My Favorite Things (Sarcasm Implied)

1. The stairway between the 10th and 11th floor that we are only supposed to use in emergencies. (I'm not sure why all the stairways have that signage, because nobody pays attention to it.)

This particular stairway is my direct route to the cafeteria, which you would probably figure out when you saw the meatball that has been rotting there for the last two months.

Dear Meatball Dropper...Seriously? Pick that shit up.

Dear Facilities Managment...Seriously? In two months you haven't once cleaned the stairwell? What if there was an ACTUAL emergency and people ended up tripping over the hundreds of meatballs that people had dropped and not picked up?

2. The new partner on our year-end audit, that came up with new and interesting ways to torture me, while already going through the living hell known as enterprise risk management. This would be the single reason that I haven't blogged in over two weeks. Guess what you missed? You can blame him.

• The concussion I gave myself while attempting to lift my 140 pound dog's ass off the kitchen floor and subsequently slamming my head into the counter.
• Zoe waking me up at 3:30 in the morning to let me know there was "something in her bed" and that something was puke. Which was now on my hands.
• A beer tasting in downtown Cleveland from 2pm - 6pm. Quote upon entering: We should have bought an extra pass so we could have split another 25 tickets. Quote upon leaving: I have eight tickets left, how many do you have? (Or something like that, it was hard to tell with all the slurring and the need to concentrate on walking without falling over.)

Sidebar: Early Saturday morning, I ran into said partner in our local bakery. For once, I wasn't wearing pajamas. Although I did have my hair braided in pig tails, so I probably looked like a 12-year-old (or maybe a 38-year-old with pig tails). He looked MUCH worse.

3. My own insanity which led me to completely overhaul the upstairs playroom exactly one hour AFTER our PTA's spring resale. In my defense, Zoe asked me to find Bitty Baby's missing shoes, so I was actually attempting to be a good mom for a change.

I found one shoe about 15 minutes into demolition. Seven hours later, my final task was to dump out the bins of stuffed animals to find loot that made its way to the bottom. Low and behold a pink shoe. Guess what? Same goddamn shoe I found seven hours earlier. She WILL be the death of me.

(On a side note, the train table / Fisher Price Little People village has been turned into a craft table, so anyone interested in FP LP sets should contact me immediately! Barn, Castle, House, School and all the accouterments. These prices won't last forever! Everything must go!)

4. Zombie shows. For real. Who knew?

Morgan's Thought On...

...Planned Parenthood

Me: Uncle John had some big news today. Zoe, do you want to tell Morgan?

Morgan: DID BUTTERSCOTCH HAVE BABIES??? (Capital letters is the only way I can convey the amount of excitement that was exhibited for potential Welsh Giant Rabbit babies, which would probably cause Papa SidLeo to have kittens of his own considering said rabbit is located on his property.)

Me: Noooo.

Zoe: Uncle John is going to marry Barbi.

Morgan: Oh. That’s nice. (Not quite so exciting though…notice the lack of capital letters. ) So she’ll be Whitney’s mom and Aunt Jeanna will be her step-mom.

Me: Umm, no. Aunt Jeanna stays Whitney’s mom. Barbi will be her step mom.

Morgan: Well that’s good for Whitney, because she is a nice and pretty step mom.

So there you go.

...The Buddy System

Me: Remember to never leave your group today while you are on your field trip.

Morgan: We will probably get a buddy.

Me: Yes, you probably will, but that means you AND your buddy should not leave your group.

Morgan: Then I better find a buddy that’s trustable.

I will pause for Will-Ferrell-as-George-Bush laughter.

...More Puppy Love

(After Morgan tells me she can’t sit with her one friend at lunch, because she has to sit with her class)

Me: So who do you usually sit with then?

Morgan: Adam

This…from the “shy” girl. In my day, I just tossed the chocolate milk that my mother gave me a quarter to buy on Aaron Mahilo’s lunch table and hoped that he grabbed it before any of his friends did. It was all very nonchalant. But I was in fifth grade then, much more mature.

Dirty Cups, Volume 429

Background:

Scott has been taking a class at his bike shop that begins with spinning and ends with yoga. The first time he has ever done this.

On Sunday, I left the kids with my parents in the morning, because we had a barbaric corpse viewing later that afternoon (the opinions expressed in this blog belong to the author alone and do not reflect the opinions of other perfectly sane people.) Scott had gone into the office, so he sent me a text asking if I wanted to do some yoga before that.

Observations:

I may not have completely mastered the breathing technique, but Potter totally makes up for it. His Darth Vader impression is spot on.

Scott is more flexible than you would imagine.

It is really weird to do yoga in your house with one other person when that person isn’t a little kid that doesn’t know if you are doing something incorrectly.

Scott and I both have trouble knowing our left from right.

It may be a prerequisite for yoga instructors not to have any boobs.

When I fell down my steps last October, I really screwed up my ankle. How is one supposed to meditate if they can’t comfortably cross their legs?

Background:

There is a whole lot of opinion out there on how to raise confident girls that aren’t obsessed with body image. (Basically, don’t let them watch television or read magazines. Ever.) I don’t try to over analyze it too much, but the other day I read a blog that got me thinking about certain things that I say to Morgan and Zoe.

So now, when they model their outfits for me or show off the lipstick they smeared all over their face when I wasn’t looking, I have a pretty standard response. “You look very pretty. But what’s more important than being pretty?” I’m looking for something along the lines of “being a nice person.” Below are some select responses from Zoe in no particular order. Exclamation is hers.

Babies. (naturally)

SWIMMING!

Brushing your teeth. (shout out to Papa Turtle, DDS)

Rugs (wtf?)

Background:

We were thankful recipients of children’s theater tickets, due to poor little Ian being too sick to go. There were three short performances based on the books of Eric Carle (The Very Hungry Catepillar; Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See; and Papa, Can You Get Me the Moon – or something like that…I had never heard of it.)

I got halfway out the driveway and realized I had left the tickets on the dining room table. Upon finally finding a parking spot and walking halfway to the theater I realized I left the tickets sitting on the front seat of my car. Moral of this story: I am an idiot.

The announcements prior to the play noted that this was a “No Shhhh Production” and that the children were welcome to clap and laugh and shout out what was coming next.

Basically, most of the children immediately erupted in laughter just at the mere sight of the caterpillar. In several instances I felt this laughter might have been a little forced. Just laughing because they were told they could. Which I suppose is better than laughing just because they were told not to.

“I’m just trying to make a point, Frank. You don’t have to celebrate it.” – Beanie (Old School)

Zoe was not so easily led astray. She calmly sat through each story, sometimes leaning forward, sometimes resting her head on her hand in a pondering manner. She looked neither excited nor bored.

The eight-year-old kid behind me kept kicking my seat and making completely irrelevant comments. Most of you may think, “Surely, as a mom, you can understand that.”

But this is where I admit I rarely feel like putting up with my own kids annoying habits. Why the hell would I want to put up with yours?

Curtsy While You're Thinking. It Saves Time.

SIDEBAR

The best part of waking up at three in the morning because your little one needs a drink is realizing that you still have three more hours to sleep. The worst part? WAKING UP AT THREE IN THE MORNING!

REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING

I feel like the month of November should be relaxing. I will be taking down the Halloween decorations today. I’m not in charge of anything pertaining to Thanksgiving other than showing up. I only have the following obligations:

Taking the girls to see The Wizard of Oz play.

2 ECPTA field trips with Zoe (including a tour of Heinen’s – so she can show everyone where the bathroom is – and a tour of Chick Fil A – her FAVORITE place to eat! Holla!)

ECPTA General Meeting, ECPTA Board Meeting, ECPTA State of the Homes Tour Meeting, ECPTA Girls Night, PTA Scholarship Auction, ECPTA Adult Outing Beer Tasting.

Oh and I also have to volunteer for the no-fun PTA (elementary school) at the Book Fair.

And then there is a Relay for Life Captains/Committee meeting. Which I’m only attending because I’m the co-captain of the ECPTA’s team.

Yeah…written out like that, my life is very sad.

Also, I must take the girls to see The Muppet Movie. I totally screwed Morgan over on A Dolphin Tale, because we knew Zoe couldn’t sit through it.

SEEN AND HEARD

In the car

Zoe: Do we have robots in our tummies for when our brains don’t work?

Mommy: I wish.

On my facebook wall

Michelle: I totally just headbutted you but...Tim [our cab driver] is wearing stretch pants!!!!

(I promise, we were drunk, but that might be my favorite quote ever!)

Zoe had a bad cold and wasn’t quite up to trick-or-treating

Morgan: I promise you can have some of my candy, Zoe.

(Not sure I will ever hear something like that again, so it needs to be recorded for posterity.)

The Greatest Show On Earth

Author’s Note: I started this yesterday…then I did the thing I never do. I watched news. Ugh. I tell you what. If I just watched the news I would have something to blog about every day.

I missed the elephants AGAIN. Every October, I tell myself I am going to get downtown in time to watch them walk from the train station to the arena. And every year, I forget.

As I got back to the parking garage, there stood the big Ringling Brothers trucks. There was even a whiff of elephant in the air. But nope, while the pachyderms were marching, I was interviewing smarty-pants accounting majors for internship positions.

I mean…who needs to finish a double major in Accounting and Economics in three years while on an athletic scholarship for Division 1 football? That’s just plain showing off and I won’t stand for it!

Plus, get your butt over to a Big Four and rake in the big bucks! At least until you want to jump out a 20^th story window. You could be auditing the circus. I mean someone has to count the inventory, right? Although, is an elephant considered a fixed asset?

Please hold while I determine if Ringling Brothers is a publicly traded company…nope. Okay, so that idea won’t work.

Political Apathy

I have been apathetic ever since I graduated with a Political Science degree. Why? Mainly because I came to the realization that a two-party system can’t get anything done that will actually benefit real people like me.

So what possessed me to watch the Republican debate last night? It could be the love-hate relationship that Scott and I have with Anderson Cooper. I love him, he hates him. I don’t know. But I got sucked in by the Sarah Palin look-a-like and the bickering and Cain’s ability to let the 9-9-9 plan attacks roll right off him.

Hey…this might be why I became a Political Science major in the first place.

They are all idiots in varying degrees, of course. Who else would subject themselves to that kind of public stoning? Might be my new obsession, but I promise not to blog about it.

Mom Salary

Apparently there is a mom that is trying to get something in the works that makes husbands give 10% of their salary to their SAHM wives as payment for their services.

Huh? I’m not saying that being a mom isn’t work. But don’t you already share ALL of your husband’s salary? How else would you have food, clothing and shelter? So is the 10% for discretionary spending on yourself? If so, does he get 10% discretionary spending on himself? I just don’t get it.

Scott and I both work outside the home, but I don’t keep my salary separate from his. It all goes in one place. How is being a stay at home mom different? Feel free to comment, ladies. I know you are reading this.

Exotic Pets

Don’t do it! That’s all I have to say about that.

The Moss Man

Oh, local news. The Moss Man was multi-tasking this morning - preparing some stir-fry while giving his movie review. This morning was a review of The Three Musketeers based on the book by Alexander Dumas.

Dumas. It’s French by the way. And therefore not pronounced Doom-ahz. The “s” is silent, Dumb Ass.

Also, he made sure to note that it is actually about four musketeers. Um…no, David. D’Artagnan WANTS to be a musketeer. He is not. So it really is about THREE musketeers. I promise. They aren’t doing fuzzy math.

I want to note that I have never read The Three Musketeers. But I am literate enough to understand the story, and even if I wasn’t, it just proves he didn’t actually watch the movie.

Nonsense, Volume 564

Sidebar: The midges are officially gone. Walking path play list: Where the Wild Things Are soundtrack by Karen O. Great music, but too many slow parts for exercising to it. However...add "Rumpus" to your mix. I challenge you to remain still while you listen to it.

Nonsense #1

I may or may not have mentioned all the hullabaloo about the new garbage cans.

Our town was prepped for approximately 6 months around this drastic change to all things refuse, with the move towards automation. Everyone was to receive one garbage and one recycle container. Restrictions may apply. Read fine print for details. Etc.

We received no less than 7 written communications on the subject, because everyone knows that people have to be told 7 times before they remember. There were town meetings. Plural.

Quite a stir, as you can imagine. You can't?

Long story short...the change was made. About a month ago. So of course our "fence" neighbor asked Scott this weekend if he knew why the garbage people weren't taking all their trash off the curb...

But that is not what this post is about.

This post is about the signs coming into town to remind us that our Trash Pick Up is Now on "Friday". (Yes, they changed the day on us, too. I'm telling you...hullabaloo!)

Do not get me wrong. I'm not opposed to the signs. Lord knows, this is something I need help remembering with my mom-nesia.

What I don't get is why Friday is in quotation marks.

Is "Friday" a code word? Wink, wink.

Because when I put quotation marks around something it either means I'm being sarcastic (as in our "fence" neighbors) or something I don't believe. Kind of the same way I interchange air quotes and the word allegedly.

Example 1: Joe is allegedly sick.
Example 2: Joe is "sick".

Either of which implies that I don't believe Joe is sick. Or that sick really means hung over. Because lets face it, that is usually the case.

Nonsense #2

Walking downtown from Public Square to the Q almost every day, I have become deaf, dumb and blind to a lot of things.

Take for instance the resident crazy person at the corner bus stop by the Federal Reserve building.

Unlike some, he doesn't actually ask for anything other than attention. So either he is truly mentally unstable or he's just doing it for shits and giggles. Either way, I do not care so long as he does not invade my personal space.

Thus, I typically ignore him. Much like the high school couple making out on the picnic table at the walking path. Not my child - yet.

So today he is flailing his arms about, pacing the corner, and rambling incoherently as a police vehicle comes up to the light. At which point I distinctly hear "Uh oh, Copper" before more rambling begins.

However, said Copper turns the corner and gets out of his vehicle and "crazy" (allegedly) man goes silent and walks away.

Now, I ask you, would an actual lunatic have the needed faculties to understand the situation he is in and get out of Dodge? Or would he just keep rambling away as the "Copper" (sarcasm) tries to deal with him?

You decide.

Potty Training: Zoe Edition

But first, a random tangent:

I did go to the walking path at 9pm (Recommended Playlist: A Fine Frenzy - Bomb in a Birdcage). All was well for the first mile and a half. Then out of nowhere, it was like the midges hatched in mid-air. There were none, then there were zillions, floating in massive waves off the lake. It was biblical.

So, like any sane person, I head south.

I'm starting to cross Lake Road and I'm watching two older women heading my direction. At first I think one is holding a swaddled baby, but then I realize it is too round. As they get closer, I see it is a bundle of plant clippings, and the other woman has a similar sized bundle wrapped up in her shirt.

They are generally acting suspicious, so either they stole them from someone's yard or the community rose garden (although what they were holding couldn't have had thorns). Cannot decide if this is on par with stealing vegetables from the community garden on the other side of town, considering people pay money to plant their vegetables there.

And they say we live in a safe community...might as well be downtown Detroit.

Now back to the regularly scheduled post.

You know who pisses me off? People who get their kids potty trained by two and act like it’s no big deal. Okay, so really I’m just jealous…okay, but really it pisses me off.

I actually can’t remember when we got Morgan on the toilet band wagon. I remember “potty stickers”, and I remember it was relatively quick and thorough (not even a night-time accident), but probably closer to the three than two mark.

I was definitely pregnant with Zoe, because I remember the mantra, “Only one in diapers…only one in diapers!” But I was never really worried about it, or even caught up in how old she was at the time.

Maybe it was because our social circle was slightly behind us in child rearing. Maybe it was because Morgan never seemed to be manipulative about it, like going behind a chair to “fill her pants.” (My sister-in-law should be cringing right about now.) Maybe I just had a lot more f-ing patience.

What I remember clearly about Morgan would be the nights I would wake up at 1 a.m. to have her beady little eyes staring straight into my soul, waiting for me to take her to the bathroom. Nevermind the fact that she had to walk all the way around our king-sized bed, past her father, to get to me.

Nowadays Morgan has a bladder the size of an oil tanker. Sometimes she doesn’t even go right when she gets up in the morning. So at least I don’t have to worry about her being in the top bunk.

Then there’s Zoe.

It seemed to me that everyone was getting there faster. Now some of the concern I can blame on my own ridiculousness. For instance, Paige is almost six months older than her, but I always think of them as the same age.

But then we have Lydia at daycare that is six months younger than Zoe. When I mentioned I was going to try training Zoe over Christmas, her mother decided she would do it, too. Guess who took to it?

Since I take two weeks off of work around the holidays, I thought it would be a great time to go cold turkey. Zoe would be 2 ½. Not unreasonable, and yet all I got out of the deal was ten extra loads of laundry and a steam cleaner on standby next to the couch.

So we went the Pull-Up route. And the treat route. And the yelling route. Not my proudest moment, but when she looks right at you and is clearly crapping her pants and telling you not to look at her, you can see my frustration.

I had pretty much written her off, but then she started wanting to go to the bathroom when we were in public places. Particularly, the grocery store. Now, I’m sorry, but the local Heinen’s restroom is not the lap of luxury. Why anyone would prefer to use it over the comfort of their own home is beyond me. It’s one step up from a porta-pot.

But there we were – still keeping the Pull-Up producers in the black. Fast forward to this last Saturday while getting dressed in the morning. I noticed that we only had a few Pull-Ups left and I suddenly came up with an idea.

“If you can keep your underwear dry, we can pick out a new baby.”

Eyes light up. “I can do it, Mom.”

“Everyday.”

“Everyday, Mom.”

Yes, for the next five days I had to listen to “Can we go get my baby now?” But I also got to listen to the musical sound of pee tinkling into the toilet and melodious flush that followed it up.

$9 baby from Target…totally worth it. (Despite the fact that it looks like half the other babies currently calling the playroom their home and they are starting to refer to her as Angelina Jolie.)

So of course I spent half of our time at the pool yesterday taking her to the bathroom, because she “has to poop!” Which of course she doesn’t, it’s just gas…so moral of the story…everyone should just wear diapers.

Clean Cup, Move Down

I can taste the vegetables in V8's V-fusion Pomegranate Blueberry juice. Blechhh! Liars!

***

On-the-road punishment...does anyone make this work for their preschoolers? The other day, I had to run, on three separate occasions, to keep Zoe from running into three separate parking lots because she did not listen when I told her to "STOP!" Then I got to listen to her cry and whine that I forced her to hold my hand to the car.

Any punishment I dole out at this point has to wait until I'm home for enforcement (typically making her give me one of her babies or sit by herself on my bed without toys). But by the time we are home, she is being pleasant and legitimately angelic, so does she even realize what she's being punished for? I have a feeling I'm totally getting played here.

***

The DVD of Morgan's ballet recital is $FORTY-FIVE$DOLLARS$ plus $8 shipping. As I told the other moms, I could buy two Black Swan blu-rays for that amount. No way I'm paying $53 for 3 minutes of "Breezy Blossom" stage time. Everyone who isn't there will have to make do with the footage I shoot at dress rehearsal.

Thomas & Thomas is already making a butt load off of me, because I can't pass up a picture of the three blossoms all dressed up in blossomy sweetness together. And all I want is a 5x7! That's it.! I do not have the wall space for any more 8x10s, people!

***

We have a cat. I'm not sure how this happened. I blame it on Scott. Everyone already knows that I'm a sucker for lost pets. But he never even put up an inch of resistance. In fact, when he heard that the girls had named it, he offered to put a cat door in the shed and make it a bed in there. Huh?

So what's the name? It was a tough decision. It is not Mr. Fluffypants because it doesn't even look like Mr. Fluffypants, in case you were wondering (Phineas and Ferb are my heroes). Morgan gave us the unique options of Meow-Meow, Polkadots, or HoHo. Zoe and I unanimously voted for HoHo. There is no such thing as a sugar addiction, Melissa.

By an interesting turn of events, it is much easier to get Zoe dressed in the morning, because she is not allowed to go say "good morning" to HoHo until she has changed out of her pajamas. Winner: Mom.

Only downside - and it's actually funny to watch, but then I feel guilty - is that Potter cannot see her. So when she meows he runs toward the sound, only to bang into a chair or a car or a climbing rose arbor. I'm hoping at some point he is going to learn to just let it go. It's not worth the pain.

So if anybody out there reading this recently lost their cat...finders, keepers. (Just kidding...you know where I live.)

Author's Note: There is also a possiblity that it is the "fence" neighbor's cat and it just likes us better.

***

On the way to my parents, the late-afternoon of the Marathon. Out of nowhere.

Morgan: Mommy, I think I'm going to throw up!
Mommy: What?! (Scramble for the plastic bag that is lying on the floor of the Edge, which happens to be the kind of bag the grocery store puts frozen foods into before they put it in a regular bag. Now what is that doing here?)

While she did make it through the car ride there and back, she ended up puking later. Then, of course, came the loose bowel movements. And guess what the only children's Imodium flavor is? Mint. Morgan detests mint. I do not know why other than it is "too spicy".

I tried to help her get enough of a dose down, but I couldn't handle watching her gag. Brought back memories of the banana flavored medicine they prescribed to me as a kid when I had bronchitis. To this day, I hate bananas.

She stayed home from school on Monday and Tuesday. Was able to get through the AM on Wednesday, but it pooped her out (pun intended). Wasn't up for the ballet lesson, but by dinner time had perked back up and was back to normal. So we made it through and nobody else had gotten sick, so that was an added bonus.

....except Scott stayed home from work today because he was nauseous and had a fever...

The cycle continues.

The Month of Rain or What I've Been Doing for Two Weeks

Lisa: "I'm so sick of this rain. Remind me not to honeymoon at Niagara Falls?"
Mother: "So you'll go to Acapulco...it'll be nice." - Dirty Dancing

Sidebar: It is scary how many Dirty Dancing quotes I have in my brain. I practically gave Scott a monologue when we did the dance lesson with PTA.

* * *

Morgan: Mrs. Noble is my favorite teacher.
Mommy: Who is Mrs. Noble?
Morgan: She's the librarian.
Mommy: Why is she is your favorite?
Morgan: I don't know where I would be without her.

The best part is, the other night we stopped at the school to pick something up. Morgan was up ahead of me and she held a door for a teacher coming out. When I caught up, she giggled and whispered, "That's Mrs. Noble."

So I ran back out to catch her and got to thank her and tell her what Morgan had said. She came over and gave Morgan a hug, which just made her day! Teacher of the Year in my book. Morgan goes in there with pretty specific requests from whales to Chinese New Year (no joke), so I applaud her patience.

* * *

I think Zoe is related to Buddy the Elf. Every five minutes..."Mommy, what's your favorite color?"

It's gotten to the point that she asks the question and answers it in the same breath. "Mommy-what's-your-favorite-color-pink."

I might also note how much Scott loves to be asked this question.

* * *

Time for me to go home: I just tried to feed the ATM $1.50 in order to get a Coke. In case there was any confusion: ATMs do not dispense liquid refreshments.

* * *

Background: The kindergarten class has "mystery reader" days. On those days, a parent comes in to read to the class. The teacher gives the class clues that eventually narrow down the students to the child whose parent is standing in the hallway.

Back in August I signed up for my day. Every week since, Morgan has said, "Gee, I really hope you are going to be the next mystery reader."

I signed up for March 8...apparently. It's really all a blur. I got a reminder note last Friday and made plans to work from home on the following Monday.

I was probably a little overly excited to see her face when she realized I was finally going to be there. Over most of the weekend I kept thinking about which book I was going to take...keeping in mind the length and trying to keep it gender neutral instead of making the little boys suffer through Ballet Kitty.

I showed up at the school Monday morning and signed in by the office, walking giddily down the hallway. It was right before the classroom door that I started to doubt myself.

Suddenly, MARCH 8 flashed before my eyes. Monday was March 7...not March 8. No, I was sure that the note said Monday...but...didn't it say March 8, too?

I stood in the hallway wondering what to do. I couldn't pop my head in. Morgan would see me. I couldn't go back home to check the sheet, because what if I was there on the right day and I was missing when she came to look for me.

Finally, the co-teacher came out of the room for some reason and noticed me there biting my nails.

"Umm, I'm a day early, aren't I?"

Her laughter gave me my answer. Yes, I was an entire DAY early. That's pretty good for me. It should be noted that they did offer to switch the class around to accommodate me, but I felt too stupid and guilty.

I should also note that I dug the reminder letter out of the recycling and nowhere on that form was the word Monday like I had imagined. It simply said March 8. Period.

Ugh, I had absolutely no excuse to fall back on. But as Scarlett says, tomorrow is another day.

Author Note: It was definitely worth the drama to see her beaming face when she came out in the hall to find me.

* * *

My first attempt to participate in the Early Childhood PTA resale event.

My original plan was to systematically go through the house room by room - top to bottom - locating every infant item that I no longer used, thus creating cavernous pockets of space in my storage areas.

The weekend before the resale I managed to get up in the attic and rummage through enough stuff to get myself stuck up there when I tried to come down the ladder and it slid out from the wall.

Luckily Scott was home, so he came to reposition the ladder and then decided to take a gander at the attic situation as well. And that's when the ladder fell again. (My dad helpfully suggested we tie a rope to the ladder the next time. Thanks, Dad.)

Now, you may remember we did a basement purge a while back and threw anything we thought we would take to the resale into giant black Hefty bags that I would organize and clean in the weeks leading up to the sale.

So on Friday I hauled those hefty bags out to the Edge and through them in the back.

Anyway, with lots of help from Michelle (shout out), I did get things cleaned up and organized in my space that night, realizing one big thing...I needed to find more crap to sell. That night I hit the game and puzzle closet, the downstairs nook, my bathroom closet and some bookshelves. So the next morning I was a lot happier, until I came to the realization that I WAS SELLING ALL MY BABY STUFF!

But I'm over it...mostly. And I made a $285 profit. Well, as long as you don't count how much I bought all that shit for in the first place.

Loves Me...Loves Me Not

I awoke from sweet, gentle repose this early morning to the heaving and retching of Potter throwing up the pieces of rug he has eaten...loves me not.

Scott volunteered to go downstairs and clean it up...loves me.

No Cherry Coke Zero in the vending machine...loves me not.

Yvonne brought in donuts to celebrate her long awaited return from the Far East...loves me.

Three control testing validation meetings on my calendar for today...loves me not.

One rescheduled, which meant I could leave work early...loves me.

One ran 30 minutes longer, which meant I couldn't leave as early as I would have liked...loves me not.

Despite only having an alleged 5 miles worth of gasoline remaining in my car and for some reason not bringing my purse to the gym, manage to get home and to the gas station without having to coast...LOVES ME.

***

I like Valentine's Day, because I can compare how well Morgan writes her name to other kids in her class. (Nice mom, huh?) She's getting better, but I am no longer hovering, so there was many an "a" and "n" that appeared backwards on her own cards. I figured that is my present to the other moms out there. "See, that girl can't even write her name properly."

***

Technically, Scott and I are planning a long weekend trip as our Valentine's gift, but that did not stop me from getting him something I knew he cherish with every fiber of his body...a soup ladle. We didn't own a soup ladle. I don't know how that is possible, because we (and by we, I mean Scott) make soup all the time. Now we won't have to use our measuring cup to scoop it out. Best. Present. Ever.

***

Getting out from the shower I suddenly couldn't remember where I took my glasses off. Since I'm almost blind and my upstairs looks like Potter ate all our clothes and then threw them up again all over every inch of space, I spent at least 10 minutes looking for them. Have now made a commitment to wake up when Scott does tomorrow in an effort to regain control of my laundry situation. Worst. Present. Ever.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1

5 Things That Gross Me Out (Dirty Cup Edition)

Large clumps of lipstick left on coffee cups. Blot, people...blot.

When Scott spits gum out into a cup in his car and then a week later brings said cup into the sink to be washed and it is stuck to the bottom. (Yes, I realize I have never told you this.)

When I forget to wash my work mug before I leave for the weekend, particularly if I didn't quite finish the hot chocolate I made in it.

The cup holders in my car that have an unidentified stickiness to them that can only be found in "mom" cars.

A sippy cup found under the couch a month later. Multiply it 100 times if it has any remnants of milk in it.

4 Things That Made Me Want to Cry This Week

The reading of the Declaration of Independence before the Superbowl...because our country is sadly far from what they intended.

Former Early Childhood PTA presidents that attended Founders Day and talked about looking at the same kids they knew in preschool getting their high school diplomas...because I am not ready to think about that.

Morgan's book that she dictated to Thea about whales and then illustrated...because I don't want her to ever stop loving whales they way she does now.

Fabio kicked off of Top Chef...because he is my favorite. "This is Top Chef, not Top Scallop!"

3 Things That Made Me Laugh This Week

"Hide" and seek with the girls...because their idea of hiding is very different than mine.

Sue Sylvester trying to shoot Britney out of a cannon.

A stick drawing I saw of how much Southerners enjoy snow, which might be vaguely similar to how Northerners enjoy it. (I think you can click to enlarge.)

2 Things Potter Ate This Week That He Shouldn't Have

1/4 of the throw rug that is in his "cave" in the back hall.

The rest of Zoe's Lunchable, including packaging, that was left out by mistake on the coffee table.

1 Awesome Movie Quote Made by My Boss Today

"1 point 21 jigawatts!?!?"

Which I can't decide is more or less funny when you know that what we were talking about was materiality thresholds on financial statements.

Dirty Cups

"100 packets of ketchup!" (Big Daddy)

Morgan's class will be celebrating their 100th day at school on Friday. They were asked to bring in a collection of 100 things for the special day. Sound easy, huh?

Mommy: Why don't we count out 100 pieces of sea glass from your jars and put it in a nice new jar? (A collection she actually has and a damn fine idea, in my opinion.)
Morgan: Or maybe I can bring 100 barbies?
Mommy: You don't have 100 barbies.
Morgan: How about 100 books?
Mommy: How are you going to carry 100 books all by yourself? Let's think a little smaller.

Problem with this assignment: Morgan wants to bring in something cool, not paperclips, as the homework suggests.

We compromise and take pictures, 10 at a time, of her stuffed toys to glue to a poster board ("just like Megan [soon to be step-cousin and most recent idol] used for her project"). And I'm sorry to say, we have over 100 stuffed toys in our house.

10 pooh bears (not counting Pooh Bear Blanket)
20 penguins
10 sea mammals (not counting Beluga)
10 zoo animals
10 cats and dogs
10 bedtime friends (counting Pooh Bear Blanket and Beluga)
10 Disney characters not already categorized
10 animals found on a farm
10 story characters not already classified

Morgan took all the pictures herself. I managed to crop Zoe out of at least 3 of them.

"Crimey, we're jimmy-jacked!" (Night at the Museum: Battle at the Smithsonians)

We do not have kids that memorized the state capitals and presidents in alphabetical order by age 2, so it's always a little surprising when one of them comes up with a nugget of info that I never outright told them.

Last fall I bought a chalkboard for our dining room, because I saw it looked really cool in a magazine.

It doesn't look quite as cool in my house. (I'm working on it.) Morgan would prefer that I just let her do all the decorating, but I stubbornly refuse to let her use my toy.

This weekend I changed the quote for the upcoming President's Day and, as usual, Morgan stood over me salivating. To distract her I asked her if she knew any names of presidents.

Morgan: Ummm....
Mommy: Remember when we went to Washington for Daddy's race and saw all the monuments.
Morgan: Oh yeah, I can picture one...I just can't remember his name...he was big and white...he was your favorite...and he starred in Night at the Museum.
Mommy: Aaaabbbbeeee
Morgan: Abraham Lincoln!

Moral of this story: Kids listen.
2nd Moral of this story: Kids listen better when you put it in a movie.

"God wouldn't have given you maracas if he didn't want you to shake them!" (Dirty Dancing)

Just a small update from the world of fitness.

Most hated words in yoga: Now we move to challenge pose.
Bejan (after adjusting me in some tortuous way): You feel the difference?
Me: Of course I feel the difference, this way hurts more!

In an effort to lose Heffelump status in ballet, I wore a black (slimming) tank top that was less form fitting. In order to do this I had to raid my maternity clothes! Not sad...not sad at all.

Cups and Saucers

Morgan’s Version of a Classic Joke
One night I was in Africa and I stuffed an elephant wearing my pajamas. How did he get in my pajamas? Ha Cha Cha Cha.

Zoe’s Version
Elfant in my jamas. Ha Tsa Tsa. (Really she just likes the Ha Tsa Tsa part and doesn’t feel a lead in is necessary.)

4 Things that Bug Me About Wlakers/Joggers
People that walk while reading a book…that’s what audio books were made for. How do you even do that without getting a headache?

People that walk in the road when there is a perfectly good sidewalk. (Being married to a runner, I understand running in the road, but walking doesn’t make sense.)

People that jog slower than I can walk. Don’t kid yourself; you aren’t better than the walkers.

People that look like they are in physical pain while running. I’m not talking sweaty, elevated heart-rate at the end of a long run. I’m talking about the people whose faces immediately contort into victims of torture the moment they leave their driveway. Find a new form of exercise.

Potter’s Rebellion
I think Potter is sensing that we have him one foot in the grave. He’s been randomly dragging his ass upstairs to sleep in our room again. So perhaps he had stopped because of the blindness, and is now getting comfortable with it.

Also, he’s using his blindness as an excuse to try to eat off people’s plates. He just sticks his nose right up there now. “What? I thought she was handing me the piece of bologna.”

Who Wants Coffee, Who Wants Tea?

Celebrity Death Match

135 pound St. Bernard, recently gone blind vs. 2 1/2 year old, hopped up on marshmallows and pushing an umbrella stroller like she's driving Talladega.

And the St. Bernard wins. Zoe sustains road rash from the cement driveway over her left eyebrow.

He was not given a good night hug.

Babes in Toyland

What law is it that the minute Morgan has a friend over to play, she is consumed by an all-powerful force that demands her to drag them to the basement to rummage through garbage bags of toys not played with for a year, instead of up to her room with all of the most recent items she's suckered people into buying for her?

The Lost Art of Dining

During my massive cleaning spree, I came across “the tray” and cursed it for the millionth time.

It is a tray I bought for Morgan a few years ago and I don’t remember if it was originally intended so she could eat in front of the TV (that would be bad, right?) but that’s its soul purpose for Zoe.

The problem with this tray is that it has this little trough around the edge that crumbs and juice splatters end up in, and is a pain in the ass to clean. Plus Morgan put stickers all over it, so even when I wipe it clean it still looks dirty.

So I thought…I should buy a couple new trays that don’t have those annoying features.

It got me thinking about the good ol’ days of TV trays. I suppose they fell out of favor when people started putting televisions in their kitchens. But I remember when everyone had them. In our house, the TV tray was used for two main purposes.

The first was a place for my mom to put her supplies while making clothespin doll ornaments around Christmas time, so she could sew while watching Scarecrow and Mrs. King or MacGuyver.

The second was when we stayed home sick from school and got to rest on the couch while Family Feud, Password, and $100,000 Pyramid were on. The TV tray was provided to eat our soup and drink our ginger ale from the comfort of the green tweed davenport, without causing too much distress on our weakened bodies.

In my maternal grandparents’ house - which was actually a double-wide trailer - there wasn’t room for a big dining room table, so family gathering necessitated their use for birthday dinners.

If I recall, Aunt Charlie had metal ones and Aunt Cheryl had wooden ones, but maybe I have that backward.

I did a quick poll of my co-workers to find out when these went on the endangered species listing and even the twenty-somethings remembered them, so it must be fairly recent, which makes me feel a little better.

They usually look at me like I have one foot in the grave I’m so old.

And that's all the clean cups for the day.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Things I have lied about recently.

I did not minor in English.




Recently, someone asked me for feedback on some instructions they were going to give out to certain employees that needed to complete a survey. I think he was looking more for content feedback, but I red lined the whole thing. I re-ordered things. I rearranged sentences. Then I felt bad. I mean, I was basically telling him his writing sucked and I've never even met him in person. So for some reason I thought it would be less painful if I told him I had a minor in English and couldn't control my editing impulses and that he could disregard them if he wished.



It should be noted that today he finally sent out the survey, and it was my version of the instructions.



Papa Leo is not necessarily going to buy a new pony for everyone. (Although he might if we bug him long enough.)



My brothers' and my families were recently at my parents for my dad's birthday. (Wow, that was a mouthful.) When my nephew Ben arrived, he overheard that we were planning on selling Scott's thoroughbred Sid. I came out the door to say hello to him, and he looked me in the face with tears welling up in his eyes. "How can you sell Sid? That's not fair."


I cannot watch other people cry. I was immediately in tears and told him that Papa was going to buy another horse that everyone could ride, since nobody other than Scott and I could ride Sid and we didn't have time.


Then I allowed myself to be talked into giving rides on Leo, even though it was 90 degrees out and the horseflies abounded. (I had a personal kill record of six in one hour.)


Yes, our horses names are Sid and Leo. Just picture two little old men sharing a New York apartment.




I could have gotten Morgan in for a test shot.



Yesterday - my one day off in the week - I got a call from Talent Group. They wanted her to come in so they could take a test shot for American Greetings. I had plenty of time, but I told them I could not get down there and back before Morgan's kindergarten screening, and by the time she was done, I would not have time to get there before they closed.


Because here is the deal on the test shots...it's not guaranteed that they get the gig. In fact, in no cases where we went in for the test shot, has she gotten it.


So no, I am not going to drive a half hour across town so you can take a picture of her LEGS. That's right, her head was not even going to be in the shot. It's a card where she would wear a tutu and sit on a giant present with her legs dangling and you would see her from waist down.


So he let me take the "test shot" myself and send it to him. I had to laugh, because Morgan has as much grace as I do and therefore her shins are bruised to hell. I hope the guy airbrushed it before he sent it in, but I do not expect a call-back.

Authors Note: Why can't I get the damn spacing to work between my paragraphs. Everytime I add a photo it screws it up. Ugh!