Watching him get up that early will be fun in itself.
Oh yeah. I so can't wait to hear of his first day as he spends 8 hours working in a hot, stuffy, bakery kitchen at Wisconsin's State Fair.
Work. Welcome to the real world my son. Yes, welcome indeed.
Now maybe he'll think twice before complaining that he just might have to pick up his own shoes, put the milk away and feed that cat he had to have and would always care for. He's had it easy until now. Oh, and I have a feeling he'll be a bit more conservative with his wants, you know, since he gets to pay for them now.
His mind is already reeling with all the wonderful ways to spend his money. Young naivete produces the belief that there will be many things his money can buy when earning $6 an hour. Oh, the look on his face when he see's what he will actually bring home after Social Security takes its cut.
Can you sense my grin?
Do stay tuned for that picture.
I've been tagged by Present Storm who rightfully shares my disdain of Big Brother's "Cappy" gang.
What are my top 10 turn ons and turn offs? (Non-sexual)
- Closeness with God
- Sound of The Husband's voice (w
- The Husband doing housework
- Rainstorm- and the lingering smell of earth and water afterwards
- Smell of lilacs
- Pillow talk
- Good books-the kind where I forget the world around me
- Sleeping in
- *The woods of Leota, Michigan (I cheated with 11)
- Litter boxes
- Hatred fueled by ignorance
- Drivers who STOP to make turns
- Hair in my food or mouth
- Smell of hamburger cooking
- Touchie feelie strangers all up in my space
- Bad breath
- Phony people
August 02, 2005
They are outside my window right now. Many of them. I can see them from my desk. No shirts. They're tanned. They're using power tools. Some of them could be hot. I'm not looking.
On account of being a married woman and all. (and my husband has been known to read my blog. Hi hon, they're not as cute as you. You are super hot looking when you're shirtless. How about you go dig up that dead bush out of the yard?) I do hear some spanish being spoken. I'm so tempted to go out there and ask, "Where can a San Diego girl get some decent Mexican food around here?" But that could be tacky. And awkward.
The management is finally replacing the roof and shingles on this spec-tacky-ler looking 1970's brick townhouse complex.
I woke up to the sound of a herd of buffalo running across the roof. Or so it sounded, but since buffalo can't fly (they don't have wings, Jessica, duh) I remembered it was the construction crew.
They were pounding on the side of the house while ugly shingles were flying to the ground and whizzing over people's heads. I fantasized about one of them hitting a certain neighbor. I admit it wasn't a very Christlike thought. But certainly very therapeutic. My grandma has a phrase for this kind of person. "Jesus may love you, but everyone else thinks your an a$$h*le. She's from the south, but she's defiantely not a southern belle.
With all the ruckus, the cats ran for the closets. Snoo woke up wondering if we were being attacked by terroists. Snoo has ADHD and forgetfulness middle name. She's also rather obsessed with the war lately. Since I hadn't had my morning cup of chai I tried to hold back the sarcasm. I mean, the roofing materials were only brought in a few days ago, been sitting near our garages with the construction dumpster waiting nearby. The notice was posted and the kids were all informed that the roof would be replaced, which involved people being ON the roof.
Yes hon, I think so. I think the farming thugs of Vermont have decided to settle this dairy controversary once and for all. They have had enough of Wisconsin boasting rights to the "Dairy State" title.
They are deroofing each house one by one, stealing our cheeseheads and dumping 3 thousand tons of rejected Ben & Jerry flavors into our homes. With this heat, the ice cream will melt in 3.5 seconds and we'll all be vomiting from the nasty smell of warm ice cream.
Then they can begin thumping us over the head with ginormous sticks of Wisconsin summer sausage. While we're knocked out cold our bodies will be douced in pabst blue ribbon beer and our ears will be stuffed full of State Fair cream puff filling. Run, run for your life!
She gave me the ok. All parents know the look. Especially parents of preteens. My response is always yes. Yes, I am crazy, so are you because your my child. Genetics are a powerful thing. So what of it?
Snoo: rolling eyes- MmOO00mmm
Me: No, we're not being attacked, silly girl. It's the roofers, remember?
Snoo: Mom, you scared me.
I scare myself sometimes. Now get up and start cleaning my house! Oh, and good morning. Aren't I friendly in the morning?
While looking out the window I got to thinking. I have quite the honey-do list piled up. I've been waiting patiently for The Husband cause I'm busy and do enough boring chores. I should post a sign on my door.
Wanted: Handy man for rent
Will need to hang pictures, fix hinges and leaky washing machines among other piddly jobs I don't want to break my nails while doing
Shirt optional. Compensation negotiable. Will you accept stray socks?
August 01, 2005
After a week of intense heat, brisk winds, more heat, chills, birthday parties, shopping, cleaning, errands, blah, blah, and more blah, I'm worn out. My nose is stuffy which is a sure sign I'm getting some nasty summer cold. I always do.
The Kids knew I wasn't feeling well and that I put J in charge so I could rest. I was sleeping in this morning when I was woken by an annoying fake spanish accent. "¡Yo quiero Taco Bell!" Just the kind of morning greeting a mother gets used to.
A friend gave Mooch a Taco Bell dog. Which, most likely was the genius plant of the girl's mother. It was on my floor and Snoo kept stepping on it. Why was it there? Like, doesn't every grown woman have a stuffed Taco Bell dog on their bedroom floor? I have no idea. Because I haven't run the stupid thing over yet? Because I have four children and they keep retrieving things from the trash? When they ask me how certain items get into the trash, I just shrug and tell them their friend, I Don't Know or Not Me, must have put it in there. And then I change the subject by suggesting poptarts for snack.
When I finally peeled my eyes open I realized that I had been violated. I've always been told that I'm a deep sleeper. I miss those days. Uninterrupted sleep is now a hobby of mine. However, add illness and cold medicine to the mix and voila, I resemble a coma patient.
Snoo had painted my toes with red polka dots, put earrings on me, foundation, eye shadow, a ring, and shimmer lotion. The sad thing is, her make-up job made me look better then I usually do lately. Yes, all this was done while I was sleeping. This sort of thing is a hobby of hers. Sleeping people are never safe when she is in the house. The very normally loud and hyper child seems to possess stealth-like magical powers over the slumbering. And she needs people to test her own secret perfume and lotion creations on. So far, even with six family members in the house, conscious people haven't been an option.
I was afraid to come downstairs, and for very good reason. Lil J ran in the sprinklers, leaving a puddle by the back door next to his now ruined suede shoes. He attempted to make himself a PB & J sandwich, and in doing so, he fed the ants lots of yummy, sticky raspberry jam. He's three. He's kind to nature and ants are his friends.
Our cross dressing cats tore apart the gift bag I was planning on returning. Toys were scattered everywhere. And my watermelon is leaking. Yes, you read that right. It's leaking. How in the heck it split, only 'not me' knows, but it's leaking just the same. A thick, sticky brownish- pink foul-smelling substance. Maybe it needs a tampon? I'm afraid to look inside.
There goes any chance I had of getting ride of the ants.
This all transpired while LiL J's big sister and ThE Oldest were 'holding the fort'. Fort TV. Good thing in America 14 year olds can't be drafted as child soldiers. If they could, they'd be trying to shoot the enemy with remote controls while yelling DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL!
Moms are not allowed to be sick. Not even if their children are old enough to take care of themselves. I hope my husband doesn't read this post today. It will only confirm his suspicions that I'm losing my edge.