The Hills They Break Me

Holy Mountain of Death... it must be ninety-bazillion degrees outside and my legs feel like they are in cement casings. Where is my runners high? Where in all that is holy and stamped with a Nike swoosh is my moment of running zen?!

I am deep in the trenches of one month of running. The times are getting longer and my body is telling me to quit. The hills in my 'hood are r-e-lent-less. I'm not playing around here and my lower body knows it. My heart having been gargled by Jillian for weeks beforehand is quite up to the task. My feet are sufficiently callused from years of doing the Avon Walk. It's my mind and my legs that are weak. They see another hill coming and just want to cave. The brain says, "Hey legs...psstt...legs...up here. Listen, you don't have to take this punishment anymore. Just slow her down to a trot. She'll live. You've done your time today. Trust me..."

Stupid brain. Always trying to make decisions for me like, "Hey lady, wouldn't you rather be watching 'The Hills' rather than running them? Now that sounds like a swell idea, doesn't it? Yeah... that's the ticket. Watch the show 'The Hills'. You'll be all comfy on your couch, feet all propped up. Not sweating..."

Twenty-five minutes today Internets. I've got to run twenty-five minutes straight. Already my brain is trying to talk me out of it. It's almost all hills.


Let's start the weekend off right, shall we? It's time for a little bloggy love. I've recently started reading these these blogs and I love them. Enjoy!

Zozo's Mom - Joslyne is funny and it is not just because she has a 'Suck it!' list or that I'm listed as one of her 'Heroes'. Really? I'm blushing. Thank you!! She also takes priceless and timeless photos of her child that always bring a smile to my face. And really? Pics of kids that I didn't birth, usually don't do that for me.

Camryn is the dean of Mean Mommy University and not only does she post some of the most hysterical pictures of herself (one word: ninja) she has a blog called Mean Mommy University, people. Camryn- I *heart* you. Is my acceptance letter in the mail? I feel as if I should already have tenure there.

Anna Wintour to spotlight 'Little Houses'

I'm giving you a quote to discuss today because my life recently consists of nocturnal journeys to the tiny tot bedrooms in my house and my current my main objective of the day is to find out exactly where that puke smell is coming from, I don't care who it came from, I just need to know the where.

Anna Wintour, editor of the ginormous fashion tome known as Vogue, recently stated that the magazine will do a story about obesity. Be still my heart. Vogue is going to address something relevant? Fascinating. Can you tell I'm more of an Elle girl? I digress. Here's the quote, discuss in the comments. Really, people. I want some discussion. No more reading for free I say!

"I'd just been on a trip to Minnesota, where I can only kindly describe most of the people I saw as little houses."

Love the use of the word 'kindly'. It's like the southern phrase, "bless her heart..."

Drunk

"What's drunk?" TD asked startling me. While she had been upstairs napping I was taking advantage of the quiet time to get in an episode or two of 'Freaks and Geeks'. Apparently she had been in stealth mode and watching the show with me for a bit.

Wonderful, I thought. She's three and already I'm having the conversation with her about drinking. I tried my best to explain that being drunk is when grown-ups sometimes drink too much wine or beer. It isn't good for them and we should never, ever get into cars with drunk people. EVER. To go into more detail than that would have been over her head. Right?

She looked at me, smiled and said, "Daddy has too much beer and then he is drunk! Then I have too much juice and then I am drunk!"

Thank goodness school is done for the year because I really don't want a phone call about that one.

The Triple Threat

I turn 33 today. H has been calling me 'the Triple Threat' for the last few weeks. Technically, I think I need to be 333 years old if I really want to be a triple threat but if I were 333 I don't think I would be too much of a threat to anyone except Medicare.

In the past I've had my share of bad birthday karma but since my twenties I have evaded it quite nicely. H works his butt off each year to make sure it doesn't happen. This year we went away as a family for a quiet weekend at my MIL's on the water. We had an amazing night out with drinks followed by a perfect dinner for two. The next day as I was reading on the couch (read: half asleep for the second nap of the day.) my parents burst in the door surprising me with a visit. If I count the night out, the surprise visit, and a fabulous dinner of cheeseburgers and my fave coconut cake, H really did provide a triple threat of sorts for my big 33.

Today, it's rainy and humid. My hair is a frizzy mess and I'm spending the day tackling the laundry monster and doing PBS homework with TD. Honestly? I'm just so happy that I'm not desk jockeying it and that is enough for me.

Say a big 'Congratulations!' to Lattes and Life. She gave birth to a beautiful 9 lb plus baby girl on Friday!

Shining Star

Nostalgia week comes to an end today with this final and fifth post-

There was nothing safe about him. He wasn't my type in looks or what I thought was his personality. To say that he took a while to grow on me would be an understatement but then again, the feeling was mutual. After three years of dating on and off, H and I were to be married. It seemed like a handful of lifetimes had passed during those three years and especially now with just months to our wedding day we were worlds apart. San Diego for me and Okinawa, Japan for him. Between 3 a.m. phone calls, instant messaging and emails we were putting our wedding together. Sadly, because of this distance I never felt so alone. This man, whose smile promised me that we would 'live a life less ordinary', was so far away. So was my family and my entire slew of bridesmaids.

All the things I had been so excited to do I had to do alone. I picked out my dress solo, I spent hours trudging through department stores sifting through china patterns and glassware picking out what felt like our future and doing it entirely alone. All those invitations? I wrote them out myself. It is ironic that I watched a movie about the Marquis de Sade while making those things out. I had thought planning a wedding would be exciting and fun, but it was beginning to feel more like a chore. To top it off the playlist was due to the DJ and despite knowing all the various items I did not want played at our wedding (the hokey pokey and the electric slide make me twitch) H and I did not have a song. We had songs we liked but nothing spoke to us. Suddenly it seemed that finding our song was of the utmost importance. If I could figure this part out then maybe everything else would come together and we wouldn't feel quite so far apart.

Unfortunately everything I heard or had suggested to me seemed tired and played out. No to Etta James and Sinatra. 'Unforgettable' was entirely forgettable. Many songs just seemed to be dripping in a sugary sap that made me gag. Then one day during my lunch break I got in the car to run some errands and I heard it. Our song. The melody lifted my spirits and put a smile on my face. It brought tears to my eyes and all at once I knew that this song, this 1970's cheeseball of a song, was going to be our song. I put my car in park and just sat there and listened to the whole thing, grinning the entire time. We weren't together when we heard it but somehow it summed it all up for us. Napster enabled H to listen to it and he agreed that it was perfect. After that I played it continuously. Each time I heard it I felt closer to H despite being almost a world away.

It is not just our wedding song, but it is officially our song now. Shining Star, by The Manhattan's.


Read my latest at 23andMe- "Oligohydramnios, also known as low amniotic fluid, presents itself in only eight percent of pregnant women during some point in their pregnancy."

Second Floor, High Numbers

Nostalgia week continues here with day four-

It's Friday night. Excitement for the weekend has been building all week. As you walk down the hallway of McEwen Hall, second floor, the high numbers (as we liked to be known) one could feel the humidity in the air from at least ten different showers all pouring forth their hot steaminess. A million various sweet smells from perfumes, hairsprays and competing scented body lotions all mingled together at once to dizzy your senses. That was the point, right? Passing by each room you could easily hear about ten different types of music from southern rock to real country, disco, rap and those drinking songs you never forget. Girls scurried across the hall, throwing clothing from Contempo Casuals and J. Crew back and forth, scrutinizing every detail of their chosen outfits. Should I really be tucking that sweater into high-waisted jeans tonight? Accessories were borrowed too. Friends did each others hair and make up. There was a shortage on brown lipstick.

Both ends of the hallway is were the drinkers congregated. Smokers must hang out the windows so that your friends 'bed in a bag' didn't end up smelling like your Winston Lights. Pre-drinking could last for hours if your friends took too long to get ready. It didn't matter though. You could always reapply your lip gloss one more time. Besides it was the getting ready for the night that was always more exciting to me than the actual evening out. Truthfully, standing around at a frat party was never very much fun to me. I would have rather hung out with my girlfriends all night in the dorm than swill 'beast' and play asshole with some boys who could form a mosh pit for the 'Magic Carpet Ride' song.

Those nights were all about anticipation and possibilities. Our laughter seemed endless. We took care of each other no matter what the night brought upon us and couldn't wait to rehash the details the next morning over a leisurely dining hall brunch. Our adult lives were just dawning before us, expectations were strong and we were full ourselves and what seemed to be our bottomless and overflowing youth. The friendships created from those nights have lasted a lifetime and can be picked up and treasured at a moments notice even today.

And now for the song- Oh What a Night. It played continuously in almost every room on those nights where it seemed wearing just the right shirt could turn your whole night around. Whenever I hear it I'm taken back to my freshman year dorm and all the memories of us girls getting ready for a night out.

Firsts

Part three of Nostalgia week continues-

It was a summer of firsts. I was seventeen and just like the song by the Stray Cats, I needed to let off a little steam. I wanted to be on my own so bad and yet I had no idea how in the world I was supposed to get out of my little village of a town. To top it off E was taking a job as a nanny (seriously E? What was that about?!) in the Sag Harbor/East Hampton, NY area and we would be apart for most of the summer. I thought I was going to just curl up into a dried ball of debris and die. The summer yawned before me a in a dull, hazy way that seemed to float on forever with absolutely no point if I didn't have my partner in crime. That is until it was decided I should take a few weekends to visit E up in NY. Now the taste of freedom was on the tip of my tongue and suddenly everything looked brighter.

That summer, not only did I take the ferry for the first time, I also found out what it was really like to be on my own, to budget myself and to learn the lesson that with such freedom can come a whole lot of confidence that I never knew I could possess.

It was that summer that I bought my first pack of cigarettes, deciding that, "Hey! I'm 17 and I've never smoked! I'm going to walk into that corner store and buy the first pack of kill sticks I see!" Thus my love for Winston Lights was born. I smoked the whole pack that night. I bought alcohol for the first time (did I mention that we forgot our money because um.. you can't put money in a bikini, but the old guy at the liquor store knew we were good for it and we could pay him back later. Later when his wife was there. She? Was not too pleased.), I stayed out until dawn for the first time, killed a mouse by drowning and then freezing it, took care of my first drunk friend and vice versa. I also experienced how painful it can be to sleep in your car.

The weeks in between my weekend jaunts were rough. I felt chafed at having a curfew and not being able to come and go as I pleased. I had to eat what my mother made for dinner again and not what I felt like. I spent my days toiling away at CVS in my oh-so-fashionable red smock too.

When I think back to those weekends it is a mess of memories all tangled up together. I remember the blazing hot sun and sand, the wild nights with my best friend who liked to dance with a vacuum cleaner when she was drunk and climb trees. I remember dancing to Enya in the moonlight with the ocean as my backdrop. There was tasting pasta primavera for the first time, drinking coffee in the morning or should I say the 90s staple, cappuccino and creating my own schedule. Everything I did was magical and fun. Every moment was golden.

In September, when school started up again, I felt invincible. I had a self-awareness and confidence that I never had before. I dubbed myself 'Super-Girl!' (she was a lot like Wonder Red) and I felt that nothing could stand in my way. If my parents had known what I was up to I'm sure they would have put a big ol' kabosh on my weekend trips to visit E but looking it back, allowing me the access to experiment and do all those things gave me the power to know that I was stronger than my 98 lbs. I needed that more than anything. The summer of '93 was one of the best in my life and it wasn't just because I found out I could drink like a fish.

By the way, the song is 'Downeaster Alexa' by Billy Joel. I traveled to many of the places he sings about during that summer of firsts and every time I hear it I feel as if I'm being transported to that youthful, carefree summer. I can't think of any other song that makes me feel more nostalgic than that one.

Cruisin'

Part two of Nostalgia week continues today-




When the air turned warmer and the sun dipped below the horizon my parents would sometimes turn to me at the dinner table and say, "Hey, Vic- you want to go cruisin' tonight?" "Yeah!" I would reply and off we would go, all of us piling into my parents silver Datsun 200 SX. I loved that car, no matter what time of year it was it always had beach sand in it and it perpetually smelled like sunscreen and summer.

Off we would go driving around the coastline of Lil' Rhody often ending up in Weekapaug at a scenic overlook. I would gaze out at the ocean and its vastness, so dark and churning and only a bit out of reach. The stars overhead twinkled as Wolfman Jack played on the radio. We cruised to music that is still around today.

I think for my parents this must have been a mini-date night for them. They could drive around and have long talks while I gazed out at the waves and the moon. The windows were often open and so was the moon-roof overhead. The smell of the salt and sea would fill the car and it still reminds me of home to this day. Just when I thought we were going to have to head home one of them would turn to me in the backseat and say, "You want to go to Friendly's, Vicky?" Just like that I would be out of my own seaside dreams and I would perk up and say, "OOH! YEAH! Can I get a Fribble?! Please?" (Not to be confused with an Awful, Awful by the way.) It was always the perfect ending to the night.

That brings us to the song portion of the post- While it wasn't something that you heard from Wolfman Jack, it was often played on the radio and my parents listened to the soundtrack often- 'On the Dark Side' by Eddie and the Cruisers.


Image: Gull Rock, Weekapaug, RI

Hungry, Broke and Ludacris

You hear a song on the radio, in the car, in a store, or on your ipod and suddenly you are taken back to a distinct time and place. You are no longer standing in frozen foods but in a darkened high school gym or in your bestest friends bedroom. The song/memory evocation is so strong it can bring up deep feelings, distinct smells and completely take you back in time, if only for a few moments. This week, in the days leading up to my birthday (and let's face it, because it's my blog) I'm doing a little trek down memory lane each time it will be accompanied with a song that brings it all back.

I would love it if you would share with me some memories you have and the songs that take you back too.

I had been married to H for about a year and we were living in what felt like the land of the lost, also known as the Mojave desert. Or as E liked to call it, 'my sandbox'. Having recently moved to SoCal herself we found that for the first time in many years we were only a few hours apart and could visit each other quite easily. For me, it was bliss. I had spent several years apart from my best friend between going to separate schools, traveling abroad and moving across the country. Now, living in the middle of nowhere, I needed her more than ever. We spent many weekends that year getting reacquainted over midnight drive-thrus to Jack in the Box for mozzarella sticks and drinking cheap wine.

One particular weekend I drove down to E's place in San Diego and we quickly realized that we were both flat broke. I'm talking mere pennies in the wallet broke. Having just moved across the country and me having been unemployed for a record eight months had broken us down a bit. Her apartment was almost free of food and I had brought down a few things from my place to tide us over. Still, between the two of us, I think we had less than two dollars to our names. We decided to that we could cobble together a pasta, artichoke heart, half a goat cheese pizza slice dinner (with some cheap wine we found in her cupboard) if we just bought ourselves a jar of pasta sauce. Off we went to Trader Joe's. As we stood in the pasta aisle of the store scanning the shelves for the cheapest bottle of sauce, E spent the last of her "real" money on her car payment via her cell phone. That payment made, at the last possible moment, made her officially flat broke. Altogether we had about two dollars in change. We grabbed a cheap jar of Trader Giotto's sauce and prayed tax wouldn't put us over our price limit.

Once we got home, made the pasta, reheated the pizza and threw the artichokes in the sauce for good measure we settled down on her couch to dissect the recent inexplicable popularity of Cameron Diaz's "butt-dance". The contents of the dinner didn't matter, we laughed and commiserated about how broke we both were individually and continued to drink our wine. Our friendship was moving into a new territory now that we were adults and we were continuing to find our way in our new lives. It was the perfect example of how you don't need money to be happy. Seven years later I still remember that weekend and it always makes me smile. Just recently E and I laughed over how broke we really were, how dire things had become for us and how at the time we felt so scared, but at least we had each other to make the other one laugh.

The song? The impossibly horrible, 'What's Your Fantasy' by Ludacris. Why? Because it was on all damn weekend no matter when we got in the car or where we went. It is laughably awful and each time I hear it I think of that weekend when E and I were so broke we almost couldn't afford a jar of spaghetti sauce between the two of us.


Over at 23andMe's pregnancy community I'm discussing pregnancy and allergies, "I am not allergic to anything. Scratch that. Sometimes clove buds make me hurl. However, during my second pregnancy... read more here."

I'm talking about my lack of a competitive nature and the 5k I'm training for at DC Metro Moms too. Read all about it!

I'm Not Winning Any Awards Over Here

It's been one of those weeks where I'm quite sure my neighbors are thinking, "What in the world is going on over there!?! That crazy lady's kids are always crying!" Umm... yeah. I feel like I should be labeled with 'The Worst Mother of the Year' award.

It is not that I'm sitting back trying to catch up on a season's worth of Grey's Anatomy or anything either. I'm simply trying to just get through each and every day. No matter what I do though there is always crying or whining in the background. I try to take out the trash and there is crying. I am loading or unloading the dishwasher and someone begins to whine. I am trying to keep the floor clean and both kids are going at once. This is not a case of trying to keep it all pristine and perfect either. I know too well that lesson that sometimes housework has to be put aside. However, when the floor is so dirty I can't put The Comedian down on it in fear that she'll ingest week old popcorn or cheerios or that TD will develop an infectious disease just from kneeling on it to play cars, then we have a problem.

I feel like I'm always eight steps behind or my feet are stuck in some sticky, goopey substance that makes me extra slow. It makes me grouchy, sarcastic, withdrawn and I feel a bit like a failure. It's been a rough week here and I think what makes it even more so is that there doesn't seem to be any discernible cause. No one is sick, no one has massive deadlines. It's just an ordinary week with an exhausting amount of malcontent.

If I don't watch out I'm going to start taking TD's babies away from her after she disciplines them and muttering the lines like Joan Crawford herself, "They were thoughtless, selfish, spoiled children. Now they won't wake you up when you need your rest." Except TD isn't a drag queen who knows Mommie Dearest like the back of her hand and quoting movie lines like that is a bit over a three year-old's head.

It's back to the laundry monster for me.

You Can't Blame a Girl for Trying

This is a Blackberry.


This is a Calculator.


They are not the same thing. While a calculator can help you balance your checkbook and spell HELL and BOOBS on it, it cannot send email or tell all your Facebook friends that your status is "very tired" or "incredibly bored." (Incidentally, can we all just take a minute to admit that we are all only using Facebook to look at pictures of people from high school?) A calculator also cannot help you Twitter to all your tweeps that your cat Mr. Widdlesworth is recovering nicely from his gall bladder surgery, thank you very much. That right there is as interesting as when I talk about The Comedian's teething. Scintillating-up-to-the minute tweeting for sure.


Someone needs to tell TD all this though because she keeps toting around the calculator and exclaiming, "Hold on. I'm working..." while she stabs the number keys or presses the calculator to her ear in an effort to get Nana or Mem on the phone.

If she starts calling people 'douchebags' then I'll know we have a problem.

Wordless Wednesday - Earth Day Tulips

*******************************************************************************

Also, this? Is fantastic! Who can say no to a Mega-shark? Not me.

Don't forget to check out the great giveaways happening this week at MPR! A pendant for a good cause and a whole box of assorted goodies from Econest!

Bathing Suit Season Cometh

You know eating an entire box of cupcakes seemed like a fab idea at the time. So did guzzling bottles of wine, eating crepes with bacon, syrup and yes, more bacon. Those fries were also pretty tasty as was the hot buttered popcorn I savored at the movies last week. Overdid it a tad? Perhaps. I admit I'm a glutton of sorts and I do like my salts and sweets. And um... all things winey. And beery and vodka-infused too.

So it is with great horror that I realized that the pool will be opening soon and I've got two kiddos who are all about running around in cute floral swimsuits with ruffled behinds. Me? Not so much. I've got more of a rippley behind and it has got to come to a full stop. Not a full stop for those walking near me either, as in, "Oh dear gawd! Would you just look at that white pasty mess before us? There are children present!"

I'm also training for a 5k, like some other Shredheads, and it doesn't really behoove me to be eating like a college football player. I'm not going to go into what my dietary restrictions will be and so forth. Because that is a snooze button waiting to happen but I will tell you this. My wine bill? It will be smaller and because of that so will my waist line.

I'm missing my pinot grigio already.


"Breast-feeding, every time I think of it, I feel faint." I'm talking about pregnancy and breastfeeding in Got Milk? over at 23andMe pregnancy community. Join me today!

I'm up over at Honest Baby too with, "Fondue=Happy Mother's Day?"

Meeting Jen Lancaster

Last Friday I took a trip two years in the making. I boarded a metro train bound for the city and met up with a friend. After a delightful dinner of tapas and sangria and a quick stop for cupcakes we made our way to the Jen Lancaster, Pretty in Plaid, book signing.

Awww... look at the cute crazy stalker fangirrrl.

I know you are already like, "Uh, what is the big deal? She's just some author. What are you some crazy stalker fan or something?" Well, I could be. I did after all wear lime green pants, a pink polo and pearls. And the above mentioned cupcakes. Divine, by the way. So while I could be construed as crazy stalker fangirl (hmm.. despite the lime green pants and pearls I'm really more of a fangirrrl, anyways...) it is more that Lancaster's first book came to me at just the right moment. Let's go back three years, shall we?

There I was all post-partumy and on my first outing after having TD. I was standing in Borders humor section figuring, "Why the F not. I could use some as long as it's not the Jeff Foxworthy variety." And there it was, Bitter is the New Black, Lancaster's first book and I thought, "I'm bitter..." I picked it up and began to read while pushing a colicky TD. I couldn't stop laughing and relating. When I was done with the book I wanted more. I quickly discovered her blog, Jennsylvania. While I had a live journal back in 2003 and a pregnancy/family-only blog, I never thought of blogging on the scale that Lancaster was doing. I had never read any one's blog either. Suddenly, I had a fever. A fever that could only be quenched with more... blogging.

And there you have it. I created The Mummy Chronicles, quit my day job and now I'm a writer, reviewer, consultant extraordinaire! I really believe that I have Lancaster to thank for that in some way. She inspired me to do something I didn't think I could and kept me laughing throughout. Meeting her for the first time (despite two years of trying and missing book signings) was a real highlight for me. Even if I couldn't get up the nerve to do more than shove cupcakes at her, grin stupidly and squat beside her with the brilliant line of, "Wow. I feel really tiny squatting down here." I iz wicked brilliant writer, no?

I'm hosting a few giveaways at MPR this week- check them out here! There's a silver pendant and more!

Assorted Ramblings

I'm hosting an insanely good giveaway at MPR that involves clothes and more! Check it out here. I'm giving away a pretty necklace this week so be sure to check that out as well.

I'm de-following Heidi Montag on Twitter. The shame that I clicked the 'follow' button is overwhelming me on a minute by minute basis. Plus? The over use of exclamation points are actually making me want to vomit.

Every time I see this blogger I feel like a blast of sun has just filled my day. She is so sweet and generous it just makes me happy to say I know her. And Kristen? Thank you for the wrist band. We were in and out of that hot box in minutes thanks to you! Who knew Barnes and Noble could use a book signing as a torture device.

I need a new phone. I'm still sportin' a Motorola Razr. Egads. I can't even Twitter on that thing. I won't even go into how difficult it is to text. I'm on the search for a new phone and need some advice. Hold out for the Palm Pre? Go the route of the Iphone (HATE the keyboard!)? Or find something else? Help me Internets. You are my only hope.

UPDATE: Yes, I'm a blogging oddity. I didn't go for the cool kids phone aka the iphone. I bought a Blackberry Curve. It does more of what I need and I just know the Palm Pre is going to shatter that iphone's halo shortly.

Work At Home Mom Takes a Meeting

You give yourself an hour to get somewhere that takes thirty minutes. You take three hours to get yourself and the two kids ready for an outing that will take about three hours as well.

On the way to the meeting you get hit with some gnarly traffic, get lost on a few one way streets, scream so loud in a parking garage your three year-old quips, "Look, Mommy! Curious George! Just calm down..." Realize you need to valet the car and get two kids in car seats out with all their gear and some shorty (I kid, because I love) is standing in your spot texting away. An angel descends on your car and takes the oldest by the hand and leads you into the building.

After a quick hello to Clifford, the big red dog, you drop the kiddies off and head to your meeting. You are dressed, your hair is coiffed and you are even sportin' a piece of non-wedding related jewelry. You actually feel together, eat your lunch while it is still hot and can have conversations that don't start with, "If you eat one more bite of..." You are in heaven.

All too soon you find yourself getting honked at in the valet line as it takes you five seconds to throw the baby carrier in the car and another ten seconds (seriously, only ten seconds! world record!! am fastest mother ever!) to throw the toddler into her seat. You want to throw the bird and yell something along the lines of - "Bite me, old white guy! I'd like to see you get these kids in a car this fast!" However, you remain calm, tip the valet and drive off into a dead stop.

More traffic hell awaits and the kids aren't getting any perkier. You toss some snacks at the toddler along with a large piece of plastic known as 'Frosty' that looks suspiciously like a baby doll and not a snowman and hope the baby doesn't meltdown as you sit in four walls of car snarl. When you finally make it home all you want to do is crash but instead you end up bathing a baby with an exploding diaper and ripping apart the car seat to throw it in the wash.

When my husband takes a meeting? He simply gets up from his desk and walks over to it.

Wordless Wednesday- The 'Lost' Edition

Are YOU ready for 'Lost'?

Memories of my Grandfather

Sometimes when the whole house is still asleep, I will creep downstairs and read in the orange glow of my small kitchen light. I will pour myself a cup of coffee, settle into the quiet of my house, and just lose myself in whatever book I am reading.

Later when I unfurl myself from my hunchback sitting position as I simultaneously realize that the sun has come up I remember this-

Sometimes in the still dark early morning, I would creep out from beneath my Rocky and Bullwinkle sheets and peer out into the darkened hallway of my grandparent’s house. The sounds of my grandmother snoring quietly filled the space down at the end of the hall. Peering down the other end of the hall would always be one constant thing. The golden light over the kitchen table that would encircle my grandfather as he sat hunched over a paperback novel. A steaming cup of coffee would be sitting beside him and only the sound of a page turning could be heard. Sleepily I would pad into the kitchen and quietly take a seat at the table next to him. Just as quietly he would always greet me with a, "Morning, Tiger."

Without a word, I would observe everything about him and the area bathed in the kitchen light. From the black coffee in his mug to the gleam of his glasses and the design of the book cover, I wanted to take it all in. In a little while, the house would be alive with my grandmother making breakfast, the sounds from the nearby television and the voices of my still-at-home uncles getting ready to start their day.

I loved that quiet time with him. Each time I now get the chance to grab a morning just like that I feel somehow that he is with me. His spirit is humming in the air around my own kitchen. The orange glow of the overhead light circling me as I sit bent over a book with my own dark coffee steaming next to me.

Rednecks vs. White Trash?

The other night while awaiting the opening act at the DC Improv H and I got into the discussion, "Is there a difference between being a Redneck and being White Trash?"

Initially, I thought no. I'm a Yankee with a side of WASP thrown in for good measure so what do I know? I don't talk through my jaw or anything but I've been known to get all in your face in the nicest most conflict-free, passive aggressive way about manners, the importance of thank you notes and general day to day etiquette.

H, who admits to having a nice chunk of Redneck in him (the man cleaned his shot gun twice this week.) says White Trash can technically be anywhere location-wise (W.T. goes global!) but Rednecks are typically a southern only thing. White Trash constitutes a lack of manners and is prone to fighting. So wait, what was the movie Road House about then?

So you tell me? Are all Rednecks about Nascar, gun racks and hunting? Does all White Trash live in trailers like we often hear in jokes? Am I perpetuating a stereotype and really pissing you off?


Win a cute reusable shopping bag! Sure! Why not- they're global now too! I'm giving one away this week at MPR.

Randomness #235- I look like Harry Potter

-Those crazy folks at Poo-pourri are at it again- "Poo~Pourri is a spray deodorizer designed to be sprayed directly onto the toilet bowl water before you go. The secret blend essential oils create a film on the surface of the toilet water that acts as a barrier to trap odors inside." Secret blend? Makes me think of the Colonel's secret blend of herbs and spices and to never wanting to eat fried chicken ever again.


-I stopped shredding and gained four pounds. Probably because I also consumed four pounds of cadbury eggs, chocolate marshmallow bunnies and a load of Hershey products all in a few short weeks. My insides feel disgusting. Time to detox! Who's coming with me?!


-I read that Speidi will be honeymooning in Mexico. Can it be true? Will the apocalypse caused by this union be diverted if they get Swine flu? Would that be a 'very special' episode of The Hills if they did? Cue deathbed scene with special guest LC...


-Skin glue is like the most delicious scab that I want to pick. I find myself constantly touching it and then slapping my hand away.


-According to my friends my head gash makes me look like Harry Potter. Awesome. Just awesome.








I'm getting bookish at Honest Baby in 'Mummy Goes Literary'. It's 'Just the Two of Us' at DC Metro Moms. Check them both out!



Get in on the 'Friday Fun Finds' at MPR today!