A few bits and baubles regarding me

It’s that time of year again when I add sunless tanner to my post-showering routine. I do this mainly so I don’t look translucent. You’re welcome.

It’s also that time when my feet are so very happy not to be confined inside a sock. Oh my how they do detest those sockies. I’m just going to make a blanket statement here and say that if there is an event, party, etc. this summer that does not allow me to wear sandals or flip-flops I will probably not be in attendance. My apologies in advance. And no I will probably not go hike that mountain with you.

And of course it’s that time of year when I sit outside and watch my kiddies play for what seems like hours.

I spend this time thinking a few deep thoughts (too deep for this blog), but mostly inconsequential thoughts that are totally appropriate for this blog, like how Baked Lays are really just a classy version of Pringles. So yeah things like that. I come up with some of my best silliness whilst my offspring bath in dirt and bugs. It's win win for everyone.

P.S. It’s looking likely that we will finish an entire box of Otter Pops before it’s officially summer. This is thanks in large part to me.

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.

Two things I guess I'm sort of taking a stand for if it won't rock the boat too much

I've got a lot of thoughts swimming around the gray (grey) matter, but the recent time change and all is making it impossible for me to form an even semi-coherent conversational post.

You see, my kiddos usually wake up around 8:30 AM and I do know I should count my blessings where that is concerned, but now they are waking up at 7 AMish because that is just how things work. Someone cannot suddenly tell you it is an hour earlier when your body knows full well that time travel is impossible and silly, and who would ever want to tell such a lie to your body anyway? These Daylight Savings monkeys, that's who. But I admit to those monkeys, my body personally likes to be fooled every so often and an extra hour of sleep seems innocent enough, but it's those kid's bodies that rebel against the time tyranny.

Well anyway, I know 7 AM is also nothing to shake a stick at, but for me it is pretty darn horrible. For me, mornings are akin to involuntary acid baths. I'm considering a time change boycott of sorts, but that might make me late to important things, like Breaking Dawn. (I shall laugh, and giggle uncomfortably throughout the whole thing, and enjoy it immensely but this requires me to be on time, unfortunately). So how about a boycott in two weeks?

But what I really would like to discuss is how I may be the last person on earth who embraces the nude pantyhose (pantyho, singular?), besides the older folk of course. For one such as I, this winter-friendly option goes great when covering up my beyond alabaster legs and chilly soul, all without being too flashy. And a tasteful nude color that almost matches your actual skin color really does go with anything. ANYTHING. So it seems like a no brainer to me.

Why, then, am I seeing all these bare legs at church which are surely frozen to the bone, and if there are tights or hose to be had they are every other color under the sun, fuschia included, except fake skin? Why? When did it become unclassy to make people wonder, "Are those pantyhose or are her legs just perfectly smooth and flawless?"

I think a good old fashioned nude pantyhose revivial is what we are in need of. Who's with me?

Pumpkins make him pensive and philosophic

Bosco:  Monday, Tuesday . . . Oneday

Daddy: What's Oneday?

Bosco: Oneday is the day that people die.

Chock-full of something

Well another visit to the dentist has turned into another declaration of “CAVITY!” which has now resulted in half my face being numb from chin to forehead. I think even my eyeball is showing signs of paralysis. I’m not worried about it . . . yet.

But I am vexed to discover that even through the intense numbness I can somehow feel an itch in some underlying cheek nerve. But, my friends, this is one of those itches that likes to play coy. It cannot be alleviated, especially since I can’t even feel my fingers trying to scratch it. Maddening for sure. Sort of makes me feel like I’m going crazy or possibly dreaming. Like a unicorn is tinkling me with a rainbow. Is this for real?

Anyway I’ve been dealing with this scenario for about two hours and if my sons cared about their mother’s sanity, they’d indeed be worried by now. Luckily they don’t care.

So the only thing left for me to do is sit in front of the television and judge commercials.

Dear Nutella peoples/creators,

I love your chocolatey creamy goodness. I’m sure hazelnuts are healthy for me and my kids, just as you claim. So yes. Good thing you’re chock-full of those hazelnuts. BUT! Trying to get me to believe that I should load my kids up on it for breakfast is oh so funny. Because, as I’m sure you know, in addition to hazelnuts, your also chock-full of Nutella. Ha! That was a silly oversight on your part. Hehehe. Can’t stop laughing.

P.S. Also I don’t usually share things that are chocolate in nature, especially not with my children. Oversight Number 2.

Dear toilet paper guy,

Yeah you. The one who keeps asking someone down the hall to throw you a roll of toilet paper because you’re out. And then you have to stand there in fear because you aren’t sure if the toilet paper is going to shave your head or bust up in your face. I hate to be the stater of obvious things, because generally I am the one who is oblivious to common sense, BUT I think it would be a smart choice to just start keeping the toilet paper in the bathroom. You know, where all the action is taking place anyway. It’s called streamlining, and I’m a huge fan of it.

P.S. I should probably take my own advice.

And now I’m drained of energy and my numb face is a ticking time bomb of frustration so I’ll stop before I alienate all of you. Apologies if any of you were the actual makers of those commercials. I’m still not totally sure if I’m writing this post in real life or not, what with this unicorn tickle and all. So there’s that.

Good day sir.

Silly is silly does.

Most times when I’m out and about I see something silly. That’s probably because I think a lot things are silly or maybe it’s because I tend to use the word silly for a plethora of meanings good and bad. Funny. Weird. Ridiculous. Bizarre. Endearing. What the? OH MYLANTA. Moronic. Insane. Scary. Justifiable. Awesome. Freaking awesome. I wish I had thought of that. Oh no he didn’t.

For example:

A man riding his bike, without shoes on. Also shirtless.

A woman trying to change her clothes, while driving.

This car signage placement:

{Where?Where?!}

A child who pulled down her pants and peed in the pool, while I was in the pool.

A lady buying innumerable Lean Cuisines, and they weren’t even on sale.

That one guy whose heels I clipped with my shopping cart shaped like a truck, who had the nerve to give me the stink eye. Was it not he who darted out in front of me? Does he not know you cannot do that do a lady pushing one of those truck shaped shopping carts, especially if there are kids inside?

This place:

{Shouldn't it say, "Ribs So Tender, You Don't Need No Teefff"?}

The price of avocadoes. Please.

The guy who offered my son a sucker mid-tantrum.

The other guy who offered my son smarties mid-tantrum.

A couple that had the same exact hair cut.

This bumper sticker:

{What's a Cullen?}

These were all classified as silly, and verbally declared as much.

Seen anything “silly” lately?

***Don’t forget to enter the $25 Mary Kay giveaway. Duh!

It's a rare talent I have, getting nostalgic like this.

We had our carpets professionally cleaned today for the first time since we've lived in this particular humble abode, and true to form, this had me thinking sentimental Anne Shirley-esque thoughts as I said goodbye (hopefully forever) to various stains.

I'm a goober I know, but these stains, some more visible than others, are like little milestones marking my voyage through motherhood and wifeydom. Obviously I'm hormonal or something. Or maybe it's the non-toxic fumes or the booties.

{Not that kind of booty. These kind of booties.}

That stain over there, in the corner just steps from the bathroom, (just pretend like you can see it) is where Bosco threw up for the first time. I believe there are few things as awful and heartbreaking as watching a baby, especially your baby, wretch. Oh the look on his face as he wonders why his little body has seemingly betrayed him! Confusion, sadness, hurt, sickness, wonder, amazement, anger, helplessness all wrapped up into one impossibly pitiful look. And there's simply nothing that can be done to ease matters. It must run it's course. Only comfort (and juice) can be offered. Then repeat that cycle at least five more times before the day is done, and you've got a full blown obstacle course on your hands. The stain at the bottom of the stairs happened during round three I believe.

That day I learned I could be a mom in good times and in bad, and a calm collected mom at that. Was never entirely convinced of it beforehand. Oh the doubts! Also, it turns out I have enough strength to clean up another person's vomit if need be. Up until that point I was always very unsure I had that in my make up. Well I do. At least for my kids I do.

Now what about that area over there in the hallway, or over there to the right, and in that spot right here? Well that marks Bosco's potty training progression of course! That was a fun year, OR TWO. Those stains remind me that I'm not a very patient person, probably never will be to any great degree, and that I don't particularly like to clean up urine, especially if it belongs to someone else. Who knew throw up would be easier for me than pee. That right there is a sentence I never imagined myself writing. I surprise myself everyday in the most fantastic of ways. 

Now may I turn your attention to the myriad of other spots. Those belong to the Husband, who likes to wear his shoes every where he goes, even in his own home, even when covered in motor oil or mysteriousness. He does not believe the phrase, "Take off your shoes. Make yourself at home" (or is it take off your coat?) Of course he likes to leave his shoes on all the time because he wants to be in a constant state of readiness if ever he has to suddenly leave the house. Fire! I'm ready! Wife needs a slushie! I'm ready! Ice cream truck! Ready! Bees are invading the entire house! You know I'm ready!

Well this is indeed an admirable desire to possess but I would be lying if I said it wasn't the cause of some marital discord from time to time. Beyond the dirt factor, I have a general dislike for all shoes constrictive in nature, so always seeing them on the Husband irks me. Irks me something fierce. What, are you itchin' to leave boy? But there simply were no compromises to be had regarding this matter. No pair of "house shoes" to agree upon. No pleas for "just take them off and relax" accepted.

Many a time I've seen the Husband ready for bed, in his pajamas or whatever it is men call the stuff they go to sleep in, and he would have his shoes on, which means, he took the shoes off to get ready for bed, and then put them back on! To get a drink of water! Or whatever! This is what married people call Something I Didn't Know About My Partner Until We Got Married. But who am I to talk. I have to have the television on Channel 5 and set to volume level 8 before I can turn it off.  

But anyway, those stains are indeed plentiful and serve as a great reminder that you cannot change your loved ones, particularly in matters of the foot. And you most definitely cannot teach an old dog, or even a slightly old dog, new tricks. As a wife, I've learned this lesson time and time again, but have yet to fully accept it's truthfulness and harness it to my advantage. Work in progress.

And now finally who could forget that one place in the hall downstairs. Yes right there. That's where my water broke. Cheers! And Bubba joined our family a few hours later (in the hospital, not the hallway). Another little person to leave marks all his own.

But right now it's a clean slate so to speak. All those stains, gone, which I'm pretty happy about because GROSS. But if I'm lucky there will plenty more where those came from.

{oh Bosco where are you?}

Thoughts for a Tuesday

For me mess equals chaos. Therefore, when my house is a mess I feel like my house is in chaos. And when my house is in chaos I feel like my entire life is in chaos. And when I feel like my life is in chaos, then everyone around me should probably just duck and run for cover. Or stop, drop, and roll. Either method would be a good idea.

I’ve also been pondering how I get an intense feeling of satisfaction, of self reliance, when I am finally able to remove the piece of food that was stuck in my teeth all day long, using only my tongue as an aid. I don’t need no stinkin' toothpick or floss. Is anyone else on Earth as stubborn as this?

And in a slightly related matter, if I put all of these items from our first harvest together, I’m pretty sure the squash will over power that one little cherry tomato.

Also, I don’t want summer to end. But I would like for my boys to stop smelling like wet dog all day. Is there any way I can have nice moderate temperatures and children that smell like newborn babies or grapefruit or vanilla pudding? Or possibly a combination of all three?

Well, I really wish I was capable of making my 200th post something MORE, but alas it is not to be. We shall have to wait for 201 or 202. Maybe even 203.

K Tuesday. I’m done.

Thoughts for a Tuesday

First, this was supposed to be thoughts for a Monday, but you know how in my book Mondays are not super fantastic for following through on well-intentioned plans. This Monday is no different.

Second, (and I can only speak for myself here) rarely is it a good idea to change ANYONE’S diaper before I have put in my eyes, be that contacts or glasses, especially if that diaper is loaded to the brim with nastiness. Ignorance is not bliss in this case.

Third, a child that screams real loud while their mouth is one inch away from your ear CAN lead to a burst eardrum, or some sort of wiggity wackness.

Fourth, since I prefer that my affinity for napping be kept a secret, I really need to remember to not fall asleep on that one specific pillow.

{This beauty lasted a good solid hour.}

Fifth, Toy Story 3 made me cry. Gosh. So typical of me. Toy Story 3 also made Bosco get teary, but that was entirely because he only blinked two times while watching it.

Insert clever, quippy title about parenthood here.

With my eldest recently turning four, I’ve had a lot of things running to and fro in my head. Some of these things were actual thoughts.

I thought about how some people say the time goes by so quickly. And it does in a way. But I’ll tell you what. These last four years feel like a definite four years to me. Some of the days I remember. Some of the days I’ve forgotten. Some of the days I’d like to remember if only I could, and some of them I’d like to forget. But I can’t say that it’s gone by in the blink of an eye. No. It feels like a full 1460 days. I gave and received an indeterminable amount of experiences, and exerted too much energy mentally and physically for those years to ever feel condensed.

This is both good and bad. Because sometimes it feels like these toddler years will never end, but it also feels like I’m in the moment and I’ve got time to figure this whole parenthood thing out before they outgrow the stage where a graham cracker can fix everything.

And on that same train of thought I tried to imagine Bosco and Bubba as sixteen year-olds and I just could not do it. I managed enough brain power to conjure up multiple hairy, pimply, testosterone-ridden teenagers, but none of those images were MY child. And that’s probably because I’m just so in the moment. Can’t even grasp anything more than a week in the future. It has nothing to do with the possibility that the mere thought of me parenting a teenager scares me deeply, like in my bones, and gets my innards in a twist, especially my already feeble bladder.

So now of course I’m thinking about parenting and if I and the Husband have the qualities, and stamina it takes to turn these boys into gentlemen of the highest caliber. Having been a child in the past (sometimes the present) with well-intentioned parents and currently in the throes of parenthood myself, I have personal relatable documentation to prove that, for the most part, parents really and truly only operate on luck mixed with good timing, and an occasional sprinkling of divine intervention. And even though parents know this reality deep in their gut, they try to tell themselves job well done on figuring out a sticky situation ALL BY THEMSELVES. Because it makes them feel at least somewhat in control. OK fine. Because it makes ME feel somewhat in control.

But I’m going to go out on a limb here (I've always wanted to say that) and state that parenting is perhaps the number one thing that makes a person realize they are absolutely NOT in control. Vending machines come in at a close second.

How else can you explain that in matters of rearing and disciplining children, what worked this one time will not work the next time, or the time after that, but will suddenly work again the time after that, but alas the time after that you will have forgotten you had a tactic at all so you will try something all willy nilly which will fail with flying colors, but in theory it should have worked because you read about it in a book.

Experience is a tricky thing in the realm of fathers and mothers since the word “experience” denotes a belief that there is a predictable nature in the work they are doing wherein they can gather useful information from the past and use it for their benefit.

Well all I can say is children sure have a way of barfing all over one’s experience, making it (the treasured nugget of experience) completely void of usefulness.

But here’s a fact: These things just cannot and should not be delved into too deeply or philosophically because of the headache inducing factor they possess, as well as feelings of misery and stupidity parents must endure as they ponder all the things they have tried in the name of being a good, competent parent.

Like this one lady who revealed unto me that she told her son he had a bug in his ear and that it needed to be retrieved post haste, when in actuality I, I mean SHE, just needed to clean up the boy's mess of ear wax that had begun to haunt her dreams. And what did she get as a result of her cunningness? A kid with dirty ears who now says he hears a fly buzzing everywhere he goes.

Well lady, all I can say is you lose some and you think you win some.

I don't even think a cape is required.

Is there anyone else who just ain’t feelin’ the blogging vibe right now?

Every time I went to write one of my silly little posts this weekend I kept thinking about the millions of people who just had the worst weekend of their lives, and are still in shock.

No one wants to hear about how I couldn’t find board shorts on Saturday or that I’m tired because on Thursday I got sicker, then on Friday I stayed up way too late reading tweets about the earthquake and tsunami then couldn’t sleep, then on Saturday daylight savings ruined my routine, and on Sunday I stayed up late again while the Husband sorted collector coins. Yeah no one wants or really needs to know that I’m tired or that the Husband has that sort of hobby.

But then again there are many things in this world that we don’t really need. Disasters, whether they directly affect us or not, have a way of reminding us all that there is more to life than Bachelor finales, bubble baths, comfy sheets, and having clear skin (although all can bring a form of happiness).

What we do need is a little hope I tell ya, that life is good and we’ll be alright. Who knew that my Bosco would remind me of that today. I was watching some footage from Japan of a town being completely overtaken by water. Bosco asked what it was and I told him people had lost their homes and it was very sad. He simply said, “Yeah it is. But you know mommy they can rebuild it all and start over even though they’re sad. Just like how I have to build my towers again after Bubba knocks them down. I’ll even fly there and help them. Superhero to the rescue!”

That superhero of mine is right in many ways. Although it’s innocently naïve, extremely hopeful, and easier said then done, it’s true.


http://www.redcross.org/
http://www.habitat.org/
http://www.savethechildren.org/
http://www.ldsphilanthropies.org/humanitarian-services/

 Just to name a few...

Thoughts whilst at the dentist

Today I returned to the dentist for my biannual filling of the cavities. It's a tradition my teeth and I have come to expect no matter how diligent I am in the areas of dental hygiene. At least this time it was just one and I only got slightly claustrophobic, unlike last time which was two and a whole face full of numb and spittle and anxiety induced nausea.  Yeah I've already blogged about this particular trial of mine so let's not beat a dead face even number.

How about instead I tell you my most recent thought process when I was reminded yet again of the weak state of my teefers. Thought processes are intriguing, yes?

Well, first I thought maybe dentistry was all one big conspiracy and that at some point in my early childhood I had been hand-picked as a guinea pig and tracked by dentists ever since to see how many fillings one mouth could harbor. And these dentists tell me I have cavities even though I don't, just for the sake of science!

Then I thought that was silly because why would a dentist want to fill cavities. Boring. I'm sure they'd rather be testing their mad skills in the root canal department.

Then my concern turned toward my children, hoping somehow they inherited the teeth of steel of their father who's only had one minuscule cavity his entire life.

Then I had a brief fleeting vision of chocolate. Not sure why. Don't most people think of chocolate like twenty times a day or is that just women?

Then I remembered how as a kid I used to gnaw on popcorn kernels with my two from teeth. Very naughty indeed.

Naturally I then thought of Bubba and his current biting tendencies. Now that he's got more than just two measly teeth, it hurts. I'm sure it hurts all his stuffed animals too. They suffer the brunt of this habit. I don't remember Bosco having this issue.

Ah, those two boys of mine . . .

Then I was officially caught up in a day dream. Happens often when I think of my kiddos. See, this picture of the above mentioned Bosco and Bubba tugs at my heart strings and certain synapses in my brain.

Mostly because seeing that reminds me of this:

A picture taken when Bubba was still fresh and new. One second after I snapped this picture Bubba had a major poop rocket and scared his big brother silly. Yes, one second later this picture would have captured a catapulted, flying Bubba. Understandably Bosco refused to hold his baby brother for a long time.

But that baby brother is no longer really a baby in anyone's mind but my own. Even the Husband insists he's toddler material of the finest kind.

Now call me a sufferer of the amnesia but I could swear that it was maybe two weeks ago that I first held this babe fresh from the womb, all covered in vernix (tmi?) with a full head of dark hair, smelling new,  and sort of looking like a beautiful outer space creature. But he was my creature. I knew this because of his nose and all, and because we took to each other like bananas to splits.

He was completely reliant on me. On us. All he could do was wiggle there on his back, wafting scents of sweetness and sometimes funkiness. Such is the bittersweet state of infancy.

But now this baby looks less like a creature and more like a full on boy to the most human degree. And instead of laying there in one cooing blob of baby fatness, he can now walk over to me, pat his backside and say, "Dis bah rum eee ooo uhh fi gah dom ba hah!" And I know he's proudly telling me there is a present in his diaper for me, and that he's planning on not listening to a thing I say today. And I also know, judging from past experience, soon he'll be able to say all of this in actual English which will lessen the cute factor by a slight degree.

That and his feet will start to smell. It's the way of his gender apparently.

And then he'll come nervously close to knocking his front tooth out just from walking . One in many trips to the dentist because he will have his mother's teeth, what with the cavities and all.

And now we've come full circle, thought pattern-wise anyway. You thought this ramble was going nowhere? You misunderestimated me deeply.

My point is cavities aren't all that bad. They make you ponder in a roundabout way. And pondering is one of the better skills you can possess. Much better than being able to lick your elbows. Talk about a waste of time (Please don't try this. You'll injure your neck and your pride. Trust.).

Thoughts of an Insomniac: There is something worse than soggy cereal. Hangnails.

The insanity’s back this week. I mean the Insomnia. The Insomnia is back. You remember right? My long time friend/foe? We have an on and off again relationship. And right now it’s on, like Donkey Kong.

So I find myself awake at 2:00 AM watching very dumb yet horrifying movies, like this one about a woman who interrupted an African goat sacrifice, so the witch doctor puts a curse on her because she was so rude and all, then she’s finding dead loved ones everywhere including the walk-in freezer.

Now the inner me knows I should turn this crap off because the odds of being able to sleep peacefully after watching it are very slim. But then I get this feeling of needing to finish what I start, also known as dumbness. Then it all gets too stupid even for my sleep deprived mind, so I turn the T.V. off and decide to go to bed, in a slightly paranoid state of mind.

You know the state, the one where you want to act all grown up but inside you’re pretty sure that someone is following you down the stairs so you hurry to turn on the lights in the hallway and BAM! Wouldn’t you know a light bulb decides to burn out at the precise moment you flip the switch and maybe you might have quietly screamed and jumped at your reflection in the mirror.

And then there's nothing left to do but just lay (lie?) in bed . . . awake.

It’s sort of the pits.

{My pits face}

All the while the Husband is deep in NeverNeverLand probably talking to Captain Hook about his hook no doubt or maybe even the mermaids, and I feel like hitting him with some really heavy yet soft pillows, just to jostle him a bit. You know?

See, in those wee hours of the morning I’m not a very nice person I think. I start to get hostile and put on my victim hat because it’s pretty unfair that a person who wants to sleep, who adores the magic of sleep, can’t actually do so. There are plenty of people out there who hate to sleep, find it a waste of time. How about those people get a visit from my little friend?

So yes, I admit it. I get slightly mischievous thoughts, never really to be acted upon because they are silly ideas, like what with the pillows and such. Or sometimes they are outlandish like last night I thought if I could muster up the strength of gale force winds within my being and blow them straight in the Husband’s face maybe that would make me feel better.

But then I realized he probably wouldn’t even wake up, which was the WHOLE POINT. So I put my finger in his ear instead to make good use of the time and situation. Very primate of me. It did make me feel better and slightly drowsy too. Maybe next time I'll lick my finger first before I put it into the ear and this will send me straight into a deep slumber.

The Husband will be none the wiser too except for the fact that he reads this blog, devotedly so, and he will now know about my misdeeds. Actually though he'll be expecting it now and he won't be able to sleep with icky anticipation, so either way it's fun!

I hope there is a cure

As of late, like the last five days, I’ve been trying to figure out what’s wrong with me, what’s wrong with my brain. I can’t seem to hold a coherent worthwhile thought. And just when I think I’m about to have a mental breakthrough and actually think my thought out from beginning to end, before that thought can even be satisfactorily concluded, another thought presents itself and I’ve forgotten the thoughts that I had just spent the last ten minutes thinking about. And I’ve gotten nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. You know?

My mind is one big muddled mess. And it took me ten minutes to adequately form that last sentence.

It’s a wonder I’m even able to type. It will be even more of a wonder if you all can get my drift. Hello?

I’m thinking this all might have something to do with my last post. I can’t be sure. That’s just conjecture, but all signs point to yes, reply hazy, and cannot predict now.

Perhaps I’m just using too much valuable brain power to contemplate unimportant things. Like apples. I’ve been thinking about how I like apples, but they are a very annoying fruit. First you need to wash it. And then you need to unhinge your jaw to eat it. That, or cut it up into more manageable pieces. That requires the use of a knife, and a cutting board, and concentration that I lack. And then that thought ends. I haven’t been able to reach a decision on whether or not apples are worth it.

Cheerios or Kix? Which one would I rather step on all day long? Kix kind of surprise you when they bust up under your foot. Do I like that kind of shock? Cheerios just hurt, but they hold up better under pressure. Is that a good thing? I got nowhere with that thought.

And shower curtains. Shower curtains have been on the mind. So many to choose from. Such lovely designs, yet nary a one that will match the bathroom rugs I bought on sale. And then I’m pretty sure I approached this design project arse backwards. But that doesn’t help me now. I need a shower curtain. See what I mean?

It’s also possible that I’m trying to do too much, in too little time. Big things, little things. I’ve got this pressing need to get them done now. NOW! And I don’t know why. I need to go to Europe NOW! I need to find cheap airline tickets, NOW. Except I need to work this around my menstrual cycle of course NOW! I can’t be schlepping feminine products around with me in Paris. Unchic. Parisians don’t have periods. They have monthly week long vacations. 

But then I also can’t do this trip while I’m PMSing the week before because then I’ll be all pissy and that will wreck my trip of a lifetime. And . . . then that’s where that thought ends. No solution in sight.

It’s all just so highly annoying. How is one supposed to think, when one’s brain will not cooperate. And surely it doesn’t help when Husband types interrupt possible thinking to say, “The hard drive needs to be reformatted,” for no particular reason besides, “It needs to be done.” To which I reply, “I’ll reformat your hard drive.” It’s all my brain can conjure up. I’ve got no idea what that even means, but I’m quite positive it involves pain. Anything that will stop further mental anguish being brought down upon me.

Here, maybe a picture will help say what I can’t think.

The end.

P.S. Did I tell you that my hair is on the fritz. New hair on the top is curly, while the old hair, the hair that existed while pregnancy hormones still ravaged my body, is straight. I’ve depicted it accurately in the above picture. It’s left me in a bit of a quandary needless to say.

P.P.S. Stick figure Me is almost always shirtless. Don’t be alarmed. And stick figure Husband is shirtless and pantless because the laundry needs to be done.

Have you ever had thoughts, important thoughts?

Have you ever noticed how LeanCuisine meals seem to always go on sale at the beginning of the year . . . just in time for people with weighty resolutions, or for people who have vowed to eat more food from the frozen section?

No? You've never noticed this? Yeah me neither. I don't eat that stuff, except for YES I DO (when it is on sale), not really because it's supposed to be healthful, but because it's fast and actually delish-ish for frozen food.

This is not a paid advertisement, but anyone out there associated with LeanCuisine, a large supply of your product dropped off at my doorstep would not go under-appreciated. Case in point:  I ate two today because I was hungry and, let's be honest, the serving sizes on these suckers are well suited for a mouse or a nymph. However, I am not a mouse or a nymph despite popular belief. But I am hungry, and lazy. You win.

Also, on a semi-related food thought, have you ever considered throwing out some rank, rotten leftovers along with the container because you'd rather mourn the loss of a cute bowl than have to contemplate cleaning it out, or dare I say even open the lid? Yeah me too.

And while I'm in such an inquisitive mood, have you ever let your mind play around with the idea of leaving the Christmas decorations up until more April like months, seeing as how Christmas is over but winter is not?

Crafty with yarn? Me too! Wink wink. Nudge nudge.

Just wondering, for no reason at all. If you have, that is a really strange thought to have apparently. People might not want to be your friend if they find out about it.

I picked my family and my brain

As Thanksgiving (a.k.a The Day Before Black Friday) approaches I’ve been reflecting on things I’m grateful for in life.

The Husband. Of course. Saying it sort of cheapens it. You know? But he’s the sensitive type so his feelings would be hurt if I didn’t (ha!). He’s just that sort of man. And he gets me slushies and tater tots late at night. That’s my kind of husband.

Bosco. He’s creative. He’s thoughtful. He apologizes when he wakes me up from my naps. He has a meltdown over misplaced cheese. That’s my kind of son.

Bubba. He’s sneaky. He likes to eat spiders. Real ones. He will not, however, eat anything else, unless it contains graham crackers. He’s a little lump of softness in a tough rough world. That is also my kind of son.

The rest of my family. They are a tapestry of what the crazy. They can sit and stare at each other and then laugh for no apparent reason. They can also make you do a double-take. That’s my kind of family.

I’m also grateful that I have a brain that allows me to discern for myself things that are less than.

Like the McRib. My brain says stay far far away. It resembles “food” the school cafeteria served in elementary school. And my brain knows food served in schools in the 80s probably just might be the cause of the hair on my chin.

Like any show starring Charlie Sheen. Two Losers and Half a Boy Who Will Need Therapy Later or something akin to that. My brain asks why is this crap able to exist amongst us humans? But my brain already knows the answer. Global warming.

Like the nationwide switch to digital TV. My brain says conspiracy.

Like soggy cereal. Brain says it should be outlawed.

Like Black Friday. My brain sees cold shivering people with bad attitudes and a death wish. And my brain knows full well that staying in a warm cozy bed is a far superior decision because traversing mass hysteria at 4 A.M. is for suckers, and my brain is not a sucker. It is also not an owner of an HDTV, Wii, Xbox, ipod or other some such things. My brain is deprived.

And that’s my kind of brain. Like I said, one I’m grateful to have.

Happy Day of Thanks!

What are you grateful for?

A case of the crazies

There is snow in the forecast today. I am not making some euphemism here about how my heart is icy cold to the many advances of Jared Leto and that I continually have to keep turning him down since I’m married and because of all the eyeliner and such. Really Jared? That is not the way to woo.

No that's not what I'm saying. Here is what I'm saying. I'm saying it is literally supposed to snow today. The heavens are going to open up and dump white chilly stuff on my blustery soul and my pumpkins. My actual pumpkins.There's six of them sitting outside right now, poor things.

They could be wrong though, the weather peoples. They’ve been wrong before. But they’re making such a big-to-do about it all that I think they just might be speaking truth here. That one guy even wore his white suit which I guess is supposed to make him look like one giant snowflake, and to foreshadow the onslaught of even more snowflakes.

When I got word of the evil lurking in the skies, all I could do was think about sheets. Nice cozy warm sheets that I probably won’t get to spend as much time snuggled up in as I would want.

So instead I thought about nice cozy socks which would have to suffice. But to be honest cozy socks can get stifling and I’d probably take them off after a few minutes. It’s the thought that counts anyway.

Then I thought about the theme song to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and wondered where all those crazy turtles are today after they had their fifteen minutes of fame. Donatello is probably a recluse living out his days studying nuclear energy. And Raphael is probably living in a van down by the river. I can’t remember the names of the other guys.

This is what snow storms do to me though, a purging of the nonsensical things going on inside my mind. Maybe it has something to do with the barometric pressure, or maybe it's the color white. I don't know. All I know is that I start singing every Disney song known to man. I start thinking about the invention of numbers. I start thinking about how pencils work. I start thinking about the making of Thai fish sauce. I start thinking about the Dewey Decimal System. I start thinking about Robin Williams. In other words, I start thinking crazy.

For me, all it takes is a little nudge.

A list of today's inconsequential thoughts

Some days it’s just easier to fill my brain with thoughts of little to no importance. Today was one of those days. Who better to share them with than you, my deserving, understanding readers? Behold my unedited thoughts as they now become your thoughts. Ha!

Why is it impossible to keep my mouth closed while applying my mascara?

What was my life like before I discovered the wonderfulness of freshly ground pepper? Less fresh. That’s for sure.

My throat is sore. I’m getting sick. That means pretty soon everyone in my family will be sick. I need to go buy tissues which I’m actually excited to do because they make the boxes so cute these days.

I’m pretty sure the sole purpose of Etsy on this our planet is to test marriages.

How many necklaces does one have to own before she can tell people she is a legitimate supa-star.

I think I’d rather step on Cheerios all day rather than Kix. I don’t know why. I'm glad I've finally decided that with myself.

What was I thinking about in this picture? Gee I love cages. I’m like a bird… My hair will one day give me grief; I feel it in my bones. Are these boy pants? Can I have some candy now? Yeah it was probably that last one.

I hope I don’t get my period when I’m staying at a relative’s house for a few days. I really hate to leave behind evidence of my femaleness in their wastebasket.

How many headaches does it take to convince me to pop a Tylenol?

I like owls. And monkeys. And hippos.

That dream I had where a couple neighbors were visiting with me while I gave my sons a bath, all whilst I wasn’t wearing any clothes . . . yeah that dream. That dream was really weird. I can never tell anyone besides the Husband about that dream in full detail. Do not blog about that dream silly you. It’s just too weird, even for your blog.

I wish I could say I found Nate Berkus’ goofy grin endearing, but I can’t. Not yet anyway.

“Ohio State Fair. Map of the grounds. Get your program right here.” Ah childhood.

Blasted sore throat. Sore throats are worse than hangnails. Really sucks that I have both right now.

Maybe I should try wearing yellow again. No. Probably not.

Hello loofah. I really do you love you. You know that right?

Pillow and Bed. I'm gonna say the same thing to you.

Because it needs to be said

I’ve always made an effort to be completely honest on this here rambling blog of mine, and by honest I mean humorous. I would assume that most of you readers appreciate it, otherwise why would you be reading right? There is no financial compensation. I’m not throwing Andrew Jackson’s or even George Washington's your way and I have yet to do a giveaway of anything other than tips. My, my what a cheapskate am I! But somehow people still read my words or at least visit my site. I guess I shouldn’t assume that visits to my site always result in the reading of my posts. You could just be staring at the computer screen, drooling, because you got to my blog by accident when you Googled “pee like a racehorse.” If that was you, I sort of would like to know. We might be kindred spirits.

Anyway, I guess I would just like to say thanks for reading, no matter how often you visit or even if this is the only post of mine you will ever read. I’d like to pretend that I’d be okay just writing to an audience of one (the Husband), but that guy is so biased about me it’s not even funny. Plus I’m blackmailing him. If he was my only reader that would just be sad and sick. Cheers to you all for making me less pathetic.

Now if you’ll please indulge me, I’m going to stray from my normal course today.

While I do consider myself a very private person (surprise!), I also consider myself a very open person. Is this an oxymoron? Well if it is then I’m a walking talking oxymoron. Understandably not everyone is this way. Not everyone is a freak like me. Not everyone wants people knowing their business. For this reason I have tried to only blog about me and my thoughts, sometimes with a little peppering of the Husband (with every intention of asking for his permission), and my children who have not yet reached the age of caring. Other family and friends I offer immunity, unless otherwise stated in our relationship contract. That reminds me, Daryl, I’m still waiting for your signed copy (just kidding I don’t know any Daryls).

My nice arrangement hasn’t been working out lately though, due to recent events that affect me but aren’t really mine to talk about. Really messes up this whole self-involved blog of mine for sure, as it should. But then I have that nagging problem of festering thoughts gone unspoken. It’s a classic dilemma for those who blog and write for cathartic purposes. And I desperately need to cathart.

So what I write now is for me. I need to write this. I reek of selfishness. I’m coping.

So far I’ve tried to keep things light-hearted, focusing on immensely silly things, sometimes lovely things, and sometimes things that are just plain crazy. These things make me happy.

But the honest reality is that life doesn’t always fit into these carefree categories. Sometimes crappy things happen that make this blog seem so trivial and dare I say meaningless. Sometimes you just can’t bring yourself to partake in the unimportant.

Sometimes you find out someone near and dear has cancer. Damn cancer.

And suddenly this little web nook of mine is pointless. This could be said for a lot of things though, when something happens that messes up your world’s axis. Eating palatable food suddenly seems less important. Finding that perfect shade of lipstick seems trite. Showering seems like a waste of time. Exercise? Yeah right.

But here’s the very mature conclusion that I’ve come to over the past few days: Life doesn’t have to suck, even though sucky things happen. What my conclusion lacks in poetry it makes up for in truthfulness.

That means I’m not going to allow disgusting food to slide down my gullet or the gullets of my loved ones just so we don’t die of starvation. I’m going to make an effort and eat only deliciousness. I’m going to shave my legs and take bubble baths. I’m going to make my house pretty. I’m going to continue to make my kids put their toys away. I’m going to people watch and laugh when I see ridiculous things happening right before my eyes. I’m going to dance like a monkey on crack with my boys. I’m going to smile occasionally. And I’m going to blog. This is what helps me get by.

Because I’ve tried the other options. And they don’t work very long for people who want to live life, people such as myself.

Like anger. I tried that. A deep seething in my soul that made me want to scream so loud I’d kill the birds chirping outside. Cursing at everything (mostly under my breath lest my children pick up a bad habit) because none of the more civil-like words could adequately express the edge and sharpness going on inside my pissed off mind. Damn cancer. Angry at the weather man for being a couple degrees off. Angry at the leaves accumulating in my driveway. Angry that the hair on my armpits grows diagonally in one spot. Angry that this chocolate bar doesn’t taste more chocolaty. Damn cancer and damn everything.

But all this anger only led to Bosco asking Daddy why Mommy was so mad. Not exactly good parenting on my part right there.

So then I tried sadness. Tears. Unstoppable tears. Albeit necessary, at some point the tear ducts and puffy eyes needed a break. I could barely see, what with these beady little eyes I had going on.

Then I tried being contemplative, too contemplative (there is such a thing). Thinking. Over-thinking. Worrying. Asking questions, particularly to God. Questions that just turned into one huge ramble. God why? This is a nightmare. Why this nightmare? Surely there’s a purpose beyond the suckiness of it all. There is a purpose in all things right? Except for ants of course. Ants are purposeless. So what is the purpose of this damn cancer God? Please excuse my language. Actually can you help me with this anger first and then tell me the purpose?

And that brings me to where I’m at right now, reasonably contemplative with a mixture of clarity. This is my current forecast.

I know at least what I need to know right now.

I know that I’ve become in tune with the thousands of people and their families going through the same thing right this very minute. I know how they all feel. I now have true empathy.

I know what is good and true.

And more importantly . . . I know this isn’t so much about me. I may feel some of the emotional effects, but I’m not the one with the damn cancer (anger not totally gone yet apparently). I’m not the one who has to go through chemo and radiation, and all that goes along with that. I’m not the one who has to go to sleep each night and wake up each morning with this crap in my body. I don’t have to feel that particular pain and fear. I just have to do what I can do right now and that is be present, in mind and in spirit. Intently and actively present.

So that’s what I’m going to do.

Note: Sorrys are not my style right now. If you feel inclined to leave a comment because um, I love comments, do not say you are sorry or I will kick you in the crotch. Instead I will borrow an idea from Carina over at The Jet Set, one that she implemented when she blogged about a rather wretched Friday the 13th. Comments should offer something funny, inappropriate, or interesting. That will work quite nicely for me thank you very much.

This weekend I had thoughts

If I told you what I did this weekend, you would probably just yawn and call me a loser because I did NOTHING (beyond the traditional weekly visit to Target of course). And can I just say I’m proud to be a loser. It is fabulous.

After over a week of schlepping suitcases, two strollers, dirty laundry, diapers, two car seats, two children who sit in the car seats, bags of snack food, bags in general, a cranky Husband, important papers that cannot be lost no matter what, the Husband’s fanny pack, and my tired weary body, it was a joyous occasion when I could unload all THAT at various points in our cobwebbed home and just sit there staring off into nothingness (for as long as the kids would allow). Sometimes nothingness is good for the soul, especially when this particular soul has an unhealthy desire to have constant somethingness. Am I the only one who suffers from this?

Anyway, I let myself bask in this soupy state of mind all weekend. It was a little self-indulgent and lazy, I’ll admit, but I also did a lot of thinking. I don’t do that too often as it usually leads to me doing strange things, like starting a personal blog, or that one time I thought about sewing . . . something.

I thought about how great our vacation actually was despite the weariness that has now set up shop in my bones, and possibly my organs.

I thought about how great it was that my sons finally got to meet their great-grandmother, and how Bosco thinks GG’s house is just over yonder.

I thought about how it might be nice not to realize how far away GG actually is, and to have a totally warped sense of the space and time continuum.

I thought about how the next time I pay for a hotel room and find “no-no hairs” all over the bathroom floor, I will not swallow my pride. I will make a fuss. I will listen to that inner me because COME ON!

I thought about honeysuckle and lightning bugs, and how strange it must have been for the people who looked out their window one warm July evening and saw the silhouette of a lunatic redhead darting all over the neighborhood, into people’s yards, and into the middle of the road, trying to catch the one lightning bug that was still in existence.

I thought about deodorant, and how I would have to change my ways if ever I lived in a place where sweating is involuntary. As it is now, I live in place where sweating is more or less voluntary.

I thought about the mature in years lady who sat directly in front of us on our first flight, the one who turned around and glared at our child and us whenever fussiness ensued. I thought about how she was just lucky she wasn’t with us on our last flight because if she had been, I’m pretty sure she would have given herself a headache with all those eye rolls, and the smack to her face I wouldn’t have been able to control.

I thought about how I probably never would have actually smacked her. Words are much sharper, and less likely to get me arrested.

I thought about the young man returning home from an LDS mission who was on our last flight, who listened to a much more than just fussy baby and still had enough compassion leftover to ask me, after landing, if I and the baby were okay, without an ounce of hostility or ugliness in his countenance.

I thought about how I should have gotten his number . . . for my sister who is single. Duh.

I thought about how grateful (I guess that’s the word) I was that an unexpected visit from my monthly friend came just as I was exiting our last and final airplane. Any sooner and I would have been fully unprepared and pissed.

I thought about how again I am grateful (that’s the only word that comes to mind), that Bubba vomiting and my left arm being completely enveloped by baby barf, happened in the comfort of our own home, and not whilst on an airplane. Because that truly would have sucked.

I thought about how I should stop doing all this thinking and just enjoy cuddling my sick baby while he’ll let me, and before he passes the bug onto me.

Cue end of thinking session.

Any thoughts?