My Annual Post

So you might have noticed that a little bit of time has past since we spoke last. You may have also noticed by reading my first sentence that I've used that time to work on my rhyming skills. As for how I'll sum up the remaining 10 months of my time since my last post, I've chosen to use pictures. I made this choice since a picture is worth a thousand words and yet they take up such little space.

Let the summing up begin:

In March, roughly 3.5 weeks before my due date, I developed a bit of a blood pressure problem. Like 200/125 problem. The doctors gently recommended that I C-section it up so as to avoid things like stroke, still birth and death.

I felt this was wise as well. At some point during the day Evangeline was born I also developed HELLP.

As crazy as it got, we both lived to tell the tale. Though to be fair I typically tell the story since my speech patterns are better. Plus shes not much of a typer yet.

After a week of recovering at the hospital, we took our 4 pound 10 ounce baby home. Everyone was excited.
Sleep is scarce so we get it anyway we can. I still don't sleep through the night. Might be because of the baby or it could be because this image haunts my dreams. It's anyone's guess, really.

We celebrated everyone's birthday's. We are now older, tireder, and no wiser then when we started.
 We didn't leave our country out. We celebrated her birthday too. Like the rest of America we celebrated our freedom by eating fried food and blowing stuff up. Ah, good times.

 We adopted a monkey. Hey, wait, what?

 Homemade corndogs were consumed.

 We apple picked in the rain and then celebrated that event like only Rocky Balboa could.

The truth is a lot more has happened, but it's too much to recap. I don't see myself keeping up with this blog anytime soon. I just don't have the time with the baby and homeschooling and other menial tasks like laundry and cooking/cleaning that inconsiderately take up so much of my time. I did want to stop in, say "Hi" and let you know that I started a blog with Mallory at

So if you miss me like I miss you, stop by and say hi. I promise I'll update it more then once a year.

Sometimes I Lie

So I started writing a Christmas post tonight, but I've decided to procrastinate posting it. I was concerned about not posting anything at since the last time I procrastinated blogging it lasted three months. So I was thinking about a quick picture post. Everyone loves pictures.

Naturally I couldn't decide on a picture myself, so I asked Jessica if I should post an Ultrasound picture or something weird. Honestly who doesn't love a good Darth Vader in a football helmet picture? Then it occurred to me: ultrasound pictures are kind of weird. What's weirder than a person with another person inside of them? If you think about it pregnant women are like Russian nesting doll.

To further my argument that ultrasound pictures should fall into the weird category, during my first pregnancy I couldn't help but feel like I was in the movie Alien. I half expected Mallory to burst from my abdomen Alien style and begin to terrorize the planet. In my defense I was kind of right, but instead of her ripping through my abdomen someone else cut me open and pulled her out.

Let's try to put that last paragraph behind us and gaze at the life form currently controlling my life and body.

I think she has my coloring.

For those of you that aren't into ultrasound pictures I was trying to think of something you might enjoy. Then I realized that belly pictures are all the rage. Everyone seems to love to see other women's bellies grotesquely distended. While it's not really my cup-of-tea I thought I should throw you guys a bone so here it is: My almost six month belly shot.

Or that might be Gisele Bundchen. I keep getting us mixed up.

The Poor Man's Millionaire Matchmaker

Some people are addicted to The Bachelor or I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, Pregnant at 16, The Jersey Shore, The Real Housewives of (Insert name of American city that has a plethora of women who wear stilettos to watch their maids do laundry)... you get that idea. I've never been able to get into these shows really. But Patty from the Millionaire Matchmaker speaks my language. Maybe it's because I understand her plight. She is burdened to find love for the financially affluent American. She knows what it is to comb through beautiful women and men in search of the perfect abs for her clients' money. If you recall I have been on a quest to marry CeCe off to one affluent NFL hottie for a few years now.

Here's where I hatched this plan to marry her off to him.

It failed.

Not one to be easily discouraged, I created a new, more detailed plan that got us within yelling distance. I'm pretty sure he was into her. At least he would have been had he ever looked our way.

We figured we'd have next year to continue our quest but then the worst thing that has ever happened to me to CeCe happened.

Trent got cut.

Just so you aren't confused, I'm not talking about his hair. He, the player, was let go from the team.

The turnaround was a quick one. One day after he was fired from the Bills, he was on his way to his new team in Florida.

I tried to remain upbeat and positive when I gave CeCe the news. "These aren't insurmountable odds," I told he. "Next year, we'll just have to book a flight to Florida in the preseason to catch Trent playing for the Jaguars." CeCe was less enthused. She's really looking for someone more local. You would think this would be easier than hooking her up with an NFL player that I've never met, but you'd be wrong. Our local singles scene is, well, let's just say it would be easier to find dignity on the Jersey Shore than a decent single guy around here.

That's when Matt said those magic words that proved how very close minded I was being.

"There are a lot of single inmates at the prison."

How could I have been so foolish? Inmates are good people. So they're just a little misunderstood by the  judicial system. No big deal. Did you know that most inmates are gang members? Hello, family oriented and loyal. They'd even kill for you. No seriously, they'd kill for you. Also a good portion of them are Muslims so: very religious. According to Matt, most of them go for women with a little bit of junk in the trunk, so you if you wanted to have that second piece of cake after your fifth piece of chicken. GO. FOR. IT. Finally, they don't live with you. You don't have to pick up their dirty clothes or make them dinner. I mean, you should probably feed the illegitimate children you have with them and visit them once and while, but other than that, Scott free.

The truth is, even as cute as Trent is, inmates hold their own kind of charm.

I think the one in  the middle front has got something.  That 'stache is muy sexy.

He reminds me a little of Mr. Lunt from Veggies Tales, and who doesn't love Veggie Tales?

I presented the new plan to CeCe, and she LOVED it! She's ready to start corresponding with an inmate ASAP. Maybe that desperation comes from her recent birthday in which she turned an age that I also am but am too nice of a friend to admit to on her behalf or maybe she's secretly hot for Mr. Lunt. Either way, I see a nice prison chapel wedding in our future.

It's Been Awhile...BTW I Had a Baby

All right, fine. It hasn't been that long since I blogged. But I hadn't realized how long it's been, and I felt like I couldn't just show up after 3 months without bringing some big news. Especially since big news is the new black it seems. Seriously, in the last few weeks Prince William, Chad Ocho Cinco, Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson announced engagements, Eva Longoria filed for divorce, a slew of B list celebrities (whose names aren't important enough to Google) announced new babies and now Pink is expecting a new baby.

So if you haven't deduced yet, my blog title is misleading (read: A Big Fat Lie). I did not have a baby. In order for the title to be true I would have had to wait until April to post again.

See what I did there?

So how you doing? How has the fall treated you? Yeah, who are we kidding? I'm way too ego-centric to care about anyone but me so let's talk about that. The past three months have been a time of growth for me. Instead of spending the fall writing about myself, I have spent them getting to know me better. I have learned that I was exceptionally anti-social in my first trimester even to the point that I allegedly blew Jessica off on the phone one day. I repeat, allegedly; I have no recollection of this incident.

I will shamefully admit that I did blow off this blog. If you are upset with me, take comfort in knowing that I got what was coming to me. I'm only half-way through my pregnancy and my MIL already referred to me as "huge". Apparently that time of growth I was referring to was literal.

Finally,  I have discovered that I am a name snob. I shoot down every name that other people suggest for one reason or another. So not only is my future child nameless, she's not even close to getting a name. If you think you can come up with a name better than "Baby" for my unborn daughter that'd be super.

For anyone who feels like they couldn't possibly name a child that they don't know, I'll recap for you: Since becoming pregnant with her I have exhibited anti-social behaviors. I have become thoughtless to the feelings of others, and I will most likely make fun of any name that you suggest. Essentially I am gestating a Mean Girl.

She might be a jerk, but at least she'll have great legs and a good taste in shoes.

How I Found Love In A Public Restroom

Last weekend, Matt and I loaded up my mother's eight passenger van with warm bodies and drove them five hours, one lunch at the BK Lounge and roughly 67 bathroom trips out to Buffalo. We did this in honor of the Buffalo Bills annual "Kids' Day Celebration."  

 So we brought kids. 
We didn't bring the crazy half-naked man or the man with the boa. Just the kids.

And because no five hour trip is complete with only two kids, we brought two more. I have no idea how to explain the pose my son made here... Would you believe he gets that from his father?

At least he kept his shirt on.

CeCe came too. We are continuing our quest to wed her off to Trent. Last year I managed to get them into the same city, but I failed to introduce them. I believe that this was a direct result of my lack of a clear cut plan. So this year, I made a plan. It was an excellent plan. It even comes with a visual aid.

It's clear because Trent is not the focal point of any of the player pictures, proof that I didn't have the camera at this point in the day. So work with me here. See 99? Then 96? And then 4 way off in the distance? Trent is the player walking toward 4. Sadly this is the best picture that Ryan took of Trent. You disappoint me, Ryan. Disappoint.

Anyway back to my plan to hook my friend up with a hottie QB! You might have noticed from the pictures of the kids that we were really close to the field. Mallory and Thor actually got to high-five 99 at one point. It would have been no big deal at all for CeCe to "fall" onto the field while Trent was tossing balls to his wide receivers to warm up. Getting onto the field was the easy part. Getting past all the men between CeCe and Trent was trickier. So the plan was for her to run as fast as she could and then at the precise moment, intercept a pass from Trent. Then he would know: she completes him. The rest would be history.

It's a beautiful and romantic plan, isn't it? One I spent a whole year coming up with (or I might have just come up with it on the spot, thus not giving CeCe enough time to properly train for such a plan).

CeCe wasn't the only one that (almost) made a love connection.

Yep, that's Thor and Loki with the Jills. The boys were refusing to pose with them, but I might have asked one of the girls to help me embarrass my brother and she was so down. Then, of course, Ryan told them to man up and take a picture with the girls. (Notice Ryan's not in the picture.) Ryan did, however, give each of the boys a little money to donate to the cheerleaders' cause. So Best Wingman of the Trip goes to Ryan.

Now you've suffered through a whole post, and I've only mention public restrooms once and have failed to tell any exciting stories about using one. So here it is, the story of how I found love next to a toilet stall.

I took Mallory to the bathroom for the 32nd time. I was waiting outside her stall for her since I didn't need to pee on account of having already been to the bathroom 31 previous times. I was doing my best to not make eye contact with other restroom patrons, but there was a small gaggle of girls hanging out in the middle of the bathroom. Their hair was way overdone, and they were each wearing enough make-up to join a circus. Since clearly their physical appearance wasn't attention grabbing enough, they spoke to each other as loudly as possible. I suspected that perhaps one or all of them were hard of hearing, but a quick check revealed no hearing aids for this group of twenty-somethings. Here is how their conversation went (it helps to get the true feel for the event if you imagine them yelling at each other):

"Oh my God, we totally have to get a picture of all of us together."


"I just need to find someone who can take it."

(me frantically trying not to make eye contact)

Then the girl with the camera looked at me kind of crazy (see above).

"Would you take our picture?"

I agree, secretly wondering why anyone could possibly want a picture of themselves and all of their besties in a bathroom.

Then as she handed me the camera, she said the words that set my heart a flutter and changed my life:

"Oh my God, I love you forever!"

Really? Do you mean it?

And then as quickly as she fell in love with me, my life-long bathroom love disappeared in the throngs of sports fans while screaming something to her friends about posting that picture on her facebook.

And I never saw her again.

CeCe and I wept all the way home for our lost loves. Although in all fairness, with a year of solid training, CeCe could totally win Trent over next year.

Fine Art and the Homeschooling Mother

Art is a tricky thing to teach. Most likely this is because I am by no means artistic. In spite of my short comings, it is still necessary to include an art program in our homeschooling. Since my kids are only in Kindergarten and 2nd grade, it is not necessary that I teach them about fine Italian art or even bad Italian art for that matter, which is a huge relief since I don't know anything about art history. People always tell you that majoring in Art History in college is a waste of time. If only I had known then what I know now.

Burdened with this degree in social sciences, I pressed on.Then I had a moment of creative genius. Instead of buying cute color coded binders for my kids for school, I bought them plain white ones.Then I gave them each a white piece of paper and a few crayons (few crayons: 476) and said, "Draw whatever you want." I'm not the kind of parent that wants to inhibit their child's creativity with things like actual artistic structure. Pft.

What happens when you give a child free creative reign? Be prepared to be awed and amazed.

Look at the curve of the rainbow, the wave of the ocean and the graininess of the sand. Feels a little like you're there, doesn't it?

Adding a splash of color to his beach front property, Anthony is joined by Nemo. Very realistic.

Of course, once their binders were decorated, they noticed how bland my plain white binder was. I had not anticipated that they would want me to draw something. Mallory was ruthless, asking at every turn when I would decorate my binder. I tried to distract her. I cried, faked injury and joined the circus briefly. But then I realized that it was my binder, and I am a grown woman and can do whatever I want to it.

My kids call him, "Creepy Trent." Mallory insists his eyes follow her everywhere she goes, and I'm O.K. with that. Actually I'm thinking this might be the best decision I've made all year.

The Worst Birthday in the History of Twelfth Birthdays Ever...Except For, You Know, Kids In Third World Countries and Stuff

Yesterday was my sister Malibu Barbie's twelfth birthday. So, even though today was our first official day of homeschooling and the whole family had dentist appointments today, we made it a point to drive over to my mom's for the big celebration. There wasn't really a big celebration. It was just our family of four and the 47 people that currently reside at my parents' house. So just a small get-together. With cake. Glorious sweet carbs.

I didn't really go for Malibu Barbie though. I didn't even go for the extra calories. I went because deep down I have a soft spot for 12th birthdays. Why? Because my own 12th was so...what's the best way to put this...angsty.

I was sure that my birthday was going to be amazing, no, not just amazing, AMAZING that year. At 12 years old I was certain that all people of the universe, near and far would stop on this glorious day and celebrate the awesomeness that is me. Now that I think of it, I haven't really matured that much since then. Um, yeah, back to the epic story of my twelfth birthday.

The day was doomed from the start. My parents left around breakfast, some mumbo jumbo about legal proceedings. Yeah right, Mom and Dad, everyone knows that they don't practice any kind of legal stuff on birthdays. So there I was: abandoned and all alone on my birthday (except Jessica and Jay were there).

My parents guilt eventually brought them home (aka their legal woes cleared themselves up). Then they took me to the roller skating rink because it was my birthday. Also my birthday happened to fall on the same day of the week that we usually went roller skating. The skating rink was full of my friends. (Friends: people my age whose names I knew.) Even the guy I was crushing on was there. This birthday had transformed from a gray, dreary day of neglect into a magic wonderland of sparkly that only a twelve year old could imagine.

Then they announced "Ladies Choice," and I worked up my courage and asked my crush to skate. I'm sure you have images flashing through your mind of two awkward preteens holding hands as they skate under the sparkles of the disco ball. That would have been a nice memory I'm sure, but instead he said, "No." I went to my mom's car and cried like I had just learned that I was dying. I was not being melodramatic; I was being twelve.

The moral of this long-winded exceptionally dull and embarrassing story is that if you are turning twelve, I will roller skate with you because only a jerk would shoot a girl down on her birthday.