Proof That I'll Eat Anything

I haven't shared a recipe with you guys in awhile. So I figured why not (kind of) share one with you today? Truth is it's been hard to get back into the kitchen since Kareem lost his battle with Anthony and had to be laid to rest in a beautiful ceremony that involved the garbage can.

I cried.

And then there was the extensive mourning period.

I tried to move on. I brought other toys into my kitchen to help cook.

But it just wasn't the same. In spite of this hardship, today I felt it was time for me to get back to cooking. Why today you ask? Well, quite frankly, my kids are starting to look noticeably skinny, and I thought they might benefit from a meal.

The kids and I have been reading this book Grow It Cook It. It's a beautiful book, full of colorful pictures and short text portions. Perfect for young kids. Now if you couldn't figure out from the title of the book the premise is that first you grow your veggies and then...wait for it... you cook them in the recipes provided in the book. Today we reached the first recipe in the book, and I decided that the kids and I should make it together.

The glitch with this plan is that we JUST planted our garden. It's nowhere near ready for the cooking process and waiting for the plants to mature isn't an option because Grow It Cook It is due back at the library in three weeks. So I did what any good green-thumb would do: I went to the store to pick up some magical miracle grow and came home with an already ripe eggplant and some tomatoes.

The kids and I roasted tomatoes, grilled eggplant and then stacked them together to create a tower. Once our tower's were created I let Anthony add the yogurt to the top. He loves yogurt and waited impatiently all day for this step.

 Did I fail to mention that I made Anthony wear a pink and purple apron for this event? I'm just doing my best to make sure he doesn't run out of things to talk to his therapist about when he's grown.

After I drizzled our snack with honey, Mallory sprinkled almonds over the top and voila! a disgusting and inedible snack.

I have to say that Mallory managed to choke down half of hers, but Anthony ate two bites and declared himself too full to finish.

I took one bite. Then I did the thing I never do to my kids: I lied to them. With my mouth full of what had to be a practical joke on the part of the author of Grow It Cook It, I smiled at them and said, "Mmm, that's so good." Then I turned my back to them and threw up in my mouth a little.

Matt refused to even try it. I feel confident that this makes me the better parent.

I win.

Social Education

My bloggy buddy Shell has started "Pour Your Heart Out" Wednesdays and I thought I'd give it a shot this week. If you want to know more about it follow the button:

I've been thinking about education a lot these days. As most of you are aware I was homeschooled and it was a very positive experience for me. Because of this I've always dreamed of homeschooling my own kids. Matt on the other hand attended public school (and private school briefly) and is of the school of thought (pun intended) that public school is the norm and our kids should have a normal upbringing. After some back and forth we decided to homeschool Mallory this year since we didn't want her to have to change school districts in the middle of her first year of school. When we made this decision we didn't know where we'd end up moving but decided that we would make the public/homeschool decision based on whether or not the school district was a good one. Now that we know where we will be come September I've started doing some research on the school district and the reviews are not just mixed; they are downright polarizing.

While this is going on at my house my mother is struggling with an inner conflict at hers. She is currently homeschooling my three youngest siblings. I've talked before about my sister Hello Kitty's learning disabilities. I'm not going to recap all of that here so I encourage you to follow the link to see what she and my mom deal with on a day to day basis. At this point in Hello Kitty's education my mom feels that she would be better educated by someone else. The public school in my mom's district has programs catered to kids with HK's learning disabilities and also more experience then my mother in this area. So where does the conflict come from? If she would receive a better education from someone else it seems like a no-brainer, right?

Here's the rub. When choosing a school for your kids you aren't just deciding on their academic education, you are choosing what kind of social education they will receive too. The school that can offer HK education is the same school that my sister Diva attended when she first came to live with our family. Diva was only in the fifth grade and she was asked by a classmate to meet him in the bathroom for sex. During the same school year she had a first grader point out to her that there were two sixth graders having sex in the back of the bus. When the girl in question finished with the first boy, she moved on to the next. Now Diva was smart enough to walk away from those situations (and keep that first grader at the front of the bus), but HK is a sweet, sheltered, low-IQ girl who wouldn't understand that the kids inviting her to the bathroom aren't her friends and she could very easily be convinced to follow them. You could argue here that it's every parents responsibility to teach their children right from wrong and I would agree with you. You might also say that all kids are going to have to learn about sex sometime and I would agree with you about this also. Thing is I don't want my kids to learn about it at six or have the choice to become sexually active at ten. I would prefer that I have the opportunity to talk to them about sex first and also have the option of only exposing them to as much information as I feel is age appropriate.

The school district we are moving to isn't the same one as my mom's so the experiences could be completely different. However, my mom's school district is widely considered the best in the region. Which makes me wonder what kind of scale we are using to judge how good a school is? Is it based solely on the test scores of students? All parents would be pleased to know that their children are receiving a solid academic education. But since the pro-public school argument relies heavily on promoting socialization of our kids, I can't help but think that it's not too much to ask to know what kind of social education they are getting and to expect that kind of information to be a public record just like the academics are. It is my desire to raise my children to be well-rounded adults and I feel that requires a well-rounded education; academic and social.

I could go on about this issue and further expound on some of the things I've touched on here (like I said I've been thinking about this a lot), but I'd really love to hear some other opinions on this besides the ones rolling around in my own head.

And You Thought I Spent All Day Googling Trent Edwards

I awoke this morning and checked the CNN news ticker (as I always do) and discovered that Baby Kermit had wandered into a bad neighborhood while running from Miss Piggy. (Who blames him really? She's such a pig.)

In addition to the many things I do to contribute to society like homeschool and google Trent Edwards, I am also an ambassador (and sometime super-hero) to helpless and lost toys. So naturally when I saw that Baby Kermit was in peril I knew what I had to do. I jumped out of my bed and into my spandex unitard that I just got back from the cleaners after all that rigorous watching of the Olympics and made a dash for my scooter.

But I never got to my scooter. Instead I was taken out by an evil plot concocted by those villainous action "heroes" pictured above. Turns out they had peeled back a corner of a tile on the floor and it effectively cut a gash in the pad of my foot (right behind my toes) and yes, there was blood. I almost died.

But I didn't.

Then what I can only assume is the work of an evil master mind like Kraing  (Shredder's boss) I was over come with an all day nausea that left me reeling. Never one to give up I pressed on and at some point developed a wicked neck ache. I'm not sure what caused this but I can only assume that it was probably when I was fighting off the foot clan. You know how they like to surround you and I had to do some serious Kung Fu.

To sum up, even though I survived this day I am currently sidelined with a cut up foot, a sore neck and nausea that makes you wish you were puking. In spite of all this it would appear that I fared better then Baby Kermit as he is still lost out there somewhere...in the dark...I hope he can make it to morning.

Godspeed, Baby Kermit, Godspeed.

Sometimes You Just Have To Let Your Husband Win One

When you have your first child, they are sweet and innocent and perfect. You dream about what you hope they will become, and while none of us are in any hurry for them to grow up, we wonder what it will be like when they reach certain milestones. For me, I always dreamed of my kids learning to read. Matt, however, dreamed of something so much nobler than I. From almost the very moment Mallory was born, Matt dreamed of watching WWE's Wrestlemania with her. He would talk about it every March, and I would argue with him. "She's too young. She'll be scared," I would say. But his dream wouldn't die, and this year I agreed to let him keep our kids up past their bedtime to watch grown men in spandex undies try to spill another man's blood.

That's right. I let my kids watch part of Wrestlemania. They're already have a strong future set as social outcasts; we might as well teach them how to fake fight.
 

 Mallory was totally into it. She even got out pom poms.

Matt was equally invested, and even though you can't see it in this picture, he's got his cheerleading outfit on underneath that Metallica shirt.

As evidence for how into Wrestlemania Matt was, when I was uploading the above picture he said, "When did you take that picture?"  Um, today, Matt. During Wrestlemania. Actually now that I've given this some thought, I think I could use this to my advantage. I see big things (and possibly shiny and glittery) in my future.

 Of course no one was more into it then Anthony. (Yes, my kid is wearing Christmas pj's. I have no defense for this.) A new dream was born. He dreams of one day walking down to the WWE ring wearing his spandex undies (with Transformers on them of course), his long hair glistening in the light of the pyrotechnics, and claiming the belt for his own. There is no trophy manlier or more coveted then that of a golden belt.

He loved his belt. He caressed it. He even stared at it longingly. Nothing could come between him and his precious until that fateful moment when the evil monster (played by me) made him go to bed.

Then, when his guard was down (he was asleep), his enemy (Ryan) snuck up on him and put a wrestling move on Anthony that we call the "I'm a big man because I pinned a small child while he slept so I can win the belt." It's a complicated move that requires both patience and courage.

Having successfully pinned a sleeping child, Ryan claimed what was rightfully his and taunted said sleeping child by whispering fiercely (we didn't want to wake him up), "Not so tough now, are you?" and "I own you, Sucka!"

It got pretty ugly for a second.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you our new WWE champion by pinfall submission, Ryan.

My House: Where Women Smell Like Women and So Do The Men

I did something tonight that I haven't done in awhile. No, it's not pole dancing. I gave up pole dancing after I had my first kid. (Mom, this is a joke. I haven't pole danced since college.)

Um, yeah, anyway, so I watched T.V., and I saw this commercial.

When the commercial ended I thought to myself, "Tru Dat." I almost always think in street lingo. I'm down like that. All right you busted me. My inner dialogue is actually in a thick English accent. It might not be as cool as thinking in street, but it explains the tiara I insist on wearing around the house.

O.K. Back on point. You guys are so easily distracted ...or maybe that's me.

The message of this commercial couldn't have come at a better time in my life. Let me tell what I've been going through. The other day I leaned in to kiss my husband. I inhaled and smelled,

wait for it,

Olay Body Wash.

I immediately made up my mind that when I went grocery shopping I would purchase a body wash that smelled like a man. That's right, I'm one of the gazillion women that prefer her man to smell like a man. I don't want him to smell like just any man. I want him to smell like a man that rides horses backwards on a beach. Is there anything sexier than a man riding a horse backwards?

I wanted to make sure that I picked up a body wash that was scented just to my liking so I took to sniffing each of the different men's body washes. There were a lot of them, and I'm pretty sure that at some point I looked like I was huffing in the soap aisle, and I may or may not have gotten a little too close to one of the bottles and gotten some on my nose. In spite of my tribulations, I persisted because I'm an amazing wife that wouldn't want her man to smell like a chick. My motivation was, as it always is, pure and selfless.

I sniffed the Axe body washes and decided that a good wife would never let her husband leave for work smelling like one of the boys from the Jersey Shore so I put it back on the shelf. Then I checked out the Old Spice. It was, after all, the inspiration for this excursion (that and because I ran out of cereal). The bottle looked good and manly. It had a football player on the front. It spoke to me. It said, "I am man. I watch football. I like boobies. I smell like man. Grr." When a bottle says something like that you have no choice but to put it back down, take an anti-psychotic medication and buy the most reasonably priced body wash. I feel confident that  it will go well with his exceptionally manly, partially waxed chest.

Adding To The List Of Ways I've Ruined My Children's Future

My sister Malibu Barbie stayed with us all last week. Since she's eleven, I had to homeschool all three kids. For some reason the challenge of this made me much more proactive then usual. I reached peak awesomeness: I took them to see a play, taught them about dead leaves, planted gardens with them, cooked them healthy(ish) meals. I helped Malibu Barbie navigate the the murky waters of converting centuries into days. She can thank me when she's grown and she never needs to use that information. Seriously, when was the last time you said to yourself, "Now how many days were in the last century?" I taught Mallory about parts of speech. She's diagramming dangling participles now (that might be a mild exaggeration). As for Anthony, we've kind of been using his education like a parlor trick: "Hey look at my kid! He can add 2+2 and he's only three. Listen to him say his letter sounds, etc." This might make us bad parents. I'm not sure.

In addition to all of that, I managed to keep my laundry clean (yea for clean undies), and the kids and I took a walk to the park. It turned out the the public schools only had a half-day that day and the park was PACKED. I turned my kiddos loose and sat on the bench with the other moms. Let me just say, I have never in my life belonged to a clique. I think most of us assumed that after high school ended, cliques just disappeared, only to later find out that Mommyhood is exceptionally cliquey.

Do you breastfeed or formula feed?
Cloth diapers?
Fast food and hot dogs or all organic?
High-end preschool or stay-at-home?

After listening to the mom's at the park talk amongst themselves (loud enough for everyone else to hear by the way), I have determined that I'm going to have to change some things around here if I don't want to doom my children to a life of social outcastness (yeah, I totally just made that word up).While there are clearly many glaring flaws in my parenting, probably the most egregious one is that I have failed to teach my children the dangers of eating. I did teach my children that the meat we eat at meals comes from animals, however I failed to educate them on how those animals are mistreated. Fortunately for me, this can be rectified by allowing my small children to watch the documentary, "Food, Inc." This is the only way that my little girl can reach the enlightenment that the other mothers at the park kids have and refuse to eat any meat.

While I work on helping my children achieve the enlightenment that I myself lack, I suppose I could get my kids into everyone's good graces by pointing out how we planted our own herbs and veggies. It doesn't get any more organic then that.

 

But let's be honest, no amount of enlightenment is going to save my kids social future if any of those moms get wind that I let my kids plant a garden and play in the dirt in my kitchen.

 

Where I cook...dead animals...and non-organic produce.

I let my son rub all that potting soil into the table that I feed him breakfast at.

 

These poor kids don't stand a chance.

The results of the Rock Out or Wax Off are coming later this week. I swear...would I lie to you?

To Rock Out or Wax Off?

Do you remember my cousin, Dayna? She left the 518 for an all girl band.

I don't know why. The 518 rocked and we had this guy.

It might be because the 518 doesn't having a label yet and Dear Daddy has actual musicians in it, but most likely it's because they offered to let her play the keytar.

Rockband doesn't have a keytar. Why, Rockband, why?

From what I understand, Dear Daddy has finished recording their album (do people still say album?) and are having a show at Room 960 in Hartford CT this Friday. After that they are headed to L.A. to tour. It's pretty exciting actually.

So herein lies my ethical dilemma. Dayna invited us to come out and see her play. Thing is it's 4 hours away and doesn't end until midnight. I'd like to go, but Matt's not totally on board. Actually he went so far as to offer to let me wax his chest on Friday night if I didn't make him drive out to CT.

You know how I love to rip hair out of others.

Tell me, Bloggy Buddies, should I rock out or wax off?

The Post In Which I Explain How Awesome I Am Not

Last week I had a mini meltdown about what to do with Mallory since she's burning through all of the curriculum that I had for her this year. I followed the sage advice of Amanda on this one and let Jessica do my thinking. So after Jessica put her complicated plan of posting what basically amounted to a cry for help (on my behalf) on her facebook wall into action, I was graced with a solid idea that involved the library and outdoor play.

I loaded my kids into the car and headed to the library. Not our actual library mind you. That building is under construction and according to the librarian will not be finished until roughly February 2011. I'm fairly certain they could knock down the old library and build a whole new, totally butt-kicking library faster, but who am I?

We arrived at the 10x10 room that is serving our community's literacy needs, and I let my kids pick out fun books. This went awesome since Anthony insisted (INSISTED!) that we get the book we checked out for him last time. I had no idea what book he was talking about or where it was located. Fortunately not only is my three year old smarter then me, but he also has better library skills then I do because he remembered the title of the book and then located it without my help. I think it's safe to say that my work is done with that kid and I can kick back with an early morning martini now.

After that, I had the librarian show me where they had stashed educational materials. It was a few rows over from where I left my kids to fend for themselves. They were really good though, I only had to yell over to them three or ten times for Anthony to use his library voice.

Since it's started to warm up here, I thought we could focus on trees, plants and bugs, all things that kids love. I got a book about dung beetles (because bugs that eat poop rock the socks off of three year old boys), one about identifying backyard trees and one called "Grow It Cook It" which I was pretty relieved to find out wasn't about eating placenta.

This morning we read a few pages out of the Backyard Trees book. It covered the basics of identifying trees based on shape, bark and leaves. Being the awesome homeschooling mom I am, I said to my kids, "Do you want to go outside and find a leaf and try to identify it?" Of course they did. So outside we went. At this time I might like to point out that it's March in New York. Our trees have no leaves. They aren't even in the budding stages yet. We forged on anyway and used a few of the very dead brown leaves that had survived a long winters nap under the snow. For what it's worth, identifying a decomposing leaf can be a little challenging.
Tomorrow I think I'll just skip the dead leaves and fresh air and make something out of construction paper.

I Feel Like A Better Person Already

So in keeping with yesterday's post of living a more fulfilling life, I decided to better myself. Truthfully I'm so incredibly awesome and together that I couldn't think of anything about me that needed improvement. I thought long and hard. I thought all day. It was a  grueling day of thinking.

Well I suppose one might argue that I had a grueling day all around. I mean besides the thinking, I also watched two grown men pretend to be singing amphibians for an hour or so this morning. (true story)

Now sometimes when I'm trying to think of something and I get stuck, I put on music and dance around my living room. I bounce around, I wiggle like no dancer ever should and once in a while I find myself doing "the Elaine."

And when I'm all done. Voila! I feel better. I mean my mind is still a blank, but I feel good about my 3.5 minutes of cardio and that's good enough for me.

When the dancing fails me, I turn to the only person in the world that keeps track of my cycle for me... that I know of. I suppose that there could be a whole sect of people that I don't know about that have designed their life around my cycle, but I don't have any of their IM names so I only IMed Jessica.

Here is our conversation:

Me: Jessica, how could I be a better person. Give it your best shot.

Jessica: are you asking me to criticize you?

Me: sure.

Jessica: Do you recall the debacle with Justin and myspace and a little issue with his song

Please don't do this to me

Me: I wasn't actually looking for real criticism.

I actually had a moment of panic when you asked me if I really wanted to be criticized.

Jessica: ok.. um... scale back your love affair with Heidi Klum

Me: but, but, what's wrong with Heidi Klum?

Jessica: nothing. But you're a stalker. Right? This is supposed to be over the top, isn't it?

And then after a whole day of thinking and not coming up with anything, Jessica rattled off this list of ways for me to be a better person in like less then ten seconds: 

Jessica: Be a better person by supporting Trent more

and giving your kids real alcohol in their math shot glasses

instead of that cheap crap you keep giving them

and...

this is funny but weird

read more

yeah

and learn to punctuate

that one's half-serious

That's like five things. Five things in like 10 seconds. I think it's obvious that I am no longer talking to her. What does she know anyway? She doesn't even own shot glasses. NERD.

I decided her opinion didn't count and contacted someone less nerdy. So I contacted Ryan. (He and Bryan were the only other two people I saw online and I'm pretty sure if I asked Bryan his answer would be honest and make me cry.)

Things went south between Ryan and I right from the beginning and before I knew it I was calling him a chicken and he was calling me a "playoff Yankee fan"

I probably won't be talking to him anymore either.

Things To Do Before I Die

When you're a kid you dream of what you'll be when you grow up. Maybe you'll rescue kittens from trees, adopt fourteen children from war torn countries or even nurse the sick back to life. The world is yours to conquer. Everything glitters.

Then you graduate from college and get that amazing job that's going to help you earn your first million. (And a supermodel girlfriend. I mean what good is the million without the hot girlfriend)

Then you get shown to your cubicle.

It doesn't have a window.

But you persist, you work twice as hard. Model's don't date men that work in cubicles without windows.

Finally your first review comes up and you are sure that your boss will recognize not only your killer work ethic but also your pure genius and you'll shoot to the top of the company.  Heeeelloooo, Heidi Klum! (OK I realize that I need to learn a new supermodel, preferably one that is younger and not married. I'm sorry, as a straight woman I have not put a high priority on keeping in touch with who the current hot models are. I'll work on this.)

Your boss says, "Good job." Gives you a 2% raise and invites you to have cake with the rest of the office. They've given Marge a promotion. (You know Marge. She's the girl that you were pretty sure wasn't working with a full deck. Yeah, she's got a window now, Sucka.)

Then one day while you are minding your own business, someone calls you old. (For the record I did not get called old twice today...or maybe I did, but I'm not going to admit it to you.)

Then one day, You Are Old. You begin to wonder to yourself. What happened to all that time I thought I had? What have I done with my life?

You panic.

Now most of you haven't reached this point in your life. You will. I know. (I'm old remember?) Listen carefully, I'm going to tell you how to handle this situation.

Make a Bucket List.

Now originally I was going to put off making my Bucket List until my doctor gave me a rough estimate on how long I could expect to live. However, being called old by a 17 year old has made me realize that I need to take turning 30 more seriously. Honestly, I'm practically staring death down here.

As I touched on in my last post, I'd like to purchase my own boy band. Not a lame one like Menudo, but a really hot one like...like...oh, forget the boy band. I'm going to purchase a sports team.(to ensure purchase of hot men) Preferably a football or baseball team. I would also settle for a solid tetherball team. (hello, the economy is in the crapper. A girl's got to watch her budget.)

So Item numero uno: Procure talented group of hot men.

Since I don't like to make idle promises, I'm going to learn the name of a supermodel under the age of 30 (unmarried of course). Then I'm going to feed her a sandwich. Or two. Actually I'm going to keep feeding her until I can't count her ribs anymore.

Item number two: Serve a meal to the hungry.

I stumbled across a blog (I can't for the life of me remember which one anymore) in which the writer was super-excited that the next Cosmo had Lady Gaga on the cover. Now I like Lady Gaga but I would never buy a magazine because she was on the cover. I would however, buy one that educated me on "50 More Things to do Butt Naked" (Cosmo, you know just how to reel me in)  It's a life changing article. I would have never thought to call my cable company, play scrabble or workout naked. I'm going to work my way through this list.

Item number three: Increase the number of fat people doing things that shouldn't be done naked, naked.

As we all know when it comes to blogging, the more the merrier. There is not a single blogger out there that doesn't get excited about comments and new commenters. On this I am the status quo. I love comments. If you are a regular commenter on my blog I love you and could probably be convinced to commit a crime for you. So if you are currently looking for someone to smuggle drugs across the Canadian border and follow my blog then I'm your girl. Email me.

The item after the last one: Reach 59 followers on my blog. 

I would like to reach the pinnacle of Mt Everest. I'm not a fool. (shut-up, you.) I know that even with the mountain climbing experience and proper equipment (neither of which I have) I stand a good chance of not making it back alive. I read John Krakauer's Into Thin Air. I know the best case scenario for me is to loose a few toes and the worst case is that I would be left for dead. Although, technically, if I make it to the top before I die then I've accomplished my goal. Since I'm more likely to die from this goal then say, doing a slip and slide naked, (at least one would hope) I'm going to put it last on my list.

On second thought, that death sounds really cold, lonely and miserable.

Last item:  Move to Lake Tahoe to die.

Making Something of Myself, One Drunk Bride at a Time

If you missed the original posting of the list click here.

1. Pet a cow.
2. Buy a house
3. Learn how to properly and successfully execute a basketball lay-up.
4. Fix this disaster of a farmer's tan I accidentally started today.
5. Do 300 push-ups and 3000 crunches. (at 30 and 125)
6. Cry and Whine about how sore I am from doing 300 push-ups and 3000 crunches. (This was almost too easy.)
7. Schedule my first ever colonoscopy.
8. Move my family into a new house. This will be sort of a hunting and gathering process since we have crap stored at various locations throughout two counties. (Duuuuude, I'm so tired.)
9. Have a BBQ on my new deck.
10. Try a new food.
11. Attend a homeschooling mother's luncheon. (I'm counting this on the list because it's going to eat a whole day out of my 30 and that's just not fair.)
12. Give Matt and Mallory each a great birthday. This includes but is not limited to: baking cheesecake, purchasing multiple items with the name Selena Gomez on them and pretending to be interested in who the Bills choose with their second round pick in this years NFL Draft. Yeah, I'm bored already too. (halfway there!)
13. Go shopping. Buy a dress. If you knew how I shopped you would have made this two items but I'm serious about this list. (I actually bought two dresses and two pairs of ridiculously high heels and I only spent 80 dollars. Yes, this is a sign of my awesomeness.)
14. Play my own piano in my own house for the first time since I got married.  (I should take some video of this so you can hear how out of tune my piano is. It's beautiful, like crashing cymbals.)
15. Go on a hike. A real, up into the mountains, get eaten alive by starving mosquitoes hike.(Post forthcoming.)
16. Teach Mallory how to make a cheesecake. (done)
17. Use this list as an excuse to let myself go. Shower less, brush my hair less, etc. You get the idea. (Photographic evidence. It's terrifying, you have been warned.)
18. Get my dad to refer to Trent Edwards as my boyfriend in front of my husband again. Awesome.
19. Take my kids to a nursing home for a visit.
20. Clean my bathrooms (does it count if I get my husband and daughter to do them. P.S. Mallory's bathroom was cleaner than Matt's)
21. Buy new pedals for my bike so I can take bike rides with my kids.
22. See Manhattan at night.
23. Perform the Justin Bieber song Eenie Meenie Minie Moe Lover as a poem for an audience.
24. Find a black eyeliner that doesn't make me look like I've been punched in the face after it's been exposed to a little bit of sunshine and heat.
25. Get a new tattoo.
26. Teach Anthony how to read. This way he can spend his whole life bragging that he learned to read when he was only 3. Even if he fails miserably at everything in life he'll at least have that.
27. Convince Matt and Ryan to take the Buffalo Wild Wings Blazin' Challenge and then post photographic evidence of this contest on the Internet for my own amusement. (In case you missed it.)
28. Hug a stranger. (drunk bride at her bachelorette party.)
29. Spend an exorbitant amount of time shopping for and picking out the shoes Matt will be buying for me after my colonoscopy is done. I am open to suggestions.
30. Take a picture of Matt and myself and both kids together in our new house.

He's Got His Party Dress On

Today my Dad plans on using his ID to do something he's never done before.

Is it break into a stranger's apartment?

No.

Purchase his very own boy band?

No. (but that would be awesome. Maybe I should put that on my bucket list.)

he is going to...


Get a Senior Citizen's discount.*

 Happy Birthday OLD man.**

*the large print was to make it easier for him to see.

**I may or may not have placed that tacky giant pink bow on him and then taken this picture. You can't prove anything.

The Vapid Confessions Of A Fake Blond

• Lately I haven't felt much like blogging. I don't feel funny or interesting. I don't know if it's just the PMS talking, but I can't help but wonder if any of you ever feel this way? The other night I sat at the computer for like two hours trying to come up with something to write and ended up going to bed with nothing written. I did manage to take pictures of myself. (a solid procrastination technique that I highly recommend)

 

The dark: my best side for sure.

• I would really like to win the jewelery giveaway over on the Boob Nazi's blog. I only share this with you because I get an extra entry for mentioning the giveaway on my own blog. Also if I happen to lose that giveaway but you remember that my 30th birthday is fast approaching and realize that you haven't picked anything up for me yet that this would be a good option.

• Sandy over at Moments of Mommyhood has been posting ABC manipulatives for kids roughly Anthony's age. (she's up to P) They are so cute and easy. We did A today and he loved, loved, loved it. He actually ran to show Matt his paper when Matt got home which is the first time he's ever done that. 

• I bought Mallory a book for gifted 1st graders today. Do I think she's gifted? No. (Cute and smart? Yes. Gifted? No.) The thing is she's tearing through all of the books I have and I'm running out of options. She's going to finish her third critical thinking workbook next week and reads constantly.  I share this not to brag but to ask for help. If you have any suggestions on how to challenge a 5 year old that's already working through first grade materials with relative ease without making school feel like a chore (she's still little) I would love to hear them. All suggestions are good ones.

• I've gone blond (again). I suspect that this is why my mind is a total blank these days. It's not full blond, but I'm thinking about taking the plunge and doing all of my hair. See. Point in case. I'm sitting here thinking about hair color. 

• Matt went to bed already. I don't feel so great (I'm the only one in my house that hasn't thrown up this week. I do not feel left out). I think I'll go join him.

Sandra Bullock Just Reminded Me, I Forgot To Thank You.

I taped pictures of Mallory's deceased great-grandparents in the front of her baby book. On the page with their picture I have written as much about them as I can think of. I did it so that when she is grown she can read it and then hopefully feel connected to them in some way.

My paternal grandfather died before Mallory was born. He died before I married Matthew. In so many ways, for me, he was dead before he died. I did not know him. I mean I had met him but only a handful of times and it was always one of those things where I couldn't wait until my Mom and Dad called me to get into the car.

But that's not why I didn't write anything about him in the book. I don't have any of my own memories about my great-grandparents, but I wrote down some of the memories my mom has shared with me. The thing is when it comes to my paternal grandfather there don't seem to be any fun stories. He was not a good man. He was not a good husband. He was not a good father. He was not.

In the movie The Breakfast Club Alley Sheedy's character says that we all become our parents. "It is inevitable," she declares. Think about it. You are so your mom (or your dad, whatever). So when a boy is raised in a hostile environment by a man that exemplifies everything you pray your daughter never ends up with, what chance does he have to become a good man?

It is my strong opinion that good men don't just happen. Sweat, tears and prayers are poured into boys and even after all of our hard work, it is by God's grace alone that they become good men. Which is the saving grace for boys like my father. God sees them. His compassion and love for them is overwhelming. And because my father was in God's heart before he even knew who God was, he was saved from "the inevitable."

In the same way that God sent my parents to help all my adoptive siblings, He sent people into my dad's life. Not foster or adoptive parents, but men that guided him and gave him a safe place to go when he needed to escape.

This is what I thought of tonight when Sandra Bullock gave her acceptance speech at the Oscars. I thought of the people that God sent into my father's life. People who were used by God to help my father become the great man he is.

I could go on about the importance of a good father when it comes to raising a little girl but they are telling me to wrap it up. So to my parents and all the people that intervened in their lives, thank you.

Thank you.

Annie Lebowitz Eat Your Heart Out

I realize that I've been posting a lot of pictures lately. This is because I am like a magician with a camera. I capture the soul of people... and then I eat their hearts. It's good protein.

I call this Hobo chic. See how I managed to make him look like a drunk crazy person even though he's perfectly sober and by most people's standards, not crazy? I can achieve this effect for most anybody. Also I totally designed her outfit. Milan, here I come.

Every good photo shoot needs a bed in it. Look how seductive I made Daffy look. And the kids? They look totally disinterested in pictures. It's almost like they would have rather been watching TV. That's what I was going for.

 

 For this photo I went for "Sweet big sister and recently got puke showered off of me little brother" I think it came out beautifully.

For the grand finale of my breathtakingly amazing photoshoot I give you:

Caption it. I dare you.

A Great Idea For How To Spend That Tax Return Money

I find that the best way to crush on a celebrity is to get family support of the crush. For example, my best friend in Jr. High had a crush on a Christian rapper (a white one no less) named Toby McKeehan. She loved him. She had a framed picture of him that she kissed goodnight. Her family was totally on board. They even hunted down where his family lived and vacationed near there and managed to get an invite to Easter dinner.

Crazy right? Of course if she had ended up with him, we would have all thought they were genius. But she didn't. She married a guy she met on the Internet, and they are waiting on baby number four.

Tonight Jessica and I were talking about a fellow blogger, Busy Bee Lauren. Maybe you've heard of her. She's way more popular then me. She's married to a guy she refers to as Tedward. I asked Jessica if that was his real name and she speculated that Lauren has blended her husband's name with that of her celebrity crush Edward Cullen. Genius, Lauren. How could I have not thought of this? From now on I should refer to Matt as Mrentt. Doesn't quite roll off the tongue like Tedward, but I can work with it. So thank you, Jessica (and Lauren), for supporting my celebrity crush.

Matt Mrentt has been very supportive as well. This weekend at the waterpark, we saw a woman with multiple tattoos of Johnny Depp in various roles. There was an Edward Scissorhands tat, a Captain Jack tat and possibly one from 21 Jump Street. As Mrentt and I were discussing this amazingness, he said, "You should get a few Trent Edwards Tattoos."

He is so right. Trent has many different looks.

The Buzz Cut

The Faux Hawk

And who could forget the style that sparked hairgate 2009: The Shag

I could fill my whole back with Trent head shots. Well, maybe I would put them somewhere I could see them so I could admire them on a regular basis, but I think I'll skip this look.

A special thanks goes out to my love, Mrentt (I think I'm getting the hang of this) for suggesting the new ink and also for accompanying me to the Tattoo parlor and holding my hand while I get another man's face tattooed on my body. You rock.

How I Suck As A Parent

I'm blogging from the Touch tonight because I'm at an indoor waterpark with the kids and my in-laws. We are waiting for a Looney Tunes character to stop by with milk and cookies and tuck the kids in. I know what you are thinking: "Really, Bethany, you've gotten so lazy that you are paying someone else to tuck your kids in?"

Yes, I really am that lazy.

It might seem as though that is enough to prove that I suck as a parent, but wait, there's more. Today Mallory reached a childhood milestone. She lost her first tooth. It became very loose this morning while she brushed her teeth, and by lunchtime, it was dangling and everyone convinced her to let me pull it out. She's a bit skittish so we hid in a corner of the hotel room, and I reached up and touched it. It was gross. I pulled my hand away and said to her, "Are you sure you don't want your dad to do this?" She didn't, and I was stuck, I mean privileged to yank her bloody tooth from her mouth.

There are certain things I just can't handle, like vomit. I always make Matthew clean up vomit. Everyone always says that once you are a mom that those kind of things don't bother you. They lied. In six years of parenting, I've maybe cleaned vomit once and I gagged violently the whole time.

So tell me, what grosses you out? Use details and descriptive language. See if you can trigger my gag reflex.