Nobody Listens To The Girl

My Annual Post

2011-10-11T21:13:00.000-04:00

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 http://homeschoolingstarters.wordpress.com/

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

2010-12-12T23:21:00.000-05:00

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

2010-12-06T06:00:00.005-05:00

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

2010-11-29T08:43:00.001-05:00

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

2010-09-06T06:00:00.001-04:00

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."

"Here?"

"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

2010-08-31T06:00:00.000-04:00

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

2010-08-26T06:00:00.001-04:00

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.

The I Heart Trent Edwards Club

2010-08-09T06:00:00.002-04:00

Last Friday before Matt and I left for training camp, I received a call that Ryan was in great distress.

I offered to send Matt over to hold him, but he said it was only a flat tire and as much as he appreciated Matt, could I just pick him up.

Once I had him in the car with me, he told me a deep dark secret which I then decided to share with the Internet. He has a bucket list for my life. Not his own life, mind you, but mine. From what I can gather, there is only one thing on the list: Get a picture of myself with my arm around Trent Edward's neck, possibly with Trent and myself flashing a thumbs-up at the camera. Ryan has big dreams. Who am I to not achieve them?

I wasn't 100% sure how I was going to achieve Ryan's goal, but I took my camera anyway. When you first arrive at St. John Fisher's College for training camp, you are ushered into a tent full of sponsor tables. At the second table Matt and I arrived at, a middle-aged women offered me a bag that said VERIZON/BUFFALO BILLS, and I accepted. Honestly how could I not? I'm fairly certain that I saw a picture of Lindsey Lohan carrying the same exact bag when they released her from jail last week. Fashion scores aside, the women with the bag says to me, " I really hope Trent plays well this year."

Me too, lady.

Then, with no prompting whatsoever she launched into the following conversation to with me: "I really worry about him. I hope he doesn't get another concussion. He's such a good guy. He's such a good role model and a good person. I would be so worried if he got another concussion. He's such a good Christian man. He such a wonderful person..."

I couldn't figure out why she was gushing about Trent to me, but I do have a few ideas.

One: she's his mother, and he got her a job handing out bags at the Verizon booth. He's a self-proclaimed "mama's boy," so this is a viable option.

Two: The Verizon woman could feel that she and I were kindred spirits. Eternally linked by our love of all things Trent Edwards. Or,

Three: God sent me the Verizon woman to aid in my quest for a picture of myself with Trent. Even though I'm confident that God cares about Ryan's bucket list for my life, Verizon lady failed to get me close to Trent. This is why I use AT&T.

I did manage to get a picture of Trent. We were so close together. He was totally into me.

Here he's walking between the other red shirted QBs asking them for advice about ways to impress me. He's got it bad.


He decided to play it cool and try to impress me with his NFL caliber QBing skills. I know you are disappointed that I didn't meet Trent and also that I failed to take a picture with him, but don't worry, all hope is not lost. If you recall, last year at the Hall of Fame game, I only got pictures of the back of Trent's head. This year, I got a picture of his side instead. Baby steps, my friends, baby steps. Next year: Face. You heard me right. I'm totally getting a picture of his face next year. In the meantime, I'll have to settle with this picture of the sidelines I took by accident when Trent was close enough for a good picture. I think I can see his shadow in there somewhere.

A Romantic Getaway With My Husband To Visit The "Other Man"

2010-08-06T06:00:00.002-04:00

Every year for the past few years whenever Matt has asked me where I wanted to go on vacation, I've answered the same thing: Rochester, N.Y. in August. Finally, after years of begging and crying and suffering, Matt has relented and is taking me to Rochester. It's only a day trip but I am unreasonably excited. Why would someone be so excited to go to a hot, humid, beach-free city for vacation, you ask?

Because that's where my Buffalo Bills are right now. In case you are wondering what they are doing there, it's training camp time. Training camp is when they start to implement what the team will use in the coming season and practice that as a team. They let the fans come and watch. For free.*

I know you are already in your car, GPSing directions to St. John Fishers College so you to can experience men practicing football. All those repetitive drills and whistles blowing. Oh my gosh, I want to sniff the inside of a sweaty helmet. It's almost more than I can handle.

Just as my ~~obsession~~ excitement hits fever pitch, I talk myself down by reminding myself of a story my brother stopped by to tell me this week. It's amazing how people just show up when you don't expect them and say just what you need to hear when you need to hear it.

Justin recently went to Nashville for a Christian Music Conference of some kind that I'm not totally familiar with, but he informed me that he was the chaperone for twelve teens. When they met up for the first time, Justin sat them all down and looked them each in the eye and said to them, "I cannot guarantee that you will meet anyone famous this week. I cannot guarantee that you will make contacts in the music business that will further your career. But what I can guarantee is that tonight while you are asleep, I will pee in every single one of your mouths."

Such rational and calming words of wisdom. While I didn't need the part about further my career as I have no immediate plans to pursue a career in the NFL, the rest speaks to me. Actually, I'm so afraid that some stranger that I've just met will attempt to pee in my mouth while I'm away, Matt and I have decided to drive home after the practice rather than stay in a ~~dive-y~~ high-end hotel. Finally, even though it's not a guarantee, I'm bringing my camera should I get the opportunity to get a picture with a sweaty, hairy QB at any point.

Fingers crossed.

*I realize that going to observe training camp is the equivalent of coming to your office and sitting next to you while observing how you accomplish your daily tasks and that being this excited about it makes me a dork of tragic proportions. In spite of this, I don't care. I'm excited to watch grown men work. It's kind of like a Diet Coke break really.

Celebrities Are Liars

2010-08-04T06:00:00.016-04:00

Someone in my house who is not me, of course, may or may not have spilled roughly ten ounces of ice water on my computer desk. The result of this alleged incident that was, as I've already stated, clearly not my doing is that only about half of the letters in my keyboard still work. I'm going to be honest with you: it was tempting to still blog with that keyboard as if it were still functioning properly and then post the unintelligible post that resulted. I decided to blog from my Touch instead. My sincerest apologies to all of you that are disappointed to not be "reading" the letterless post.

Blogging on the Touch can be tricky due to the automatic Spellcheck that changes words to completely different words that I personally have never heard of. Also, it's nearly impossible to proofread which should make reading this post that much more enjoyable for you. Anyway, I figured with all of these things working against me, I would keep this post short and just give you the bulletpoints of my day.

1. I followed a twitter link that promised to let me in on true secrets of how celebrity moms have such toned arms. Would you care to know the big secret? They carry their babies/children around and -- voilà -- perfect arms. Yeah, I have two kids of my own, and I've carried them around, and my arms still jiggle. I'm going to go ahead and call this out as a falsehood. Kind of like the time Gwen Stefani claimed that she lost all her baby-weight by breast-feeding. Mmhmm. I breast-fed my kids too. J.I.G.G.L.E. In their defense, perhaps the trick to great arms is in handing your baby to your nanny when your trainer shows up for your private
session.

Have you ever noticed that after you read something like that, you feel dumber? I decided to take yet another online IQ test to see if I was, in fact, dumber for having allowed a celebrity's thoughts and opinions in my head. The answer: Yes, I am dumber than the last time I took a fake IQ test. I declare these findings to be as accurate as those produced by Sports Science.

I ended my day with a fat lady run.(FWIW my Touch just tried to change the word lady to party. Do what you will with that.) Generally, I can't run, not because I'm out of shape but because I get shin splints, and they hurt, and I'm a whiny baby. So I heard in a few places that running barefoot, you won't get shin splints. I walked to the high school track and gave it a shot. I enjoyed myself immensely. The jury is still out on whether or not it will solve the pain issue. I did discover, however, that running barefoot on a track will earn you blisters, and furthermore, if said track is blue, the bottom of your feet will turn that color too. Just a little wisdom I picked up today to replace the brain cells I lost earlier in the day.

I feel that it would be best if I quit while I'm ahead and call it a night.

The Productivity of Procrastination

2010-08-02T06:00:00.001-04:00

It is my hope to have our downstairs completed in time for the start of the school year. Since that time is quickly approaching, I began to ~~nag~~ patiently pressure my darling husband to help me with this task. He, of course, agreed to help, but before we could get started he made me agree to watch LOST with him.

All. Six. Seasons.

And then July was over. Not that the month was a complete waste. It was a month full of intrigue, mystery, suspense and Jack face.

We learned about the mystical Jackface and it's many purposes. It is appropriate to use when you are angry, shocked, happy, confused and dead.

We also learned that fat people love chicken.

This insight answered a lot of questions I had. Not about the show's story line, but about my waist line. Thank you, writers of LOST, I feel such clarity now.

Once Jack Shepard had successfully saved and killed the appropriate people, I said to Matt, "So we are going to work on the basement tomorrow, right?

"Sure," he said, "We'll get started on that tomorrow after I drop the neighbor's dog's great-aunt's owner off at the bus station."

By the time he got back, Mallory had informed him that today was the first of August. Apparently this means we need to go for a hike. Since we let the six year old call the shots around here, we went for a hike at a local preservation.

We walked the nature trail singing about the first day of August. I gazed off the edge of the rocks into the water and reminisced about that time that Sawyer and the bullet ridden Kate cliff jumped so that they could catch their flight. Oh and remember that time that Jack made his Jack face while Kung Fo Pandaing (yes I made that a verb) Locke? Oh this cliff brings back so many memories.

The point of all of this is: my basement is not done. Shoot, it's not even started, but I've experienced LOST, hiked with my kids, written this incredibly life-altering post and made big plans with Matt for Friday. I suspect said plans are just another of his procrastination ploys to distract me from the unfinished basement, but I don't care because Matt is taking me away to a place I've wanted to go for years. I'll tell you all about it. But first I'm going to get some sleep.

That There Is Some Bad Hair

2010-07-29T06:00:00.001-04:00

So I'm totally back from my philanthropic expedition to India. I feel good about my time there. I adopted all the orphans they had and then fed them using only a banana and a kids healthy eating cookbook. I'm like the MacGyver of good deeds. I realize that about now you are thinking to yourself that I'm amazing and you wish you could be as awesome as me, but here's the truth. My trip to India was totally selfish. I needed a distraction. What did I need to be distracted from you ask? (Yes, I do realize that I'm conversing with myself. If you'll excuse me I'm going to answer myself now.)

Football. Or rather the lack thereof. You see even though they only play games in the fall, there is really something going on in the NFL all year. After the season is the postseason, then the Super Bowl, the draft and finally OTA's and minicamps. After minicamps the teams "break" for five weeks. It's like a deafening silence falls over the NFL. It's so inconsiderate of them to vacation. To add insult to injury Coach Hackman decided to not name a starting QB until Training Camp starts. So now not only am I left writhing in agony over what kind of hairstyle Trent will bring to camp, but also will he even be playing?

After five weeks of suffering, I finally got all my answers today. Yes, Trent will be starter through training camp. As for his hair:

You cut me deep there, Trent.

Where to start? The borderline mullet? The sideburns? Or...or..the goatee? Part of me wants to believe that his face looks like that because they ran out of razors in Western N.Y. and he had no choice, but that two inch patch of skin between his sideburns and goatee give him away. He did this to himself on purpose.

Obviously I couldn't just let this slide. I had to set him straight.

You can see it in his eyes, Trent was a little hurt by my honesty at first. But then we talked it out and it turns out the "hairstyle" is a good thing. If you remember, last year I told him to keep growing his hair because his hair is the key to winning a Super Bowl. I might have forgotten but Trent is still holding the faith in his hair. Since I started this I have to respect that, but Trent, the goatee and burns? My best guess is he must have lost a bet or something.

For those of you that are worried that my feelings on Trent's hair caused a rift between us, you can rest easy. Once we straightened out the whole hair fiasco, I made sure to mention to him that he had a nice tan.

And it made him happy.

Now if he could just get some of that hair off his face, I'd be happy too.

They Don't Cover Sex on the SAT's Anyway

2010-07-26T06:00:00.001-04:00

I've been taking the saying, Lazy Days of Summer, quite literally lately. I've found that there are a lot of wonderful ways I can spend my time that don't serve any good or fruitful purpose. For example, the other day I googled PSAT tests. Why? So I could test how smart I am, of course. I realize that the PSAT is an aptitude test for 16 and 17 year olds trying to enter college and I'm 30 and well, not headed to college. It's just that I was curious how I would do and quite frankly I couldn't think of anything better to do with my time. For what it's worth, according to the PSAT questions I answered, my reading comprehension and writing skills are AWESOME. My math skills on the other hand, well, um, they were... less awesome.

Fortunately for my kids my math skills don't have to be SAT good to follow a recipe.

That's right, the kids and I totally made our own ice cream.

One of New York's many requirements for what I teach my six year old is Health. Since I was feeling kind of clueless as to what a six year old should be taught in health I did a search for 2nd grade Health Ed at an online homeschool bookstore. They suggested "What's the Big Deal? Why God Cares About Sex." Did you just recoil at the idea of teaching a six year old about sex too? We are going to learn about eating nutritiously instead. I realize that good eating habits aren't as much fun as sex, but since I've decided not to let my kids know sex exists until they are capable of doing SAT caliber math, nutrition it is. I did a little more research and found "Kids Fun and Healthy Cookbook."

Now you may recall that I've attempted to cook with my kids once before. You may also recall that that recipe was barflicious. Because of this I was understandably cautious, but this book is wonderful. The recipes are easy and quick to make and as an added bonus, my kids have eaten every healthy recipe we've made from the book without crying or vomiting.

Actually the recipes are so good I've taken to making them without the kids. It can be a little difficult to get Mallory out of the kitchen. She likes to help. So I've taken to distracting them by letting them go outside barefoot and climb trees. The higher the better.

I wonder how well those branches will hold. Well let's just do the math and see: y = (x + 3)2, then (-2x - 6)2

Right, I'm too lazy to do that math. I'm sure she'll be fine. That's what ER's are for anyway.

We'll Totally Have World Hunger Solved In No Time

2010-07-13T06:00:00.000-04:00

So I've been thinking. I know, it's terrifying, but stick with me here. A few years ago I started walking regularly. Well, as regularly as the northeast's mood swingy weather will allow. I did this because I remember when I was a kid my Aunt Margie used to walk every evening, and it was just the thing she did. It was her habit. However, the objective of my walking was not to build my own habit but to create one for my kids. My hope is that when they are grown, going for walks will just be the thing they do.

Since we are a few years into building that habit, I thought it might be a good time to start building another. (I believe in pacing myself.) I briefly considered teaching my kids ways to waste their time using only the Internet but decided instead to go with volunteer work. (I didn't want to have to share my computer with those pip squeaks.) Since my kids are only 4 and 6, I'm struggling to figure out a good way to get all of us involved in helping others. I want the kids to be able to participate, and it's stumped me a bit. Then I had a genius idea: why not ask the kids themselves how they'd like to help others. (Told you it was genius.)

Our first brainstorming session went something like this:

Anthony: We can let them watch T.V.

Me: Good idea, buddy, but how does that help people exactly?

Mallory: Well, maybe they don't have a T.V., and they could come to our house, and we could let them watch the news?

It was at this time I felt it might be wise to discuss what kind of situations that people might find themselves in that they would need help. We talked about the homeless, the hungry, the elderly, and when we were all done, the kids sat over their breakfast bowls deep in thought about ways to help others. Actually, I'm pretty sure Anthony was thinking about toys, but Mallory was still trying to figure out how to help. I know this because a minute later, she looked up at me and said, "We should go to India. Lots of people in India need help."

"Right, right. You're right," I said to her. "But there are people here in the U.S. that need help too." (It's not that I don't care about the people of India; it's just that Mallory's passport is expired, so I'm thinking we are going to have to do something a little closer to home.) She seemed to grasp the concept of helping locally because later she looked out our kitchen window and saw a women sitting in her car by the mailboxes. The woman was just sitting there, and Mallory put two and two together and said, "We should go help her. I don't think she can get her key to work in her mailbox." I peeked out the window and sure enough there was a woman in her car by the mailboxes, but she wasn't struggling with her key. Nope, she was reading her mail in her car.

At least her heart is in the right place.

So to review my options: We could invite strangers over to watch T.V. at our house. We could go to India, or we could read mail to people (or check their mail for them).

It's kind of starting to look like I should renew Mallory's passport.

Some Mumbo Jumbo About Educating Kids

2010-07-09T06:00:00.000-04:00

I'm in the throes of preparing for the upcoming school year. "WHAT?!" you say. "It's July. School's supposed to be out for summer. You know: No more pencils, no more books, no more teacher's dirty looks." It would seem that those dirty looks were not intended for you (although you no doubt deserved them), but were actually directed at the law-makers that require that each child have a paper trail so long that said child is personally responsible for killing his or her own tree.

Let me back up a bit and explain what I mean. As a homeschooling parent, I am responsible for answering to my local school district regarding my child's education. How much information that a parent is required to provide varies from state to state and in some cases from district to district. For example, in Jessica's home state, she is required to send a letter to her district stating that she intends to homeschool her children for the coming school year (also known as a letter of intent) and then administer a standardized test to her homeschooled child and keep those records should the school ever need to see them. New York is a little more...involved. Here is what is required of a homeschooling parent in the state of New York:

Step One: Write a letter of intent. Asking a parent to account for how their child will be receiving their education seems perfectly reasonable and may I say, responsible.

Step Two: Create an IHIP (Individualized Home Education Plan) An IHIP is a document that outlines your entire curriculum for the coming year including all texts books, reading books, manipulatives used and how much of all these materials you'll be using. Our schools give us specifics of subjects that must be covered and even tells us how often throughout the child's education we must cover any one topic. Once an IHIP is completed it is sent back to the district to be looked over and approved. If it is not approved, they contact you, and you must amend your curriculum to their liking.
While this starts to feel a little big brother, I can understand the desire to see that a homeschooling family is covering all the bases and that all children are receiving an adequate education.

Step Three: File Quarterly reports with the district letting them know how much of the curriculum they already have a full copy of, you have covered with your children. This step seems a bit unnecessary to me because,

Step Four: Administer standardize testing to your homeschooled child. You may choose any of the standardized tests from the approved list, and you must administer the test at the required intervals (every year or every other year depending on grade level).

Once a student completes the twelfth grade state approved curriculum, New York will graciously and happily provide a homeschooled student with a diploma. Oh wait, no, scratch that. Homeschooled students are ineligible to receive a New York State diploma. I have absolutely no idea why this is. It boggles my mind.

Yeah, I have nothing more to add to that. I just needed to rant a minute. Maybe you'll have a different perspective on it that I haven't thought of.

Katy Perry: Tupac Reincarnated

2010-07-07T06:00:00.000-04:00

You might have noticed that I took a bit of a last minute, unannounced bloggycation, and by "you," I mean my mom. Not to worry, I've spent the past few weeks wisely. I started beefing with Katy Perry. I know it's hard to believe because she seems so sweet with her pop hits and wholesome former sex addict fiance, but I think once you've heard the whole story you'll be on my side.
So I was hanging out in an L.A. nightclub -- like I do -- when Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind" starts playing. Katy got all whiny and was like, "Tupac would never approve of a song about the East Coast being played in L.A." Understandably, I was outraged and called her out by singing a classic Biggie Smalls hit right there in the club. Naturally, all this led to a slap fight and some hair pulling. I know you are thinking that our fight wasn't nearly hardcore enough for an East Coast/West Coast feud since there were no guns involved, but I assure you that this is how it started out between Biggie and Tupac. Why do you think Tupac had no hair? It was his best plan of defense.

Back to the fight,: I was totally dominating her (everyone knows East Coast girls are tougher). However, we were on her turf, and before I knew it, Paris Hilton was pulling my hair, and Lindsey Lohan was clawing at my eyes (she's going to be just fine in prison), and I had to run for it.

By the time I had landed back in New York, Katy had a hit pop song about California Girls, and she and Snoop Dog had put out a not-so-appropriate for children candy themed video for it.

I realize that at this point you are waiting for my rebuttal song/video about how much better East Coast Girls are. But I didn't write a rebuttal because I felt this song is its own rebuttal. Honestly, let's just start with the title, "California Gurls." Um, Katy, it's GIRLS with an I. This settles the age old debate of whether East Coast or West Coast girls are better spellers. At the very least, we are smart enough to value and respect spellcheck. Score one, East Coast Girls.

Speaking of girls, I'd like to point out that all of Katy's friends in this video are pulled out of things like plastic wrap and jello. This reeks of psychology. Clearly this represents how California girls are all made out of plastic and other congealed products. Whereas, here on the East Coast, when things start to sag or droop we just roll with it. We're authentic.

Point number two: in the Candyland style game showcased in the video, Snoop is clearly seen rolling dice. Any father worth his child support check knows that there are no dice in Candyland. This proves that East Coast men make better fathers. Fact.

Oh, and, Katy, maybe you think you look cute prancing around in public in those sparkly shorts and your cupcake bra top but I don't know a single self-respecting East Coast Girl that would be caught outside of their bedroom in their cupcake bra. Also, just because we don't go to church in Daisy Dukes and bikini tops doesn't mean we don't know how to show a little skin. Hello, fingerless gloves anyone?

In all fairness, I can relate to some parts of this video. Like the part where Katy is surrounded by candy snakes and climbs up a straw and ends up naked on the top of a cotton candy cloud singing. I've totally had that nightmare too.

Nightmares aside, Katy, you have not only failed to convince me that being from the West Coast is better, but I suspect that you secretly wish you were an East Coast girl. We have all the good sweaters and snow sports.

East Coast Represent.

The Celtic Warrior: Vampires Beware

2010-06-23T06:00:00.000-04:00

Some little boys dream of becoming police officers. Some want to be firemen. Others aspire to be like their own fathers. My son, however, idolizes a pasty white, mostly hairless, spandex wearing Irishman with a lisp. Based on that cross around his neck I'd say it's safe to assume that he's a Vampire Hunter as well as a WWE Wrestler. Now that I think of it the Vampire Hunter aspect of his job explains his pasty complexion. Because of this I'm not going to mock him and mention his lack of tan. Honestly, I prefer not to speculate where society would be if we didn't have quality Vampire Hunters.

Before we move on I'd like to share a little more about the man my son hopes to become one day. Shaemus comes from a long line of Celtic Warriors and he's here to set straight some of the misconceptions that many of us have about Irish tradition. As many of you have probably already realized, the Irish have suffered greatly due to the misconceptions about their culture. Many are under the impression that Ireland is all about politics and war and drinking, but really it's about respect and honor. Which explains Shaemus choice of work and attire. Shaemus is also deeply religious. He eats a cross a day. Sort of a spiritual vitamin if you would.

As a mother, I couldn't be prouder of my son's decision to model his life after Shaemus. Really how many people can say that they overcame being a 6'6" redhead with an Irish accent and a lisp to beat up other people? It's the American dream and every time Anthony rips his shirt off and beats his own chest in an attempt to emulate him a tear falls from my eye ~~and a piece of my soul dies~~.

Keep striving little buddy. Before you know it your hair will be long enough to style like ~~Kid N Play~~ Shaemus' and that chocolate your covered in will be another man's blood.

God help me. I think I might need to eat a cross to get through this one.

The Dress Code For My Current Hobby Is Pajamas

2010-06-21T06:00:00.000-04:00

I've recently decided I'd like to learn how to play golf. It's so mellow. It looks like a vacation more than a sport. For example, Matt and I were catching a little bit of the U.S. Open and at one point the announcers pointed out that you could see the ocean in the distance beyond where the golfer was preparing to hit the little ball toward the hole. It landed in a sand trap or something like that. Maybe that was his strategy. Like I said, I don't play golf.

Seriously though, how many other sports have ocean views? Or require you to wear dress pants to participate? Honestly you can go straight from the golf course to church.

Come to think of it, he's better dressed than most of the people at church.

As I see it, the polo and dress pant are for the casual golfer. If you intend to be taken seriously as a professional golfer, you should wear a cardigan or at the very least a sweater vest.

Believe it or not this is why I haven't started golfing yet. I'm wrought with feelings of inadequacy when it comes to the dress code. I haven't worn a visor since high school. Is it a look I can still pull off? Then there is the whole plaid pants issue. I might have been able to work with that, but now I see the leading golfers are doing stripes.

For the record, I find these pants ugly. I suppose the silver lining is that vertical stripes are thinning. I'm a firm believer that ugly is a small price to pay for looking thinner.

I guess it's decided then. I'll begin golfing shortly after I raise the eighty dollars it costs to purchase those pants. Oh and I should probably get some clubs too. I might not be able to afford the pants and the clubs. Obviously, in that situation I'll have to get the pants. Unless of course there are a kind of golf clubs that will make me look skinny.

World Peace Could Be Achieved If We'd All Just Listen To Alan Thicke

2010-06-18T06:00:00.000-04:00

The day after Harvey's big bash I noticed he was looking a bit disheveled. I chalked it up to hard partying and staying up all night playing with his new yarn mouse that I had spent 3.5 minutes creating. However it quickly became apparent that his hard partying ways were spiraling out of control and we planned an intervention. Out of respect for Harvey no pictures of his intervention were taken. The intervention did not go as we had hoped. We discovered that Harvey's symptoms were not, in fact, the result of all the hard drugs he's on, but from an tumor under his tongue. It is inoperable and at nine this morning I will be taking steps to ensure that Harvey doesn't have to struggle through any more symptoms before this tumor gets the best of him.

I explained to the kids that Harvey was going to heaven and Mallory was pretty broken up about it, but seems to have made a nice recovery. She and her brother have already decided that our next pet will be a dolphin. No doubt Mallory will want to name it Selena Gomez and Anthony will cry until we name it Michelangelo. Personally I'm not convinced that a dolphin will be able to fill Harvey's shoes. Especially since dolphins don't have any feet.

Part of me is hoping that I'll get to the vet and they look at him and be all, "Oops, we were wrong about that whole tumor thing." But I know they won't.

This post is a total downer.

How's this for a pick me up: My mom's cancer is killing itself. You may read that sentence again if it didn't make any sense. Without the use of any medications my mom's cancer appears to be dying off. Her doctor was so amazed that she sent my mom's medical reports to Beth Israel Hospital in NYC for review. There's no final word on it yet, but so far all the latest test results have supported this finding. This kind of news is so awesome that I believe that doctors should deliver it with jazz hands. And maybe they should sing a little too.

Perhaps a nice rock ballad or TV theme show. At times like this I always think of Alan Thicke and a little tune he penned for a show called The Facts of Life.

You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both and there you have: The Facts of Life.

Alan Thicke, your wisdom is unparalleled.

Except for that time you decided posing for the cover of PlayGirl was a good idea.

That decision was questionable at best.

Lawn Pride Is So Thug Life

2010-06-16T06:00:00.000-04:00

I mentioned last week or the week before...or maybe it was the Thursday after last Wednesday...that Matt and I have had a lot of visitors since we bought the new house. We were discussing with our Visitor de jour how the neighbors here mow their lawns pretty much every other day. To prove my point to her I mentioned that I had mowed like five days prior and our grass was noticeably longer than all of our surrounding neighbors. She took a quick look around and said, "Yeah, there seems to be a lot of lawn pride around here."

Lawn Pride was not a concept we encountered at the trailer park. At the old house I mowed the yard like every week to ten days and the result of this was that we had one of the better kept yards in the neighborhood. Our old next door neighbor used to let her grass grow so long that the park owners left her notices to cut it and also I might have spotted a wild boar on her property. I feel confident that wild boar will not be an issue here. Which, as you can imagine, is a huge relief to a mother of small children.

I pondered what it meant to be a part of a neighborhood bonded together by pride of grass. By purchasing this home we joined an elite society of people whose history is cemented in a belief of neat and tidy grass, sculpted bushes and massive amounts of cedar chips. I can't help but wonder: Does this make us part of a Gang or a Cult? The only way I can see this turning out to be a cult is if we are all keeping our lawns immaculate for the return of Christ. I'll have to look into it further to know for sure, but it seems like a long shot. With the cult option on the back burner for the time being, I'm going to go with gang on this. I have to be honest, I feel pretty good about the gang option. Think about it, gang life seems surprisingly less fatal when compared to cult life. It seems to me that as long as I mow my lawn every other day and keep my weed wacker in good working order, I'll be able to avoid having any "accidents" with hedge trimmers. It's small price to pay if you ask me. Also in my opinion gangs are way cooler than cults. We'll get to have a gang color (green obviously), a gang sign (green thumbs, holla) and I'll get to carry a weapon (hedge clippers can be very dangerous).

I might even get a prison tat out of the deal. Something classy like a beautiful landscape covering my entire back. No one will question how much pride I have in Lawn Pride then.

Remember That Time I Threw A Birthday Party For My Cat?

2010-06-14T06:00:00.001-04:00

This child informed me that "tomorrow is Harvey's birthday." Now I'm fairly certain that "tomorrow" was not Harvey's actual birthday, but since I have no idea when such date is I figured that "tomorrow" was as good a day as any to celebrate. I realize that some of you are appalled that a mother wouldn't know her own child's birthday. But here it is, the secret I've kept for 13 years. I'm not Harvey's birth mother.

I pulled my best Brangelina before Brangelina even knew each other and adopted Harvey from the wilds of the African jungle. The circumstances surrounding his birth were exceptionally dramatic. There were gorillas involved. I know you're dying to correct my spelling and tell me it's guerrillas but no, there were actual gorillas at his birth. He almost died. So I'm sure you understand now why there was no birth certificate issued and thus I do not know his actual birthday.

Since this was Harvey's 13th birthday (that's 92 in cat years I believe), we wanted to do his birthday up right. The kids and I took it very seriously and held an emergency meeting the morning of the party to plan it. We made an extensive list.

This list included making a "Happy Meowday" banner and a cake out of cat food. No expense was spared. We briefly toyed with the idea of inviting other cats to party but none were able to make it on such short notice.

Ryan made it.

This is a great picture. Just three of the guys sitting on the couch, eating some pizza and sausage, wearing some kitty ears and talking fantasy baseball.

The party was awesome. Notice the killer banner in the background and the amazing turnout. Also there were incredible games like MouseTrap and everyone did a shot of milk. Things got so crazy that at one point Ryan ate a mouse whole while I snapped this picture.

As we all know, no party is complete without cake and even though Harvey cannot partake in the sugary goodness of frosting, that doesn't mean we shouldn't.

Everytime I look at one of these kitty cupcakes (yes, they are supposed to be kitty faces) I think of this scene in the movie Tropic Thunder.

As successful as the party was, there is no denying that those kitty cupcakes went full retard. I suppose it's just as well since eating cupcakes with cat faces on them at a party where the guest of honor is a cat is just creepy. My sincerest apologies, Harvey.

Oh who are we kidding, you're a cat and can't read that apology. Plus, as scary as those cupcakes looked, they were delicious. DE-LISH. I'd eat them again. Even in front of an audience of cats.

I may have had too much sugar at the party. That's my excuse and I'm clinging to it.

At Least My Kids Will Be Cultured

2010-06-08T23:00:00.001-04:00

Me: Anthony why don't you talk about dinosaurs anymore?

Anthony: I do sometimes. Who do you like better: CM Punk or Rey Mysterio? (Two WWE wrestlers. Yes, he knows their names, birth dates and social security numbers.)

Matt: I was explaining to the kids how wrestling has gone in eras. First was Hulk Hogan, then...(blah blah blah. I was listening, Matt, really I was.)...then Ric Flair, Stone Cold...(yeah you get the point already b/c this goes on for awhile.)

Mallory: Who is Ric Flair?

Matt: (looks at Mallory in pained disbelief) I have so much to teach you kids.

I thought I had a heavy responsibility to teach our kids reading, writing, math, history and science, but I never once considered what a burden Matt carried having to teach these kids about Ric Flair and all things WWE. My prayers are with you, Matt.

Girl Scouts: Are They Giving Away Pole Dancing Badges Now?

2010-06-07T00:42:00.000-04:00

In an attempt to over stimulate my child and help her forget that she has a family, Matt and I have been busy signing Mallory up for every extracurricular activity the summer has to offer. She's all signed up for swimming lessons, summer rec and a boccie ball league for some added culture. After we hired a personal assistant to keep track of Mallory's summer itinerary, we realized that there was something missing from her agenda. What could it possibly be? I mean she's going to get to ride a bus in a bathing suit and participate in unnamed activities under the watchful eye of an unidentified stranger. It would seem that the only thing missing from this summer vacation is running with scissors and, you know, actual vacation, but it's not.

By now I'm sure you are all, "C'mon just spit it out already, Bethany. What is missing?" You might have even drawn the attention of your coworkers by yelling at me through the computer for this necessarily long intro so I'll just say it.

Cookies. There are no cookies on Mallory's summer agenda.

Naturally this means she has to be a Girl Scout. I sat down in my computer stool (the back fell off this beauty with wheels). I rubbed my computer screen and it asked me what I wanted and I said, "I wish to find a local Girl Scout troop." Google has never let me down and today was no different. The first link was to the website for the local Girl Scout chapter. I clapped twice and the link opened.

Only it didn't open properly.

So I clapped again.

Same message.

"The parental controls on this computer have blocked this site due to MATURE CONTENT."

Now that my parental controls have pointed it out she does look pretty sketchy. I bet she's packing heat or at the very least a nose picker. So instead of Girl Scouts, Matt and I have decided to let Mallory volunteer at the local maximum security prison. She'll learn valuable skills like how to turn a toothbrush into a shiv and how to survive in a gang culture. We figured that after about a year of volunteering there she should assimilate nicely in the Girl Scouts. Cookie pushing isn't for the faint of heart.

Because Even Flat-Chested Mothers of Four Deserve to Enjoy Bikini Season

2010-06-02T00:39:00.000-04:00

I have big news. It's the second week of the Buffalo Bills Organized Team Activities (OTAs). Cue the fangirl screaming.

I knew you'd be excited.

So a lot has happened since last season. We have a new head coach. Which is super exciting since he bears a striking resemblance to Gene Hackman, don't you think?

Our New Head Coach: His name doesn't matter. We'll just refer to him as Gene Hackman's 3rd cousin 6 times removed or simply Coach Hackman.

Coach Hackman has implemented some new workouts for the players. The natural query here is: Why do NFL players need new workouts? Honestly, they already have muscles on top of their muscles. Not that I'm complaining.

So NOT complaining over here.

Oh, sorry about that, back on point. Why do NFL players need new workouts? I pondered this question. I searched my soul, took a short pilgrimage to my kitchen and even went so far as to consult a priest. At least I'm pretty sure he was a priest...might have just been a homeless man in black. Either way it wasn't until I asked Google that I found my answers.

I'm sure it's common knowledge in your home that the Bills are a small market team. They are always looking for new and creative ways to make a buck and keep afloat. While some might argue that winning a game or two might increase their revenue, I suspect that Coach Hackman is moving the team in a different direction. I believe he intends on having the team make workout DVDs to encourage us ~~fat~~ size 6 challenged woman to be more active.

You may be wondering why women would want to do an exercise DVD put together by NFL players. How can we possibly relate to these athletes? Well besides the obvious eye-candy aspect, there are also players that look like flat-chested mothers of four.

Now who can't relate to that?

Also I'm sure that elite athletes know a lot of things about exercise that we don't and there is so much we could learn. Just take a look at some of the promotional shots for the DVD and you'll understand what I mean.

I realize that at first glance this looks like four men practicing their next water ballet routine, but it's actually a new twist on a basic stretch. Some of the key elements that you'll learn from this segment? How to coordinate outfits with your fellow gym goers. (or if you should chose to do this routine alone then you can coordinate outfits with your cat.) Additionally they will teach you the importance of never stretching without your helmet and face mask. Also there is a really interesting tidbit in there about which stretches you should be wearing your mouth guard for.

After you are good and limber, it's time for the "Karate Kid". This is a particularly difficult move which requires the use of three of your legs and all four of your arms. You might have to try a modified version of this at first. Or your could skip it all together and just do the TO.

Now technically TO isn't a part of the team anymore, but giving back to size 6 challenged women is a cause he's passionate about, so he agreed to participate in the DVD. In this segment TO shows us the importance of spending a little time at the gym. Studies have shown that spending a few hours a week at the gym can be very beneficial. As TO is demonstrating here, that doesn't necessarily mean you have to workout. Simply sit among the weights and the muscles will show up on their own. This particular exercise can be costly as it requires gym membership, but it boasts the perk of no helmet hair.

Finally, back to the stretching. Obviously this is a very relaxed portion of the DVD. You are free to pin your shirt up to show off your smoking hot abs (as demonstrated by 65). After such an amazing workout you might be feeling pretty good about how you look and want to strike a sexy pose. Simply cross your legs and place one hand on your hip. To add a bit of mystery to your pose you should look disinterested in what is going on as demonstrated by number 82. From the looks of the jaw dropping in this picture that pose really impresses. Work it, Number 82, work it. Snap circle to you.

I Can Do Anything I Want. Represent.

2010-05-28T00:05:00.000-04:00

Last week I went to Target. (Your on the edge of your seat already aren't you?) I waited in line to pay for my Raspberry Iced Tea Mix. I know what you are thinking, a new house and Iced Tea Mix. I'm with you there. I was pretty sure that once we started paying our mortgage I'd have to grind up my own tea leaves and raspberries, but turns out Lipton powder is cheaper than that.

The woman in front of me in line was maybe 60ish and she told the cashier that she spent her winters in the Caribbean. ~~Because I lack class~~ I interjected jokingly that I might be a little jealous of her. She mentioned that they had only recently gotten electricity at her house on the island and as she talked it became more and more apparent that she and her husband were not vacationing on the island but living there. Much like you and I live in our houses here. They took care of their yard, fixed their house up how they wanted. As she left she looked back over her shoulder at me and said, "You can do anything you want."

I thought it was a nice reminder that we can do anything we want. For example, Saturday is Jessica's birthday and I feel confident that you want to swing by her blog and leave her some comment love. Everyone should get comment love on their birthday. (it's cheaper than actual birthday cards) If you feel that comments lack the personal feel of a card might I suggest that you add something personal of your own like a picture.

Jessica, you may hate me for posting this, but you should be thanking me. Jay looks so much worse then you in this picture that your disgusting "see food" picture almost looks cute. Oh yeah and HAPPY BIRTHDAY. May your day be filled with people who fall over themselves to make you feel like a fairy princess or at the very least may no one make you mad.

Confessions: Because Cancer Sucks

2010-05-26T01:07:00.000-04:00

So my mom's cancer sucks. I'm just saying. It's all up in her lymph nodes. Which is completely inappropriate. She's a married woman. There is only one person that should be all up in her boobs. And that's all I'm going to say about that.
That being said, I didn't want to write another heart wrenching post because they wrench my heart and I'm sick of them. What's more, I was thinking to myself. WWMMW? (What Would My Mother Want?) Or need for that matter. Well after spending her days soul searching and dealing with the hysterical masses followed by nights of heavy drinking ( I kid, in case you hadn't figured that out.) I thought my mom might be in need of a good laugh or a simple pick me up.

One year ago I found myself in need of a pick me up and decided to do a confessions post. For those of you that don't remember those are really just excuses for me to post pictures of Trent Edwards. I do that because looking at pretty people cheers me up.

So Mom, I would like to encourage you to exercise your right to claim that it's five o'clock somewhere and pour yourself a glass of wine. You can even drop a Valium in it if you want.

Johnny doesn't need an excuse to drink and neither should you.

These confessions are yours:

Before there was Team Edward or Team Jacob, there was Team Angel or Team Spike. While my mother found Angel dreamy,

It was only when Spike walked on the screen that she would "Woot!" That's right my mom wooted.

Once upon a time one of my mom's friends (it's important to note that she was a highly intellectual woman) confessed that she married her husband because she thought he looked like Luke Skywalker (I'm not making this up.) My dad was so Paul McCartney. Not the old Paul McCartney that married Heather Mills but the young hottie that was in the Beatles.

My mother once walked out of the church bathroom with her skirt tucked into her pantyhose. That's just so precious it's its own punchline.

Whenever I'm sad or down Jessica sends me pictures of beautiful men and I feel all warm and happy inside. So tonight as I set about to write a post that would be foolish and useless so that my mom could meditate on these things for 30 seconds this morning, I asked Jessica for help. This is what she sent me.

Well played, Jessica, well played. Even I feel better after that.

In closing I thought I should share a link to my mom's favorite post. It's all about shoes and her favorite man.

Drinking Mocha Lattes Will Get You Into Heaven

2010-05-24T00:55:00.001-04:00

In the month since we've moved here, we've had guests over at least eight times. Honestly, I lost count. On a few different occasions, we entertained one set of guests in the afternoon and a different set at night. As you can imagine, all these guests make unpacking a breeze. (That's code for: I'm still not unpacked, but I've done an amazing job stuffing all my unpacked boxes in my garage so that no one sees my shame.) So when CeCe (that's the friend I'm trying to marry off to Trent Edwards) called and asked if she could come by, I said, "I would love it if you came by. How do you feel about helping me unpack my garage?" And she was all, "That sounds rockin', but how about we go out for coffee instead?"

"Out for coffee?" I said. "Is that like when you leave the house without kids and a husband and sit with a girlfriend in a public place and talk about fingernail polish and puppies?"

"Why, yes, yes it is." she replied.

While I was still a little shaky on what this "going out with friends" thing was about, it did sound familiar so I changed into my good sweats and flip flops and grabbed my Prada knock-off purse for this adventure.

Being the wild party girls we are -- you know, the kind you don't take home to mama -- CeCe and I then drove a whole five minutes to the local Dunkin Donuts. You know it's a crazy girls night out when there's caffeine involved. Now, I've made no secret of my love for Dunkin Donuts Iced Mocha Latte Lite. If you recall, I expressed my love in letter form once upon a time. My crazy knows no bounds. In my defense, I was probably high on caffeine at the time. This trip to DD was different then trips in the past because as I ~~guzzled~~ sipped my latte, I saw proof that Dunkin Donuts cares about your soul.

Dunkin Donuts produces "How Do You Take It?" tracks. Are you familiar with the concept of tracks? They are the little paper pamphlets you get from someone who is trying to tell you about Jesus. They are usually full of information on what Jesus has done for us and how we can get to heaven. The DD track is full of information on the variety of coffees that they carry. I briefly considered taking a handful and going door to door in my new community asking people if they knew Iced Mocha Latte. It's a shame my garage is such a mess. If only I had more time, I could have changed people lives for the better.

Dabbling in Bigamy

2010-05-18T23:03:00.000-04:00

The other day Matt was flipping through the local Penny-saver in search of ads for yards sales. He found one that he thought was a winner and handed the paper to me to read. Instead of reading the ad he had found for the yard sale, I read the ad next to it:

GIRLFRIEND WANTED - 20's - 50's. Hear Recorded Message. Toll free 1-888-blah-blah. I am a loner type, handsome man, no kids.

If only I was single, Mr. Handsome Loner type man. I fall into the 30 year age gap that you find acceptable. Also it's no big deal that you have no kids because I have a few and we can share them.

I really liked how you took the initiative and put an ad in a local paper that also carries ads for farm eggs and used cars. It shows that you think outside of the box or that you've recently watched Juno. Making the effort to make it easier to contact you by setting up a toll free number doesn't scream desperation, it says, "I care about you and won't make you pay for dinner." Also I loved how you titled the ad "Girlfriend Wanted", if there is one thing that all girls like it's to be wanted.

I do have a few concerns though. Like could you be more specific about what "loner type" means? Does it mean you are a psycho that avoids all human interaction and are looking for an unattached female to stuff into your freezer or that you are simply a bit of a homebody? The other thing that worried me a little was the "handsome man" claim. Who decided that you are handsome? Was it you or your mom? Because those two sources aren't always the most objective. On the other hand, if you get mistaken for Trent Edwards a lot then the claims are valid. Perhaps you could include a picture when you let me know if you intend on killing me for sport. That would be awesome.

Call me.

It's OK if you leave a message with my husband.

MWF w/2kids, N/S

I Think He Would Make a Beautiful Ballerina

2010-05-17T00:46:00.000-04:00

Today was Anthony's 4th birthday and the end of Birthday Season in our house. I'm proud to say I survived. I'm a little more sunburned, a little bit fatter and I have a a brand new, ridiculously large playground in my yard that I may or may not have considered starting a bonfire with. In spite of all of that, I'm still alive and none of my grass is singed. To celebrate surviving the most exhausting season of the year, I'm going to stop baking cakes and start showering again. Also I might start taking some herbal supplements that help memory (I'll tell you what they are called after I start taking them and I can remember what they are called.) because I've already forgotten two things I wanted to say to you since starting this post and I'm only one paragraph in. If I'm this forgetful at 30 imagine how bad it's going to be when I turn 40. It's going to get ugly.

Since I spent my whole day preparing for, throwing and then cleaning up from a birthday party I thought this might be a good opportunity for a "how to" post. (or I'm just whipping out some pictures from Mallory's birthday that I never got a chance to share.) Before I continue I thought you might like an update on my Mother. She's doing well. The surgery didn't go as smoothly as the first one, but she's feeling better and made it to Anthony's party today. Also, she has what might be the world's biggest bruise. Seriously, it's big. She and her bruise could join the circus as a side act. She'd be the most popular act there. Until it healed. But it would be awesome while it lasted. As for the cancer, there won't be any news until late next week.

And now we learn.

Step One: Fill a hallway with three grown men and one brand new six year old girl. Allow the grown men to reminisce about when they were young and used to climb up the walls and drop down on their friends during hide and seek games. Snap pictures of them teaching the little girl how to climb the walls.

Step two: Encourage the grown men to recreate their childhood. Laugh at them when they fail. Take pictures for the Internet. This step includes two of my favorite past times: laughing at other's short comings and taking pictures of people while they make fools of themselves.

Step Three: When it becomes clear that the grown men no longer possess the ability to climb walls of their own accord, suggest that they help one another.

Step Four: Take video of this. Share it with the Internet because you can.

Congratulations, you can now properly...actually I'm pretty sure we've learned nothing here. I'm going to be honest, I feel pretty good about it.

The C Word

2010-05-12T22:01:00.000-04:00

Has anyone else ever noticed how territorial cable companies are? Each company is assigned a specific region and if you live in X region you get only one choice for cable. I wonder who decides which region each company gets. Do they fight for them? I can just see two CEOs fighting to the death like Spartans or Lions because one of their techs crossed the invisible barrier.

Our new house is in a different ~~prideland~~ region, and we were forced to switch companies. We liked the old company so much that I was tempted to start an all out war by asking them to cross into the new region. Actually, I think Matt might have jokingly asked them to. The new company is not very awesome which is why we chose to switch to the Dish. It's much cheaper and sometimes it even works.

Since we switched, we get free HBO and Showtime for anywhere from the first 48 hrs to 90 days. I don't remember exactly. If you are like me, then you spend most of your day Googling "New Showtime Series" and learned that Showtime picked up a new show starring Laura Linney called "The C Word" (or I might have seen a preview for it while vegging). It's a 30 minute comedy series about a woman dealing with her own cancer. It caught my attention because my mom has breast cancer. She had surgery at the end of last month to remove the cancer, and the doctors thought they had gotten it all, but they didn't. So today (Thursday) my mother is having more surgery to remove more cancer and find out if the cancer has spread to her lymph nodes.

"The C Word" follows Laura's character as cancer forces her to face her own mortality which then causes her live her life a little differently. At one point in the preview, Laura's character is out to dinner and closes her menu and says, "I'm just having dessert and wine." This line made me think of my own mother and laugh. Not because she has changed how she lives life because of cancer, but because she hasn't.

I was raised in a dessert-first family.

It wasn't a crazy, reckless, I'm about to die so I'm going to do whatever I want lifestyle that we often see portrayed by the media, but rather one that understood and accepted that mortality is a part of life. We all die. Armed with that knowledge, my parents chose to base their decisions on what they believed that God would want them to do with their lives. Not like a flighty, blowing in the wind, "God told me to" kind of lifestyle, but one of prayer. Seeking wisdom from the Bible. The results of this show how when we chose to honor God, He will do amazing things with our lives.

While my mother hasn't said as much, I wouldn't be surprised if the "C" word has caused her to re-evaluate her life. I hope she can see what I see. A life that has shined God's love to those around her. That has positively affected more people than we know and that has guided me to become a woman that listens to the convictions God has placed into her heart. A woman that goes to God in prayer when her heart is full of love and when it is full of pain. A woman that understands that even if God doesn't honor her prayers to take this cancer out of her mother's body, it's because His plans are bigger and greater than mine.

Eating ice cream for dinner or having pie before Thanksgiving Turkey aren't spiritual decisions. God doesn't care what order we eat our meals. He wants us to live lives so that those around us can see Him working. He wants us to have faith in His goodness and His mercy even in our most difficult times. And in pursuing God's desire for our lives we will find life's true sweetness.

A (very wordy) Wordless Wednesday (on Tuesday)

2010-05-11T01:22:00.002-04:00

You know how some people do, like, a wordless Wednesday? I've considered doing that before, but let's be honest, to successfully achieve a wordless post you have to be able to take nice pictures, and being able to shut up helps too. To further make this "wordless" post a failure, it's not even Wednesday. Talk about epic fail.

They are so going to take my bloggy license away for this. Oh wait, this is the Internet. I can do whatever I want. Terrifying, isn't it?

Last year I took my kids (and dear, thirsty, long-suffering husband) on a hike at Kaaterskill Falls. I posted some amazing cell phone quality photos from that hike so this post is kind of like a repeat of that post except that you can actually make out what is in these pictures. Oh, and my kids are a whole year older and could actually hike by themselves.

Climb Every Mountain

Swim Every Sea...

Oh, Kaaterskill Falls, you bring out the Maria Von Trapp in me. I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to run through the streets with an empty suitcase and guitar case singing about my future, and I might even make some killer clothes out of curtains all while stealing a widower from a Baroness.

Aah, good times.

This photo is less Sound of Music and more orphans from Oliver Twist.

Kids like these are the reason I don't carry any valuables while I hike.

See? The girl managed to wrestle my camera away from me. She pulled a knife on me.

And that wasn't even the worst of it...

Once we reached the top, the stoning began.

Fortunately for me, small children are easily confused, and he threw all the rocks away from me instead of at me.

This picture is a lie. She looks so excited to be up in the beautiful mountains. She's just completed a hike, seen the tallest waterfall in New York and then thrown rocks into it. But her excitement is actually because she's leaving all of that behind. She can see the road from there.

You know, kid, you are going to thank me for this one day. I'm not sure why. I'm just saying that because it's what mothers are supposed to say after we force our kids to do something that's hard for them. Just so we are clear, on that to be determined future day when you do thank me, I'm going to say, "I told you so."

It's My Birthday. Love Me or You Could Just Send Cash. I'm Cool With Both.

2010-05-04T01:01:00.001-04:00

Dude, this past week has been brutal. I know I haven't blogged much. It's not because I don't have anything to write about; I simply haven't had the time. I mean, right now it's 12:30 am where I am, and the only reason I'm blogging is to shamelessly gather birthday love. That's right. I have finally made it to the big 3-0. I bet you are super-excited (mostly because I'll stop talking about it).

Last year I shared how I planned on spending my birthday. I'm not really feeling energetic enough (it's amazing how one year can age you so much... have I mentioned yet that my back is sore?) to put together a cute and funny post, but I will tell you how I plan on spending my day.

Sssh. Listen up.

Do you hear that?

Silence.

Yes, I plan on having a quiet day.

I will not throw a huge party in my honor during which I would have to dress up. I will not wear spandex or polyester. I might lie and tell someone I'm turning 80. I'm still undecided about this.

I might educate my children. I might mow my lawn. I might even put together a real blog post for you guys. I'm not really sure what I'll feel like doing, but I feel confident it will involve me wearing sweatpants.

So to recap, the plan is to have no plan and to wear loose fitting cotton pants.

I'm pretty excited about it.

Happy Birthday, Everyone.

Does My Mother Count As "My Public"?

2010-04-29T00:20:00.002-04:00

Does anyone remember that post I wrote mentioning that I was moving and would be without Internet and unable to post anything for like a week? Yeah, me either, but I do vaguely remember saying something like that. I guess my mother missed that post because she posted this on my Facebook wall today:

Your public grows impatient for the new blog.

First, I had no idea I had a public. Second, I guess this means I should get some "people" so I can have them contact your people. Or perhaps my people could unpack for me...and blog for me...and cook for me...Really if I could just get my people to do everything except sleep for me that would be great.

This just in: I'm taking applications for "people". If you are interested in mundane work for no pay, send your resumes to my inbox. I'll have my people get back to you.

In the meantime, I'll show you what my people have been up to.

They bought a house. They couldn't be bothered to put sheets on the two twin mattresses they pushed together so I could sleep there. As a side note, they didn't bother to make sure the mattresses were the same height either. Where is the King when you need him? It's so hard to get good people.

Hey look, it's my new living room sans proper furniture. However, underneath that blanket is one hairless husband. Hey, why am I up taking pictures while he's sleeping? Shouldn't he be working? It might be time for a fresh waxing to remind him who is boss.

My time away from the Internet was exceptionally hard on me. There was sackcloth and ashes... and I might have openly wept at Barnes and Nobles when their free WiFi kicked in on my Touch. Sweet, sweet Twitter, I have missed you.

While I feel that my time could have been better spent obsessively checking my Facebook, Twitter, Blog and current Buffalo Bills news, the local Internet provider disagreed and didn't show up until this week. While I waited for my precious Internet, I set up my bed room. You can ooh and aah at my lack of curtains/bedskirt. Whatever, who needs those things when you have six extra bedspreads laying around your bedroom floor? I'm calling it "Clutter Chic" and it's awesome.

I'm so together I got Mallory's room put together too. I rock that way. I can accomplish in just a few days that which takes mere mortals hours upon hours.

I even baked a cake for Mallory's birthday today. It's sitting there cooling on the counter. Yes, all my dishes are done. (And yes, the cake and icing are both pink. What do you expect? She's turning six.)

You are free to be super impressed by me. I know I am.

Oh wait, stop, don't look in there.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. Or his spectacular photography skills.

That's better. Now no one can see ~~my mess~~ the "Clutter Chic" motif that I've decorated my new garage with.

And just so you don't think I forgot about "the list" this picture is proof that I'm letting myself go. Note the unwashed hair under the dirty hat. Also the unplucked eyebrows that are so out of control I had to use styling gel to keep them from hanging in my eyes. Finally, the piece de resistance, a cold sore on my lip. I'm a hot mess. YES! GOAL ACHIEVED.

Don't be jealous of my hotness. A lot of Doritos and stress went into this look.

How Waxing My Husband's Chest Almost Ended My Marriage But Ended Up Saving His Life Instead

2010-04-15T23:31:00.001-04:00

In the ten years that I have been with Matt we have been through job loss and unemployment, poverty, illness. We have added two children to the mix and lost two. We have moved once before and are closing on our house on Monday and in all that time I have never worried that our marriage was in any danger.

Until I waxed his chest.

He was sincerely upset with me by the time we finished. It's not like I was ruthless. I took care to research the proper way to wax a chest to make it less painful. Of course I did this research on the Internet making it the most reliable information out there.

I thought that perhaps you might attempt to try waxing your husband's chest at some point in your marriage and I should pass along what I learned through the process.

Step one: Don't do it.

If you should chose to ignore step one:

Step two: Take a picture of your husband shirtless trying to look like a thug. (this will serve as the before shot for when you write a blog post chronicling the events that almost ended your marriage.) Notice the delicate purple flower shower curtain we chose as a background for our thug-life picture.

Step Three: Use hair trimmers to shorten the hair. This (allegedly) lessens the pain of the waxing. See how far you can push your husband's patience by taking another picture of him sans his shirt.

Step Four: Assure the police when they stop by that the high pitched screaming they hear is not you beating a little girl but, in fact, your husband getting his chest waxed. Try not to notice when the police begin to openly weep at the idea of getting their own chest waxed.

Step Five: Take a picture of all the waxing strips for your after shot since your husband has left the room and is no longer talking to you. It might also be wise to warn your readers that the next picture is all kinds of nasty.

Step Six: Talk your husband out of divorce by taking him mini-golfing for his birthday. It's best not to keep score so there is no written evidence that he got beat by a five year old.

Is it just me or does she look like she dressed up like a little old lady to go mini-golfing?

Even then it might not be enough. So...

Step Seven: Take him out to a nice dinner. Talk someone else into paying for dinner. Order two oyster appetizers because it's not your tab. Oh and take a humiliating picture of your husband in a hat with candles while his godmother shoves a sparkler in his face yelling, "Blow it out! Blow it out!"

Um, G.G., you can't blow out a sparkler. It was at this time that Matt began to see the wisdom of waxing. Imagine the horror of chest hair set ablaze. Oh the humanity. And all that time he thought I was being cruel when really I had his best interest in mind.

Divorce averted.

Stress Should Always Come With Chocolate

2010-04-13T22:24:00.000-04:00

You might have noticed that my posts have been more sporadic as of late. There are a few reasons for this. Some of it is because some nights my thoughts are just so profound I can't get them out. (aka I just can't think of anything to say and I'd much rather be in bed then staring at a blank computer screen) Some of it is because our closing is supposed to be next Monday so I'm busy getting my house packed up. Of course, now there are some last minute things with the closing that hopefully we get straightened out and can still close on time. Then yesterday someone who is not me charged almost $300 worth of music to my iTunes account. I spent today dealing with that and even now I should be writing a letter to the bank regarding my money, but I'm blogging instead. Don't worry about my priorities, they are just fine. So,um, yeah, a little stressed. Actually I think I could use one of these about now.

Truthfully most of my lack of blogging can be blamed on my own MO. I start something. I'm all gung ho and excited and go at it full force and then after awhile my excitement dies down. I stop spending as much time working on whatever project it was and eventually move on to a new project. I've sort of hit that point with the blogging. My real life has gotten very busy and it's just not feasible to post five times a week. I'm not really keen on ditching the bloggy world altogether since I enjoy everyone I've met here. So rather then go with the all or nothing approach I thought I'd scale back to just posting on Monday, Wednesday and Friday for a bit.

Except for next week. Next week I'll be (hopefully) moving and without Internet (and time) to post so I'll give you an epic post dedicated to my husband and his birthday and possibly those infamous chest waxing pics I never shared on Friday to tide you over.

In the meantime I wanted to share with you the video that Jessica generously shared with me tonight when I told her that I was so stressed that not even pictures of Trent Edwards could bring me back from the brink of insanity. For those of you that don't recall Jessica takes care of all of my theraputic needs and once in awhile she gives me a gem like this.

You Know You Want A Piece

2010-04-11T23:20:00.002-04:00

We kicked off birthday season at our house this past weekend. Yes, we have a birthday season. There are 365 days in a year and I managed to marry a man whose birthday is 3 weeks before mine. Then I had a daughter 5 days before my birthday and a son 12 days after my birthday. If you are as slow on the math as I am, that means that from our first family birthday until our last is only 36 days.

Naturally where there are candles, there is cake. Cheesecake to be more precise. Cheesecake has always been Matt's favorite dessert so when we got married his mother shared her recipe with me. I figured since every one always went on about how incredible her cheesecake was that she must have some kind of secret family recipe. I envisioned it being written down on sacred parchment or etched into two stone tablets to share with future generations. Imagine my shock when she handed me a photocopy of a page out of a cookbook. Not only that but it's wicked easy to make. So easy in fact that I showed Mallory how to make it this year (in keeping with the list). Then I thought to myself, wouldn't it be wonderful if everyone in the world could make this top secret cheesecake. Imagine the possibilities. I see world peace on the horizon.

Now I'd like to give credit where credit is due but I have no idea what cookbook this recipe came out of. I do know that the recipe is on page 216, so if you ever find a cookbook with a cheesecake recipe on page 216 that's the right cookbook. To sum up, it is not mine, nor is it my mother-in-laws. It belongs to some unnamed publisher. And now we are clear.

Cheesecake: Nectar of the Gods (and everyone else)

Step One*: Put on a dress and do your hair while you let 3 8oz pkgs of cream cheese soften on the counter for an hour. Once they are softened you may put all the cream cheese into a large both and "beat until creamy".

* Technically step one is to make the crust but I have enough carbs and sugar in my diet so I always skip the crust part. If you want the crust recipe you can just e-mail me.

Step 2: Once the cream cheese is creamy and you've added the 1/4 tsp of vanilla and 1/4 tsp of grated lemon peel to it (or you could just skip the grated lemon peel like I doas I can't be bothered with things like purchasing and grating lemons), mix together 2 tbs of flour, 1/4 tsp of salt and the most precious of ingredients: 1 cup of sugar in a separate bowl. Once you've skillfully combined the dry ingredients you should "gradually blend into cheese". Or you could do it like I do and dump it in all at once and let a five year old go at it with an electric beater.

I would just like to take a moment to wonder why we had to use a second bowl to mix ingredients that we turn around and immediately add to the first bowl? I feel this is some kind of conspiracy to make me wash more dishes. I'm on to you, evil mystery cookbook publishers.

Step Three, I think, this might be step four but I've rambled so much I've lost track: Add two eggs and one eggs yolk all at once. This is the trickiest step as adding three eggs at once requires all six of my hands and you may not have that many. Also I wanted to point out that this recipe calls for egg YOLK and not egg white. Not that I'd ever make a rookie mistake like that...

Let your five year old "Beat until just blended." and remind her for the 57th time not to lift the beater out of the bowl while it's running.

Step Seventeen: Measure out a 1/4 cup of milk. I find it's easiest to use a 1/2 cup measuring cup (because it's readily available) and then let your five year old sip it down to what I'm kind of positive was a somewhat precise 1/4 cup.

Pour the milk in with everything else and blend yet again. Notice that your fire extinguisher is surrounded by a fire hazard and ignore the situation.

Speaking of fire, you should have probably pre-heated your oven to 450 about 19 steps ago. Also I forgot to mention that you should have wrestled your warped spring form pan into submission so that you can pour the cake batter into it. You can do that now if you like. It's generally recommended to have the pan together when you pour in the batter.

Once you have put your assembled spring form pan with the batter snuggly nestled into it into the oven, force your family to pose together while they lick the beaters and spoon.

Lick the bowl while no one is looking.

Relax with your dad and a Triple H action figure and watch some DVRed Wrestlemania. Don't worry about your Cheesecake in the oven.

The King will keep an eye on it and reduce the oven temp to 300 after ten minutes of cooking for you.

He'll even take it out of the oven 55 minutes after reducing the temp. Of course if he were to say insert a knife into the center of the cake and it came out with uncooked batter on it, he would no doubt give it five more minutes. Then he would definitely let it cool for 15 minutes and then run a butter knife between the cake and the pan to loosen it before he removed the sides of the pan.

Really, The King is an invaluable part of this process. I'm actually starting to feel a little bad that I didn't let him lick one of the beaters.

Now you should eat the Cheesecake. You can add cherries if you like or you could add fresh strawberries like we did (they are Matt's favorite). If you can't eat it immediately you could put it into the fridge until you can attack it with fervor.

Once you've consumed your family's combined weight in calories, write a exceptionally long blog post about your experience.

F is for Failure

2010-04-08T23:29:00.012-04:00

"Sooo," I say to Ryan yesterday when he stopped by for a quick four hour visit, "did you see my list of 30?"

"Yep," was his incredibly interesting response.

"So, you going to do the Blazin' Challenge with your brother?"

"Yeah, I'll do it," he says. "But I need time to prepare myself for it. I'll do it next week. I'll be ready for it then."

In an attempt to honor Ryan's wishes to wait to do the Blazin Challenge, Matt and I waited a full 24 hours before we stopped at Buffalo Wild Wings and picked up 24 Blazin' wings and headed for Ryan's apartment.

Ryan spent the day preparing for the six minute challenge by researching the rules and watching YouTube clips while he was supposed to be working. Matt, on the other hand, did not prepare until the last thirty seconds before I said, "Go." It was at that time he felt he could best achieve his goal of twelve Blazin' wings in six minutes shirtless. Then Ryan said, "Dude, I can't eat while you are naked," and Matt put his shirt back on.

Then they were ready.

Then five minutes later it was over. Neither boy, er, man made it the full six minutes. Ryan complained that he had the hiccups, then his nose was running, but he couldn't do anything about it because the rules clearly stated he could not touch his face. Then his fingers started to tingle from the heat of the sauce on the wings.

Then both boys thought they might throw up.

When it was all done, each of them had only eaten seven wings, Ryan literally drank blue cheese dressing, and neither one of them threw-up. (And they say girls are melodramatic.)

I had a great time.

They did not enjoy it.

They want to do it again next month.

Oh, and if you aren't familiar with the Buffalo Wild Wings Blazin' Challenge, here's a video of someone failing to complete it.

30 Things, 30 Days, 30 Years. Hike!

2010-04-05T22:33:00.000-04:00

Today is the one month mark until my 30th birthday. Over the past few months I've noticed other women on the brink of the big 3-0 making lists of 30 things to do before they turn 30. I love lists. They are a passion of mine. In spite of this, I did not make a "30 things before 30" list when I first discovered the concept. Instead I chose to wait until there remained a mere 30 days until the end of my 20s. I've always performed best under pressure. I live for stress. And drama. Leaving myself only 30 days to complete the list puts me in a riveting time crunch (I know you. You are riveted by my amazing skill of procrastination.). I should probably go and get to knocking items off the list. Truthfully, I have no time to waste on frivolous opening paragraphs. Pft.

Actually now that I think of it, I don't really have time to write the list either. However, I can't think of a better way to procrastinate doing the list then actually writing it down, so here goes.

Pet a cow.
Buy a house
Learn how to properly and successfully execute a basketball lay-up.
Fix this disaster of a farmer's tan I accidentally started today.
Do 300 push-ups and 3000 crunches
Cry and Whine about how sore I am from doing 300 push-ups and 3000 crunches.
Schedule my first ever colonoscopy.
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.
Have a BBQ on my new deck.
Try a new food.
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.)
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.
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.
Play my own piano in my own house for the first time since I got married.
Go on a hike. A real, up into the mountains, get eaten alive by starving mosquitoes hike.
Teach Mallory how to make a cheesecake.
Use this list as an excuse to let myself go. Shower less, brush my hair less, etc. You get the idea.
Get my dad to refer to Trent Edwards as my boyfriend in front of my husband again. Awesome.
Take my kids to a nursing home for a visit.
Clean my bathrooms
Buy new pedals for my bike so I can take bike rides with my kids.
See Manhattan at night.
Perform the Justin Bieber song Eenie Meenie Minie Moe Lover as a poem for an audience.
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.
Get a new tattoo.
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.
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.
Hug a stranger.
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.
Take a picture of Matt and myself and both kids together in our new house.

Oh And I Lost At HORSE

2010-04-05T01:15:00.000-04:00

So this might come as a shock to you but I'm working on a post for tomorrow. Seriously, like planning and thought are happening over here. All right you busted me. A more accurate description of what is going on over here is that I started a post that is taking longer then I wanted it to and now I'm tired and want to go to bed. Also I figured that you spent your entire Easter thinking of me and wondering what I was doing and I'd hate to disappoint you so here is a little taste of my Easter.

In case you haven't figured it out already, I am not the kind of parent that goes overboard for holiday gifts. My kids will never receive a video game in their Easter baskets. My general rule of thumb is if it costs more than $4.50 it's probably too nice for my kids. So this year for Easter I specially chose baskets that I could reuse for whatever basket needs I might have. (I only bought new baskets because the ones I usually reuse got put in storage somewhere.) In the baskets I added dollar chocolate bunnies, coloring books and coloring pencils (or crayons depending on the kid). I realize that by doing this I ran the risk of one or both of my children keeling over dead from deprivation of excess. I took the risk and am proud to report that not only are my children still breathing, but when Anthony saw the Bible themed coloring book in his Easter basket this morning, he exclaimed with great joy, "I got a coloring book of heaven!"

Then I let him color heaven. Then we ate a traditional Easter breakfast at Matt's parent's house. This includes an egg dish, an egg bread, something called grain pie and white wine all served at 10 am. We don't even pretend it's 5 o'clock somewhere.

After breakfast I worked on my farmer's tan while my kids rolled around in the mud in their nice clothes. Then we ate again. That's what holiday's are about: eating.

Once Matt and I had the kids in bed I worked on making Ryan think I was a better person and watched Yankee baseball. I do not feel like a better person yet. Maybe I have to watch three of four games before the self-improvement kicks in.

Then I went to bed. (after I hit post of course.)

How was your Easter?

Proof That I'll Eat Anything

2010-03-31T23:50:00.000-04:00

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

2010-03-31T01:22:00.000-04:00

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

2010-03-29T23:47:00.001-04:00

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

2010-03-29T00:32:00.001-04:00

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

2010-03-25T01:39:00.000-04:00

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

2010-03-22T00:56:00.001-04:00

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?

2010-03-18T00:28:00.006-04:00

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

2010-03-17T00:40:00.000-04:00

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

2010-03-15T23:31:00.003-04:00

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

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

2010-03-14T23:09:00.000-04:00

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

2010-03-10T21:48:00.002-05:00

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

Pet a cow.
~~Buy a house~~
Learn how to properly and successfully execute a basketball lay-up.
Fix this disaster of a farmer's tan I accidentally started today.
Do 300 push-ups and 3000 crunches. (at 30 and 125)
~~Cry and Whine about how sore I am from doing 300 push-ups and 3000 crunches.~~ (This was almost too easy.)
Schedule my first ever colonoscopy.
~~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.)
Have a BBQ on my new deck.
Try a new food.
~~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.)~~
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!)
~~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.)
~~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.)
~~Go on a hike. A real, up into the mountains, get eaten alive by starving mosquitoes hike.~~(Post forthcoming.)
~~Teach Mallory how to make a cheesecake.~~ (done)
~~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.)
Get my dad to refer to Trent Edwards as my boyfriend in front of my husband again. Awesome.
Take my kids to a nursing home for a visit.
~~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)
Buy new pedals for my bike so I can take bike rides with my kids.
See Manhattan at night.
Perform the Justin Bieber song Eenie Meenie Minie Moe Lover as a poem for an audience.
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.
Get a new tattoo.
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.
~~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.)
~~Hug a stranger.~~ (drunk bride at her bachelorette party.)
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.
Take a picture of Matt and myself and both kids together in our new house.

He's Got His Party Dress On

2010-03-10T00:00:00.000-05:00

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

2010-03-09T00:24:00.000-05:00

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.

2010-03-08T01:44:00.000-05:00

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

2010-03-04T00:48:00.001-05:00

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

2010-03-03T01:37:00.000-05:00

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

2010-03-01T21:23:00.000-05:00

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.

You Know How All Parents Think Their Kids Is The Best? Well Mine Is.

2010-02-28T22:29:00.000-05:00

I was in high school the first time I was introduced to winter sports. My high school boyfriend was a skier and offered to teach me how to ski. I like to try new things so it seemed perfect. We got to the mountain, and he not so patiently got me set up with ski rentals and took me up the lift. Bunny slopes are for kids apparently. We got to the top of the mountain and down he went. He then turned as was all, "Aren't you coming." And then I cried.

No, I didn't. But he gave me literally no direction. He didn't tell me to turn my skis like a pizza or what a duck walk was (I just learned that this weekend) and I fell. A lot. Between his impatience with my inability to guess how to ski and the amount of time I had fallen, I only got half-way down the first slope before I sat down and refused to move (I can be a little passive aggressive). As you can tell from this story, my first and last foray into the wonderful world of skiing was a disaster. Much like that high school relationship, but I digress.

I did get invited back up to the mountain (by someone else) and said, " I skied once and I will NEVER do it again." To which they replied, "You could snowboard."

I like to try new things.

I snowboarded through the rest of high school and a little bit of college. I was never any good, but I loved it.

I haven't been snowboarding in almost ten years, but Matt, Ryan and I have been talking about getting Mallory up on the mountain for like the past two years. Since Ryan offered to teach her and he can both ski and snowboard (both way better then I ever did), we let Mallory decide which she wanted to try. Do you know what my girl picked?

For those of you that missed the whole, "Shaun White is awesome" stuff, that's a snowboard that little girl is carrying.

We thought for sure she would be cold and tired and whiney. She was the exact opposite. After a bit of instruction, she wanted to go without help, and she couldn't wipe the smile off her face.

Ryan patiently and clearly gave her direction and then guided her down the slope. He gave her the real Olympic treatment and carried her back up just like Shaun White's coaches do for him.

Ryan was telling Matt and I how excited he was to take Mallory on the mountain and how one of his friends brings his little brother snowboarding with him. Ryan always thought it was so cute and was happy to have Mallory following him around and was looking forward to all the times they would go up the mountain together after she really learned how to snowboard or ski.

Just in case you thought all his intentions were good, I feel compelled to share that at one point a girl saw Mallory and went, "aw." Then Ryan was all, "I've got to bring Mallory up here more, so she can help me score some chicks."

He's single.

He agreed to let me raffle him off after I reach 500 followers. It's going to be awhile, but if you want to snag him in the meantime email me.

Winter Olympics 2022 (did I do my math right?), here we come.

The NFL Combine: Scouting Hot Guys, I Mean, Good Players, Yeah, Good Players.

2010-02-26T01:11:00.002-05:00

You know what we haven't talked about in awhile?

I know you've missed him. Little known fact about this picture: He's looking and pointing at me because I inspired his fourth quarter comeback. All right fine, I wasn't at this game, but I'm sure he was thinking of me at the very moment this picture was taken.

I'm sure you are wondering why I'm bringing Trent up? Well I don't need a reason, BUT I mentioned Trent because ~~he's incredibly hot~~ this week is the NFL Combine. I know that right now you are rolling your eyes at me and saying, "Bethany, I didn't need you to tell me that the Combine is this week. I've been glued to the coverage on the NFL Network all day."

Oh you didn't say that? I'm guessing what you really said was more like, "What the heck is a Combine?" or "Seriously, Bethany, more football crap."

Well just to clear it up, a combine (per the almighty wiki) is:

a machine that harvests grain crops. It combined into a single operation what previously had taken three separate operations (reaping, binding, and threshing).

Yeah, that's the wrong kind of combine, Wiki. What are you trying to do to me?

The NFL Combine is sort of like a job audition for college players. They participate in a battery of physical activities, written tests and interviews with NFL teams. You can only attend (as a player) if you've been invited. They poke them. They prod them. They make them spell their names to prove they are capable of signing autographs. And then, they weigh them. In public. Oh the horror. It's like a giant weight watchers meeting.

A really hot weight watchers meeting.

In spite of my great appreciation for all things Trent Edwards, he did not play very well last year. As a result of this my beloved Buffalo Bills are talking about picking up another QB. Not that Trent will be totally out of it, but he'll get some competition. I thought that as a service to Trent we should scout his competition for him. There are like ten QBs coming out of college that are vying for a job in the NFL. I just can't be bothered to scout them all so we are going to look at three have been mentioned as having the potential to be spending some time in the quarterback's rooms with Trent.

There are several things that you want to look for when acquiring a new QB. First, can he throw a ball, run fast, jump high, blah, blah, blah? Of course he can he's in contention for a job in the NFL. Second, and this is key, is he pretty? Let's take a look and see if any of these boys can out-hot Trent.

First up, Jevan Snead. I know what you are thinking. No, I did not purposefully choose the ugliest picture I could find. This is honestly one of his better. I'm not sure I couldn't handle watching him in a press conference every week. Maybe I could just close my eyes and think about the Super Bowl.

Nope, it's not working.

Jimmy Clausen. *facepalm*

There is a God! This is Tim Tebow. You might recognize him from the above topless picture or the Super Bowl add in which he tackles his mother. Now I think if we can look past his cruetly to his mother and the fact that he is clearly wearing a child's t-shirt in this picture, I think I could live with this choice. Of course if he shows up to the NFL Draft in April with a goatee I might have to personally hunt him down and punch him in the face.

Thank you for participating in this exercise. Now that I have looked each guy over I feel ready to write a strongly worded text message to the new head coach of the Buffalo Bills letting him know that even though I could live with Tebow, based on hotness Trent should be the starter in 2010.

Trials Turn To Gold

2010-02-25T07:48:00.000-05:00

That snow storm I told you about. It took out my Internet, my phone and my cable. In other words, I suffered greatly at its hand.

I realize that almost every other local friend of mine was without power or heat, but guys, put on a sweater and suck it up. I had NO INTERNET. Excuse me for a moment while I weep.

Thanks for not staring.

The only time I had Internet all day yesterday was at McDonald's. I took my cousin down there to pick up a hot tea for my aunt and then I made him sit in the lobby and stare off into space while I frantically checked e-mail and twitter. It's not like I'm addicted. The shakes were only because I was cold. So cold without the Internet.

I'd like to say that I learned a deep and powerful lesson from my time without my bestie (love you, Internet), but I didn't. I did catch up on my sleep though, so there is that.

Oh my gosh, this is why I blog at night. If you guys could hear the noise coming from my children...

If You Predict It (Enough Times), It Will Come

2010-02-24T00:52:00.002-05:00

I live in the Northeast. It's a snowy place. Except this year. The Carolinas, Georgia and even Texas have seen some of the white stuff, but we haven't had a major storm since December. The meteorologists have predicted snow. According to them we should be buried under roughly 4-40 inches of snow by now (way to narrow it down), but all the storms have shifted left or right or simply evaporated into thin air and we are left with nothing. Well not nothing.

We've waited patiently, preparing for the moment that would bring snow angels and forts and give us a reason to use those snow boots by the door.

We've even had drills. Who can get their snow pants on the fastest?

I'll give you a hint: it's not Anthony. That child still calls me to come and wipe his butt. Putting his own snow pants on? He's definitely too good for that.

The days are cold and windy and gray and with no snow to ~~catch pneumonia from~~ play with. We've been shut-up inside. Prisoners in our own home.

After a whole winter of lying meteorologists, who could blame us for rolling our eyes when they predicted that we would get a storm that would drop precisely 6-10 inches in our yards, thus making those new snow shovels a good investment after all.

Congratulations Mr. Meteorologist! After 6 attempts at predicting a snow storm you've finally done it! I see good things in your future. According to my sources you will have a very good day sometime within the next 6 to 10 months.

I've Been Reading

2010-02-23T00:06:00.002-05:00

As she sat down to gather her thoughts she fought of the urge to wax philosophical or be overly melodramatic. It was something she often found herself doing in this situation. Now her head was spinning and she wasn't sure how she had gotten here. She muddled back through her memory over the events of the day. Listening to a child talk as the furnace growled loudly in the background. What time had that been? 6:30. Maybe 6:45. So long ago.

How she had managed to pull herself from her bed that hadn't even had enough time to become warm from her body, she did not know. Why had she done this to herself? She knew full well what the consequences of last night's actions would be, yet she had done them anyway. Why? She was feeling particularly foolish now.

Well if she was to survive the onslaught that was coming she was would need a plan of action. Quickly she jotted down a plan that she felt would help her succeed. No detail was left out of the strategy. She knew in her state it was possible to forget even the simplest of tasks, such as changing out of one's pajamas.

As the day wore on she felt it more and more. The effects were undeniable. She had to really focus on simple tasks such as breathing and blinking. Her children would not suffer at her hand. She refused to let her own shortcomings ruin them too. She turned on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Smash-Up and let them play video games as she stumbled through her house trying to remember if she had in fact transferred that load of whites to the dryer. Then dinner and baths and bedtimes and it was all a blur and before she new it she was sitting at the computer. The unforgiving glow of the white screen mocking her. Daring her to think of something ingenious to fill it. She closed her eyes for just a second allowing the regret of the night before rush over her. The caffeine infused Mountain Dew at midnight the night before. Sitting on the cold floor of her bathroom, shivering while she finished the young adult novel that her allegedly loving sister had recommended. Her sister had read this book before and new of its addictive qualities. Shouldn't she have not shared it?

As full of regret as she is at having spent the last 48 hours consuming 600 pages of literary crack, she can't help but begin to look lustfully at the book sitting next to her. Should she just pick it up and finish those last 150 pages in spite of the late hour? She should go to bed now that the menacing white page of the computer is full, but the feverish delusions that often accompany sleep deprivation whisper to her, just one more chapter.

I Might Have Peed My Pants A Little...

2010-02-22T00:08:00.001-05:00

Do any of you remember the movie Troop Beverly Hills? Please say you do. It's so fun.

The premise of the film is that a group of "Wilderness Girls" from Beverly Hills are trying to earn badges and be the best "Wilderness Girls" they can be. Now if you take the outdoorsy out of "Wilderness" then they were awesome. For example, to earn their camping badges they rented out a room at a swanky hotel and sat around in a circle on pillows in the dark with flashlights and told scary stories. I believe that the most frightening story ended up with a woman with a bad perm or something. The girls were terrified and rightly so if you ask me. The humiliation of a bad perm or dye job can be devastating. Not that I'm speaking from experience...

OK so if you consider what the "Wilderness Girls" did camping then Mallory and I totally went camping the other night. We huddled around the fake fireplace that my in-laws have and she told me the most terrifying story that a five year old could come up with and it went a little something like this (The parts in italics are my own personal thoughts on the story and in no way reflect the thoughts and/or opinions of the original storyteller.):

The Ghost and the Scary Woods

Once upon a time there was a ghost and he walked and walked until he got to a place called the scary woods, scratch that, just The Scary. (that's much more intimidating isn't it?)

He walked to a castle and there were a prince and a princess, but there isn't a happy ending.

And then, (it helps if you read "and then" with dramatic flair) the bad guy came and made the prince and princess his bad slaves. (I'm not sure what "bad slaves" entails, but I'm pretty sure it meant that the bad guy made them make their own beds and finish all their veggies at dinner.)

And then (still with dramatic flair please) a wolf and bear came. (They don't really play a major role in this story. Pretty sure she just threw them in there for dramatic effect. Well played, Mallory, well played)

And then, back at the big castle (it is imperative at this point in the story that you lift both hands over your head and wiggle your fingers to properly demonstrate the magnitude of the castle) the bad man captures the rest of the people. It's a lot of people, more then is in the whole world. He captures them by throwing a blanket over them. (I actually got a demonstration of this process during this point in the story)

Now I don't know about you but I am terrified and really would like this story to end so that I can get the proper counseling that I will clearly need after this story. I gently encourage her to finish her story by saying, "Wrap it up, kid. This story is taking forever."

And now the conclusion of The Ghost and the Scary Woods:

Then there was a king and a queen. See it had a happy ending.

Days And Hours

2010-02-18T23:13:00.001-05:00

I'm totally tired tonight. So tired, in fact, that I can't be bothered to get up and walk the five steps to my computer. So I'm attempting to blog from my Touch. Actually, that could probably be considered laziness, but I'm going to stick with fatigue and I'd appreciate if you did too.

I keep telling myself that I should prep posts ahead of time, but I keep finding that I simply just don't have enough hours in the day. I don't know about you but when I run out of time it's my sleep that suffers. I think I've only been getting like five and a half hours of sleep a night this week. In case you hadn't pieced it together yet, I'm going to bed early tonight. (that means before one) My husband, for one, will be thrilled, but I hate to spend the day not chatting with you, my fellow bloggers.

So I have a question for you. If you could compete in one Winter Olympic event what would you pick?

I know you think I'm going to say the snowboarding halfpipe, and as tempting as it is to pick the event with the uniform that hides the most poundage. There is just something about speedskating that calls to me. Everytime I watch them go around that rink I want to do it. I would totally rock that sport.

But first I should probably get back to the gym or at least get off this couch.

Proof That God Thinks About Me All Day

2010-02-18T00:26:00.002-05:00

Two recent events have occurred in my life that have reminded me how much God loves me.

And no, Mom, I am not pregnant. But like a quality pregnancy test, the first reason I know God loves me is digital.

Do you guys remember that conversation that Matt had with himself about getting a new T.V. with our tax return money? You know the one that drove me to Jessica's closet? (that last link takes you to a not-so-bad picture of me. It was taken in the dark.) I sweetly and selflessly suggested that instead of getting a T.V. for the whole family to enjoy, we should buy an iPod Touch for my own personal use. Guess who has a brand new iPod Touch? Oh yeah, I call the shots around here. In a completely unrelated note I've been watching the Olympics on Matt's, er, I mean, the family's new flat screen. Tax season was good to us.

I have been tweeting, e-mailing, commenting, IMing, youtubing, facebooking and even dabbled in a little blogging with my Touch. As I sat and marveled at my new Touch, a thought occurred to me. God loves me. I know this, not because he sacrificed his own son for my salvation, but because he allowed me to be born in a day and age where I can hold the power of the Internet in the palm of my hand and it makes me happy. He knows me so well.

There are spoilers for the Olympics Halfpipe coming up so if you DVRed it and have successfully avoided learning the outcome thus far, good job and we'll see you tomorrow. Peace out. (yeah I just said that.)

The second thing that makes it so obvious that God sits around all day thinking about ways to make me happy is this. Yesterday I blogged,

Dear God,
Please let Shaun White not suck tomorrow. I could really use some good news after witnessing the curling loss and then the Germans taking the luge from us. Everyone knows that the luge has always been a big U.S. event. Oh it hasn't? Sorry, God. Still the whole Shaun White thing, please.

Yes, I totally just quoted myself from yesterday. It was necessary to remind you that I specifically asked God to not let Shaun White suck and you know what? Shaun White didn't suck. I'd go so far as to say he blew my mind and won a gold medal in the process. You know who he has to thank for that don't you? Nope, not himself or his coaches or even Red Bull for building him that killer half-pipe in the middle of nowhere. He has me to thank.

You're welcome, Shaun. I'm here for you.

Shaun White, Would You Please Save Us From Curling, Luge And Men's Figure Skating?

2010-02-17T00:05:00.002-05:00

Matt and I haven't watched as much Olympics as usual due to all the movies we've been ~~torturing ourselves with~~ enjoying. We decided to take a break from the movies tonight to appreciate some International competition.

Why tonight, you ask? (OK so you don't care why tonight, but just play along)

The answer to "your" question is U.S.A. Woman's curling of course. We'd never dream of missing it. It's a wildly intense sport. I will now do you the service of recapping the tenth end (I'm assuming that means a round of some kind) between our U.S. women and the Japanese women.

The Japanese are up one point. I have no idea how points are scored but the U.S. needs to score. Both teams have only one time-out remaining. Let's observe.

Both teams slide a bunch of "rocks" (those round thingys they slide down the ice). I have lost count and am uncertain how many they are supposed to slide.

Oh only two rocks left for our U.S. girls. I know this because according to our announcers, Debbie McCormick (I'm uncertain if this is how you spell her last name, but can't bring myself to look it up) loves the pressure of the last two rocks. She's a lefty and we all know what that means. (yeah me either)

Debbie slides the rock.

Oh, Debbie's not happy. Her rock hung on her. (I'm so lost)

Japan is sending their last rock and they put it on the button. (I'm pretty sure that means the middle of that ice target.)

From the sounds of the crowd it would appear that the Canadians have just finished off the Swiss. Man those Canadians love their ice sports.

The intensity is palpable. I might have dozed off.

Now the U.S. is stratigizing. Why don't we learn a foreign language like everyone else so no one can steal our strategies? I can't understand a word the Japanese are saying when they stratigize.

The U.S. has sent it's last rock and it's a close one, a real nail biter, girls and boys. The officials are out on the ice with measuring sticks. (for real) This is every bit as tantalizing as that story I told you about expired medications.

Oh what a dramatic finish! After much sweeping and, um, sliding of rocks the Japanese have beaten us by a hair.

How can we ever show our faces at a curling event again? Oh the shame.

Next up, a sport I'm infinitely more familiar with, women's luge. I used the commercial break between curling and luge to properly prepare myself for this event. I changed into my luge gear. I'm so glad I joined the gym, those spandex unitards can be so unforgiving. I settled in to watch woman hurl themselves down an ice slide on a tiny sled at ungodly speeds. They zoomed past the Vancouver 2010 etched into the ice and I couldn't pull my eyes away from the T.V. (I zoned briefly). I noticed that the event had ended with the most unattractive girl winning. (Take that, Hollywood)

I then changed into my jeans to watch women's snowboarding. Wait, what? Denim and snow? That doesn't make any sense. Who made this fashion choice? Wow, don't our U.S. snowboarders look so much cooler then the other countries in their snow pants? Who wears snow pants to snowboard anymore?

Disgusted I changed back into my unitard.

Finally, I grabbed a box of tissues to watch the Men's Single Ice Skating.

A man glided out onto the ice in Jessica Simpson style high waisted pants and a sparkly sequin top that I'm pretty sure he made using his bedazzler.

I vomited.

I cleaned myself up using the tissues. I knew they'd come in handy.

In closing I'd like to say,

Dear God,
Please let Shaun White not suck tomorrow. I could really use some good news after witnessing the curling loss and then the Germans taking the luge from us. Everyone knows that the luge has always been a big U.S. event. Oh it hasn't? Sorry, God. Still the whole Shaun White thing, please.

A Nailbiting Tale Of Drugs, Death and Writer's Block

2010-02-16T00:26:00.001-05:00

So here we are, six minutes until Tuesday and I haven't typed a word. Good for me. Way to procrastinate. I read this article the other day about ways to combat writer's block and one of the suggestions was to write about what you know. I think that I might subject you to a post about the best ways to procrastinate, but let's be honest, I'll never get to it.

I'm recovering nicely from my bout of death by sinus thingy. I wasn't doing so well a few days ago though. My illness had made its way into my chest and I was coughy and weezy. (I find that adding y to the end of words that don't end in y adds a much needed excitement to the life of a stay-at-home-mom.) At one point as I was standing in my bathroom struggling to breathe I strongly considered quitting smoking and then I remembered I don't smoke and pondered why God had smote me with this evil plague since I had always been so good to my lungs. I longed for an inhaler.

Then I remembered. I own an inhaler. It's sitting on my medicine shelf. Now before I continue telling this riveting story about how I died, let's take a small detour into an even more boring story.

I cleaned my bathroom shelf, including my medicines. I found that I had in my possession a great many expired medications. For example, this bottle of Tylenol Arthritis that expired, well I'll let the picture tell you when.

I find it increases street value if you let pills age. Another six months and I should be able to pull 3 cents per pill on the mean streets.

So back to the inhaler. I'm not sure, but I feel pretty confident that the medicine in the inhaler has expired. I'm not sure when because I can't be bothered to check such things. Another interesting note on the inhaler, it's not mine. It's a hand me down. Seriously. Someone handed their inhaler (medicine included) down to me awhile back while I was suffering from death by allergies.

As I stood in my bathroom I considered what the effects of using an expired inhaler might be. If things went bad how would I explain to an ER Doctor that I had used someone's expired medication? I could try the Bill Clinton argument that I hadn't inhaled, but I'd no doubt be subjected to a lecture that is usually reserved for Jr. High kids about how using someone elses medications is very dangerous and I'm lucky not to be dead anyway.

And now the conclusion of this nailbiter.

I left the inhaler on the shelf. I decided I'd rather die then go back to Jr. High.

He Went To Bed Alone

2010-02-15T01:16:00.001-05:00

So tonight after a romantic day of taking the kids to church and then out to lunch. Matt and I settled in to watch A Serious Man. (yet another nominated film) It sucked. Don't waste your time. He then went off to our room and left me to blog. He returned a short time later to kiss me goodnight.

It was a good kiss. I forgot all about my blog. Then he pulled away and uttered the words that every woman wants to hear on Valentine's Day.

"I love the Godfather movies"

I just stared at him and he looked at me and then my sweet-talker husband said,

"This isn't your best lighting."

It's a good thing he's cute.

Where George Clooney And I Don't See Eye To Eye

2010-02-12T00:15:00.001-05:00

My sore throat seems to have transformed into a full on sinus thingy. It's awesome. I'm pretty excited about it. Nothing says party like a headache and free flowing snot. I would have just gone to bed (like a smart sick person) but I wanted to talk briefly about the movie Up In The Air.

In case you are unfamiliar and don't care to click the link, Up In The Air is nominated for best picture by the Academy and stars George Clooney as a man that flies all over the country firing people. The way it works is that companies hire him to fire their employees so they don't have to. Essentially he distances himself from any meaningful relationships on purpose as a way to keep his "baggage light" and he considers himself home when he is "Up in the air" flying, thus the title of the film.

Even though the movie has a big name actor in the main role it has a definite independent film feel. It's character driven which makes it likable since, let's be honest, George Clooney is likable. He doesn't talk enough to be considered annoying and he has a charming smile. He's great in the role and you like him. Other then that I liked the music a lot. If you are considering watching this movie I feel compelled to warn you that the language is pretty rough. You have been warned.

All right, so, Ryan's (Clooney's character) whole schtick, his life mantra if you will, is outlined in a speech he gives using a backpack as an example.

The gist of it goes something like this. He asks the audience to mentally fill the backpack with all their possessions. You know from your house right down to your toothbrush. Then he asks to you to imagine that he lit the bag on fire. What would you save?

It's a thought provoking question. What would you save? Being honest what's the first thing that comes to mind? OK so I'm going to tell you what I would try to save. I know that I might be called out as a liar for this one but I've never lied to you before so you are just going to have to trust me on this. If I was standing outside of that bag with my husband at my side and my children safely in my arms, I can not think of a darn think I would risk reaching my hand into the burning bag for. I own a lot of stuff and I really like most of it (except for the toys, I hate toys.), but I would let it burn. I suspect that I'd cry. Mourn the loss of my things that I had built attachments to. Think about all of the work it took to accumulate those things. Although on some level I might feel liberated from the weight of them. Which, of course, is the point of the exercise.

He then empties the bag (metaphorically still) and asks us to fill it with the people in our lives. All of them. From the guy that pumps your gas to your spouse and children. He does not light this bag on fire. He does however go on to talk about how the relationships we allow into our lives are the heaviest things we have. It's true. I imagine there isn't a person reading this blog that wouldn't rush head first into a burning bag to save someone they love. We become responsible for the people we allow into our lives. Does this mean we should streamline our relationships? Only allow the truly important people in? Should we disregard certain people to lighten our load?

The more I think about this the more I think of the song that says, " He ain't heavy, he's my brother." (is that how that goes? I'm working through a headache and what I suspect is a slight fever. I'm not sure about the fever because my thermometer fell into the toilet and has gone to the great medicinal graveyard in the sky. Yes, that really happened.)

Take for example, our kids. Raising children is a huge responsibility. It's heavy and not just the whole keeping them alive part. We are responsible for teaching them everything they will believe, what they will stand for, how they will treat others, how they will treat themselves and how they will prioritize these things. We make or break them. They are like soft clay and we impress on them without even trying. It's a heavy burden. And one I would risk my whole life to rush into a burning bag to save. Why? Because of the human connection. Human connection is a gift from God. It's something we need. If we didn't, why would God have given Eve to Adam? Why would he want us to multiply?

We need human connection. It's why we marry, have friends, stay in touch with family. It's even why we blog. I guess my point is that some burdens aren't heavy at all. They are actually gifts, even on the hard days.

The Payoff For Aiming Low is $13,000

2010-02-11T00:40:00.001-05:00

In yesterday's post, I referenced a previous post without linking to it. I was just going to e-mail everyone that asked about it, but I'm lazy so I'm just going to clear it up here in one fell swoop. The origin of my axe murderer tutor. Sorry about not linking to it yesterday. I totally meant to but then my dog ate my link. You know how it goes.

So sometime last week, I mentioned in passing that Matt and I had put a bid in on a house. We had kind of low-balled them. The house is in great shape and in a nice neighborhood, and we felt a little bad that we offered so low, but we figured they'd counter, and we'd get the house for what we really wanted to pay. Really, what's the worst that could happen? They could hunt us down and collect our pinky toes using a machete as retribution? I didn't sleep a wink, worried about my poor little piggies. Luckily, I didn't lose too much sleep because our realtor called back less then 24 hours later with a response. They took it.

The days since have been filled with errands, phone calls and John Hancocks. If all goes well, we should have a closing sometime near Mallory's birthday. For those of you that don't know when that is, it's the same week as Dione's birthday. That should help you out. In addition to the house stuff, I still have kids to educate and a house to keep. Fortunately, I've hit a super-productive streak and have been working like crazy. It's like nesting only without the extra thirty pounds of hard belly in the way. I'm serious-- I cleaned my tub and my fridge in the same week. Maybe you do that all the time, but I'm lazy. (see first paragraph of this post)

The result of all of this? I appear to have a sore throat, I haven't been getting to visit my usual blogs or respond to e-mails, and I have now written a post with my eyes closed and resolved world hunger. I amaze myself.

How To Impress An Axe Murderer

2010-02-09T22:50:00.000-05:00

Last week I agreed to let an axe murderer come over to my house and tutor my 5 year old daughter in literacy. She was due at our home at 12:30, but just like every other human being that has ever come to visit me, she got turned around in our neighborhood, and before I knew it, I was standing out at the end of my driveway in a tank top, an apron and a pair of duck boots, and she hadn't even wielded the axe yet. (Yes, I was wearing pants but they didn't seem notable.)

I cordially invited this axe murdering educator into my home. I found her quite delightful. I've always felt that when it came to weapon-carrying, violent murderers, it's important to show them you trust them, so I allowed her to be alone with Mallory in the toy room. (We've got a table set up in there.)

Not to brag on my kid or anything (you know I'm going to), but since she's reading so well and capable of spelling words phonetically, her tutor decided to teach her how to write short stories. That's right, my five year old is well on her way to starting her very own blog. I thought I might give you a little taste of what you could expect when you visited Mal's blog.

And now, an unedited Mallory original:

I love to go to the stor. I love the stor. I am Mal. Mal loves to go to the stor but Mal loves you too.

And also a little piece entitled Dad and Mom:

Today Mal meets mom and dad I love them but they love her too.

Admit it. You'd totally "follow."

A Liar, A Crier And A Cheat

2010-02-08T23:34:00.000-05:00

I would like to start this post by apologizing for being MIA yesterday. Now I could make up a story about how I watched the Super Bowl and was so tired afterwards that I wrote a post that I wasn't sure made any sense and how I asked Jessica to proof it for me and how we had mixed messages and I didn't get her message that the post was "Punk approved" and thus never posted it but that's totally unbelievable so I'm just going to tell the truth.

George Clooney stopped by and well, you know.

So while George was here, he, Matt and I got to talking about all the good work our dear friend, Brad Pitt, is doing down in New Orleans. (If you recall Matt and I hang out with Brad and Angie after hours.) And I thought I might share with you some of my thoughts from that conversation or I might just be posting the post I wrote yesterday because I'm too lazy to write a new one. (I'd hate to waste a "Punk approved" post.)

I feel confident that I watched no less then 13 hours of Superbowl coverage today. The media talked a lot about New Orleans and how they still haven't recovered from Katrina and how they have so much invested in their team (emotionally speaking). How knowing that the Saints made it to the Superbowl gives them hope and a belief that they could overcome any obstacle and accomplish anything.

All the talk of Katrina reminded me of where I was when the levees broke. Growing up I always heard people talk about remembering where they were when man walked on the moon or JFK got shot, etc. It occurs to me now that I'm old. I remember where I was when major events took place. I remember when the first Bush declared war on Iraq or where I was when Princess Diana died. I remember the confusion and disbelief of the people in the room when we heard over the radio that the twin towers had collapsed.

When Katrina hit New Orleans, I was pregnant for Anthony. I sat in my living room and cried. I felt completely helpless. I wanted to rush down there and comfort the people I saw on the news. Naturally a pregnant woman with a one year old can't just pick up and spend a few weeks wading through dirty waters. We were beyond poor. We couldn't even make ends meet for ourselves so I had no money or things to donate. So I just sat there and cried for them.
A lot of other natural disasters have occurred since then, most recently, of course, the earthquake in Haiti. For me (at least), it feels like we move from one problem to the next. We've moved on from Katrina, but the citizens of New Orleans have not. Katrina has continued to walk the streets of New Orleans long after the media abandoned them. Their homes are still nothing more then slabs of concrete that were once the foundations. They are still living with friends or homeless. They want to rebuild their lives, but like Matt and I were so many years ago, they lack the means to even help themselves.
But tonight, as they celebrate something as seemingly meaningless as a football win, they are full of pride and hope. Watching the Saints struggle for years upon years before accomplishing their goal of winning the Superbowl reminds the people of New Orleans that patience, hard work and determination can overcome.

From One E-Whore To Another

2010-02-05T00:17:00.000-05:00

Do you all remember that e-whore thing? (how could you forget?) It seems like forever ago I promised to make an award to commemorate it. I bet that by now you are thinking that this award must be the coolest award ever to have taken this long to make. It is. It does cartwheels and dishes.

Actually it's been made for awhile now but I haven't given it out because I've been really busy. I mean just today I cooked a turkey for the first time ever, made an offer on a house and I dusted a ceiling fan. Wow, my day sounded way more impressive then it was.

Since it's my award I decided I could give it out to anyone I want or as many people as I chose. So I'm handing out three Cheers Mates today.

The first is going to Christy at fudge ripple for her entry No If Ands Or Butts...

Here is how you e-whore using your butt and a celebrity:

Well, the challenge was basically, I go head to head (or in this case butt to butt) in a game of quarters with her. What did you say? Butt quarters. Here's the deal. You take a quarter, place it in your derriere (with your pants on) and let hilarity ensue. The object is to get the quarter into a shot glass. You can go direct or try the bounce-in technique. The biggest part of the challenge is the approach. You must walk up to the glass, with the quarter already in place...aim precisely and drop. It's a skill I am very proud of.
Needless to say...I made fast friends with those girls, and I am not sure I have ever laughed as much as I did that night.

Some people break bread, I break coin.

Next up: The Godfather over at One Dagger At A Time for his entry, Weekend...at Bernies? (he got naked to earn his award):

In his own words:

Sometime later I wake up in a little naked ball in the shower to my buddy laughing. All i could say was "Dude, wtf, i'm naked in the shower".

Finally, Julie over at Spot on Your Pants embraced her inner teen boy and gave us a little Toilet Humor:

Was there a monster, monster dump incident (you know, awkward enough for both employee and customer to chance running out ever again)?

Cheers Mates, You're all officially e-whores!! As we all know bloggy awards come with stipulations, so here are yours. You must copy and paste the award to your blog along with an acceptance speech which includes the words boobs and/or penis. In the spirit of e-whoring you must link said acceptance speech to my blog. Finally you must print out a copy of the award for you mom to put on her fridge. Or you could just ignore the rules like I would.

P.S. Maria Von Trapp, I'm totally making you a button all your own. Should only take me three or four weeks. It's a complicated process that involves nagging Ryan to do it for me.

I'm Pretty Sure The Cat Is Dead

2010-02-04T00:55:00.003-05:00

When Matt and I were first married we lived in an apartment that didn't allow pets. Our landlord made an exception for us and let us get a turtle. I think we named him something dignified and regal, but then Ryan came over and said that the name was no good and the turtle must henceforth (yeah I'm sure he used that word) be known as Turtle (the turtle).

So began our first venture as parents. Turtle the turtle lived a very fulfilling life. We signed him up for a tumbling class, piano lessons and he even joined the track team. He was very busy, except, of course, for when he wasn't. Which was always.

He didn't seem to enjoy physical activity. He sat perfectly still in his tank ALL THE TIME. So no one can fault us when he died and we didn't notice. I have no idea how long he was dead before we realized. How long does it take a dead turtle to become covered in a nasty film from the water? It took us that long.

His funeral was nothing short of poetry. Matt walked out into the woods where I couldn't see and gently set him into a grave that we had marked with a granite stone that said, "Here lies Turtle the turtle. He lived a short yet porpoiseful life." Or Matt just chucked the poor thing as far as he could once he far enough into the woods that I couldn't see. Either way it was beautiful.

I shared this story with you for a few reasons. The first is to anger all the animal lovers that read my blog (We didn't actually kill the poor thing. It died of natural causes. I think. Probably. We might have killed it, but totally by accident.)

The last reason is so that when you watch the video of Ryan, Mallory and Matt playing Rock Band you don't think that someone is torturing my cat off camera (that's just Matt singing) and call the ASPCA on us. My cat is fine as evidenced in this photo that I took while typing this post.

No, he's not dead. He's just old and likes to nap all day.

On second thought maybe I should double-check.

Yep. Still breathing.

There's Nothing Wrong With Using Double Proctection, Darth Vader

2010-02-03T00:51:00.002-05:00

I was lazy today. Even lazier then usual. The main drawback here is that I have nothing to talk about. Jessica suggested I do a wordless (or less wordy) post. I'm not good at that but if you were hoping to swing by today and see a picture, here you go.

If you think that two helmets are excessive then you missed the post about how toys get treated over here. *Kareem you will be missed*

As a side note: this picture is filed in my computer under weird stuff. For real.

Today while I was -- I don't know what I was doing, washing dishes maybe... Yeah, let's go with that because it makes me sound better then if I were, say, wiping boogers on my kids.

So today while I was washing dishes, my phone rang. I see a name I don't know on the caller ID and roll my eyes and answer it even though I'm sure it's a wrong number. We get a lot of bill collectors that call for the Stacy's. I don't know who they are, and I really wish they would stop giving my number out to their bill collectors. Although in all fairness it's kind of genius to give a fake number to people who want money from you. I'm sure those bill collectors will never find you, Cheryl and Thomas Stacy.

Anyway the conversation went something like this

Me: Hello

Her: Hello, Bethany? This is Tracy. My mom is Lisa.

Me: (Still completely unsure who I'm talking to.) Oh hey.

Tracy: I need to do some field hours for school and I wondered how old Mallory is or what grade level she is.

Me: Um, she's 5, but she's working at a first grade level.

We discussed grade levels for a few minutes and then she went on to explain that she has to work with a child in the field of literacy and could she work with Mallory? At some point she actually says, "I know Mallory loves to see us." I agree, and she's coming over on Monday to work with Mallory. I'm not sure what they are going to do; Mallory is an excellent reader already.

Here's the thing: I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHO THIS GIRL OR HER MOTHER ARE.

After we hung up I called my mom's house and spoke with both my parents and neither of them had any idea who Tracy was. I IMed Jessica, and still no one knows. I hope to God I recognize her when she knocks on my door on Monday. I really hope she's not an ax murderer. (Other forms of murderers are OK, but ax murderers I can't handle.)

I'm going to be so embarrassed if she reads this blog and shows up on Monday and mentions it.

An Ode To PMS

2010-02-02T00:50:00.001-05:00

Have you heard the rumor that when women hang out together their cycles sync up? I think this information first came to light when some scientist discovered an entire African village made up of only women. He pondered why and went to live among them to study them.Three weeks later in a fit of PMS the entire village of women turned on him and he was never heard from again. The only reason we have the information we do is because of the hieroglyphics that he drew with his blood as he was torn limb from limb. According to his hieroglyphics, all the men of the village had fallen at the hands of the village women. They apparently turned on their men folk in a fit of PMS and since they were all synced up they became a terrifying and unstoppable force.

Jessica and I "hang out" together a lot. We decided to channel our powers for good since, for most of the month, we really like our men folk. And here we give you:

An ode to PMS

Every breath I take
Makes me loathe myself
I wish I had chocolate cake
and a magic house-keeping elf

Some might judge the batter in my hair
I've licked the bottom of the bowl
I have my husband by the throat
Step back, my Fanta's not to share

Making me crazy is not PMS's goal
For it loves me all the more when I bloat
The cravings it gives me bring me joy
I long for chocolates and pork on a stick
Others hate PMS but I won't be so coy
It's what I've got and now we end this schtick

Addressing The Societal Issues That The Grammy's Raised

2010-02-01T00:43:00.000-05:00

Did you watch the Grammy's? I did. It was riveting. It left me pondering so many things. Things like why is Kanye never at awards ceremonies when he gets honored with an award but is at all of the ones that don't give him awards? Why do they keep cutting to Jay-Z sitting in his chair? Are we to believe that watching him breathe is more interesting then the over-the-top performance that Beyonce is putting on? Why is Jamie Foxx so well loved? Can't anyone else tell he's annoying and self-important?

But if you could put all of this aside (I know it's difficult but I believe you can) and examine with me the most important thing that the Grammy's have shed a light on? No, it isn't Haiti relief or even that Michael Jackson has achieved posthumous induction into the Icon Hall of Fame, also known as People Who Get Treated Like Gods. No, the issue that the Grammy's have shed a light on is the mistreatment of strippers.

Why is it that when millionaires take the stage in little more then ace bandages, dump water on themselves, roll in dirt and fall to their knees and bounce up and down to the beat of the music it's called performance art? When middle class people do these things, they are called exotic dancers, but when poor people do it, they are strippers? Why should they be looked down upon because they draw a smaller crowd or get their outfits from Fredrick's of Hollywood? I really think that someone should put an end to this discrimination. So I'm taking a page out of Michael Jackson's song book and starting with the man in the mirror. From here on out, I will be referring to strippers as "Economically Challenged Millionaires" and I hope you'll do the same. I refuse to live in a society that is so full of discrimination toward poor people that take off their clothes for entertainment. I hope you'll join me in this...fight? Together we can make a difference.

Six Degrees Of Nick Jonas

2010-01-29T00:40:00.000-05:00

Tonight, while driving in the car with Mallory, a song by Disney starlet Selena Gomez came on the radio. Even though I couldn't see Mallory since she was nestled safely in the backseat, her reaction to hearing a Disney song on the radio leads me to believe that she might have peed herself and she hasn't done that in years.

I realize that not all of you have kids or are familiar with the Disney family of Starlets. I imagine that for some of you the last time you watched the Disney Channel, Haley Mills was swapping places with herself in an attempt to reconcile her parents. Or maybe Alanis Morrissette was getting slimed on "You Can't Do That On Television" (Yes, I realize that this show is from Nickelodeon but I wanted to use a picture of people getting green slime dumped on them.)

But boys and girls, the times they have changed. The new class of Disney stars are mature, classy and demure. Case in point, Miley Cyrus aka Hannah Montana (perhaps you've seen some of that merchandise around.)

She's really such a pretty girl. She kind of makes me think of those little girls they dress up for pageants. Speaking of which, have you guys seen that Pageant Moms show? They give those little girls fake teeth and spray tans and then they limit them to only one can of aqua net per 5 year old. How is a little girl supposed to get her hair to stay put with only one can? Clearly Miley is using at least three cans in this picture.

O.K. so back when we were kids, we had no idea the backstage drama that went on. It was only years later that we learned the Brittany and Justin were more then just fellow Mousekateers. Alanis and Dave Coulier? Who knew? (Who wanted to?) Current day Disney starlets let it all hang out. For example, the lovely Miss Cyrus has been linked to the sweet and diabetes stricken, Nick Jonas.

Don't let that sweet face fool you. He's a mastermind with the ladies. The guitar should have tipped you off. Musicians can't be trusted. Lock up your daughters and warn your friends, this boy has had more girlfriends then those MBP boys. Besides Miley, Nick has also been linked to the aforementioned Disney Starlet, Selena Gomez.

Yes, she is named for the up and coming singer, Selena, that was stabbed to death by the president of her fan club. I can't think of a better namesake for a child that you plan to put on T.V.

Now in case that wasn't juicy enough for you, it would seem that our girl Selena has also been linked to Taylor Lautner...

...and he was linked to Taylor Swift. Admit it, this is better than Rock of Love.

Now just in case you thought that I only notice this kind of information and that kids probably don't, they notice. Sadly, I think that Mallory could have filled you in on all of this too, but I type faster and shockingly enough, spell better, so I did it.

So I've filled you all in on the love lives of the under eighteen crowd so that I could blog about what Mallory told me to tell you.

Now back to the car ride, the Selena song, the not-so-wet pants. As soon as Mallory heard the song she started talking. And talking. And talking.

Mallory: Mom, where does Selena live?

Me: California, I think.

Mallory: Is that far?

Me: Yes, farther than Georgia even. (We also measure time in television shows.)

Mallory: (sounding pretty worried now) How am I going to meet her and be her friend? Will she be dead before I am grown?

Me: Um, I don't know if you'll ever meet her and she's pretty young, Mallory. I'm pretty sure she'll still be around when you are grown.

Mallory: You know what you could write in your blooooog?

(Yes, I'm taking tips from a five year old.)

Me: (eager for a fresh idea as my life is so boring that I've taken to writing about the Disney dating pool.) What's that?

Mallory: You could tell everyone that I looooove Selena Gomez.

As tempted as I was to simply type: "Mallory loooooves Selena Gomez" and hit post I felt that you deserved to be ~~subjected~~ gifted with further explanation and also that picture of Miley doing her best Gene Simmons impression.

Maybe I should have stuck with the one liner.

Like My First Day Of Kindergarten

2010-01-28T01:28:00.000-05:00

I had my appointment at the new gym tonight. I anticipated (because it is my custom) that I would freak out and become increasingly more unbearable to be around as the time for my appointment drew near. I also figured that my freak out would hit fever pitch when I got dressed to go to the gym. I have no idea what happened but as out of character as it is for me, I made it through the whole day completely relaxed. Even when I couldn't find my sports bra, I failed to regress into a three year old that's been denied a lollipop. I just threw on an old bra that I didn't mind sweating in, prayed we didn't do any jumping jacks and headed out into the unknown.

I mentioned before that the new gym is bigger than a Super Wal-Mart. It's like a sweat warehouse. Now at the old gym, if I had gone to workout at 6pm it would have been me and like maybe 4 men. I would keep to the cardio and let the men grunt their way around the weight section. Not Globo-gym. I drove around and around and around trying to find a parking spot and then walked in with like six other people.

The first thing I did when I arrived at the gym was try to find the girls locker room. I had drank a whole bottle of water on my way to the gym and had to pee. Bad. I felt really good about how finding the locker room went since I managed to not wander into the men's locker room.

In my group for the training session were myself, two forty-something women and a man that showed up really late. Like barely made the class, late. My forty-something companions in the night's impending torture discovered that they had gone to high school together. Then there was this awkward part where one of them tried to remind the other who she was and she never did remember. After what felt like forever waiting, the instructor showed up. I had anticipated someone that was either Jillian mean or just didn't care, but he was kind of cool. Not like the Fonz cool, but you know, cool. I liked him until he took us straight to the ellipticals. After two minutes of "go as fast as you can" he had us hop off and walked us straight away to the treadmills. By this point one of my forty-somethings was ready to ditch the class for a tanning bed and I'm pretty sure the dude had begun to silently weep. But we never got on the treadmills. We didn't do any weights. We just talked. Then the trainer handed out ice cream and we all got new puppies.

As fun as new puppies are, the other girls and I decided that we had come to the gym to workout and workout we would. We all headed to the 30 minute training room and bumbled our way through. Honestly I was the only one of the group that had been inside of a gym in the last decade, so when I say bumbled I mean it. We did have a great time though and we made plans to meet up back in the 30 minute room on Friday.

I think I might have made like real life friends or something. I haven't had to make eye contact with a friend in so long that I wasn't sure I'd remember how, but I think I did it right. Maybe I should practice in the mirror.

Shaken, Not Stirred

2010-01-27T08:01:00.000-05:00

In keeping with the randomness you are accustomed to getting when you come here, I'm going to change gears. I'm not going to do it slowly either. I'm going to shake this blog and then pour it into the glass and then and only then will you know what you're getting.

And now an excerpt from what can only be described as a great literary work.

Splash! Splash! Splash! The waves of the lake went splash. The men in the boat were working to reach land. The boat was rocking. Water was spilling in. Splash! Were the men going to die?

You might be wondering where I found this gem. Was it Dickens? Perhaps Clive Cussler? No, this excerpt is from Mallory's reading book. Imagine my delight when we sat down to read the other day and this was the opening paragraph that they had chosen for my five year old's reader.

OK, fine, you found me out, I have Mallory reading The Perfect Storm. The kid has to learn that thems the breaks. We all die. Some of us do it at sea. Suck it up, kid. It's not like your four anymore.

In addition to introducing my children to literature whose focal point is painful drowning at the hand of a terrifying storm and how that leaves families without fathers, I've begun to teach them about fine art. Today we did a Georgia O'Keefe style painting. We are so refined.

You know, when I was a kid we whittled soap and called it art. Those soap shavings burned the nose something fierce. But we didn't have no fancy painting lessons. (That's a lie. We did. I may have mentioned before that I cried during them.)

While I'm coming clean, I have to admit that I didn't actually teach my 3 and 5 year olds about Georgia O'Keefe as much as follow Pink and Green Mama's tutorial on how to create this painting.

Are you impressed that my kids could do such an amazing job with this art project?

Don't be. This one is the one I did to show them how to make theirs.

I did not cry.

This one is Mallory's. She's highly competitive and even though she did a great job, she was disappointed because she felt mine was prettier. Dude, I'm 24 years older then you. Mine should be better. (Yes, I did just call my daughter dude. What's it to you?)

Finally, here is Anthony's painting. Not bad for three. You can almost tell it's a flower if you tilt your head...

a little more...

maybe try tilting your head the other way.

Matt didn't have a painting. We haven't let Matt play with the paints since the time I caught him painting the cat with watercolors.

Mom, I'm Sorry. On Second Thought, Mom, Just Skip This Post Completely.

2010-01-26T00:12:00.001-05:00

So the "Cheers Mate" award is in the works. I'm not playing around. Leave a comment. Link to your most irreverent post. You could win a graphically altered photo that's been shrunk down to button size. I know. You're excited. It's completely understandable.

It occurs to me that my mom stops by this blog every morning to see how I'm doing and get a giggle, but today I have taken that from her. So mom (and everyone else that doesn't like to read my overshares), click the word Pooba to read Pooba's Guide To Surviving Your Colonoscopy. It'll give you the comic relief your life so deserves.

For the rest of you, let's talk statistics. I bet that's not where you thought I was going with this post. I wanted to share two statistics with you. I'm not really sure that first is a statistic. (I barely passed Statistics.) When I was like 17ish I heard that boys think about sex once every three seconds and girls think about it once every ten seconds. I was completely caught off guard by this. I hardly ever thought about sex. I definitely didn't think about it every ten seconds and every three seconds...is that even possible? They weren't kidding when they said it was all boys thought about.

The second little bit of information is a more commonly passed around tidbit, which is that women hit their sexual prime in their thirties. I am now 29 years and 8 months old and if this past week is any indication of what my thirties hold, so help me God. I'm starting to believe that thinking about sex once every three seconds isn't that often and only once every ten seconds sounds like, well, never.

I require no outside stimulation either. I could be standing in line at the Wal-Mart and the woman in front of me could be an obese woman with unkempt hair and dirty sweatpants with a Cheeto stuck to her butt and her husband could give off a smell that resembled a mix of B.O., battery fluid and dead opossum and I'd be all, "You know what I could go for?" (I'll give you a hint, it's not Cheetos) And just like that it comes on, like a horny hot flash. The lights become blinding, the sounds around me dull and my brain starts to scream at me. "WHERE IS YOUR HUSBAND AND WHY ARE HIS PANTS STILL ON?" Then I start to think about how Matt will be home at 4:00 and wonder if 4:30 is an acceptable bedtime for my kids.

I can understand how from the outside looking in this kind of thing might sound awesome. It's not. I honestly feel like I could go crazy from this. STRAIGHT CRAZY. The idea of spending an entire decade in this sex hyperdrive makes me feel like weeping. Seriously. Like outright weeping and possible gnashing of teeth and tearing of clothes. Shoot. That was supposed to be a Bible reference. Ugh.

In preparation of the ten year battle I'll apparently be having with my sex drive I've begun to compile a list of ways to kill the mood.

1) Keep a picture of Mickey Rourke within arm's length at all times.

Did you just throw up in your mouth a little too?

2) Play video games. There's a reason that the boys in high school/college that played massive amounts of video games didn't have girlfriends. They were focused on achieving a goal of higher importance, such as saving Princess Peach, than acquiring a lady friend.

3) Avoid Wal-Mart, dirty people, fat people, smelly people and above all else, Cheetos.

4) Think about cat vomit. This tactic might only throw me off the scent for a minute or two but I'll take what I can get.

5) Lobotomy

I'm not sure this list will get me through the decade so I'm open to suggestions.

It's Just Like Getting A Razzie

2010-01-25T00:36:00.001-05:00

Oh my goodness, ya'll, (have you see that commercial with the talking pothole?), I won two more bloggie awards. I'm totally going to need a trophy case if things keep going like this. I wonder where these awards originate? I should create an award. The Trent Edwards award. You don't necessarily have to have a good blog you just have to have a great profile picture. Of course, to do that I'd have to know how to create a button with a hot picture of TE on it. I'm sure one of you is dying to do that for me. No? O.K.

All right so the first award was given to me a few weeks ago by Sandy over at Moments of Mommyhood. She's so sweet and has awesome and creative. She does awesome crafts with her kids. She's way more creative then I am, and I'm pretty sure she's a better mom then me. Mallory has a crafting gift she got for Christmas last year (that's Christmas '08) that I never did with her. Yeah, I suck. (This isn't a very good acceptance speech.)

So the rules of this award ( I know, right, bloggie awards come with rules. Whatever happened to swag bags?) are that I have to list 10 things that make me happy and then pass this award onto ten more bloggers. I'm going to change the rules to suit my ~~laziness~~ needs if you don't mind. Some might consider this breaking the rules but I prefer to think of it as "thinking outside the box."

I will, however, tell you one thing that makes me happy. Make-up. I love it. I wear too much. Some might think I look like I belong in KISS, but I'm not ashamed. Bring on the eyeliner. I'm passing this award on to Bibi over at From Misery To Happiness In 365 Days. Bibi, feel free to follow the actual rules of this award. Don't be like me. I'm headed down a dark path.

Let's take a peek at that second award, shall we?

Oh, it's shiney and has a hammer on it...I think. This honesty award comes courtesy of Foxy over at The Fox Den. She's currently dating George Clooney. Her blog sparkles, and she totally cracks me up. Before I jump into the rules of accepting this award and passing it on, I would like to thank my mother for all the spankings she bestowed on me whenever I even thought about lying. It was her dedication to corporal punishment that has really won this award. I couldn't have done it without you, Mom. I share this award with you.

This Honesty award requires that I pass it on so I am. So raise your hammer's, here's to Jeanette (life's always funniest when you are honest) and London (secretly honest. You have to love that).

Now for the honesty bit and also my very own Razzy (that's what I'm calling it.) I got my first ever comment by someone who truly disliked me. My husband and Jessica both feel that this is a good sign of some kind. I personally feel like it was sign that it was time for me to sign up over at Dooce Community. (That girl gets a lot of hate mail and now I feel a kinship to her. Not that mine is actual hate but I'm allowed to be a bit dramatic if I want to. It's my blog.) The award doesn't have a flashy button but I'm calling it the "Cheers Mate!"

...I can't help but still call you out on e-whoring. Not that all the guys aren't more interested in reading your blogs if you make it doubly apparent you're female (Make sure you mention 'boobs' at least twice in every article if you want to maximize your traffic), but we're more likely to recommend your blog to our friends and read it religiously if you continuously make reference to the fact that you lack a penis.

As long as you don't mind the fact that you're devaluing your opinion in trade for more readers, then there's nothing wrong here.

In your defense, though, don't worry. It doesn't matter if you devalue your opinion to be honest. With your approach to writing, people aren't reading for it anyway. They're reading due to your boobs, not intellect.
Cheers mate.

Oh yeah, he totally signed it Cheers Mate. And I got called an e-whore. What is that even? So here's the honesty:

I giggled when I read this.

The rules of receiving a Cheers Mate is that you all must comment on this post and I'll chose one commenter's blog to go over to and leave a harsh (anon) comment about you and your blog and I might even call you an e-whore. I've got my fingers crossed for each of you. Good luck.

I've Already Started Writing My Acceptance Speech

2010-01-21T00:26:00.001-05:00

Last February, a whole month after I started blogging and well before anyone other then myself had laid eyes on this blog, I went on record as saying that Matt and I spent most of February watching Academy Award nominated movies. It's a fun thing that we do together to cope with the lack of football. It also makes February fly by and I'm all about speeding these cold boring months by.

The nominations aren't yet out. According to the ever reliable Google search, they should be released on February 2nd. Since that doesn't leave much time before the actual awards are handed out to catch all the films, we try to start early with a few movies that seem like shoo-ins for Academy Award nods. So far we've seen:
Inglorious B: a fun film about the Nazi invasion of Europe. Really it's like a caricature of different cultures. Everyone is mocked. No one is spared. I might get chewed out for liking a comedy about the largest genocide in history but it's no big deal, I've been chewed out before.
Up: I watched this with the kids while Matt fell asleep on the couch. I am in love with this flick. Much like a MTV's Teen Mom, everyone should watch this. There are lessons and wisdom in both programs, but if you only have time for one I would chose Up.
Matt saw Avatar while I was in Georgia, which means I'll be going to the movies by myself to see it. I'll let you know what I think. I'm sure you are waiting on pins and needles for me to tell you how you should feel about Avatar. I won't let you down.

Tonight we watched Julie and Julia. For those of you that aren't familiar, the movie is based on a book by the title character Julie about her year of cooking through Julia Child's cookbook and then blogging about it. It's a fun flick. I would definitely recommend it. I particularly enjoyed the observations about blogging. They touch on how she becomes self-involved from writing about herself all the time (I'm sure none of us have any experience with that) and how she pines for comments and readers. I can't relate to this at all. I never give any thought to how many readers/comments I get. I don't pine for your love and approval. (Lies. All lies. I need you.)

In the end, Julie makes it big. Gets a book deal and eventually a movie is made out of said book. Don't be mad at me for giving away the ending. It's not my fault if you couldn't figure out the ending based on the premise of the movie.

Every time Matt gets wind of a blogger making it big off of their blog, he gets all starry eyed and asks me when I'm going to strike it rich so he can retire. I roll my eyes at him and point out that I don't run a very professional show over here. I'm pretty sure that most would consider it poor business practice to ~~steal~~ borrow pictures of ~~Trent Edwards~~ celebrities from random places around the Internet and then charge money for it. Sorry Matt, it doesn't look like early retirement is in the cards for you, unless, of course, you know where I can find said pictures without infringing on anyone's rights.

Thanks in advance to the Edwards family for generously donating their family picture album for my profit. I promise I write you into my memoirs which will naturally be made into a film, in which I will be played by Megan Fox (based solely on our striking resemblance) and will win an Academy Award for Screenplay, of course.

(Home)School Of Rock(Band)

2010-01-19T23:30:00.003-05:00

I feel blah. I don't know what it is. I'm blaming the time of year. Even though it's not too cold here, it's rainy and overcast, and I find myself trying to convince myself that a tanning bed isn't that bad for me. I really just need some kind of sun, even if it's artificial. I guess gray overcast skies and cold weather is just the way it is for most of us this time of year. Unless, of course, you are in sunny California, then I hate you. No I don't. I'm sure you are very nice. I'm just jealous.

Anyway, I thought I'd subject you to one more post about my trip to Georgia. There were eleven of us there, and it was cold, like New York cold, while we were there so we found ways to entertain ourselves inside. What better way to entertain ourselves than with RockBand. (Did you expect something else?)

Have you ever seen a more focused group of children? Seriously, you want to see a group of children sit still, give them a noisy toy. Both the drummer and the lead singer of this band are three. They are child prodigies. Gifted. And good looking.

Bryan ran this gig. He's the manager/lead drummer for the band. He let Mallory take a turn on guitar. She was focused. Determined. She's goal orientated. She really wants that high score at the end. When we play at home, she sings and generally scores 95% or higher. On guitar, 9%, which was good compared to her brother who scored an impressive 1%.

There are several things I want to point out here.

1) Thor's eyes are glowing red. I fixed the red eye in all his pictures except this one. I just thought that it was OK for a guitar player's eyes to glow.

2) My mother has managed to focus on reading her book even though there is a rock show going on right in front of her.

3) That Anthony (between Bryan and Thor) is the official RockBand "dancer." My sister, Diva, taught him that while they play RockBand at my parents house, it is his very important roll to dance. Dance hard, little boy, we'd hate your band to fail out because you didn't shake it.

4) One of these band members is not like the others.

There may or may not be a video posted somewhere on the Internet of me singing Living on a Prayer while Bryan plays the drums. You'll notice it's not here. That's because the need for that gym membership I procured yesterday has never been more evident then in that video. If you are curious how that video turned out, go to YouTube and find Bon Jovi and watch. I was better.

I find it's best to take photographs while facing a large window with the sun streaming in. I posted this because I thought you might be interested in seeing what homeschooling looked like. In order for your children to properly learn you must first stack pillows around the room. Then set two three year olds loose and place a puppy in the middle of the circle. The puppy is essential. Without her no one will retain anything you've taught them. These are just a few tips in case you are new to homeschooling.

When I left Jessica's, she told me she had slipped a little something into my things and that I'd find it when I got home. After I unpacked and had found nothing from her I became concerned that I had thrown what she gave me into the laundry or something. She assured me I'd find it when I was meant to. Of course once she put it like that I knew that finding this thing would come at the very moment that God, Himself, had ordained. The moment I stumbled upon it would change my life forever.

And ever.

I found it.

I am forever changed. I'm not sure if this is good.