Yo ho yo ho.

You will please excuse my extended absence and silence won’t you? Life has been fraught with many frightening things lately.

The apple of my eye turned five last week and that alone has turned me into a blubbering idiot. And by idiot I mean a person who cannot comprehend or come to terms with an aging son who most likely will turn into something hairy, stinky, and hormonal. Yes, this is beyond comprehension. I just cannot envision it or what I will do with such a testosterone-riddled creature. Any tips? We’re practically there already since the other day he told me he was never going to speak to me again (although he did break into tears immediately after saying it, instead of stealing the family car).

Anyway, Bosco requested a birthday party that involved superheroes, pirates, and Ironman. And I said okay, pirates it is, because I look for any excuse to bring the term “bilge rat” into my repertoire. The party itself was fun, despite the Husband’s uncharacteristic worries about kids staining the carpet with their drinks. That really threw me for a loop. And at the end of the day our newly crowned five-year old said he felt like the luckiest boy alive. Well, shoot.

Then all was well, until a couple days later. I’ll just say these two things: food poisoning, laundry. First Bubba (who escaped the worst), then Bosco, then me, then the Husbo. Then with a freshly gutted husband on the mend he vowed to never throw up again. And not knowing what the culprit was or if it was really food poisoning at all, everything in the house was tossed or sanitized. I do feel for him. It was horrible for all involved but for some reason when things such as these strike him down it sounds like a freight train, where as everyone else is more like a measly old diesel truck. Poor freight train.

And so that was last week. New day. New dawn. The house is a mess.

I should have kept this sign up longer probably.

Going gray and that's okay

A very happy birthday to this guy!

The man who secretly eats from my chocolate stash but is staunchly against chocolate icing and chocolate ice cream (?!). The man who wants to reformat our computer on an annual basis (as is recommended I'm told). The man who likes to talk about stocks and bonds (yes he does). The man who wants to someday have an orchard (probably apples I guess). The man who is not officially a ginger but has red facial hair (a rugged Viking of sorts). The man who might agree to see Hunger Games with me (a testament to his adventurousness). The man who makes life interesting and fun (obviously). My one and only. The Husband.

Hello firty-one

For my birthday this year I decided it best to surround myself with family and delicious food. In the span of about twenty-four hours I consumed large portions of massaman curry, pad thai, spring rolls, hamburgers, French fries, ranch dressing, fish tacos, cheesecake, and chocolate.

{That's provolone cheese y'all!}

And did you know this was in existence?

Thanks to my in-laws now I do.

There was also an encore visit to Sundance (Park City).

I was careful to follow all of my previously mentioned guidelines from last year, except I forgot the most important thing: my sunglasses. I have never felt so vulnerable in my life. Naked eyeballs are a major no-no at the Sundance Film Festival and I believe my blunder is the number one reason we saw zero celebrities, unless you count the guy who is in some Cash 4 Gold commercials.

Or a dressed up moose, and perhaps Rosie O’Donnell in a blonde wig.

And possibly Mr. Eko but 99% probably not.

If I had had my shades that would have been less awkward because everyone knows sunglasses are mostly used so we can stare shamelessly, with a little more dignity.

The biggest crowd of the day was gathered around this: a big dog. Look it’s a big dog!

 

But it wasn’t all for naught. Eventually I got asked to audition for a reality T.V. show (which I turned down of course, but it's the thought that counts), got some hot chocolate,

got accosted by a lady,

and finally got spotted by the paparazzi. The whole no sunglasses thing I think threw them off.

And there may have been some tomfoolery with Samuel Adams’ armpits.

All in all I’d have to say it was a fine way to start my one-and-thirtieth year. Cheers!

P.S. I got my so desired new vacuum, and there have been reports that I was found vacuuming at inappropriate hours of the day because I love that dang thing way too much. No comment.

Just when I thought I'd gouge my eyes out . . .

I finally figured out that the culprit for much of my angst was a pair of contact lenses that needed changing. It’s amazing how blinking less can be such a positive mood changer.

Little things indeed.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still just as agitated as ever, but now there’s a simultaneous brightness in my eyes along with the scowl. Some might call this a cute handful or a feisty asset. Both seem like a valid description of me currently.

For example, I am still annoyed that the Husband sees a pile of his folded clean clothes on the bed (that I put there) and moves them to a chair instead of hanging them up. But then I remember that he did the dishes last night, so I must call it good, for now.

Then there’s that mystery stain on my shirt that looks like yellow crayon, but then I remember Bosco did tell me I was his favorite so . . . bygones be bygones.

And let’s not forget that Bubba has subjected me to the most heinous of diaper changes (his, not mine) this week, but he did cuddle with me for five whole minutes today without telling me to move, so now I can face one more diaper if need be. Plus he made me the loveliest imaginary sandwich I ever did see and he even remembered to hold the pickles. Can’t let that little nugget of thoughtfulness go unnoticed and unrewarded. He get’s extra ice cream tonight I think.

Then there’s the high probability that I broke my nose while sleeping last night (bad dream I guess) and it hurts to nasally inhale. But who really cares about that when there is cheesecake to be had? Exactly.

And I don’t even really feel the need to address this sore throat I’ve had for a week!

Let’s just hope this euphoria can last a few more days. I’m off to turn thirty-one this weekend. Wish me luck!

I just happen to have a picture of me putting in a contact lens. Is that weird? More like kismet I think.

A list of thoughts and internal monologue on a cold, snowy winter’s eve

In no particular order:

-I am in a funk

-All I want to do is sit on the couch, eat chocolate, and stalk people on the Internet. Some may call this depression. I call it hibernation.

-I need to start taking my age seriously. I guess this means cold cream and caftans? Bring it on.

-All I want for my birthday is a vacuum. Eureka I hate the one I have now! Of course Dyson is out since the Husband is turned off by the smugness of the British guy and his "revolutionary" ball design. I guess the Husbo just prefers fixed axles? I don’t think he has anything against Oreck though. Hey Oreck, can your people get in contact with my people (me)?

-Everyone needs to give Paula Dean a break y’all. No one gives Jay Leno a hard time for having his own late night talk show even though he probably shouldn't because he mumbles. P.S. Diabetus!

-What are the odds that when I was taking a shower a water droplet would land perfectly on a mole I have on my leg (creating a sort of magnifying illusion) and then stay there long enough for me to notice and think that the mole was suddenly twice the normal size and absolutely wonky? Yeah, definitely a scary couple of seconds.

-How is it that I’m nearly thirty-one and do not own a heating pad?

-Sometimes I find it hard to listen to classical music because it reminds me of Hannibal Lecter.

-Now is probably a good time to regret laying out in the sun lathered in baby oil, when I was a dumb teenager.

-I should also probably repent of pouring a packet of Kool-Aid mix into an obscene amount of sugar and just eating it straight up Pixie-Stix style . . . when I was a teenager.

-I, Redhead, made and ate a homemade sausage egg McMuffin everyday for the past four days. I am out-of-control pleased, and excited about the whole “homemade” part of that statement.

-I am currently weighing the pros and cons of Nair. The End.

A totally necessary picture of my tired eyeball, and a homemade Egg McMuffin.

Well at least this post made sense in my head

Here’s the jist of it my friends. I’m tired. And this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I rarely go to bed before 1:00 AM.

No. It’s more to do with other things. Some important. But mostly not. Tis the lot of a fretter such as me. Fretting equals energy consumption. Fretters fret about it all, big or small. I should have that stitched on my pillow yes?

Well you see here’s one of the things. My Bubba turned two this weekend. And besides the silly amount of time I spent making a dinosaur cake (which looked okay but tasted gross, so says the Husband because apparently neon green food coloring can make icing taste toxic, whatever), I am now spending many an anxious moment quietly pondering how I dislike change very much. But then again I like it very much. But ultimately I dislike it very much. You can see how this can be very tiring.

So along with Bubba's birthday came a trip to a farm to see animals. I sort of dislike all animals. Well that statement is probably not true. Actually it’s more that I feel uncomfortable around most animals because they have brains that I cannot read, unlike humans which have very readable brains. For example, that one time when I was twelve and a bird pooped on my head? I had no idea that was coming. I would have preferred that I could have looked that bird in the eye(s) and known a second before hand that poop was on the horizon, like I can usually do with my human offspring. You know?

So obviously a day at a farm was taxing. But surprisingly not because of the animals. I sort of enjoyed the docile ones. Like the heifers.

No, it was more the kids that zapped me of strength. Crying, whining, crying, whining, duck food in the face, pleas for water, tractor rides, runny noses, pleas for candy, whining, followed by the heinous cry-whining.

And then to top it off, when the day was done the kids said they had a great time. So I’m left to wonder what family outings would be like if they weren’t supposedly enjoying themselves. Yikes indeed.

So in summary, I have two boys and one husband. One is thirty. One is four and one is two. And I am thirty. Last week we went four days without bananas, and two days without ice cream. I have twenty-eight teeth, two of which required another trip to the dentist (don’t ask). There are twenty-four hours in the day and I wasted two watching the Bachelor Pad, I ordered one dress from the internet and am returning one dress. I have one nose, two nostrils, only one of which is currently working. One throat that is scratchy and two moles that are bumpy. And one nap to take. After I eat one piece of that wretched dinosaur cake.

See you later.

For the record, I am not pregnant (Mother!). It's just all that party planning and pasta.

Betwixt a birthday, a rocket launch, a baptism, and a super hero invasion, this year's Mother's Day celebration of a nap and shrimp pasta was relegated to a close 5th place. And that is totally fine be me. I really needed that nap AND that carbo load.

Actually I think I need at least six more naps and four more unseemly, huge bowls of pasta before I should expose any of you to further blogging on my part. So I'll see you after I digest and wake up.

You're welcome.

{Space makes some people look really happy . . . and bright.}

{The star that wouldn't die, and the bat that did.}

This could be the post that makes me famous.

There's a slight chance some of you are wondering what I'm up to.

Well, I'm actually quite engaged in multiple activities that are testing my mental and physical strength.

There are the hair experiments. These really have my wheels turning.

So far my hypothesis is this: Once your hair starts aging, there is no modern technique or product that can make your follicles time travel ten years into the past.

Thus far my scientific studies are proving this conjecture correct. It's all making me feel rather smart.

And when I'm not looking like a wackadoo with things in my hair, I'm planning The Party That Will Make Me a Major Contender for Mother of the Year.

Let's just say there is a spacesuit involved and hand painted planets that will carefully be flung into orbit (in my living room). 

It will either be pure awesomeness for everyone in attendance, or just totally 'bantastic' for the kid who is turning four and thinks that anything including a rocket ship is 'bantastic.' Either way, I'm insane but motivated, a worthwhile combination. 

I am in a bit of a quandary though. Heretofore my plans had been to label the drink dispenser "ROCKET FUEL" because I'm clever like that, and totally love doing unnecessary things that will only be appreciated by me (or some other insane parent) because the kids themselves can't even read. But then I had this dream that my rocket fuel label instilled in some of the children the desire to consume fuel, and to think that was totally normal and acceptable because they had done it at some kid's birthday party. And then I went to hell. It was a weird dream.

Anyway, what do you think?

How to do Sundance on a wing and a prayer

This is what you need to do if ever you find yourself whisked away to the Sundance Film Festival with your sister and cousin and you a) don’t know what the heck you are doing b) lack patience, charm, and money to actually get tickets to see a movie or attend an event c)want to enjoy all the hullabaloo to an acceptable non-creepy level.

1) Don’t look for a parking spot for over an hour. If you do so, all parties involved will start to get stabby. Paying ten dollars is a great deal considering it will end possibly harmful rages.

2) In this mountainous snowy backdrop that is mecca for movie stars and people who are trying to seem like movie stars, it is very important to wear sunglasses. Even in the dark, even while eating overpriced pizza in a restaurant, even when going to the bathroom. You’ll feel important, and a few gullible passersby will think you are important too. Probably. This will also give you the security you need to stare directly at people without them knowing.

Basically sunglasses at Sundance are a requirement, just like underwear is. If you're not wearing either you are being improper. One of these redheads is following this tip well. The other is not.

3) Now go to the Egyptian Theatre and just stand there. Anyone who is anyone knows famous types may emerge at any second.

4) Keep standing in front of the theatre.

Look like you are sure and positive of yourself. Other people will come up to you and ask why people are congregating here. They will ask you this because you look like you know secrets. Simply respond with a smile. And at that precise moment America Ferrera will quickly exit and be on her merry little way.

5) I should have mentioned before to have a reliable camera out and ready so that when peoples like America pass right in front of you, you will be able to shamelessly snap pictures of them.

6) I should also mention that you will not always be successful, even when trying to get a picture of someone ten feet in front of you because unfortunately there are plenty of other people around you trying to do the same thing. There are also plenty of people who know nothing about everything and they are oblivious to the whole purpose of Sundance, and these peoples will walk right in front of you.

America is standing right behind this gentleman.

7) Keep standing where you are. Eventually a film crew will set up right next to you and start interviewing someone.

You don’t know this someone, but you are asked to remain aloof in case your profile makes it in the shot. You’ll have to find a way to deal with these annoying cameras that may or may not be capturing your fair façade. This is just the reality of Sundance.

8) Start taking pictures of anyone who looks like they may be someone. Like this guy.

He’s got all the classic signs of being an actor type. Brooding, chain smoking, anti-social, unkempt, black clothes, scalp probably smells off-putting, skinny jeans. Like I said, classic. Textbook really.

9) Then consider yourself all knowing when the actress Ellen Barkin walks out and joins this seemingly tormented soul. You may not know what her name is at the precise moment, but you know her face. That’s what Google is for. So snap the picture right when she looks at you. Bingo.

10) Obviously this is fun so keep taking snapshots. It’s always more edgy too if you take pictures of people’s bodies and not their heads. These people are not famous necessarily, but notice how you’re not completely sure because you can’t see their faces. So mysterious!

11) Don’t be afraid to get friendly (or have a cousin willing to do so) with people who look official (they are wearing a headset, and talking into their chest) and can give you important information. If you don’t do this you may be oblivious to the fact that the director of all those Bourne movies you liked so much, yes that director, is standing right in front of you in the black coat and glasses. Click.

12) When you tire of being surrounded by the enigma that is celebrity, buy some stuff in the local shops so you can carry bags around. It cannot be stressed enough how important it is to CARRY BAGS AROUND at Sundance. It’s almost as important as wearing boots.

13) Which reminds me, wear boots. And if you really want to blend in, wear a scarf as well, even if it’s not terribly cold out.

14) Take video of the street performers. They might achieve super stardom someday. Plus they are all actually talented. Plus, plus when they see you recording them it will make them feel special. And everyone deserves to feel special, especially if they deserve it.

15) Pretend like you don’t know those dancing fools when they bump into that lady.

16) Before leaving, stand in a long line to get chocolate. Hot chocolate, chocolate truffles, marshmallows, caramel apples, and the like. Don’t be embarrassed when it takes an awkwardly long time to order all the treats you want. This is Sundance after all. Indulgence is key.

17) Then when you return to your real life, go shop the Old Navy 90% off clearance sale because that's sort of more your style.

Hi. I'm Sarah. And I'm an Aquarius and I really, really wanna be loved by you.

Well today's the day, the day I make all your dreams come true. But never mind that.

Today is also the day I have to start writing my two digit age with the number 3. To give you a better idea of the state of me and my environs, this week I have:

-consumed a bag of popcorn (snack size okay) and a can of Hansen's Vanilla Cola every night around midnight.

-stayed in my pajamas. Put jeans on once while in a motivated mood and decided it wasn't worth the loss of comfort. Put pajamas back on.

-bathed twice.

-stayed in my house. Only ventured out to throw a bag of dirty diapers outside the door.

-went braless, mostly because of the above mentioned hermit-ness (did you know it feels strange and irritating to have bosom support after nearly a week of being shackle free?)

- lost a lot of sleep because of a strange humming noise in my bedroom. The Husband says he can't hear it. I think he's working on some elaborate April Fool's joke to get back at me for last year.

-requested cheesecake.

-watched too much stuff on Hulu.

-decided most of T.V. is bad acting . . . but I watch it anyway to make me feel better about the split between Keira Knightley and Rupert Friend, therefore dashing all hopes she could one day be known as Mrs. Friend.

-requested cheesecake.

-rededicated myself to the eating of chocolate, after a brief moment of insanity.

-made peace with the universe. Bribery was involved. Universe likes flattery too.

-was reminded that with age comes wisdom. And I need that because usually I'm pretty dense. So bring it on! (the wisdom I mean)

-decided to embrace myself. Really. I gave myself a hug. It was dumb.

-heard Bosco say, "I love you Mommy" about thirty times. I don't think that number is a coincidence.

. . . and I'm still waiting on that cheesecake.

Have a lovely weekend my dear poopsies. I plan on starting this decade of mine off all supastar like, and also getting more smarter in the process.

Did you know getting red lipstick off your forehead takes some effort?

Oh January. Such a cold, blustery, somber month you are, at least in some parts of the world. And really the only part of the world that matters to my easily chilled fingers and toes is the one I'm living in . . . so, cold and blustery it is.

However, despite the chill that accompanies dear janvier, and the slightly depressing after effects of the holidays being done and over, January has always been my favorite month. Birthday months have a way of garnering that honor. So in years past, I became ever so talented at ignoring the drab winter weather, at least until February 1st.

What ice? I see no ice. Emptiness? I see no barren space where the Christmas tree used to be. Sulking? I see no need to wish for summer.

I see only birthday candles, presents, people showering me with attention and smiles. I see only a day with my name written ALL over it.

But this year is different. This year I am well aware of the three inches of snow that have turned into crusted over ice. It glares at me when I look outside, and threatens me when I open the front door.

The blast of wintery wind hits my face and I curse this forsaken month. I pack up the last Christmas ornament and I'm moody the rest of the day. January has lost it's magic.

And it's not because I'm hormonal. How dare you! No, I'm near positive it's because I'm old. This month I officially become an old fart, and I join all you other old farts who have left your twenties behind.

I'm not entirely sure why I'm having such a hard time with it. This sort of thing (aging) happens to people everyday. Some people are even leaving their thirties, forties, fifties, gasp, sixties . . . seventies! behind. And in some cases eighties, nineties, and one hundreds are being reached. 'Tis true. I read about it on the internets and heard it through the grapevine.

Nevertheless, my measly thirty has got me down in the rotten dumps. Maybe because when I was a kid I remembered when my mom turned thirty, and I thought she was the oldest thing in the world next to my grandma, and the invention of trains, and dirt. Sorry Mother Loops. That was an exaggeration, for comical purposes.

But now please tell me why even email spammers know it's my birthday, and they act all happy for me, and they want to give me free unnecessary things and exclamation points!!! If this was my 23rd year I might be a little flattered. I generally love offers for discounted cable and Viagra. But this year I'm just not as receptive, or gracious.

And why are people staring like they know the number that is now attached to me for the next year? Do I have a dopey deer-in-headlights look on my face and a big 3-0 written on my forehead with bright red lipstick, that looks slightly misshapen due to the wrinkles?

I don't really want to be one of those people who feels the need to lie about her age. It's just a dang number. Right? Usually accompanied with bodily evidence.

So I've got two weeks to get an attitude adjustment, or this will be a dreary birthday indeed. Plus Oprah might just hunt me down and tell me thirty is the new ten. And let's be honest, Oprah is a little scary. So are ten-year olds.