Domestic Spaz - Putting the "Me" Back in Mommy

This year February is just a little longer than normal - Hooray for that.

2012-02-17T10:46:00.000-05:00

Ah, February.

I have a love/hate relationship with February, that I think I've mentioned before. In the beginning of the month we're always wrapping up our Girl Scout cookie sale which always proves to be hectic. By the Superbowl Sunday my co-leader and I are usually ready to pull our hair out and put a formal ban on the words "Tagalong" and "Samoa" within our earshot.

Then we have Valentines Day, which can either be the most wonderful day or the most disappointing day, depending on our expectations. This year I was happy to pick out my own roses at the grocery store and remark on how beautiful they were every day as they opened up. Bug, still a little tender from his break-up, had moved on to another cute face and had a less than favorable response from her when he attempted to woo her with chocolate and a teddy bear on Valentines Day. Middle school can be brutal, y'all.

Rounding out the end of the month is my birthday, which has officially moved from being the happiest day of the year to another reminder of time's constant passing. I'm less than a week away to the big three five and I'll be happy when it's passed, I guess. I wish I could be more like those people who, no matter the year, are elated when it's their day. They look forward to it, they plan it, they get excited about the attention and the gifts and the hub bub.

Don't get me wrong - I do enjoy celebrating the day with my family. I just enjoy it a little more when it's one of their birthdays we're celebrating, not mine. This year I plan on sitting on the beach with my toes buried in the sand and a cold margarita in hand, and I'll try to just look at it as a beautiful day with my family.

I do love a good margarita.

Bug's first broken heart :(

2012-01-28T00:50:00.000-05:00

Today my sweet Bug had his first real heart break and my own heart broke just a little to see him so sad. His first girlfriend (or whatever qualifies as a girlfriend when you are in 6th grade) broke up with him today. Their romance lasted just about one month and mostly consisted of nearly constant texting back and forth, but he was pretty upset when he arrived home from school today.

He didn't want to talk much and after he went to karate tonight he seemed to be in better spirits, but there was still a little part of me that wanted to call this girl up and tell her what a fool she is for letting such an awesome kid as my Bug go.

And then I realized I just might turn into that mother. You know the one. You probably dated a guy who had that mother. The mother who thinks that no girl is good enough for her golden son. That just might be me.

See, this time it's just a little thing. Bug's going to be sad when he sees this girl at school on Monday and there might be some weirdness between them for a little while that will be forgotten by Valentines Day when he'll more than likely be eyeing some other little girl who will be glad to have his attention.

But there will come a day when it's not a little thing. When he really loves someone and they're careless with his heart. And I really, really don't want that day to come.

7 Things I Want My Children To Know

2012-01-24T10:58:00.001-05:00

Life is hard. But it’s worth it. Keep focusing on those silver linings.

Life is filled with happiness and sadness, good and bad, like and dislike. There are times of incredible hardship, when just the simple act of waking up in the morning and putting both feet on the floor is almost impossible. But even in those times there is light. Even when you feel you’ve lost everything or you have nothing or you can’t imagine taking one more step, there is something to be gained.

There is always something positive to see, if you take the time to look. And there is always hope for a better day and a reason to keep on going. If you can just take that next step, just keep going, you’ll see that even in the darkest and longest tunnel, there is a light at the end.

Make mistakes and don’t be afraid to admit you did.

Nothing will ever be gained if you don’t take a chance. I’ve spent a good portion of my life being afraid to fail and ultimately failing miserably at so many things because I never took the chance to succeed. When things got hard for me, I quit them rather than fail. The thought of trying and not succeeding at something was just too much for me to handle. I had to be in control.

It wasn’t until I had children, something I couldn’t give up on, that I realized it’s okay to make mistakes. It’s NORMAL to make mistakes. I’ve made a mountain of mistakes raising the three of you and I’m sure I’ll make a couple mountains more. But you all are STILL amazing. I’m still in absolute awe of you and your little minds and your big ideas… and I realize that all the mistakes I’ve made have made you into these wonderful people.

Don’t be afraid to tell other people about the mistakes you made. Help other people learn from your mistakes and you’ll ultimately be making the world a better place. There’s no shame in screwing up if you can pick yourself up and move on. Just don’t give up just because something gets hard or looks scary. If it doesn’t work out, you learned a lesson.

Don’t ever be afraid to be yourself.

The world is full of people trying to be something they’re not. But you have the opportunity to be real and true by being who you really are inside. What you think and believe makes you who you are. Don’t allow someone else to do your thinking for you. You’re smart and quick witted and kind and the thoughts and feelings that come from within you are more important than any thoughts that someone else tries to put in your head.

In your life you’ll be bombarded constantly with propaganda. Messages trying to convince you to think a certain way or feel a certain way. But you know what is right for YOU. Be true to yourself, always, even when it’s difficult. This life is a gift, don’t waste it living for anyone other than yourself.

Don’t be afraid of change.

The best things have come about by change so don’t cling fast to old ideas and comfortable surroundings for fear of change. The world will never stop changing. Get used to it. One day you’ll look back at your life and wonder what happened to one thing or another place. Hold on to your memories of those things you’ve loved in the past, but look forward to the wonderful things you will love in the future.

It’s not an easy thing, to accept change. You’ll have to watch your parents get older, you’ll see people and animals that you love die and you’ll have to go on without them. You’ll move, you’ll start a new job, you’ll have a baby. And every time something changes it’s a little scary. But with every change there is an opportunity for things to be even better, even more amazing, and for you to live an even happier life.

And there’s always the opportunity to change again if things aren’t what you want them to be.

Be honest.

I think it was Mark Twain who once said “When in doubt, tell the truth.” Honesty is almost always the very best policy. There are few people in your life that you will be able to trust without question, but those people will mean more to you than everyone else. Because there is nothing that can compare to trust.

Be that person that other people can trust. And not just with other people. Be that person with yourself, too. People lie to themselves even more than they lie to other people, and those little lies you tell yourself are the worst kinds of lies.

If you know you’re always being truthful, you’ll create a sense of peace and tranquility within your life that can never be equaled by any amount of wealth or fame or friendships. Always be honest.

If it feels like it might be the wrong thing to do, it probably is.

You have a voice inside yourself that will let you know when something is wrong. When your friends are about to do something you don’t feel comfortable with and are urging you to go along, listen to that voice. When someone offers you an opportunity that seems like it might be shady or dishonest or might hurt other people, listen to that voice. When you drive your car into a parking lot and hesitate to go inside whatever building is there because something just doesn’t feel right, listen to that voice. You might never know what you avoided, but there’s a reason that voice is within you. Use it.

You’ve been blessed to have wonderful people in your life that have given you guidance. That guidance has given you a conscious and a moral fiber that will help you for the rest of your life. Don’t waste that little voice inside of you, it’s there to keep you safe.

I will always love you.

No matter what you do, who you love, or path you follow, I will never stop loving you. Even on my most frustrating days, the days when I am disappointed and can't imagine how you could have made whatever decision you made, I will always, ALWAYS love you. You will always be my child and I will always be your mother and I will never give up on you.

Where Goober proves he's not afraid of anything! (Except for loud birds and the opening to HBO's Crashbox...)

2012-01-19T10:47:00.001-05:00

Last weekend was my youngest niece's 7th birthday celebration at the fair. When I was a little kid we went to the fair almost every year for B2's birthday as it always fell around the same time of the year. So it was sort of nostalgic to go for her daughter's birthday this year.

It was probably the coldest day we've had so far this year in South Florida and it was slightly overcast which probably was what kept the crowds at bay so our kids could freely jump with practically no wait from one ride to another.

But before we even really got started, Goober, my youngest child at only eight years old decided he wanted to ride the Drop of Fear.

Let me just let you linger on that name for a minute. Drop of FEAR.

I had to do a little research just to figure out how big the Drop of Fear is and what I found was that the Drop of Fear is 131 feet high. And my eight year old wanted to ride it.

At first I thought that I would be saved by ride height limitations, but lucky for us, Goober has evidently just reached the 48 inch limit and was cleared for safety. Because my child plummeting 131 feet to the ground is safe.

Goober and The Man climbed aboard the ride and were strapped in safely and sat in anticipation while the rest of the riders buckled in. Once everyone was strapped in, the ride began it's ascent.

And with every foot they rose, I felt that little panic ride in my throat. The one that causes me to do stupid things like start screaming obscenities at the ride operator in order to convince him to bring the ride down slowly and allow my baby to get off. This is the same panic that caused "The Great Dragon Boat Freak Out of 1989" when B1 convinced me to get on that stupid dragon boat ride and I had a full on panic attack resulting in me screaming obscenities I didn't even know I knew to a poor unsuspecting ride operator as we flew back and forth through the air. I was absolutely SURE I was going to die.

Evidently I'm very foul mouthed when I think I'm going to die.

I felt my heart beating faster and I started to sweat a little in the 55 degree weather as I stared at the well worn soles of my little boy's sneakers as they dangled 131 feet above me. The wait for them to come back down was agonizing.

But I kept it together as I watched Goober and The Man rise to the height of 131 feet and I only slightly dug my fingernails into B2's arm as they dropped.

I'm fairly certain they dropped even faster than the speed of 9.8 meters per second that natural gravity allows. I'm fairly certain I had a little mini heart attack as I watched.

I didn't get video of it because I was busy keeping myself in check, so I present you with a video someone else took of their own loved one aboard a similar ride.

Yeah.

When Goober got off the ride he was a little dizzy and slightly freaked out. He was actually so freaked out that he was a bit hesitant to go on any other rides for a little while until he realized that after the Drop of Fear they were all yawnsville.

I'm glad he's not proving to be an adrenaline junkie or anything.

The fair was wonderful, though. My favorite part was the baby cows in the Mooternity tent. We watched the wobbly little babies attempt to stand for the first time and it truly made my heart melt. I could watch them all day.

And we ate. And ate. And ate some more. I even ate an Italian sausage and felt terrible about it. I haven't fallen off the vegetarian wagon very often since I started, but it has happened a few times. The fair and all the yummy smells and delicious flavors pushed me over the edge. I did manage to stay away from the Krispy Kreme burger and the fried Oreos. But the sausage got me.

So back on the wagon... and the ground.

No posts today - just links

2012-01-18T08:55:00.000-05:00

Information on SOPA/PIPA: https://www.google.com/landing/takeaction/sopa-pipa/

Sign the petition: https://www.google.com/landing/takeaction/

Most importantly, find & contact your representative: http://www.house.gov/representatives/find/

I had a lot of fun with the babelfish translator when I wrote this post.

2012-01-13T11:00:00.000-05:00

Forever ago (in the beginning of December), I was contacted by Vanessa, a representative for GoGo squeeZ, an applesauce in a pouch snack marketed for kids. Vanessa asked if the monsters and I would be willing to try her product and maybe write what we thought about it here on the blog. I'll admit that I sort of ignored Vanessa at first. Because as much as I like getting free stuff (I mean, really, who doesn't?), I don't really do a lot of product promotion here on the blog and I don't really want to start.

Vanessa was persistent, though, and offered to send out some GoGo squeeZ to me whether I wrote about it or not.

Enter my girl scout co-leader, Miss F. Miss F is all about healthy snacks at girl scout meetings. I mean, who isn't about healthy snacks for kids? - but Miss F takes it to a new level. Our girls have eaten so many bananas and grapes they've been known to literally pout at the sight of a grape. Oh, how they long for processed carbs and sugar. But Miss F will have none of it. She is vigilant.

And in her defense, the one time we allowed the girls to plan their own food at an end-of-the-year party, there was so much crappy food we actually watched as they spun themselves into chocolate induced frenzies and then dropped like flies from sugar crashes. It's all about moderation, y'all.

Anyhow, the thing about GoGo squeeZ is that there is no added sugar. The ingredients in the Apple Apple flavor are simple. Apple, apple juice concentrate. That's it. And the Apple Banana flavor? There's some banana mixed in. Crazy, right? It's all natural and healthy. And the apples are French. So they're fancy apples that pronounce things funny. Oui, oui. Mes pommes sont délicieuses.

Anyhow, I knew Miss F would approve. And guess who was signed up for snack at the first meeting of the new year? The Spaz. You can see where I'm going with this.

We've actually bought GoGo squeeZ a few times before. The monsters are pretty fond of it, actually. Munchkin especially likes the Apple Cinnamon flavor. I like it because it's not messy and the little pouches come with screw on tops that you can screw back on. So the kids can eat half a package and save the rest for later. Try that with one of those little tubs of applesauce with the foil lids. It's not pretty.

So I told Vanessa that I'd be happy to let the girls try GoGo squeeZ out at our next meeting and she put a package in the mail to me.

When the package arrived I have to admit, I was a little giddy. Not only did Vanessa include enough GoGo squeeZ for all the girls and leaders to try, but she included some fun toys for the girls to play with, too. Little airplanes for them to put together, pick-up sticks, a jumprope, and some squeezie stress apples for the ~~leaders to squeeze when the girls drive us crazy~~ girls to play with.

And she packed it all up in a Publix reusable grocery bag. Which made me love her, instantly. I love you, Vanessa!

When I unveiled the GoGo squeeZ to the girls they were happy to give it a try. Because it wasn't grapes or bananas and it came in a package which made them think it might just be junk food. Ha! Take that, Jessica Seinfeld!

The girls sucked down their GoGo squeeZ like little crazed lunatics and asked for more. Even the leaders gave them a try, including myself. I actually expected not to like it, but honestly, it was darned delicious. And only 60 calories in a package? My ass thanks you, GoGo squeeZ.

The girls also found new uses for the empty pouches. They're such recyclers. They discovered that GoGo squeeZ pouches stick to your face if you create a vacuum (they didn't learn that from Miss G, not at all). They also discovered that you can fill a GoGo squeeZ pouch with air and then blow it at each other like a weapon. Hilarity ensued.

It was all fun in games until one of the girls almost lost their eye by a nose diving GoGo squeeZ airplane. That's when we had to shut it down.

In short, we liked the squeeZ. The kids liked the taste (and we've got some picky girls to contend with) and I liked the easy clean-up. Miss F liked the lack of preservatives, gluten, nuts, dairy, processed sugar, ninjas, and barbiturates. Really y'all, stop giving your children barbiturates.

Waking up is hard to do

2012-01-10T08:18:00.000-05:00

The monsters went back to school today and if I weren't so tired I'd feel like dancing right now. After having them home for over 2 weeks straight I practically pushed them out of the minivan this morning in the drop off circle.

I think that I take the adjustment to getting back on schedule much harder than the kids do. After allowing myself to wake up whenever I wanted to for the past couple of weeks, I had an awfully difficult time getting back to normal today. It all started last night when trying to fall asleep.

See, if I didn't have kids I'd be on a pretty standard 4 am to 12 pm sleep schedule. That's natural for me. Unfortunately I haven't been able to convince the school board that kids should start school at 1 pm. So whenever there is a break from school I start to naturally fall back into that schedule. And then the night before school starts I try to fall asleep at midnight.

Last night I laid down a little after midnight and stared at the time projected on the ceiling for a while. Then I spent about an hour trying to beat my previous "Bop It" score of 98. Then I went into the bathroom and examined my face for a while, following that up with a tweeze and squeeze session. Then I laid down again. I think I finally fell into a fitful sleep around 2:30 am. But it was one of those sleeps where you look at the clock every 1/2 hour and tell yourself to STOP WAKING UP and GO TO SLEEP.

When the alarm clock started blaring at me at 6:30 this morning I wasn't quite sure if I had fallen asleep at all. If I get through today without crashing at some point it will be a miracle. Why do I continue to do this to myself?

If how a person spends the first day of the year is any indication of how the rest of the year will go, then I'm pretty happy about 2012

2012-01-02T00:48:00.003-05:00

We slept in on the first day of the year, after spending a decadent evening at home with the kids watching the ball drop. The weather was perfect and Goober had mentioned that he wanted to see Lake Okeechobee since we'd never driven out there with him before. Just the other day B2 mentioned that she had driven out there with my mom and dad and they had really had a nice time.

It seemed like a perfect way to spend the very first day of the year, as a family on a little adventure, so we packed up some sandwiches and some leftovers from our New Years Even feast and jumped in the car to see the big lake. We even let Sudo come along for the adventure.

On the way out, the kids were thrilled to see a controlled sugar cane field burn up close. I've driven out to the Glades probably a hundred or more times in my life and I've never had the opportunity to see a burn as close as this one was.

The kids were wide eyed at the flames and the smoke and all the hub bub.

After the excitement of the burning field had died down, our little monsters were sort of bored at all the miles and miles of sugar cane and farm equipment and agriculture.

They were all "Blah Blah Blah... why are you guys talking about sugar cane so much?" and "Are we there yet? I can't see Lake Okeechobee from here." and "Is this forever?"

Until we spotted one of Florida's most famous reptiles sunning himself on the bank of a canal. Excitement was renewed in the vehicle.

He was really just a little guy, but the kids were pretty excited to see him.

Once we arrived at the lake, Goober oohed and aahed at how big it was and I snapped one picture of the kids and Sudo standing in front of the lake.

We all decided we were hungry so we went in search of a picnic spot and thought we might snag a Geocache while we were out. The Man navigated us to the closest Geocache that mentioned "picnic spot" in the comments and we found ourselves at a cute little park near the lake.

After eating our lunch, we searched out the cache but were completely unsuccessful at it. We searched and searched but whoever hid that thing knew what they were doing. No big deal, though. We had a nice lunch and Goober got some tree-climbing practice while we were out there.

We thought we might have time for one more geocache before the sun set on us, so we packed up our stuff, jumped back into the car and headed north to a cache a little ways away. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), I missed our turn. Instead of turning around, we decided to scout out a spot to watch the sun set over the lake. In Port Mayaca, just before we would turn off of 441 and on to Kanner Highway to head back to civilization we found a spot.

And what a spot we found....

I will be SO PISSED if this all works out and then the world blows up at the end of the year.

2011-12-31T11:01:00.001-05:00

Every year I come up with a few resolutions. Lose weight, become more organized, convince The Man we should take Salsa lessons... and every year I fail.

This year I'm going to make some similar resolutions and I have the utmost optimism that 2012 is my year. So behold my list:

2012 New Years Resolutions:

1. Become more organized. It's no secret that I'm about as disorganized as they come. But I am getting better. No, really, I am! My kids have only been late to school this year once and it was only because my alarm clock was set for 7 PM instead of 7 AM. I did set the alarm, so it can't be blamed on disorganization. Just plain stupidity, really. So this year I plan to make schedules and stick to at least half of them. This would be epic.

2. Eat vegan whenever possible. I've posted about it before. And I have no problem with vegan food. I love my veggies and I don't even have a problem with most vegan cheese. But it's my family, y'all. They have problems when I try to take all the animals out of their diet. They're all "Mom, can we please get hot dogs at the store?" and "Not beans and rice, again, mom!" So I break down. I buy the stuff and inevitably I eat the stuff. But this year, I'm going to really buckle down. I'm not going to be militant about it, though. If I find myself as a guest at someone's table I'm not going to turn down a meal they've made for me if it includes meat. If I'm at a birthday party at a restaurant that offers no vegan options, I won't sit quietly drinking iced tea with lemon. But I will do my best.

3. Walk my poor dog in the mornings. Sudo needs exercise. I need exercise. Together we will triumph. I've said I was going to do this so many times and I start out really well. Sometimes I go for one, two, even three weeks at a time waking up a bit earlier every morning and taking Sudo for a nice, brisk, cool morning walk. But then one thing will put me off the schedule and it's all over. And Sudo and my ass both suffer. So this year, I'm really going to make that effort. Because I love my puppy and my ass is taking on a life of its own.

4. Take a little more care in my appearance. I am the queen of the ponytail and no makeup look. That worked great for me in my teens and twenties, but I'll be turning 35 this year and au natural isn't quite as beautiful as it used to be. So this year I'm going to blow dry my hair every time I shower instead of just crawling into bed with it wet so that it's all strangly flat on one side and horridly frizzy on the other in the morning. I'm going to put on a little eyeliner and mascara and lip gloss before I leave the house and make sure my eyebrows are under control at all times. I'll avoid chipped toenails and keep my hands moisturized. That's probably enough for this year. I certainly won't be turning into glamor mom any time soon.

I think we'll stick to those four solid resolutions. I wouldn't want to overwhelm myself. Happy New Year, y'all!

If I title this post "Milk Bags" you'll probably think you're clicking to see something more exciting

2011-12-29T10:55:00.001-05:00

It was brought to my attention a little while ago that Canadians purchase their milk in bags.

BAGS.

Milk bags.

I'll wait while you giggle at that phrase.

I know... I giggled, too.

Okay, all composed now?

I was so taken back with this that I had to google it and found out just how Canadians use their milk bags.

I found this very informative video that explains it all.

I'm impressed. Because in this house we always have this giant gallon container of milk in the fridge and for a lot of the time (about half of the time, I'd venture) it's less than half full and taking up a bunch of unnecessary space.

Not just that, but unless people recycle them, those giant containers are taking up a ton of room in landfills. The bags, evidently, use 75% less plastic and use less energy when making them. I'm all for the bags.

The bags come in a larger bag that has three 1.33 liter bags inside of it. So you only open a third of your milk at a time, extending the life of the milk. Theoretically, it would be less expensive to package the milk and therefore less expensive to buy the milk, too. So maybe we'd pay less than $4 a gallon for it.

I found this recent article stating that Tesco stores (primarily in the UK) are carrying a brand of bagged milk and an accompanying JUGIT re-usable jug designed to make the milk bags easier to use. Because evidently Canadians are the only ones who can manage this whole bag thing without all kinds of nasty spillage.

I can see the infomercials now.

Anyhow, I'm really hoping bagged milk makes its way to the states soon. With the way my kids go through milk, I'd welcome a more environmentally friendly and space saving package.

And maybe they'll expand to soy milk, too!

In which the Spaz decides that Comcast sucks. Big time.

2011-12-28T16:19:00.001-05:00

Yesterday I had an appointment scheduled with Comcast to come out and install super high speed Internet for our house. Like, mega high speed. So fast that Bug can play video games and I can upload eBay listings and Munchkin can stream Hulu and The Man can do whatever the heck it is that he does. All at the same time.

Our appointment yesterday was between 3 and 5 pm. Around 4, I received a call from someone saying that the technician was running late and would need another hour. No problem, I said. We'll be here.

When it was quarter to 8 and no one had shown up, I called. They apologized and rescheduled for today from 11 to 1. I was a little irritated, but not steaming mad. Yet.

At 11:30 this morning I received a call from someone at Comcast letting me know that the technician would be a little late. At this point I was really getting frustrated. The technician finally showed up at 1:30 and let me know that the line was cut outside of our house and he couldn't do anything. So he was going to send out a supervisor to "take pictures".

Take pictures?? Take freaking PICTURES?

On day 2 of waiting around the house for Comcast to show up and install this super mega fast Internet, this guy has the nerve to tell me he can't do anything and he's going to send someone out to take pictures.

Guess what? The Spaz officially got pissed.

As the technician pulled out of our driveway, I called Comcast. The automated service prompted me to press 4 for the option of "the technician has already been here and I am still having trouble". I waited on hold for a long time and then talked to someone in the technical department. I verified my information, complete with full address including city, state, and zip code, and explained the situation and was told that they couldn't help me, but they would transfer me to sales.

Again, I waited on hold for a long time and then talked to someone in the sales department. I verified my information, complete with full address including city, state, and zip code, the last four digits of my social, and my full name. I explained the situation and was told they couldn't help me, but they would transfer me to billing.

I begged them to make sure that billing was the department I needed to talk to... because it sure didn't SOUND like I should talk to billing for a problem with the line outside. But I was assured. Billing would help.

So I waited on hold for another eternity and then talked to someone in the billing department. I verified my information complete with full address including city, state, and zip code, the last four digits of my social, my full name, my date of birth, and the number of times my dog peed on a tree today. I explained the situation AGAIN and was told that they needed to contact the technical department for my area and that I would receive a call back.

In a panic I unleashed a fury upon poor Jasmine of the Comcast billing department. I apologize, Jasmine, I know it's not your fault. I told Jasmine how this was day number TWO of waiting around for Comcast and that I did not want to wait ANOTHER DAY for this. I demanded that someone come out TODAY and fix this issue.

Jasmine said there was nothing she could do. So I demanded to be transfered to someone else.

I got the standard, "I can transfer you, but they're just going to tell you the same thing." By the way, Jasmine, when people say that to me, it just pisses me off more.

In my pissed off Spaz mode I spat back "That's FINE, let me hear it from THEM."

So then I talked to Maxine. Jasmine had already explained my situation to her so I didn't have to explain it again. She told me the same thing. Maxine promised that she would contact the head of the repair department in my area and that I'd receive a call back probably within a half hour to an hour from him.

In the meantime, I tweeted.

And almost immediately received a response.

Ah, the power of social media. I explained my situation to @ComcastWill in three different tweets of 140 characters or less. He requested I send him (via direct message) our address and phone number and he'd see if he couldn't help out.

Unfortunately, I guess he couldn't help out because I never heard back from him.

The next call I got was from Maxine again who said that she'd schedule a supervisor to come out tomorrow between 11 and 1 to see if there was a way to run a new cable and if there was a way, a technician would be out just after him to install it. But, she was doubtful that a cable could be run without cutting down some TREES.

So it's more than likely that we'll be waiting for several days. Tomorrow for the supervisor, another day for a tree cutter, and then finally (cross your fingers) for a technician to install our mega lightning fast connection.

Now, I know it's not Comcast's fault that there are trees in the way. But it is their fault that they can't seem to do anything in a timely manner. It is their fault that no one showed up yesterday and it is their fault that the technician was late again today. It is their fault that they can't get a supervisor to come by today and look at this situation and it is their fault that they didn't know this might be an issue when I placed an order. So over all, it is their fault that I'm still using a ridiculously SLOW connection. And therefore, they suck.

Update - the next day - The supervisor came by today and let us know that we need to cut the trees outside of our house. Problem being that the trees that need to be cut are surrounding the power line that feeds electricity into our house. So now we wait for FPL to come out and assess how to cut the trees. Hooray!

The Spaz thanks her lucky stars for sending her someone as amazing as The Man

2011-12-27T10:00:00.000-05:00

As I've mentioned before, The Man and I never legally married. We have numerous reasons for not going the white dress route, some are his reasons and some are mine, but mostly we just don't feel that it's important to us. We do, however, have an anniversary. And that day is today.

Today The Man and I have been truly committed to each other for a decade. Ten years ago today, we promised that we'd always be there for each other. The Man officially accepted Bug and Munchkin and me as his family and promised to love us, unconditionally.

When I think back to that time, I remember trying to convey to him what he was really taking on. I was a single mom with two tiny children. Bug and Munchkin would never know their biological father as their dad. They would grow up calling The Man "Daddy" and looking to him for guidance and love and support. I wanted him to understand what kind of astronomical responsibility that was going to be and to understand that once he committed to it, he was truly committed.

In one moment, The Man accepted that. He promised he would be there for us, be there for them, and that no matter what happened between The Man and I, he would always be their dad.

I think it's a rare person who has that much love and commitment in their heart and sometimes I just can't believe I found someone like him.

In the past ten years he has never wavered. He has celebrated all of their accomplishments and struggled through all of their hard times. He has held my hand through hospital visits and late night illnesses. He has held video cameras through recitals and ceremonies and first steps and birthday parties. The Man has spent hours talking with the kids and helping them to become better people. He has perfected magic tricks and corny jokes just to make them smile. He has volunteered his back for the scouts and watched diligently at karate classes. He has done everything that a father should do and more.

And through it all he has never stopped loving me.

I don't know what amazing act of kindness I must have done to win me the karma it must have required to have him in my life. But I can't tell you how thankful I am for him. Happy Anniversary Mr. Wonderful. I love you so much.

In which Tofurky does not suck - it's a Christmas miracle!

2011-12-26T22:20:00.000-05:00

We had a very Merry Christmas here in Spazland complete with a helium filled flying shark. But I am glad it's over.

Christmas is such a whirlwind of activity for us. On December 26th I always sort of feel like I've just completed some type of strange Olympic Triathalon where the objective is to continuously clean up torn wrapping paper while stuffing my face with food while driving from one house to another and trying to fit more toys in the vehicle after each stop.

Highlights of Christmas in Spazland 2011:

Tofurky Italian Deli Slices are a WIN! They were delicious and I feel so loved that a very special family member had them available for me this Christmas. I'm going to have to add them to the "always have in the fridge" list for our house.
Playing at the park in perfect 80 degree weather on Christmas Eve with the kids and family was a wonderful South Florida treat. It's times like these that I can't imagine living anywhere else.
My sister's reproduction of my grandmother's 7 layer salad was spot on! It was like Grandmommy was right there with us.
The kids and The Man let me sleep until after 8 AM on Christmas morning and when I was finally woke up, coffee was ready.
The Man got me a Ninja! So far I've made pancake batter, scrambled eggs, and a delicious smoothie in it and I am thrilled. Our old blender was an evil contraption of misery that required me to shake it violently while blending in order to actually get things to blend. The Ninja is my new best friend. I am proudly displaying it next to my KitchenAid Stand Mixer.
I got to bond with my new dog niece. I wasn't feeling so great for a good portion of Christmas Day so I spent a lot of time chilling on the couch watching A Christmas Story with my brother-in-law's absolutely adorable dachshund, Molly. She's so sweet and cuddly and precious it hurts.
Brussel sprouts. My aunt made these brussel sprouts that were amazing. I tell you this because I hate brussel sprouts. I've never once, in my entire life, liked one. But since I'm not eating meat, I decided to give them a go. And they were superfantastic. I'm going to get her recipe and post it when I can. Incredible.

Now it's time to test the capacity of the garbage truck that will come by our house in a couple of days and get our lives back to normal. As normal as they can possibly be when the kids don't go back to school until January 10th. I hope y'all had just as wonderful a Christmas as I did!

Happy Holidays from Spazland!

2011-12-23T02:00:00.000-05:00

If this place ever goes out of business I will seriously cry tears of pure misery...

2011-12-22T13:14:00.001-05:00

We live in a very rural part of South Florida. We've got one gas station, one grocery store, and a good 15 minute drive to anything resembling a real shopping situation.

There are times when I lament that 15 minute drive. Like, when the kids have a birthday party to go to right down the street but I have to drive all the way "in to town" to pick up a birthday gift. Or when I have to find a replacement tree stand 5 days before Christmas. You're getting the idea.

But most of the time I absolutely love where we live. I love that we still have roadside stands for all kinds of things from dreamcatchers to cheesecakes. I love that when I go to the grocery store people smile and say hi. I love that my kids go to a good school where all the teachers know them. I love that Bug fishes in canals with his friend who lives right up the street and Munchkin can ride horses all day long just a few minutes away.

And lately, I love our new U Pick It farm.

There was always a U Pick It farm located there, but before it was just strawberries. And it was just U Pick It. Now some new owners have renovated the place and it's all kinds of veggies and herbs and everything you could ever want. And you don't have to pick it yourself, they have a little market.

I went there for the first time about a month ago and I was blown away by everything they had. Almost everything is grown right there on the farm, but they bring in other stuff they can't grow, too. I picked up locally grown lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, and watermelon. I also grabbed some apples and grapes. I think my total was something like $8. Which is so amazing I almost cried.

Since then I haven't bought any produce at Publix. It's all from the U Pick It farm. And I am a happy happy camper. Saturday I stopped in after their posted closing time and they were happy to let me shop. I hadn't seen any fresh herbs in the market before so I asked the wonderful lady who runs the market if she had any. She was happy to walk across the farm and snip me some fresh basil and parsley. I can't even explain to you how amazing those herbs smelled in my van. I nearly stuck my head in the bag. And the bruschetta I made with those herbs and the fresh tomatoes I bought at the same time? TO DIE FOR.

So when they had a Ladybug Release party last weekend I was geared up to go release some ladybugs on the farm. Evidently, ladybugs eat other bugs that are harmful to the crops. So they invited the community to come out and help them release a whole giant mega mess of ladybugs.

When we walked outside of the market the kids were each handed a brown paper sack full of ladybugs.

After all of our ladybugs were free as cheezy bread, we decided to walk around and look at the other parts of the farm. I was really eager to see what else was growing in there since we had only been in the strawberry portion. So we wandered a bit to see what we could find.

Just before we went into the market to purchase an apple for Munchkin and a few honeysticks for The Man and the kids, we stopped at the bounce houses that were available for all the kids on ladybug release day.

It was a truly wonderful family day. Perfect weather and a perfect activity. I feel so lucky to have such a wonderful place right down the street. Maybe you have a great farm like this local to you, too. If so, I highly suggest it. Nothing tastes better than produce that's off the plant and on to your table in less than a few hours. And how wonderful to be able to support local businesses like this!

Lessons from The Spaz: Why you shouldn't wait until the last minute to put up your tree

2011-12-21T12:04:00.000-05:00

Today's post will be my final installment of Christmastime with the Spaz until after Christmas when I'm sure to update you about how all the craziness went down. So savor it.

When I discussed this with one of my favorite friends, she said "So are you going to title this post Spaz vs The Tree?"

It would make a great title. But I don't think I can fully capture the fun that was our Christmas tree this year in a Spaz vs type of post so I'll just tell the story.

I'd like to preface this by letting y'all know that I am an expert tree decorator. I'm so darned good at it that my mom and dad commission me to decorate their 9 foot beauty every year. And every year they ooh and aah over it, so I know I'm good.

This year we planned to use the artificial tree we've been storing in the attic since the last time we used it a few years ago. You may remember my ambivalent feelings about it back in 2008 when it last made its appearance. I warmed up to that tree nicely after we put ornaments and bows all over it and I decided it would do well for us this year.

So last week some time The Man brought the tree down from the attic and it has been sitting in the living room since then. Tonight the kids were all "Mommy, when are we going to put up the tree?" and "How will Santa know where to put our presents if we don't have a tree up?" and "All our friends have Christmas trees up."

So I was like "Quit whining or I'll tell Santa we're Jewish!"

And then we decided to put up the tree.

I opened up the box and discovered, much to the dismay of my little angels, that the tree stand that comes with the tree was missing. We searched the attic (well I searched the attic... I typically don't let the kids go in the attic. Only when they're bad.) and found nothing. We searched the boxes and boxes of ornaments and other Christmas things. No tree stand.

So I unearthed the tree stand that holds real trees and attempted to prop it up in that. It promptly fell over. I wedged a towel in there with it in order to give the artificial tree stump some girth. It fell over again, though this time not quite as promptly.

So I googled and discovered that Walmart carries replacement tree stands for just this type of predicament. Goober and I jumped in the van and headed off to our local Walmart, 5 days before Christmas, in the hope of locating a replacement tree stand for our tree.

We parked the van in no mans land outside of the garden center at Walmart. Goober, carrying a fistful of pennies, nickels, and dimes that he called his "spending money", was hoping to score himself a new LEGO minifigure with all his change. He jumped out of the van and dropped about ten coins on the ground. I took his change and traded him for some quarters I had in the van and he promptly dropped them on the ground, too. After I allowed my child to climb halfway under the van to retrieve all his change, we braved the Walmart parking lot, hand in hand.

Once inside I was mortified to find out that they were sold out of replacement tree stands. Evidently we're not the only people who somehow lose these invaluable parts to the tree. I was about to leave the store in defeat when I spotted in the far corner of the garden center a sign. It said "Christmas Trees - $17!"

And I was all "SWEET!"

So I dragged Goober, whining about his lack of minifigure, over to the real Frasier Firs wrapped up in their blue twine encasings and picked what appeared to be the best one. I tore the tag off that sucker and we went back into the store to locate said minifigure and pay for our new tree.

After we had paid, I grabbed that tree, put it under one arm ala Paul Bunyan, grabbed Goober's hand with my free hand and we made our way to the van. I felt quite "Independent Woman" carrying that tree through the parking lot like an Amazon Lady. Evidently Christmas trees aren't nearly as heavy as The Man has been leading me to believe all these years. I did get some odd stares from other Walmart patrons. But seriously, who were they to judge in their hot pink spandex pants and zebra striped tube tops?

I digress.

With a touch of a button I opened the hatch to the back of the van, threw the tree inside, and away we flew like the down of a thistle.

Upon arriving home, I filled our real tree stand up with water and securely fastened our new tree inside. We freed it from it's twine prison and watched as the tree dropped about half of its needles onto the floor. As I attempted to fluff the tree out a bit more, even more needles dropped. It was as if it was raining needles in the house. Oh, the joy that is Christmas.

Munchkin and I then went about searching for the tree lights, which we located in a festive red and green plastic bin. They were a tangled mess, but I was feeling triumphant and strong and knew I could handle it.

Until I plugged them in.

You guessed it. Nothing. We checked the bulbs, we made sure they were tight. We twisted, we tried a different outlet. But it was to no avail. We had no Christmas lights.

"We can have a tree without lights, Mommy" my sweet little Munchkin said as she looked up at me with her big blue eyes.

"Not for us, sweetheart. We shall have lights!"

So, after I washed the sap off of my hands and brushed the needles out of my hair, we headed off to Walgreens where we found an abundance of lights. (I had actually checked Walmart for lights when we were there thinking this might be an issue, but much like replacement tree stands, Walmart is sorely lacking in Christmas merchandise right now.)

Armed with four brand new boxes of lights, we were back in the van and determined to get our Christmas on. We sang to "Rockin Around The Christmas Tree" and "Jingle Bells" and "O Holy Night" all the way home.

But y'all, by the time we got home and I unwrapped those lights and put them on the tree, my Christmas cheer was depleted. I looked at our pitiful needle shy tree and I exhaled. I opened up the three boxes of unbreakable Christmas ornaments and I said to the kids "Go for it, guys."

And that was it for me.

How to buy the perfect gift for mom on Christmas - Spaz style

2011-12-20T22:21:00.007-05:00

This is the time of year we try to find gifts for those special people in our lives. We try to be thoughtful, try not to break our bank account, try to find the perfect thing that will let our loved ones know just how much we care.

Moms can be difficult ones to buy gifts for. If you do a Google search for "What to buy mom for Christmas" you'll come up with a plethora of ideas.

And I'll be the first to say that all those ideas are horsepucky.

HORSEPUCKY I SAY.

A massage. Mom doesn't need a massage. She doesn't have time for a massage. What day, do you think, can mom just whisk herself away to the spa for a Swedish rub down and a clay mask? NO DAY. That day doesn't exist. That gift certificate is going to be shoved in a drawer as a reminder to mom that she doesn't have any time off and it will expire before she ever finds that time.

Gift cards. Sure, this may seem like a great idea. Let mom spoil herself. Except chances are that mom isn't going to use this card on herself. It will go to buy Little Johnny a pair of shoes when he runs through mud puddles in the only pair he owns that are acceptable for school. It will go to purchase a birthday gift for some birthday party that her kid tells her he wants to go to on the DAY OF THE PARTY. Maybe she'll be happy she has it when she finds herself in a bind, but if your idea is to have mom treat herself to something sweet, you're out of luck. Not going to happen.

Homemade gifts. Sure. Add that glittery Christmas ornament or macaroni art to the pile of other homemade gifts she gets throughout the year. Sure mom will put on her happy face and get all teary eyed when she opens her hand knitted sweater with one sleeve shorter than the other, but the only day she'll wear it is the day you give it to her - and it won't be out of the house.

Chocolate. Great idea. Give mom some more body issues and guilt about that gym membership she's been paying for all these years and never using. Hooray, mom can now feel remorse after eating her jumbo sized box of chewy chocolatey goodness while sitting on her jumbo sized ass. Thanks, sweetie.

Bath products. Listen, mom doesn't get to relax in that tub. She's in there noticing that the grout needs to be cleaned and that the hamper is overflowing. She's lucky if she gets enough time to shave her legs. Calgon isn't part of the picture and your smelly bath salts aren't going to do anything more than sit on the side of the tub looking pretty and being one more thing she has to dust.

Magazines. Oh yes, give mom a subscription to Good Housekeeping or Oprah. Now she has more crap lying around her house filled with articles that make her feel like she's not doing a good enough job. How does Martha Stewart make that perfect Cordon Bleu? Who cares?

If you want Cordon Bleu you need to take mom to a French Restaurant and pay for it yourself. Chic Fil A is not french, by the way. There had better be stuff on that menu you can't pronounce and a waiter you can't understand.

Here's some stuff that mom might actually use.

Noise cancelling headphones. Nothing says "I love you, mom!" like giving her a way to shut out the screaming and nonsense going on around her at all times. She's about ready to pop a nerve if she has to hear the carnage from another video game or the sweet sound of Selena Gomez filling the house. Let mom shut it all out to her own tunes with some headphones sure to keep the sweet sounds of Journey in her head and the wretched sounds of her ever-escaping youth out.

Clean up your own darned mess for once. It will bring absolute tears to mom's tired eyes if she wakes up on Christmas morning and there are no messes. Maybe you could even let mom sleep in on Christmas morning instead of waking her up at the crack of dawn so you can tear open the presents she was up until 2 AM carefully wrapping.

A month's supply of Red Bull or any other good solid energy drink. Mom needs to get moving. Sometimes a shot of gurana and caffeine and crack cocaine are just the thing.

Change her oil. Don't give her a gift certificate to get her oil changed. Take her minivan to the shop and have it changed. Pay for it yourself, not on her credit card. While your out, get it detailed. You probably spilled a soda in that back row at some point and she's too scared to go back there to clean it up.

Leave the house. But only if it's clean. That's right, everyone get out of the house for a few hours. Let mom enjoy her own space all by herself. Make sure she has a bottle of good Chardonnay at her disposal, a good book, and some chick movies on DVD. Better yet, get everyone out for the whole weekend and let mom take some time to do whatever she wants in her own home without having to do anything for anyone else.

Make her bed with nice clean linens and big fluffy pillows and then let her go to sleep. There's nothing mom loves more than freshly cleaned sheets on the bed and an uninterrupted night of sleep. Let her sleep until she wakes up all by herself. That might mean you have to be quiet in the morning and avoid fighting with each other for a few hours. I bet you can handle it.

Think out of the box. Mom doesn't want a framed photo of you or a foot massager. She wants a break that doesn't leave her filled with mom guilt. She wants to just not be the mom for a little while. She'll come back refreshed and happy and maybe a little less crazy.

The Elf on the Shelf is the creepiest thing since windowless white vans and that weird rabbit costume scene from The Shining

2011-12-20T09:32:00.000-05:00

Apparently I'm a little behind the radar on the newest sensation of the blogosphere. But just in case you are, too, I knew I had to share.

People I Want to Punch in the Throat

This amazing little tidbit of actual reality is like a breath of slightly polluted air... and I love it. I haven't had the opportunity to read Jen's entire blog because I've got this silly little thing to attend to that I like to call work, but she is bookmarked and ready for me to enjoy at my next available opportunity to procrastinate.

If you have some time, I highly recommend the post that made her famous, Over Achieving Elf on the Shelf Mommies, and her latest post SOME Mall Santas. Guaranteed to make you laugh out loud and probably think "Oh thank GOD it's not just me."

Because as y'all know, I'm all about taking the rose-colored glasses of motherhood and not being afraid to let the world know that it's not all rainbows and butterflies up in here.

I'm actually proud of Jen for even having an Elf. It's December 20th and my tree is still not up so the sheer ambition it takes to have an Elf in the house and actually follow through with moving the Elf impresses me. We don't have an Elf in the Spaz house because, frankly (and I know I'm not alone in this), the Elf creeps me the hell out. But if we did have one, I'm sure I'd forget to move him every night. In fact, I can almost bet I'd forget to move him most nights. My children think our house is on some sort of weird tooth-fairy rotation schedule for all the times I've forgotten to leave a buck under their pillows on lost tooth nights.

But don't worry about that, y'all. The kids end up making out because I have such mom guilt about it that the tooth fairy pays double around here.

I'm sure if I attempted the Elf thing, that Sudo would either murder him while we all slept (how do you think Santa would take to his Elf's face being ripped off by our lovely Christmas dog?) or he would literally collect dust sitting on whatever shelf I put him on the first day he came out of the package.

"I don't know Goober. Maybe the Elf is so disappointed in your behavior that he can't bring himself to go back to actually tell Santa."

Whoever came up with this Elf concept is a genius. Far more of a genius than I am because if someone had approached me with this idea a few years ago I would have stared at them in shock and told them that not one mommy I know would dare to do this to their child. Because the Elf horrifies me. The idea of a creepy little guy watching me inanimately all day long, coming to life the minute I go to sleep, magically flying to the North Pole in mere hours (from South Florida, y'all... I don't think so), tattling on me to Santa, and then making it back before I wake up. The mere thought of it gives me literal heebie jeebies.

Spaz vs Morning: fun for the whole family! Or not.

2011-12-08T08:33:00.000-05:00

Last night I was up late working and writing up an investiture ceremony for our Junior troop to perform tonight (in my defense, I can share the procrastination on the last minute ceremony with two other moms) and didn't get to bed until an embarrassing hour of the morning. So my delirium when I was awoken by The Man this morning with one of those loving nudges that said "the dog needs to go out" only seven minutes before my alarm was scheduled to go off began what I'd like to refer to as Spaz vs Morning.

Spaz vs Morning is a little game I like to play with myself. However the game goes really sets the tone for the rest of the day. Shall we tally up how the game went today?

Dog needs to go out 7 minutes before alarm is scheduled to go off: +1 Morning
Spaz stupidly decides to lay back down in bed with only 2 minutes left before alarm is scheduled to go off: -1 Spaz
Spaz unconsciously hits snooze: -1 Spaz
Three more times: -3 Spaz
Spaz wakes up: +1 Spaz
At the exact time that the kids are usually dropped off to school so they have time to eat breakfast there: -1 Spaz
Munchkin is already awake: -1 Morning
There are no groceries in the house, therefore no grab and go breakfasts: -1 Spaz
Kids get dressed on their own with no help from me: +2 Spaz
Spaz throws cardigan and sweatpants on over nightgown: -1 Spaz
Spaz finds 3 Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cakes in pantry to feed kids (and one for self): Draw
Goober drops his Little Debbie in dirt on way to car: +1 Morning
Spaz hands hers to Goober: Draw
Goober drops his 2nd Little Debbie in dirt on way to car: +1 Morning
Goober cries: +1 Morning
Family is in car with 15 minutes left to get to school: +1 Spaz
Flagger stops traffic for 2 minutes so some slow piece of construction equipment can cross the road, twice: +1 Morning
Get behind school bus that stops three times: +3 Morning
In drop off circle, chorus teacher pokes head in car to say good morning. She sees, incredibly messy van: -1 Spaz
And nightgown peeking out from under cardigan: -1 Spaz
And hair that has mind of its own after going to bed with it wet: -1 Spaz
As Goober walks away, Spaz notices that his shirt is inside out: -1 Spaz
TOTAL: Morning: 7; Spaz: -8

I'm going back to bed. I need a do-over.

I wonder how many well-intentioned vegans have been driven to meat by the Tofurky...

2011-11-26T15:21:00.000-05:00

In a follow up to my previous post, I'll report on how Thanksgiving went with my aversion to eating things that had parents or things that come from things that had parents.

It all started well enough. I decided that instead of just sitting at the table eating green beans and rolls while everyone else told me how wonderful the turkey tasted, I'd go ahead and make myself a mock turkey out of tofu. I found a recipe, made a grocery list, and almost bought all of it.

B2 and I went to the grocery store together and in the produce section next to the tofu was a Tofurky... already packaged and stuffed for $12.99. Since the kitchen was going to be a bit monopolized, we figured this was a great alternative and we added it to the cart.

I also purchased the ingredients for a vegan pumpkin pie and made it along with the regular pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and Jello Heath Bar Pudding Pie (which I hear was fantastic). I even attempted a coconut whipped cream topping for it, but that failed miserably. I'll have to try it again some other time.

The good news is the vegan pumpkin pie was fantastic. I even forgot to add the brown sugar and it was still delicious.

The bad news is that it would take a vat of cranberry sauce and four more glasses of wine to make that Tofurky edible. I sincerely apologize to Turtle Island Foods who makes the Tofurky Roast, because I know they have the best of intentions and I'm sure they did their very best to make it taste as good as possible.

But it is not tasty. The Tofurky Roast, in fact, was the one thing this Thanksgiving that truly made me want to eat meat. I don't know if it would have been better if I had made my own stuffed tofu roast... but I tell you this, I'm a lot more hesitant to try after taking a couple of bites of that Tofurky. I would venture to say that the Tofurky is the reason a lot of vegans don't stay that way.

It wasn't just the taste... but the smell... I can't even describe it. You'd have to go out and purchase one and smell it yourself. And I don't recommend doing so.

I wasn't a perfect vegan on Thanksgiving. I did not eat the turkey or the gravy (though I'm sure that gravy would have improved the taste of my Tofurky), but I did have some of B2's amazing stuffed mushrooms that contained sausage and I had a generous helping of the stuffing that my brother-in-law soaked in chicken broth. It was delicious like you can't imagine. I ate B1's mashed potatoes that probably have my arteries clogging as I type this and they tasted heavenly and I even put some cool whip on top of my vegan pumpkin pie since my coconut whipped topping was a failure. Baby steps.

I have a month to figure out how I'm going to handle Christmas (the food of choice for Christmas in my family is a standing rib roast, potatoes cooked in heavy cream and garlic, and asparagus smothered in Bearnaise sauce... we keep paramedics standing by) and I'll spend some of this month researching recipes that I can bring along with me to share. Perhaps a creamy butternut squash soup? We shall see.

The Spaz questions Thanksgiving, her morality, & cranberry sauce

2011-11-23T02:28:00.000-05:00

Over the past several years I've been an on again, off again vegetarian, vegan, pescatarian, etc. I go back and forth, struggling with my morality and my love of cheese and my hatred of my ever expanding ass. In the end I always come back to the fact that I don't like the meat industry. I don't like any industry that causes harm to any living creature.

So where am I now?

I'm not going to try to classify myself. I guess I'll just say I'm doing the best I can. I'm trying to be mindful of what I buy, what I eat, and what my role in it all is. I'm trying to be honest with myself.

And honesty isn't always easy, especially when it's yourself you have to be honest with.

Every once in a while someone recommends a documentary or a website or something that reinforces my decision to try not to contribute to these industries. Someone posts a link or talks about it in passing conversation and I think to myself... oh no, I'm going to watch this or read this and I'm going to have more information and more moral dilemma.

Most recently it was Food, Inc . and Forks Not Knives. Both of these are incredible films that really have opened my eyes to what I'm really feeding my family and myself. They're also both available on Netflix and I can't recommend them enough.

In this time in history, we have so much education about food and the reality of what goes on in the meat industry. We have a wealth of information right at our fingertips about everything, really. It seems irresponsible to just shut my eyes and buy a package of ground beef at the grocery store when I know that I'm really buying a package of cruelty.

I hear people reason with me... or maybe with themselves... about how industry standards have improved or the cow doesn't think like you and I do or how all those films are sponsored by radical groups like PETA.

The industry is one that kills animals. Let's be honest with ourselves. They're not bringing Bessie into a nice, calm barn after she's lived a happy life grazing in the field and giving her a sedative so she falls into a happy, dreamy sleep before she's painlessly euthanized far away from any other cows that might witness the deed.

It's slaughter. There's a reason why they call it a slaughterhouse. It's scary, it's painful, and it's ugly.

And I really don't want to be a part of that.

I type this in the wee hours of the morning on the day before Thanksgiving. A day when I'll attend family functions where more than one turkey will be served, perhaps a pig, an overload of dairy products and probably a few chicken or cow parts thrown around, too. There was even talk this year about getting a Turducken. That's right. Why just kill one animal for our glutenous celebration when we can kill three and tie them all together!

And I'll be a part of it this year. I can't save the turkey that's being served at my in-law's or the one that's being served at my mom and dad's house. They're both already purchased and defrosting in a sink somewhere as I type.

This year I'll make pies. Pumpkin, Pecan, and Chocolate. And they'll contain evaporated milk and eggs and whatever they put in those Pillsbury refrigerated pie crusts.* We'll top them with whipped cream and everyone will be joyous and merry.

What will I eat? I don't know. Perhaps I'll try to pick around and do the best I can with my options. Maybe I'll try to make a vegan pumpkin pie and top it with some coconut whipped cream. Perhaps I can find a couple of side dishes that aren't accented with bacon or heavy cream or cheese or italian sausage. There's a slim chance. I can have cranberry sauce, right? Or I might just have a couple of glasses of wine and dig in.

Maybe I'll try to bring a couple of vegan things along with me and hope that my family will give them a try and maybe, just maybe, not ridicule me too much for being "such a hippie" or just plain difficult.

It's not just outside of the home that I feel like I'm fighting the battle. It's within my own home, too. The Man is opposed to eating anything that doesn't involve things that had parents. Sure, he'll choke down a salad before his steak as long as it's got some creamy dressing, parmesan cheese, and bacon bits. He'll eat broccoli covered in melted cheddar. Asparagus? Bring on the Bearnaise sauce!

And the kids think they're being punished if they don't have cheese pizza, macaroni & cheese, grilled cheese, or cheeseburgers on a regular basis.

It's a constant battle. With the people I love and with myself. The last time I really went for a long stretch without meat, I cried because I wanted a hot dog so badly it hurt. Of all the things in the world, it was a hot dog that broke me.

So I'll try again. I'll do my best and if I fail I'll just pick myself up and try again.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all. I truly hope you have a wonderful day filled with family and friends and laughter and love and all that makes a holiday wonderful. I know I will.

*Partially Hydrogenated Lard - mmmmm... pig fat pie. I can't wait!

Mom and Dad wanted to say something

2011-11-18T00:46:00.000-05:00

A bit of dialog from the first evening with my mom and dad after they've returned from their North Carolina home:

Mom: Beth? You know how you write about things you don't like? Well I want you to write about something. I want you to write about shampoo bottles. Why don't they write it really big on the bottle? I want it to say SHAMPOO in really BIG letters!

Me: So you don't wash your hair with conditioner?

Mom: YES!

Dad: No, you know what you should write about? How hard it is to find cranberry juice. Just plain cranberry juice. I ended up getting some blend of three different juices. At least it was all juice.

I'm so glad my mom and dad are home again. I missed them so much. :)

So much more than just praying hands

2011-11-11T14:05:00.002-05:00

When I was a little girl I spent a relatively decent amount of time at my Grandma and Granddaddy's house. My Granddaddy was one of my favorite people in the whole world. He was always happy to see me and always had time for me. Even though he had 10 other grandchildren to love, whenever I was with him I felt like I was his whole world.

Granddaddy, much like my own dad, was a big story-teller. Being Catholic, my grandparents had a little statue of praying hands sitting on a side table in their living room.

I didn't know they were praying hands. I didn't know much about them at all, actually, so one day while Granddaddy sat peeling potatoes at the dining room table I asked him what that statue was.

Granddaddy smiled and told me a story of two brothers. The two brothers came to this country, poor as could be. They came here on a boat from a country far away and their dream was to make it in America.

Those brothers struggled at first. They were poor, hungry, and looking for work. They had no place to live and were dirty and slept out in the cold. In time, they both found jobs and worked hard to make something of themselves. They helped each other and before long, they both had successful businesses and homes that were warm and clean. They each got married to beautiful girls and had children who became great people.

In the end of the story those two brothers were so proud of themselves that they gave each other a high five. And that's what that statue was, their high five.

When Granddaddy died I was barely 9 years old and he was the first person I had ever known to die. It was unbelievable to me that he was gone forever. No more trips to Cumberland Farms to pick out ice cream from the cold case, no more being thrown on the bed over and over again until poor Granddaddy was exhausted but still did it "one more time" just to make me laugh, no more sitting in his lap as he watched one football game on the television and had another on the radio, no more of his stories, smiles, or laughter.

I remember so clearly my dad telling me that Granddaddy had died. We were sitting in my mom and dad's bedroom and I stared at him blankly and said "Okay" and left the room.

I went into my sister's old bedroom, which had been turned into a guest bedroom at the time and I sat on the bed with my back to the door and stared out the window. My mom came in and said "Honey, it's okay to cry."

But I couldn't cry. I couldn't even fathom it being a reality that he was gone.

Days later, after the funeral, my Grandma sat me down and gave me those hands. "Granddaddy wanted you to have these."

It was then that I cried.

I still have those hands, over 28 years later. They went with me to multiple apartments in college, home again, to my first home, and now to our home here. And every time I look at them I smile and remember his story.

The Spaz checks the calendar a few times and freaks the hell out

2011-11-10T11:56:00.000-05:00

Last night as I was letting the dog out for his before bed pee, I looked upon our 4 bedroom, 2 bath ranch house with the minivan parked in the driveway and thought to myself "Holy crap, I'm a grown-up."

It's true. I really can't deny the fact that by my age I should be a grown-up. The odd thing is that I don't really feel any older than I did 10 years ago. I honestly just feel dumber and more frazzled.

Because it's true what they say about the older you get, the more you realize you don't know. 10 years ago I thought I had it all figured out. But the last decade has gone by so fast I feel like I should be nauseous from the ride.

I don't have a damn thing figured out.

In just a few months I'll be turning 35. I had to count back to make sure that was right, because it doesn't seem like it should be. 35 sounds like someone who should be accomplished, know where she's going, have a plan, a retirement fund, and an expensive watch.

Not I, my friend. Not I.

I'm nervous that the last 10 years have gone by so quickly, that the next 10 years might sneak by even faster and I could quite possibly still be sitting here with no accomplishments (besides the fact that I will then have raised three children to adulthood, hopefully with at least some mild success), have no idea where I'm going, no plan, no retirement fund, and most importantly, no expensive watch.

35 years old, y'all. What the hell?

The Spaz speaks out for moms EVERYWHERE!

2011-11-04T15:27:00.002-04:00

From: Domestic Spaz (beth@domesticspaz.com)
To: info@draftfcb.com
Subject: Windex Commercials - here's a FREE advertising pitch from a real mom

Message:

To Whomever Decided It Was A Good Idea To Show A Mom Cleaning Up After Her Entire Family:

I'm a real mom of three kids in a messy house. I buy Windex. Never once has picking up a spray bottle of Windex Multi Surface ever caused time to stop so that I could merrily go around cleaning up all of the messes my family makes before they even hit the ground. In fact, the idea that it's the mom's job to clean up all the messes in the house is so overdone and irritating that it has caused mothers from around the country to convene on facebook and discuss how irritated we are with your ridiculous commercial.

And really? A commercial where a lazy ass man sleeps in a lounge chair while his wife washes the windows? Who runs this ad agency? Mr. Cleaver?

When y'all decide to run a commercial where those irritating birds look through the window to see a 15 year old kid saying "I use Windex Multi Surface cleaner to clean up all the sticky and nasty messes my self-entitled and irresponsible ass makes in the house that my mom and dad work their tails off to pay for. I love using it so much I think I'll clean up the rest of the house and still have time to do my homework and empty the dishwasher!"... well THAT'S when I and mothers across America just like me will be flocking to the stores to buy your products.

Sincerely,
Beth Hubbard
aka Domestic Spaz

<p>&amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;gt;POS</p>

PS: Upon further research, I discovered that DraftFCB no longer holds the SCJohnson (the makers of Windex) account. Ogilvy & Mather currently holds the Windex account. Perhaps their ads will be less misogynistic. :)

Are you listening to Ego Leonard?

2011-10-26T10:12:00.000-04:00

In this house, we tune into all things that have anything to do with LEGOs. Our house is LEGO aplenty. Goober loves his LEGOs like I love a nice chardonnay and a hot bubble bath. They're his happy place.

So when I heard that an 8 foot LEGO man washed ashore in Siesta Key, I had to check into it.

What I found was a website for Ego Leonard. I absolutely can't wait to share him with Goober when he gets home from school today.

I would like to introduce myself:

My name is Ego Leonard and according to you I come from the virtual world. A world that for me represents happiness, solidarity, all green and blossoming, with no rules or limitations.

Lately however, my world has been flooded with fortune-hunters and people drunk with power. And many new encounters in the virtual world have triggered my curiosity about your way of life.

I am here to discover and learn about your world and thoughts.

Show me all the beautiful things that are there to admire and experience in your world. Let’s become friends, share your story with me, take me with you on a journey through beautiful meadows, words, sounds and gestures.

And all I can think is... Ego Leonard knows what's up. Ego Leonard has the right idea. Ego Leonard is awesome.

We all have a lot to learn from Ego Leonard. As far as I can tell, thank you Google, Ego Leonard was created by artists. Possibly these artists? Or maybe these artists?

Or maybe some other ones? I'm sure the mystery will be solved by someone with more investigative ability than myself. But just as is my opinion on how the heavens and earth came to be, my opinion on how Ego Leonard came to be is that it doesn't really matter. It's more important to figure out what he's trying to tell us. And, in my opinion, Ego Leonard is trying to tell us this:

You're doing it wrong.

Fifth Grade is when the mean girls claws come out...

2011-10-10T02:26:00.000-04:00

Today Munchkin and I ran into a local pizza place to grab a few pizzas and there was a girl about Munchkin's age sitting with her mother waiting for their order. The girl said hi to Munchkin twice and Munchkin turned her nose up and solidly ignored her. After the second time I turned to her and said "Aren't you going to say hello?"

Munchkin gave me a look that meant "Be quiet, Mom!"

When we left the restaurant I pressed her further. I was fully anticipating having to admonish her for being rude.

"What was up with that? Why wouldn't you say hi to that little girl?"

"She's MEAN to me at school, Mom. She calls me names. She's a mean girl."

Now, Munchkin is slightly younger than the rest of her class and she may be a little bit immature even for her age. Her birthday is in August so she started kindergarten when she was just barely 5 years old so most of her peers have all had at least a few months on her. When I look back on it, I always think I should have probably kept her in Montessori school for one more year before she started kindergarten, but that's just one more of those parenting decisions I can't change now.

So I think she might be a little more susceptible to bullying from more mature girls. She's in 5th grade now and, let's face it, girls are just learning to be catty and mean at her age. To top it off, Munchkin is sensitive. She doesn't let things roll off her back very well so she's probably a fabulous target for a practicing mean girl looking to get a reaction.

So how do I toughen up my little girl? How do I teach her to ignore those mean girls and understand that everything they say is only to make themselves feel better because they have their own problems with self-esteem? Bullies just really, really suck.

Children are a treasure...

2011-10-03T19:29:00.000-04:00

There are some days when having children is a blessing. Days when you get to wake them up from their beds and they're groggy and smell like sleep and they smile at you. Days when you get to teach them something new and watch the wonder in their eyes. Days when you can just relax and watch them happily play at a park, without a care in the world. Days when you watch them accomplish something great and days when you realize you're doing a great job raising them.

Today is not one of those days.

Today is one of the days when I wonder what I was thinking when I allowed myself to get pregnant once, and twice, and thrice.

It begins with the sinus pain brought on by seasonal allergies. Today they were so bad that my teeth hurt from the pressure and I had to just lie down and close out the world. Children don't like to be closed out, though. There were nerf gun fights and Munchkin's ear piercing screams when she got shot in the eye by a nerf dart. Seriously, how do 10 year old girls even make that high pitched of a noise? There were children searching in vain for kittens that didn't want to be found and fighting over them once they were found. But eventually, some twist of fate smiled upon me (it's name was Claritin) and the pressure subsided allowing me to rise from the darkness and attempt to take on parenting again.

After a couple of hours of child neglect, I was confronted with milk filled cereal bowls and general mayhem around the house. Nothing had been done. No homework, no chores, nothing. And when I expressed my discontent, I was greeted with whining and gnashing of teeth. Being a mother is a thankless job.

Bug is overwhelmed with his homework and wants all of us to know all about it. He goes from maniacally throwing papers to the ground in an angry rage, to crying, to just plain ignoring the fact that he even has homework. If one of his siblings gets near him while he's attempting to do it, he threatens their life. I don't really know how to help him and I wonder if it's time to take him to a doctor to prescribe him something. We've cut out almost all preservatives and artificial colors, aside from what he gets at school, but it doesn't seem to have been helping him with his anger issues. The homework will always be hard, but his inability to deal with it in any sort of normal manner is the real problem.

It's always difficult to know how to make the best decisions for your children.

Operation Kitty Liberation Day

2011-10-03T14:16:00.000-04:00

Today is Operation Kitty Liberation. Today is the day I set the kittens free. Free to roam about the house, that is.

Since we got Mordecai and Rigby, they've been contained to the Master bedroom and bathroom. They're so little that I've been worried they would get lost somewhere or caught between the cushions of the couch or fall down the crack between the bunk beds and the wall.

With good reason, too. Just last week Rigby got himself lost in the few minutes we let them roam around the house to show them off to my brother-in-law, E. After a good ten minutes of attempting to locate the source of the muffled cries we heard from the general location of our TV viewing area, we realized he had gotten himself trapped inside The Man's theater style chairs.

The Man was on his way home from work at the time and I very much wanted to rescue Rigby before he arrived home as I was sure I would hear crap from him about how the cats were running around and getting into things. E was belly down on the floor attempting to pull Rigby out of a tiny little hollow in the chair by his tiny little paw, when we heard The Man walk in.

"Everybody act natural!" E cried out as The Man walked in and saw his chairs tipped on all sides and the family room torn apart.

It's always an adventure at the Spaz house.

So I wanted to keep them safe in the bedroom where the worst they could do was climb to the top of the closet (and encourage Goober to climb to the top and retrieve them, causing the entire shelf and rod to fall out of the wall... taking bets on how long it will take for that to be repaired), but when I settled in for a nice bubble bath the other night and found tiny little flecks of kitty litter suspended in my cucumber-melon scented bubbles, I decided it was time for the kittens to explore the rest of their natural habitat.

So far they're enjoying the space to roam. They're chitter-chattering at the birds outside through the windows, taking Superman sized leaps and bounds from one flat surface to another, and enjoying the giant expanses of open space to run maniacally from one end of the house to the other.

I see broken glass and spilled liquids in my future.

Just wait til Britney's 15 years old and rebels because she never got a french fry like all the other kids...

2011-09-28T22:07:00.000-04:00

If you're a mom, like me, and you watch any sort of television that is geared toward moms, you've probably seen this commercial for PediaSure SideKicks:

When the commercial first came out, I was immediately angry at that condescending bitch of a brunette soccer mom with her condescending arm touch at the poor blonde mom. Blonde mom was probably running herself ragged and had no time for anything other than a happy meal to feed her sweet Tyler before soccer practice. In fact, I bet there's a half eaten cheeseburger in the 3rd row of blonde mom's minivan along with a few random french fries right now.

And brunette mom thinks she's so high and mighty because she elected to feed her darling Britney this processed sugar milk drink instead.

Britney's nice soccer moves aren't because she drank Pediasure, brunette mom, they're just because she lives in constant fear of disappointing you with your unreasonable expectations.

The second ingredient in that junk is SUGAR, along with several ingredients I can't pronounce, artificial flavors, and something called FRUCTOOLIGOSACCHARIDES (wtf is that??). Something tells me the protein in a cheeseburger and fries is probably a lot more beneficial than that sugar water. So take that, brunette mom.

Ups and Downs and All Arounds

2011-09-26T15:07:00.001-04:00

The Spaz is back!

I'm alive and well and so is the rest of the Spaz clan. Life is busy around here and when life gets busy I don't seem to have any blog worthy thoughts. I guess when I'm trying to keep up with the day to day, I don't spend a lot of time pondering the life, universe, and everything so the blog suffers.

In the past couple of months we've taken a trip to North Carolina, kicked around the idea of moving there and then decided to shelve the idea for the foreseeable future. It's beautiful up there and the idea of raising the kids in a small town environment is definitely appealing, but for right now we think it's best to stay put.

Though, when we returned home to find that we needed to drill a new well, fix our air conditioner, and replace our stove, I almost got back into the minivan, pointed it north, and refused to come back. A nice, new house in the gorgeous Great Smokey Mountains sure beats a messy, hot, and humid one with no running water in the middle of hurricane season in South Florida.

But responsibility won out and we got to work fixing the home owners nightmare we had returned home to. At this point, the biggest issue has been repaired (we dug the new well), the AC is in the process of being fixed, and the stove has been put on the back burner. Literally... that's the only burner I can use. The back one. But it's so hot I don't want to cook anyway. See how things work out?

This is the time of year I start obsessively checking weather.com and wondering when we'll get our first cold front. I do it every year, knowing full well that we'll be sweating while we trick-or-treat at the end of next month and I need to just give it up. In January I'll be complaining that my feet are cold and that my winter coat (aka ratty old hoodie) isn't warm enough.

The kids all went back to school in August and it's Bug's first year of middle school. He started ~~making farting noises~~ playing the clarinet with the beginning band and seems to be adjusting relatively well to the new, HUGE, middle school. Aside from his ridiculous new schedule that doesn't get him home from school until around 4:30, he seems to like school. We're having a bit of a hard time with homework since he doesn't appear to have enough time to complete it all before any reasonable hour, especially with karate three days a week, but we're working on getting it all organized. I have hope.

Munchkin is currently enjoying her "top of the school" fifth grade status and has found her passions lie with horses, skinny jeans, and this glam-goth style that would have been the height of cool when I was in high school if only we'd had the foresight to figure it out ourselves. She brought home a poster of Taylor Lautner from school today so I fear that she may have discovered boys. Is it too early to start crushing birth control pills into her oatmeal?

Goober has started second grade and has joined the chorus. He's having a bit of a rough time because his best friend moved away last week and he's feeling a bit alone and sad at school. I'm really hoping he finds a new niche to settle into soon. His best friend has been in his class since kindergarten and to say they were tight is an understatement. He just celebrated his 8th birthday and the main focus of the day was, again, on LEGOs. He has amassed a LEGO collection worth several thousands of dollars I imagine and could probably build us a new house out of them if he put his mind to it. So we'll always have that to fall back on.

Two weeks ago we were mourned the loss of our beloved cat, Felix. His death was sudden and heartbreaking to our family and the kids were truly crushed. You might remember reading about him when our dog, Sudo, found him outside in a nest of kittens with his brothers and sisters causing him to be abandoned by his mother and then adopted by us. He will always hold a special place in our hearts as we bottle fed him and raised him from a little ball of fur with barely an eye open.

Without missing a beat, we decided to adopt two new kittens from the animal shelter to help heal our broken hearts. It's been a little over a week since we welcomed our new babies into our family and they've provided a great healing joy in our house. The kids have named them Mordecai and Rigby, but I call them Buddha and General Tso. The Man has decided to call them Sneezy and The Free One (kittens were buy one get one at the animal shelter... I kid you not).

So we're all getting back into the swing of the day to day here at the Spaz house. It's go-go-go around here with an activity every day. Between school, the barn, karate, eBay, girl scouts, and chorus, the minivan is getting a work out and so are we. I'll try to get back into a regular posting schedule soon. :)

Did we really, like, say "like" quite as often as, like, that?

2011-08-20T20:21:00.000-04:00

I happened to catch an episode of My So-Called Life today while flipping through channels in an effort to find something to entertain me as I measured clothing.

I probably haven't watched it since I was in high school... maybe I caught a few episodes of it on MTV or wherever it may have resurfaced when I was in college, but viewing it now as I am quickly approaching my (hold me, I'm about to type it) middle age years, it is a totally different experience.

The main character, Angela, is every confused, white middle class American girl in the mid-90's. She is confused, trying to find herself, bathed in cranberry colored hair dye and swabbed in a flannel shirt. She is artistic and full of angst and in love with a boy that isn't good enough for her.

When I was 17, my heart ached for Angela. I loved her, I identified with her, I felt that she and I could have been best friends. If only she were real.

There's Rayanne, funky and free-loving. Seemingly unafraid of the world or what anyone thinks of her. She was the girl we all wanted to be on the surface. Filled with talent and beauty, yet deeply troubled and misunderstood.

And we can't forget Rickie, oh Rickie. Rickie, who was battling the world's perception of homosexuality in the 90s when being different was only beginning to be embraced.

Back in high school, I couldn't believe how real this show was. Angela, Rayanne, Rickie, Jordan, Sharon, and Brian would have fit right in (or beautifully not fit right in) at my high school. I could have cast the show right from the halls of good old John I Leonard.

It's too bad it was so short-lived. By the time I was out of high school, My So-Called Life was already canceled and future generations of high school students had to make do with shows like Beverly Hills 90210, That's So Raven, and Boy Meets World.

My So-Called Life went the way of River Phoenix, Kurt Cobain, and Sassy magazine... beautiful, amazing, insightful, and taken from us way too soon.

Evidently I'm still a long way from enlightenment...

2011-08-07T22:50:00.001-04:00

Today was Back To School shopping day. We dropped Munchkin off at the barn and headed out to do our school shopping with the boys. Munchkin really didn't need to be with us because she has fifteen thousand pair of shoes... and the only reason I really need a kid to ever be with me when purchasing them anything is if the thing I will be purchasing is shoes.

The boys, however, both needed new shoes for the upcoming school year. So we loaded up in the van and headed out to brave the crowds.

Our first stop was Marshall's. We drove a bit to find a parking spot and stepped out of our air conditioned bubble and into the oppressive heat known as August in South Florida. The shoe selection there was a bit of a drag, but we did find a pair of cool jeans and a backpack for Bug, a hat for Goober, and a hug from my Girl Scout co-leader who happened to be shopping in the store with one of my favorite girl scouts. :)

After Marshall's we stopped at Old Navy where we grabbed a belt and some tee shirts for Bug, and a couple of uniform shirts for Munchkin. Next door was Famous Footwear where we found really cool shoes for both Bug and Goober. Goober loved his shoes so much he wore them out of the store. All that was left was the actual school supply list, which we elected to pick up at our local Walmart.

As we were driving to Walmart, the rain started to fall. By the time we reached the Walmart parking lot it was a torrential downpour. We drove around for a while, waited for the rain to slow a bit, and then we all huddled underneath the umbrella and made our way into the store.

Shopping for school supplies at Walmart on a Sunday afternoon may actually be a version of hell. Seriously, when really bad people die, they may have to push a rickety cart through a crowded Walmart on a weekend in August before school starts with 3 different lists for 3 different children and they must find the exact specifications and combinations of supplies for each child. They must find two red, two yellow, one blue, and one purple (purple?!?) folder for one child - all bearing pockets andprongs. They must find marbled composition books. They must find pencil sharpeners with covers for each child and they can't all be pink because two of these children are boys and OMG I CAN'T SHARPEN MY PENCIL WITH A PINK SHARPENER OR I WILL BE THE LAUGHING STOCK OF THE WHOLE SECOND GRADE!!!!

And the Walmart they go to will not be organized and it will already be picked over by ten thousand other people on the same exact mission and glue sticks will be put where the expo markers should be and red pens will be put where the post it notes should be. Oh! And don't forget the gallon ziplocs and baby wipes and boxes of tissues to donate to the class.

So anyway, we made it through our third level of hell with me passing off a pink folder for purple and two black composition books for marbled (I had reached my limit of patience, marbled composition books do not exist in my realm of reality and any teacher who requests purple as one of the colors for a folder is just asking for trouble) and we piled ourselves into a checkout line. Thankfully the checkout was a quick one, which was something short of a miracle, and we ventured back outside where it was still raining.

I took the umbrella and got the car and forced The Man to stand with the mobs of people waiting for their loved ones to pick them up under the overhang. When I got to the van I noticed that one of the sliding doors had been left open throughout the downpour. I won't say which kid did it... because he feels really, really bad already. And as the parents, The Man and I should have double checked that all the doors were shut. But it had been raining and we were simply in a hurry to get inside so it happened.

The inside of the van was soaked... but all my change was still in the van and I didn't think I had left anything of value in there (no ipods or cell phones or anything) so I just did a big heavy sigh and went to pick them up from under the overhang.

The Man loaded up the back of the van with all our shiny, new school supplies and we headed off to the barn to pick up Munchkin before heading home.

After dinner we unloaded the car and the kids started to load up their backpacks with their new goodies. But Bug had left his new backpack in the car, so he headed out there to grab it.

But it wasn't there.

That's right. It wasn't there. It had been sitting in the van in it's shopping bag with his new jeans in it, next to the shopping bag with his new shoes in it (and Goober's old flip flops that he originally wore out), next to the shopping bag from Old Navy. All three were gone.

Stolen while our van door had been left open in the Walmart parking lot.

And I am mad. So freaking mad.

The Man asked me how I should view this as a Buddhist, reminding me of a story we had been discussing a while ago about how someone who is free from attachment would view their coat being stolen out of their car. They would be thankful that someone who obviously needed the coat had a coat.

So I'm trying to be thankful that some kid out there who is Bug's size has new shoes for school and new tee shirts and a new belt and new jeans. I'm trying.

And I'm failing. Right now I'm just so freaking mad.

**Edited the next day** I replaced the shoes (and the other stuff) today and it happened to be the store manager who rang me up. I let her know what happened just so she could keep her eyes open for the same pair if someone tried to return them without a receipt and she felt so bad she gave me 20% off my entire order. So I bought myself some shoes, too. :) I really needed some shoes, too.

Maybe I can just take a nap... till 2012

2011-08-04T20:33:00.000-04:00

It's August. August is always that time of year when I feel like I'm gearing up for a sprint to the finish line. I feel like I can pretty much kiss 2011 goodbye at this point because in a few days the madness will begin and before I know it, The Man and I will be eating hot wings and drinking champagne and watching the new year roll in again.

It all starts with Munchkin's birthday. August 9th. This year, her celebration actually started a little early because we went to visit Bubby and Granddaddy in North Carolina. B2 and her family were there and since none of them would be seeing Munchkin on her actual birthday we decided to have a little party for her. Cake, candles, ice cream, and presents... and over 2 weeks before her actual day.

But at that point I wasn't feeling the pressure.

No... it will all start next week. First we'll have her day where we'll do something special just for her. Then there will be a party with a few of her closest friends, and after all that is wrapped up we'll have to start thinking of back to school.

We'll gather up supplies and new clothes and new shoes and we'll sharpen all our pencils and make sure we have the appropriate sized zip loc bags and unscented baby wipes and dry erase markers to donate to our teachers. We'll attend "Meet The Teacher" night and try, once again, to make a good impression and hope this year's teacher hasn't heard too much from last year's teacher.

And just as we're starting to get the hang of school being back in session it will be time to celebrate Goober's birthday. This year he wants to go to LEGOLAND. Which is opening in our beautiful state on October 15th. Goober loves Legos like no kid I've ever known. He's playing with Legos right now as I type this. He's a Lego freak. Do you remember those commercials when we were kids?

"Zack, Zack, he's a LEGO maniac!"

Well, Goober's real name isn't Zack.... but they were singing about him.

October will bring (other than a probable trip to LegoLand) Halloween, which is my favorite holiday of the year. We will spend the better portion of the month obsessing over what the kids will be... should they match? Should they be pirates? Should they all do their own thing? Where will we go trick-or-treating? Will it be hot? (yes) Will it rain? (double yes)

And when we wake up the next morning it will be November and I will sit straight up in bed and instantly begin to freak out.

It's November, NOVEMBER!! I haven't even bought ONE Christmas present and OMG Thanksgiving and the kids need to update their Christmas lists and where will I find a Turducken??!?

So really, I need to start getting prepared. Now. Before the sky begins falling.

I'm wittier on the Internet

2011-07-19T15:17:00.000-04:00

It's true. My Internet persona is way cooler than my real life one. In real life I never come up with the best responses at the appropriate times. People say things to me that are plainly just asking to be ridiculed and I can only stare at them blankly.

It's not until much later as I'm speeding away in my minivan that the perfect retort comes to mind. Don't you hate that?

But on the Internet I'm awesome. I say funny things, I make people laugh, I participate in forums and groups and I have friends. They love me here on the interwebz. Some even love to hate me. That's sort of awesome all on its own, you know?

I sort of love my haters. <3

I wonder if my haters would be shocked to know who I am in real life? I wonder if they'd be surprised that I'm not so quick witted when quick wit is necessary? I wonder if they'd hate me less? Or maybe more?

At any rate, I try not to be a bitch online. I try to be diplomatic and nice to everyone. But evidently I'm a bit forward and it can be off-putting. Who knew?

If only Sassy was still around to help guide Munchkin through those crazy years of puberty and adolescence...

2011-07-13T20:25:00.000-04:00

I remember it so well. It was 8th grade... or maybe it was 7th. Okay, so maybe I don't remember it that well. Anyway, it was one of those magazine drives in middle school. If you went to a public school in the 80's you might recall that they would pull us out of class for an hour or so (sweet! no math today!) and corall us into the gymnasium or the cafeteria or whatever other large meeting area there was available at the school. There would be a highly energetic guy with a microphone up front and he would get us all excited about winning crap prizes.

"You'll get a prize even if you ONLY SELL ONE magazine!!"

It was one of those fuzzy guys with the sticky feet and the googly eyes. You know the ones.

"If you sell THREE magazines you'll get this REALLY AWESOME THINGAMABOB THAT COSTS 5 CENTS TO MAKE AND WAS MASS PRODUCED BY EIGHT YEAR OLD INDENTURED SERVANTS IN THAILAND!!!"

And there was always some super fantastic amazing prize available if we sold some ridiculous amount. Back in my day it was a Nintendo. Nowadays it's probably an iPad. Every kid would mentally calculate how it could be possible for them to actually win the super amazing prize and formulate a plan. Unless they were spoiled and already had whatever the super awesome amazing prize was, in which case they smugly told every jealous kid around.

"I already have a Nintendo with Super Mario Brothers and Duck Hunt. And I have the Legend of Zelda and Tetris, too."

That was me, by the way. I had all that. But I wasn't spoiled... I actually saved up my modest $5 weekly allowance for months to get the original NES. It was a hundred bucks and when I was up to $75 I happened to get a stomach virus and my dad felt sorry for me and pitched in the extra $25 so I would have something to play with in between vomiting. It was the best stomach virus I ever had.

But I digress.

So it was a magazine drive and I had to sell like three magazines to get whatever little stupid thing I was aiming for. I sold my mom and dad on renewing their bathroom subscription to Reader's Digest and I think I managed to get B1 in her new adulthood to fork over the money for Cosmo or something like that. Just one more subscription was needed.

I reviewed the options and decided to fork over $7** for the cheapest subscription on the list.

Sassy.

I hadn't heard of Sassy magazine. I didn't know what it was other than the description on the order form which was probably "Magazine geared toward 13 to 21 year old girls" or something equally bland and non-descript.

Whatever, it was only $7 and I was getting my prize!!

By the time my first issue of Sassy arrived, I'm sure whatever the doo-hickey was that I so desperately wanted was already broken or forgotten in a drawer under a pile of brightly colored scrunchies and those blue rubber keychains that came with my Keds. Little did I know, my life was about to be forever altered.

Middle school was a time of identity crisis. I moved all over the social status ladder in middle school, never quite hitting the bottom rung, but never being really anywhere close to the top, either. I wasn't sure where I should fit in, where I wanted to fit in, or what my options were.

Sassy said "screw that noise and be yourself" and it was like Jane Pratt personally reached out from the pages of the magazine and flicked me in the nose. I was instantly in love, devouring every page of it within a day of its arrival in my mailbox. Sassy taught me to think for myself, to make my own decisions, to open my mind to the possibility that what "everyone was saying" might not be the right thing.

It wasn't a teen magazine that told me what to wear or what kind of boy to like. It wasn't about what lip gloss to wear or how to banish the flabby parts on my thighs. Sassy told me I could embrace my flabby parts and if the boy I had a crush on liked a skinnier or blonder girl, then so be it. There were plenty of boys who would like me for who I was.

And even if they didn't, that was okay.

Every month Sassy would throw out new definitions, some of which I still use today.

I can't tell you how many times I've used "Party Hats" in that context over the years.

There was a page in every magazine called "stuff you wrote" and it featured witty observations, thoughtful poetry, and rhetorical questions from readers. It was probably my favorite part of the magazine and usually the first page I turned to when it arrived. It opened my mind up to the humor in irony and showed me a glimpse into the minds of other girls who were thinking the same weird thoughts that I was thinking.

So when Sassy was taken over by Petersen Publishing my junior year of high school and the whole thing changed I was hurt. It was the first time I had to deal with the death of some type of media that I loved. (Later I would feel the pain again with Wonderfalls and Dead Like Me.) My February 1994 issue of Sassy arrived and it felt.... wrong... dirty... gross.

It felt like my best friend had been replaced by a clone of my best friend who looked a lot like her, but without any pimples or split ends. And she had forgotten all of our funny inside jokes and didn't really know me anymore.

All of a sudden Sassy was telling me how to get rid of my flabby bits and which lip gloss was going to look good on me. I canceled my subscription and took a long, hot shower that didn't make me feel any less violated.

Over the years I've thought a lot about Sassy. Whenever I pick up my old scrapbook and see the pieces I clipped and pasted in there. Lots of glossary definitions, a piece on the Gore girls and their silent mockery of poor Chelsea Clinton, tons of poetry and some Converse ads... I miss Sassy.

So it was with a giddy pleasure that I discovered the other day that Jane Pratt has a site where a lot of the old Sassy writers are still writing and kicking ass. We're all a little older now so things are geared a little differently, but reading the articles was like going to that monthly book club meeting with the friends you never get to see. You know, the one where no one actually cares if you read the book and you drink wine and talk about whatever comes up.

**Yes, I'm well aware that whatever little prize I was going to be awarded could probably be purchased elsewhere for so much less than $7. However, this was the 80's and we had no Internet and I'm sure whatever little forgotten gadget they had bribed me with wasn't something I had ever seen before and I was blindsided by its gimicky crapness.

How to find out who left you bad stars on eBay - with pictures!

2011-06-28T17:43:00.000-04:00

This following post will bore my average reader to death. Seriously. You will die of boredom if you read this post. So proceed at your own risk.

I warned you!

Since eBay implemented their star rating policy, there has been all sorts of hub bub about the stars. Now, more than ever, our stars are incredibly important to us because they determine our placement within eBay's search function. And the higher up on that page we place, the more money we make. So that's a big giant deal. GINORMOUS.

Stars are supposed to be anonymous. Sellers are not supposed to know who leaves what stars for them so that buyers can feel comfortable leaving completely honest stars without fearing any retaliation from the seller.

Now, I'm all for honesty. I think it's important that buyers leave honest feedback and honest stars because that's what is going to single me, a hard working and honest seller, from those sellers that have poor customer service and quality. However, now that eBay has implemented the Top Rated Seller program, my stars are everything to me.

And besides, what retaliation do we really have? We can add the buyer to our Blocked Bidder List and we can tell our friends. That's about it.

Over the past three months I have sold 416 items. If I receive more than two 1 or 2 star ratings in any category, I will lose my Top Rated Seller status. All it takes is three customers to decide that I didn't describe something as accurately as they'd like or that I didn't send them enough glowy emails (or maybe that I sent them too many!) and I lose that pretty little badge. If you're good in math, you'll note that three customers out of 416 is less than one percent. I can make 99% of my customers ecstatic, but three of them have the power to cause me to be shoved further down in the eBay search results and lose a 20% discount on my eBay fees. That's anywhere from one to two hundred dollars a month in lost discount and an immeasurable amount of money in lost sales.

So when someone leaves me bad stars, I want to know it. I want to know who that buyer is so I can make sure they don't buy from me again. I want to review the transaction and see if there was a legitimate reason for the bad rating so I can make sure I don't do whatever that is again. For me, a 1 or 2 star rating is worse than a big red negative.

So how do I find out who left me a bad star rating if eBay keeps those stars anonymous? Thanks to the awesome masterminds of some of my fellow selling friends, I found out how to do it. And I'm going to share it here with you.

First of all you need to go to your Seller Dashboard. You can find the link to your dashboard in a couple of places. One is at the top right of your feedback page and another is on the left side of the "Account" tab on the My eBay screen. I like to go from my feedback page.

Once you click there, you'll see your dashboard and you'll see a box toward the top of the page on the right that looks like this:

See that little link there that says "See your reports"? Click it.

When you get to your report page, you'll see a big blue button that says "Create report"... and here's where things get tricky. Click the blue button.

Now you're going to get to this page:

If you forget to change the Report Type to "Item Numbers" this whole thing will confuse you. Don't feel bad, I've been there.

You can name the report anything you want that will make you remember to not delete it. I named mine "Test" but you can name it "Don't Delete Me" or "Important" or whatever.

There's a field there that asks you to input item numbers. What you need to do is find 10 items that you've received feedback on and you need to input them into this field and run the report.

But that's not all!

Every one of those buyers must have left you all 5 stars in all 4 categories for the report to be accurate. So it may take a while for you to get your "Test" report.

So input 10 item number that you've received feedback on and click "Run Report". You'll wind up back on the page where you clicked to create the report originally and it'll take a minute or two for the report to be generated. So just refresh the page until the link to your report is clickable.

Once you click on your report, you'll find it will probably look like this one:

And you're like, "What the heck?? What do you mean there are no ratings?" Some of those people definitely left you ratings, but not all 10 of them did. So you have to go back and pick different numbers until you finally get 10 that have left you all 5 stars in all categories.

You also might get a report that looks something like this:

This one's no good, either. Here we did get star ratings from all 10 buyers, but one of them left us 4s instead of 5s. You can click on that little "Show" link to see that there were 4s left, if you'd like and you'll see it looks something like this:

But eventually, with perseverance and determination, you will finally get your test report with 10 buyers who left you all 5s.

And the angels will sing when you click on a report and you finally see this:

Okay, so you have your test report. Don't delete it! Now what to do?

Now, you can find out exactly what stars were left for you on any transaction. You'll go to the page where you originally created your report and select your test report. But instead of running the same report again, you're going to click "Run Similar" to run the report that will give you the results of whatever transaction you're concerned about.

Now, you'll just add the item number to the item numbers that are already in the report (making 11 item numbers total) and run the new report. I like to title the new reports with the item number of the transaction I'm testing, but you can title the new report with whatever title you'd like.

This buyer left me what anyone would think was glowing feedback. See?

But when I ran the report on that item I discovered this:

A dreaded 2 in the Item As Described category! I received no contact from this buyer at all and if it weren't for these reports, I would have no idea they were less than thrilled with the item. How on earth can I make anything better if I have no idea there's anything wrong?

Now, as you'll notice in many of these screen shots, eBay makes it very clear that "It is against eBay policy to question buyers about the detailed seller ratings they left."

So I'm not allowed to contact this buyer to ask her what the problem was, but I might send out an email asking if everything was to their liking with no mention of the stars at all just to find out. And I'll definitely add this buyer to my Blocked Bidder List, because this is the scariest kind of buyer out there.

So there you have it! eBay secrets revealed!

I normally don't let myself get to the point of blubbering idiot... I swear...

2011-06-17T15:28:00.000-04:00

I mentioned before that The Man and I went to a wedding last weekend. It was the wedding of The Man's cousin to his beautiful long time girlfriend who is awesome. She's one of those rare people who can be gorgeous and nice at the same time. Like, she realizes the world doesn't owe her an ass kissing because she's stunning.

The Man and I arrived to the 5 o'clock event at exactly 5 o'clock. Which was exactly the moment that The Bride was making her way down the aisle. Oops. As is the way with The Man's family, though, it was just no big deal.

After the ceremony (which made me cry, dammit), we made our way to the reception area and a lovely waiter held a tray of champagne and water. No one took the water.

That was what I like to refer to as "the beginning of the end" for me. We've all been to weddings where there was alcohol. Sometimes the alcohol is free flowing and sometimes it's guarded. This wedding was of the former kind. Booze was available and it was everywhere.

Two champagnes before the cocktail hour, two rum and cokes during the cocktail hour, a few chardonnays with dinner and then it all goes blurry from there. I remember seeing a guy at the bar that I recognized and it not occurring to me to place where I knew him from. I was just like "Oh, hey, that guy is here!" I still don't know where I knew him from.

Shortly after I lost my purse (The Man's mom was holding it for me), I found myself loudly arguing with The Man's brother about whether the 1st noble truth was bull crap or not (not). I know I dragged The Man out on to the dance floor where I'm sure anyone sober enough to notice realized that I was in a foggy dancing haze... luckily I think pretty much everyone else had imbibed their share of the drink as well.

At some point I even trapped The Man's brother and forced him to listen to me cry about personal friendships gone wrong. It was not my most shining moment.

Luckily, I don't think I embarrassed myself too much since I'm pretty sure The Man would have ushered me out if I had gotten too sloppy. Have I told you lately how much I love him?

After the wedding, The Man, who was not sloshed, drove us to Denny's in an attempt to sober me up a bit before we picked up the kids from my mom and dad's house. I vowed I would never drink again as I stuffed a Moons Over My Hammy into my mouth and downed three cups of the strongest coffee Denny's could provide. There is nothing like greasy food and 3 hour old coffee when you're drunk. Nothing.

The wedding was Sunday which meant I woke up Monday with a hangover from hell and no one to blame but myself. Mondays always kind of suck, but a Monday that follows a drunken Sunday night is the worst. The kids were bright and cheery, there was work to be done and karate practice to attend and grocery stores to conquer. And I made it through. Somehow.

Never again, alcohol. You won't get me again.

Middle School sucked in the 80s...

2011-06-16T03:41:00.001-04:00

In 1989 I turned 12 years old. I started out the year in 6th grade and spent the majority of the year learning what "cool" was.

Cool in 1989 was all about acid washed jeans, crispy gravity defying hair, Aussie 3 minute miracle (presumably to revitalize the crispy hair), and giant camcorders that recorded it all on full sized VHS tapes. I spent most of the year jamming out to Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation and Paula Abdul's Straight Up while crushing on a boy who hadn't discovered girls yet.

The Coreys were on their way out with Dream A Little Dream and Keanu Reeves was making his debut in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure. We were on the verge of a new decade and things were changing.

Ah, nostalgia.

I remember, distinctly thinking that this was cool:

(Evidently you can watch the whole cheesy movie, Teen Witch, on YouTube, starting with this video. I can't tell you how excited I am about this.)

It was mostly a terrible year for me, the year that encompassed the end of 6th grade and the beginning of 7th. I rode the bus to my middle school and endured relentless teasing from older, more popular kids. I was chubby and had an unfortunate case of acne and my parents had not yet succumbed to the begging and pleading from me to buy my clothes at Benetton and The Gap.

I wanted a boyfriend and I envied my friends who were fortunate and cute enough to have already experienced the joy that was parent chauffeured dates to the movies and phone conversations until 10 pm with a cute boy. I wrote angsty poetry and doodled smiley faces and hearts in my notebooks. I learned how to write notes to my BFF in code and fold them in the shape of an arrow.

It's this stage of life that my oldest child will be entering in the next few months.

I think things might be better for him. I think maybe things are better for kids in general these days. I hope so anyhow.

Still not a morning person

2011-06-14T15:01:00.000-04:00

A few people have asked me how I'm doing with the Organization Project - specifically the Becoming a Morning Person aspect of it.

And the truth is that I suck at it.

I go back and forth about whether it's even a good idea. But that's probably mostly just me trying to convince myself that it's no big deal that it seems natural to me that I stay up until three or four in the morning and sleep till noon. And maybe if I didn't have kids to take care of it wouldn't be that big of a deal.

Honestly, it would be best if I could somehow stay up till three or four in the morning and still wake up by eight. I haven't figured out how to make that work yet, though.

The thing is that I'm most productive after ten at night. The kids are in bed, the house gets quiet, and I really get my groove going. I get work done, I get things cleaned, I really get so much accomplished. So if I'm going to bed just when I start to feel most productive, I'm really not ever going to get anything done.

I did give it a good shot, and I haven't given up on it yet. But I've found that even when I force myself to get to sleep at a decent hour, where decent means before midnight, and I wake up at an early morning hour, where early means before eight, I can't seem to motivate myself to actually do anything productive the whole day. And just when I start to feel motivated, it's time for bed again.

I have to assume that if I keep it up, eventually I'll become functional during the day. But in the meantime, I'm just walking through life in a hazy fog and getting nothing done.

So I haven't done well, because frankly I need to get things done. I'm hoping that there will be some sort of lull in my summer at some point where I can attempt to "reset" myself without worrying so much about whether I'm getting a lot done. Sounds like a vacation might be in order. :)

The Spaz and her brood head to the mall

2011-06-11T13:54:00.000-04:00

On Sunday The Man and I are attending a wedding. Since jeans and flip flops aren't proper wedding attire, I was forced to head out into the retail world and buy something more appropriate to wear.

Now, I've known about this wedding for months and could have gone shopping before school let out so I would have had the luxury of doing it without three kids in tow. But then what would I blog about?

So I packed up my three relatively clean kids and we pointed the minivan in the direction of the mall.

"What are we doing here?"
"I'm hungry."
"This is BORING."
"MOMMY! He HIT me!"
"She's annoying."
"How long are we going to be here?"
"I'm thirsty."
"Can we go to GameStop?"
"I hate GameStop!"

Should I continue? Luckily, the dressing rooms at Macy's weren't overly crowded and I parked my three angels into a dressing room, closed the door, and went into the next one to try on everything I had picked out. My karma must have been strong because I found something that not only fit, but looked decent. Score!

So the kids were OMG SO HUNGRY I THINK WE MIGHT DIE RIGHT HERE IN MACY'S so we decided to head over to the food court.

On our way to the food court we were accosted by men selling things from kiosks. Have you ever been to a fair where the guys running the games yell things out at you to get you to play their game? That's what walking in the mall has been reduced to. As we passed once kiosk that was selling some useless gadget or solution or something else, the high pressure sales guy that stood next to it shouted out "Ma'am?"

I love being called ma'am. It reminds me that my youth took one look at my troublesome brood and fled the building.

For some reason I briefly paused and said "Excuse me?" because I guess I thought he had a legitimate question to ask me.

"May I ask you a question?"

And then I realized I was about to be sucked into a sales pitch. So I said "Um, no, I'm not interested. C'mon kids!"

And I thought to myself... what kind of moron sees a frazzled woman with three children and tries to stop her for a sales pitch? When I'm walking through the mall with kids, the goal is to arrive at whatever destination we have set forth with all three children still in tact. Any distraction or detour has the potential to seriously derail this goal. Children are easily distracted by shiny things, fuzzy things, things that light up or fly or move. It is a full time job to keep an eye on them and Mr. Youneedmypieceofjunklikeyouneedaholeinyourhead thinks it would be a good idea to stop me and try to sell me his magic beans? Does he really think I have the time or energy to listen to his tried and tested speech that was handed down from upper corporate management? This isn't a leisurely shopping trip, buddy.

And so we moved on.

At the food court the children all wanted to eat different things so we had a fun time collecting whatever their little hearts desired and finding a table to sit at. After lunch we decided to head over to the Apple store to get an iTunes gift card for one of Munchkin's friends. Unfortunately to get to the Apple store we had to pass by Build-A-Bear.

What is it about Build-A-Bear that strikes a desire larger than any other in my daughter's heart? The mere mention of Build-A-Bear causes her to go into a full on grief stricken tangent describing how she has only ever been to Build-A-Bear once and she was 5 and it was so long ago and every one of her friends has lots of Build-A-Bears and why are we so mean to her??!

Well, Munchkin, it's because I think spending over $50 for a stuffed animal that you had to make yourself is a little ridiculous. I don't care if you held its little beating heart in your hand and made a wish on it. Whoever came up with Build-A-Bear is a freaking genius.

About halfway to the Apple store, Bug said "Mommy? Where's your bag?"

And I looked down and realized I was not holding the outfit I had purchased for the wedding. Bug didn't have it, Munchkin didn't have it, and Goober didn't have it.

But it FIT!!!! Tragedy has stricken!!

So we turned back and I prayed it was still sitting at the table we ate our lunch at. Bug ran ahead as he is smaller and less encumbered and can move quickly through mall crowds.

My karma held out and Bug returned with the bag in hand. Crisis averted. On our way back to the Apple store we passed Build-A-Bear again. Joy.

The Apple store was filled with teenagers wearing low rise jeans that appeared to be painted on, chunky belts, and they all had haircuts that were straight out of an anime cartoon. I don't go into the Apple store often, but this is the first time I realized there is no cash register area. There's no place to walk up to someone and say "Hey, I'd like to get a gift card. Can you help me?"

There's the "Genius Bar" that Bug warned me was not where I was supposed to go and if I did I would surely embarrass him by being such an out of place loser that I didn't know what to do at the Apple Store. Other than that, I guess you're just supposed to find an iPad to play with and wait for a "Genius" (I challenge them to an IQ test...) to come by and assist you.

So we left.

And we walked by Build-A-Bear again.

On our way out of the mall I stopped by the Piercing Pagoda to ask if they could clean my necklace. Piercing Pagoda is owned by Zales and since we bought the necklace at Zales, they're supposed to polish it up for me whenever I demand it. While standing outside their kiosk Munchkin decided that she had finally worked up the courage to get her ears pierced.

It's been a couple of years in the making, actually. She's wanted to get them done and then she changes her mind. Pain freaks her out. But yesterday she felt ready. She picked out some cute little sterling silver stars and I signed the waiver that said I wouldn't sue them if they chopped her ear off.

And then she sat in the chair.

She was nervous... she was shaky... she wanted them to just get it over with, already...

And then they did.

She just said "Ouch" and her eyes got a little watery. And then she was happy.

And though a part of me thought how sad it was that I had just allowed someone to poke holes in my perfectly formed child and another part of me lamented that she is indeed growing up... I was mostly so proud of her.

And then Bug made fun of her for tearing up and she decked him.

Slapstick Violence and 5 Asses... sounds like my kind of movie.

2011-06-09T13:38:00.000-04:00

What better way to start off the summer than by sending your kids to see a movie where the main characters get into all sorts of hyjinks to make sure their own summer is fun and adventure filled?

I can't think of any better way, can you?

So when I was offered seats to see a screener of Judy Moody and the NOT Bummer Summer last night I jumped all over it like a little kid in a clown shaped bounce house.

Except then I realized I couldn't go. Darn prior engagements!

So I asked Miss Michelle, one of my favorite girl scout moms, to take Munchkin and three other little darlings to see the movie. It's a good thing that Miss Michelle's own daughter loves the Judy Moody books because I think that's what really sealed the deal.

So yesterday evening I shoved some popcorn money into Munchkin's pocket, kissed her goodbye, and sent her on her way.

A little after 9 I went to retrieve her and took reviews from all the girls.

"It was awesome!"

"I LOVED IT!"

"It was awesomely cool!!"

Then they told me their favorite parts of the movie which are all clear spoilers so I'll just let you know that I hear someone gets sawed in half at some point.

And what's not to love about that?

Judy Moody and the NOT Bummer Summer is rated PG for some slapstick violence, 3 hells, 5 asses, 6 craps, and 8 oh my gods. So keep that in mind if your kids have not branched beyond The Wiggles or The Wonderpets.*

Overall, even Miss Michelle said the movie was cute and it put four big giant smiles on four little girl faces. Therefore it gets the Domestic Spaz seal of approval.

* I freaking big puffy pink heart The Wonderpets, by the way, so this is in no way a sarcastic insult to them. What's Gonna Work? TEAMWORK! Ming Ming is the cutest thing put out by Nick Jr since they replaced Steve with Joe on Blue's Clues.

Why is it that the next eleven weeks will inevitably feel so much longer than any other eleven weeks of the year?

2011-06-04T00:16:00.000-04:00

I've always liked to be alone. My sisters are 10 and 11 years older than I am and I grew up in a neighborhood that didn't really have many other kids in it to play with, so growing up I got pretty used to being by myself.

Other people I've spoken to that were only children or were otherwise forced to learn to play by themselves have lamented it and wished they had siblings to play with growing up. But me? I never once wished I had grown up with a sibling sharing a room with me or fighting over what channel to watch or hogging the bathroom.

I've always loved my space.

Alone time is practically non-existent in my life right now. Four other people live in this house and I am the person who makes sure they eat and bathe. (The Man usually bathes on his own, actually... but you know what I mean.)

So that's why I'm a little melancholy as I type this. Because yesterday was officially the first day of summer.

The absolute end of my little bit of alone time every day. The beginning of long days listening to my children complain that they are bored and then proceed to beat the crap out of each other. The end of structured days and the beginning of chaos.

Not that there aren't benefits, because there are. The summer always holds a promise of flexibility. The ability to jump in the car on any given day and go somewhere special. Trips to the beach, the library, afternoon movies, and maybe even a visit to see Bubby & Granddaddy in North Carolina.

In the summer we can stay up late on a Tuesday and eat popcorn for dinner while watching a silly movie. We can roll out of bed whenever we please and spend all day coloring pictures and building lego creations.

Not that I've ever spent all day coloring pictures or that I've ever built a lego creation.

But I could.

And maybe I will one day this summer. Maybe that would be just as good as alone time.

But probably not.

The Spaz laments bathing suits... for her daughter

2011-05-31T12:09:00.000-04:00

Our plan for Sunday was to meet my family at the beach to celebrate my dad's birthday. Nothing could have been more appropriate for the beautiful South Florida Memorial Day weekend we were having than a day at the beach.

And I was prepared. I purchased my dad's birthday cake at Publix the night before, along with some cupcakes in a patriotic theme. I made a pitcher of margaritas to drink while lounging on the beach, and I made sure bathing suits and changes of clothing were available the day before.

So on Sunday morning when I started handing out appropriate bathing suits, I was shocked to discover that I could not find the adorable one piece bathing suit I had set out for Munchkin. Nowhere. She hinted that she had used it the day before at another family pool party, I'm not sure... it's still unclear as to where the missing (and entirely appropriate) suit went. I'm sure I'll find it shortly after I hit "Post" on this entry, though.

We were already running late (me? running late? never!) so I asked Munchkin to check her drawers in her room and find me whatever bathing suits she had in there and we'd figure out what fit. Munchkin has gone through a growth spurt lately so it appears that almost everything is too small.

She brought out the one suit I've been avoiding. The one I probably should have just gotten rid of when she received it as a gift.

The skimpy bikini from Justice with padding.

And here's where my reasoning went sour. We were running late, the suit was clean, it fit, and we would be only with family at the semi-private beach at a condominium that is almost empty during the summer season. And, of course, Munchkin really wanted to wear it. So I let her wear it.

And then I spent the first portion of my afternoon explaining Munchkin's mature bikini to my sisters while I marveled at how many people were on the usually empty beach for Memorial Day weekend. And then I drank that pitcher of margaritas and tried not to care that my 9 year old had instantly transformed into a 15 year old on the beach.

It boggles my mind, really, that these types of bathing suits are made. In our society, where protecting our children has gone to such an extreme that I get crap from the school bus driver for allowing my child to walk the 500 feet from his bus stop to our driveway unattended, why would any company manufacture a bathing suit that gives a 9 year old boobies hidden under tiny triangles of fabric? And why would anyone, especially a mother, purchase that bikini?

Parents are organizing veritable lynch mobs to go door to door and tell neighbors of any sexual predators that lurk within their own suburban communities, and those same parents are allowing their daughters to wear padded bikinis and shorts that say "CUTIE" and "SWEETHEART" across the butts. They're enrolling their girls in cheerleading squads and dance groups that encourage their little darlings to gyrate to T-Pain and Lil Wayne while wearing belly shirts and boy shorts.

But aren't they quick to fashion a noose for any man who dares to let his eyes wander or linger too long. What do you expect?

The bathing suit top has been retired and I'm purchasing Munchkin some swim shirts to wear with the bottoms. I don't think I can make enough margaritas to be okay with her wearing that padded top out in public again.

If you're sappy and you know it...

2011-05-27T06:27:00.000-04:00

Today the entire 5th grade at the kids' school is on their way to Epcot at Walt Disney World for the day. When Bug made the switch from home school to regular school after Spring Break we got the notice that all the other kids had been planning this trip while Bug was being home schooled and if he'd like to attend we could pay up right that very minute and they'd let him go, too.

With all the hub bub of getting him back to school, I wrote a check and promptly put the whole thing right out of my head. Seriously, that was the absolute last time I gave it even a tiny thought.

So yesterday when Bug came home from school and said "I'm so excited for the Epcot trip tomorrow!" I kind of winced.

Epcot trip, tomorrow?

He proudly produced a yellow slip of paper that told me I needed to get Bug to school at 5:30 AM and pick him up at 10:00 PM. That his food was paid for and that they suggested he bring some spending money and wear comfortable shoes.

5:30 AM?

So last night we packed Bug's cargo shorts up with some cash, a clip on watch, a trial size sunscreen, and a folded poncho, laid out his school tee shirt, and set our alarms for 5 AM.

5 AM comes really early, y'all.

So maybe it was the lack of sleep and shock to my system, but when I dropped Bug off at 5:30 this morning and watched him blend in with a crowd of other 5th graders all dressed in the same royal blue tee shirt, and heard the ferocious hum of the two ginormous charter buses that would be taking my first baby 3 hours away from me, I fought back tears.

And quickly walked back to my car before any of the other parents saw what a sap I was. They probably think I'm a callous bitch for dropping my kid off and running back to the car. I'm sure they think I just couldn't wait to get back to bed and log in another couple of hours of sleep before its time to bring the other two back to the school.

I'm sure it's just the lack of sleep, but it was really so I didn't embarrass myself and poor Bug by bursting into tears as I watched all those little people climb aboard that big giant bus.

Bug had no problem with me leaving. Not even a hug or kiss goodbye from him. Within seconds he was happily chatting in a group of three other boys from his class and barely even noticed that I was leaving. This is the same kid who had such a problem making friends at his old school that I home schooled him for the better part of 5th grade.

He's officially growing up. Crap.

Keeping up disheveled and chaotic appearances

2011-05-25T14:31:00.000-04:00

I've never been one to "keep up appearances"... with me, what you see is what you get. My house is messy, my clothes were probably purchased at one of my favorite thrift stores, my car has scratches and dents, and my kids eat McDonald's for dinner more than once in a blue moon.

And whenever I see a family that never shows any of that stuff I'm immediately suspicious. What price do they pay to keep that house immaculate? Why is nothing ever broken or stained? How can they have four children and not a speck of crayon on their walls? How does she find the time to keep that house clean, pack nutritious vegetarian lunches for her children in eco-friendly reusable containers, cook a nutritious dinner, feed her children, clean it all up, make it to ballet lessons and soccer practice, and have them all bathed and tucked into clean beds with footie pajamas on by 9 pm? And when does she manage to take eye-popping colorful pictures of all of it and post it on her blog?

I can't do it, y'all. It's just not going to happen. Maybe if I didn't work. Maybe if I had stimulants to get me through. I don't know.

But I wonder, why is it so important to us to keep up these appearances? You know that Mrs. Perfect Mom has her moments. You know there are days when the laundry piles up and her seven year old son urinates all over the seat of the toilet and the dog chews up her favorite pair of sparkly sandals.

But she'll never show it. Why not? Why is it so important to some people that everyone think their life is just perfect? Does it make her feel better about herself if other people think her life is flawless and clean?

I think it's crazy how much pressure is put on the average mother these days. And these picture-perfect magazine spreads and blogs and 20/20 specials only put more pressure on us.

It's okay to be normal. It's okay for life to be messy. And it's okay to show it.

The Spaz lives vicariously through her daughter... and other stuff, too...

2011-05-23T13:50:00.000-04:00

I haven't had a lot of blogging time lately and part of that is due to my attempt to organize my life. Working on getting my proverbial crap together hasn't left me a whole lot of time to flit around the blogosphere or post anything of my own.

But things are looking a little more together in Spazland.

One of the things on my list was to get the kids involved in the activities they've been begging to do for years. While my kids have always been fairly busy with friends and family, they've never been really involved in too many extra-curricular activities. Bug was involved in scouts for a year, Munchkin has girl scouts and Goober played one season of flag football, but other than that the kids mostly spend their time playing with friends and lounging around the house proclaiming boredom.

So it was a big goal of mine to get them each involved in an extra-curricular activity. Bug enters middle school next year and I know how easy it is for unoccupied middle-schoolers to get themselves into trouble. Munchkin's only a year behind him, too. So in an attempt to keep them out of the path of certain mayhem, I'm planning to keep them busy.

Not only that, but summer is quickly barreling down upon us and I definitely want the kids to have some stuff to do this summer.

The boys have both been begging for karate lessons for what seems like forever. In fact, I distinctly remember last summer getting a pamphlet for a karate school outside of the movie theater and thinking that I had been thinking about putting the boys in karate forever. And that was a year ago.

So the time has come. Today the boys will take their first karate lesson. They're following in the footsteps of The Man who spent nearly his entire youth in a karate studio. They're both so excited they reminded me of the lesson this morning before school.

Munchkin, a girl after my own heart, wanted nothing more than to saddle up and take riding lessons. I winced when I researched the cost of lessons, but finally found a place not too far away that was almost reasonable. I set up a lesson for her on Friday afternoon and went on an all day quest to locate boots and a helmet at thrift stores before her lesson. I did score a pair of paddock boots in her size for $5, but the helmet we had to buy new. I guess it all evened out.

Friday afternoon, Munchkin could barely contain herself as we drove to the barn. We live in horse country. We have dressage show grounds so close to us that we can hear the announcers from our back yard when the wind is right. We're a hop, skip, and small jump away from polo country and the most elite of Florida's hunter/jumper society.

But that's not what I want for Munchkin. When I was growing up, the barn I rode at was laid back. Sure, we could put on our best breeches and boots and fit in with the crowd at the shows on the weekends, but back at the barn there was no pretension. We had broken fences and weedy grass and broken pick up trucks in the back. And when I was growing up it was my favorite place to be.

So when I pulled into the driveway at the barn where Munchkin was starting lessons, I was thrilled when a little Jack Russel terrier came running over to us and jumped right up on us. I was elated to see patches of sand and fences that hadn't seen a coat of paint in at least a decade. We called over the fence to a girl who was in the barn and she motioned for us to come on in, even though there were several horses grazing in the yard right outside of the barn. A big, dark brown Thoroughbred named Bud walked right over and greeted us and I thought Munchkin might faint with delight.

The girl brought out a large pony named Misty and clipped some leads on to her to get her tacked up for Munchkin's lesson. Munchkin couldn't resist giving Misty a hug as she was being brushed. I thought I might cry. Instead, I took pictures.

During the lesson I had to keep myself from shouting my own instructions out to Munchkin. I kept apologizing to her instructor, who was incredibly patient with both Munchkin and her pain in the ass mother. I promised that from now on, I'd just drop Munchkin and go since I obviously couldn't keep my mouth shut.

Munchkin gained a lot of confidence during her lesson and by the end of it had gotten the hang of trotting and posting and getting Misty to move even when she didn't want to. When the lesson was over, Munchkin truly didn't want it to end. Misty, however, was thrilled to be done and ready to get back to grazing.

Her next lesson is scheduled for tomorrow. I promised I wouldn't stay and watch. Hopefully it won't kill me to just drop her off.

If falling off the wagon explains letting an addiction beat you, then I'm addicted to not feeling like crap and not being tired all freaking day.

2011-05-18T08:36:00.000-04:00

I'm failing.

The dog is mad at me.

We have not been for a walk since Sunday.

It started Sunday when I stayed up a little too late. I was just trying to get things done, finish up some work, and before I knew it, the clock was creeping into the AM hours and I wasn't even yawning.

So Monday morning I didn't wake up as early as I needed to get out for our walk. Poor Sudo. Monday night was a repeat of Sunday night and I woke up so late on Tuesday morning that the kids were late to school. Then I gave The Organization Project a firm kick in the nuts yesterday afternoon when at 3 o'clock I decided I needed a nap.

And all those nasty thoughts are creeping in. Self defeating thoughts.

"What's so great about being a morning person, anyway?"
"I work better at night."
"I've been functioning just fine for this long." (That one is just an outright lie.)

I know I have to jump back on the wagon. I just hate going to bed at 10:30. I mean, so much happens after 10:30. All the best Bravo shows, most Internet drama trainwrecks, and eBay's highest traffic times are all happening after 10:30.

It is a bumpy and rickety wagon to have to cling to, y'all.

It's a big, scary, gym sneaker stinky world out there... and I'm just trying to keep my babies from it as long as possible...

2011-05-16T07:19:00.000-04:00

I have not fallen off the face of the earth and I have not stopped with my Morning Person routine, either. It has not been easy and I can't say I have reached that point where I hop out of bed, fresh-faced and bushy-tailed and excited to greet the day. But I'm awake.

And productivity has increased, slightly, so that's a plus. Procrastination has decreased and things are getting a little more organized. All is going according to plan.

But I'm still tired.

And many sources have stated that it might take about 3 weeks to a month for me to stop being so tired. Here I am, only having one week under my belt and I already feel like I'm dragging myself across the ground by my fingertips.

So keep your fingers crossed.

This week, and the rest of the month, are shaping up to be busy days. This week we get to go to an Orientation for Bug's middle school.

And that freaks me out. Middle School.... 6th grade was probably the worst years of my life as a kid. Going from the safe, only slightly judgmental halls of my elementary school to this gigantic, smelly, atmosphere filled with gigantic, smelly kids who wanted nothing more than to make my life hell.

Those were the days of self-discovery. They were the days when we figured out where we "fit in"... what social group we were destined to belong to and where we ranked on the social ladder. It's like before 6th grade we were all just a happy lump of clay and by the time we entered high school we were a discernible piece of pottery. Some of us with more cracks and blemishes than others.

So to say I'm nervous about Bug starting middle school is an understatement. But he is blissfully optimistic and excited. He has friends that will be attending this middle school, he is impressed with its size and shiny promises. And I am determined not to dampen his spirits. Hopefully his experience with 6th grade will be nothing like my own.

Still tired... so very, very tired...

2011-05-10T21:46:00.000-04:00

So when we were ~~preparing our skin for melanoma~~ sitting outside at Outback on mother's day we were discussing this blog. Affectionately referred to as "the blog" by my family.

B1 has taken to saying to people when we're together "Be careful! She'll blog about that!"

Which delights me to no end, actually.

Anyhow, B1 noted I'm always trying to improve myself and that she might not like the new and improved me as much as she likes the old and spazzy one. I couldn't help but chuckle.

My Dad noted that I just thrive on having goals.

But the truth is that I really am just not happy with my disorganized, crazy, messy life. I know I'm missing out and I know my family suffers for it. It's that thought that is keeping me going with this little project I'm working on now.

Because if it weren't for those "goals" in my head, I would have totally given up on this "Becoming a Morning Person" thing today.

I'm sure it will take some time for me to get used to this new schedule of mine where I wake up early, stay up all day, and go to bed early. But in the meantime, I'm absolutely so incredibly tired.

Today I was pretty okay until about 3 pm. And then the tired set in. It took everything I had to keep on trucking and not just crawl into bed for a nap. But somehow I managed to finish work, feed the kids, get some laundry done, get Munchkin's supplies for her project (due tomorrow, of course), and take Goober over to the park for this season's football pre-qualifying session.

Goober will be playing tackle football this year. Not flag. This makes me nervous... but darnit if he won't look cute in that uniform. I can't wait to get pictures.

The Spaz decides she is too tired to come up with a good title for the post

2011-05-10T09:25:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was my first day in my attempt to change from a night owl to a morning person. Sunday night I managed to get to sleep by 11:30 (not 10:30 as I had originally hoped) and my alarm was set for 6:30 AM, instead of my usual 7:00 AM. This was to allow time for walk with the dog, which would get me into the sunlight, which would stimulate cortisol, which would turn me into a happy person for the day.

So 6:30 came along and I managed to not hit snooze even once. I got out of bed and grabbed the walking clothes I had set out Sunday night and got myself ready for walking.

Somehow I blearily clipped Sudo's leash onto his collar while he excitedly wagged his entire body. How does the dog have so much energy at 6:30 in the morning?

It wasn't until we were returning from the walk that I think I woke up. But I did feel somewhat better and I didn't have any desire to take a nap. At least not then. And my stomach was awake, which is a whole new feeling for me. My stomach doesn't typically wake up until mid-morning or sometimes lunch time, but this morning I was positively hungry and it wasn't even 7:30 yet.

I returned back to the house around 7:05 and had just enough time to fix myself some oatmeal and an egg burrito before I had to wake up the kids and take them to school. Having their clothes laid out the night before was awesome and by the time I had to deal with them I had woken up enough that I wasn't a nasty grump, like I usually am. I changed into normal clothes and we were in the car and they were dropped off early enough for Munchkin to have her social time.

Under normal circumstances, I would have dropped the kids at school in a half-awake haze and driven home only to crawl back into bed until around 10 or 11. But today, I drove straight to buy inventory. I spent all morning shopping and it was around noon that I felt my first crash feeling.

I really really wanted a nap.

But I persevered.

The rest of the day was sort of foggy. My energy was low and I spent the rest of the time watching the clock and counting down the minutes until I could crawl into bed.

This morning person thing is going to take some getting used to.

Mother's Day in Spazland

2011-05-09T21:23:00.001-04:00

Yesterday we celebrated Mother's Day with a flurry of activity. In the morning we met up with The Man's brother and his girlfriend to take The Man's mom out to brunch. After our delicious brunch at Brio, we strolled around the mall together and did some window shopping.

In the afternoon I dragged The Man and the kids to my favorite thrift store and scored a bunch of school shirts for the kids and then we were off to pick up some chocolates for my mom.

Before we knew it, it was time to meet my family at Outback to celebrate Mother's Day and my mom and dad's 46th Anniversary.

The Man and I pulled into the parking lot of Outback first and immediately I knew there may be some issues. The parking lot was FULL. And it was only 4 o'clock. And we had a party of 11.

The Man asked if I had done the call-ahead seating.

oops

So I leaped out of the car and ran into Outback to put our name in, as if me running into the restaurant would somehow really make our wait shorter. The hostess sort of smirked at me when she handed me our pager and said the wait would be about an hour and a half.

I really should have done that call-ahead seating thing....

But luckily, our Outback has a beautiful patio overlooking some water where we could sit and wait. It's not really used for dining, but while we were waiting one of the servers came over and let us know that if we wanted to eat outside he could set us up right away.

So when the rest of our party arrived, it was decided that we'd give the outside thing a go. It was an overcast day with a slight breeze, a relatively cool day for South Florida in May, so we thought it would be comfortable.

And it wasn't too bad.

For a little while.

It was about the time that the waiter was taking our order that the clouds parted and the South Florida sun beamed down upon us like someone had turned on a tanning bed to "golden crisp" setting. We grabbed umbrellas from our cars, we fanned ourselves with menus, I held my margarita glass to my neck.

And then The Man suggested we get our food to go. And everyone rejoiced at the wonderful idea.

So we had our Mother's Day/Anniversary dinner in blissful air conditioned comfort at my mom and dad's house. Hoorah.

Saying Goodbye to my 1 AM rendezvous with Facebook...

2011-05-06T13:34:00.001-04:00

So, I've always had high hopes of being one of those people that awakes, smiling, at the first crack of light in the sky. The person who can happily stretch and put on their running shoes and go for a nice morning jog before anyone else in their house has opened an eye.

I've attempted it. I even had a good, two week stretch where I woke up every morning at about 6:30 and took the dog for a 2 mile walk. The something got me off track and that was the end of that. The dog gets a morning shuffle around the yard from me these days and then gets ushered back into the house so I can get the kids to school on time.

They say that successful people are morning people. I have never succeeded at changing myself into a morning person. But I've done some research and discovered that it is, indeed, possible to change from a night owl to a morning person. So, in the name of The Organization Project and my poor, neglected dog, I'm going to try. This is officially Step 1 of The Organization Project.

I know, I'm such a font dork.

In my research, I've learned that genetics really does play a big part in whether a person is a morning person or a night owl. This article was pretty eye opening to the idea that it's all my mom and dad's fault that I'm like this.

Mom and Dad are not morning people. My whole life they got up in the mornings and did what they had to do... but mornings in our home were not cheery occasions. My father is not even human until he's had a few sips of coffee, but he knows the value of being awake in the mornings and therefore has always been up at a respectable hour. When I was in elementary school, my mother bought me a loud alarm clock and made sure I knew how to get to school on my own every morning, rather than pull herself out of bed at the ghastly hour it would have required to see me off to school.

So I'm fairly sure that the "morning person" gene is not in my system.

So, like my parents, I'm going to have to train myself to be a morning person. Everything I've read has said pretty much the same things. Do not hit snooze, prepare the night before, get outside and take a walk first thing, do not take naps, turn off computers and televisions 2 hours before bedtime, don't exercise in the evenings, and don't drink caffeine or alcohol late in the day.

Right, drink all my booze in the mornings.

Just kidding.

Some other tips I thought were helpful were to give myself something to look forward to in the morning, use an alarm clock that lights the room slowly (I actually have one of those that I never use), take a melatonin supplement 4 hours before bedtime, take a warm shower or bath before bed, and keep the bedroom at a cool 70 degrees (which may cost a fortune in South Florida... so we'll see about that).

So, beginning Sunday night, I'll be putting Step 1 of The Organization Project to work. I'll make sure I have all of our clothes laid out and ready for Monday and everything ready to go for the day. At 6:30 I'll take my melatonin and I'll turn off the computers and the TV by 8. I'll take a warm bath and snuggle up in bed with my nook (on night setting, of course) and if all goes well I'll be in dreamland by 10:30.

Wish me luck, Internetz. I'll need it.

The Spaz considers that being a Spaz might not be the best thing ever...

2011-05-05T23:33:00.000-04:00

The other day I woke up a teensy bit late and knew I'd probably not make it to school on time with the kids. If the kids arrive to school a second after 8:00, parents are required to park their cars, walk their children into the office, sign them in, and personally escort them to their classrooms. They say it's because it takes too many resources to have someone else walk the kids to their classrooms (why the children can't walk themselves to their classes, I'm not sure) but I'm fairly certain it has more to do with punishing late parents than anything else.

So anyhow, I woke up at 7:30 instead of my usual 7:00. Recently I've adopted a pretty laid back approach to being late. I used to shoot out of bed and scramble around, yelling and screaming for the kids to get their backpacks and shoes and "HURRY HURRY HURRY!!!"

And then one morning I woke up really late. Like, after 8:00. And there was no point to all the freaking out and running around so I just calmly woke up the kids, fed them, got them dressed, and off we went. It was so much nicer.

So I'm much calmer about being late now. It doesn't happen very often... in fact the other day was only the 2nd time the kids have been late all year. But when it does happen, we just get there when we get there. I don't freak out about it anymore.

So I'm signing the kids in the other morning and I sort of laugh at the spot on the sign in sheet where it says "Reason for Tardiness"... I noticed that the time before I had written "Overslept" and that's what I went ahead and put in again... but I laughed and remarked to the office secretary that one time I was going to write in that spot "Utter lack of organization" because that was really the real reason we were late.

And she just cocked an eyebrow and said "Okayyyy......." and took a sip out of her shiny magenta travel mug.

So I muttered under my breath, but loud enough that she could hear "I guess someone left their sense of humor at home today."

She has never really liked me much. I guess I don't really care.

But after I dropped them off I started thinking about my "Utter lack of organization" and I realized that as the kids get older, my disorganization is more difficult to deal with. The kids have busier lives, which in turn makes my life busier, and they require a lot more from me. And, frankly, I'm letting them down by not being prepared.

So I'm going to start something new. And I'm so serious about it, I've made pretty supporting graphics.

I haven't gotten all the kinks worked out just yet. But I know where I'm starting so that's a plus. I'll be posting more details about The Organization Project in the next few days. My official start date will be Monday, May 9th.

Stay tuned, handful of readers. The Spaz is attempting to get a little less spastic.

Biosilk took my frizz and choked it in a headlock until it screamed "Uncle" and ran home to its mommy...

2011-05-04T01:03:00.000-04:00

It's been a long time since I've done a Works For Me Wednesday post, but I've recently found something that fits the bill and I want to shout it from the rooftops.

I've always had straight hair. Except for when I was pregnant with Goober... it was oddly curly then. It was actually quite lovely... I miss my pregnant Goober hair.

But I digress.

I've always had straight hair and up until I was probably in my mid 20's it pretty much always did just what I asked it to do. I woke up, I brushed it, it laid straight and didn't frizz up. Wash and shampoo once a day, sometimes once every other day, and all was good.

As I aged something happened. My hair started getting dry and I had to skip a day, sometimes two, between washes. I started getting a lot of gray hair. It stopped laying nice and straight and started getting crazy frizzy and just plain acting like someone else's more unfortunate hair.

And that's when I started my frolic through the land of hair products. The gray was easy enough to solve with a bottle of dye, but the frizz was another story.

I started buying shampoos and conditioners that promised they'd get rid of the frizz. I bought gels, mousses, oils, creams. I blew it dry on hot, on cold, with a diffuser. I used the flat iron. Eventually, I just became very closely acquainted with pony tails.

And then one day my sister, B1, gave me a tiny little sample size bottle of something wonderful.

And they called it Biosilk.

Silk Therapy Serum, to be exact.

It's funny because she gave it to me and I had it for a really long time before I even tried it. It was the tiniest little bottle she gave me. Like, .05 ounces or something. It was barely enough to fill a soda cap. So I threw it in the basket I keep on my bathroom counter and didn't think much of it.

Until one day I ran across it again and figured I'd see what it was. It didn't even have instructions on the tiny little bottle but I vaguely remembered my sister telling me to put it in after my hair was dry and before I flat ironed.

I did... and it was good.

The stuff is amazing. It's like it takes frizz and makes it it's bitch. And it's a little pricey, to be honest, but the stuff will last forever. I have fairly long hair and I use about a dime size puddle of it, rub my hands together and first run my hands through the underside of my hair and then on top making sure my hands touch pretty much all my hair. Then I flat iron and it's like my hair is 17 years old again and I'm making my curly headed friends jealous when they sit behind me in 11th grade Algebra.

"Hatred is never appeased by hatred in this world. By non-hatred alone is hatred appeased. This is a law eternal." - Dhammapada

2011-05-03T10:26:00.000-04:00

Sunday night after I was finishing up a little work, I logged on to Facebook to see what was going on in the world. Who needs the news when you have Facebook?

It was then that I learned that Osama bin Laden was dead. At first glance, I wondered if I had gotten the date incorrect and maybe it was Veteran's Day or Memorial Day or maybe even Independence Day. People were changing their avatars to American Flags. Shouts of "USA USA!" and "RED WHITE & BLUE!" were all over my wall.

It was only a quick scroll, though, to find the news, which I cross-referenced with MSNBC.

I closed my laptop and walked over to the other side of the house where The Man was doing some computing of his own and I said "Osama bin Laden is dead."

And he was all "WHAT?!" and started googling.

I sat on the bed and looked over at him and asked him if it was un-American of me that I didn't want to celebrate. I couldn't figure out why I was melancholy. Why wasn't I jumping up and down and shouting and smiling? I mean... this was the goal, right?

But there was something grotesque to me about the joy I saw on Facebook, and Twitter, and everywhere else. I got it. I mean, really I totally GOT IT. But I couldn't feel it myself.

And yesterday I was talking to my mom and told her I wasn't celebrating. She pointed out that they celebrated when the towers fell.

But... why would I want to be like them?

It wasn't until I read this blog this morning that I think I really nailed down why I felt so uneasy about the national "Osama is Dead" party.

I want to quote the whole post, because it's really just that good and I hope you'll click over and read it. But I think my favorite part... my a-ha moment of choice... is this one:

When we hate, we cause hate. When we think we have won by vanquishing our enemy, we have lost. In killing Osama bin Laden, “they” lose because one of their leaders is gone. But we lose too, because we have deepened the causes and conditions that lead to more hatred and its consequences. This is not over.

Fort Wilderness Camping with the Girl Scouts - Easter Sunday

2011-05-02T08:37:00.001-04:00

After all the little girl scouts had gone to sleep, two of the leaders hid Easter eggs all over our campsites for the girls to find in the morning.

So early Easter morning the girls woke up to a colorful array of eggs scattered throughout the sites. And in the trees.

That's right, the trees.

Evidently the squirrels of Fort Wilderness thought they should be part of the egg hunt, too. And they got an early start. Eggs were open, had holes chewed in them, and were falling from the treetops. It was hilarious. The girls had fun finding the eggs and then ate a cereal and fruit breakfast while we got to the business of breaking down camp.

Check out was at 11 but it took us a little longer to get everything packed up. Luckily no one came by and yelled at us to get out. We managed to pack up the trailer and get it attached to the Suburban on the first try and we all gave high fives to each other in glee.

We seriously were so freaking proud of ourselves.

We had promised the girls we'd let them shop in the gift shop before we left so two leaders took the girls to shop while one of the leaders and I took our cars loaded with gear off the site to the parking lot. Once all the girls had shopped and we were back at the parking lot we realized our girls were starving. So what did we do?

We put leftover spaghetti and meatballs into plastic cups and let them eat in the cars. They got to forage into all the leftovers from the coolers and everyone was happy as we got on the road to go home.

It was about an hour into the drive when my co-leader and I in the van noticed that one of the lids on one of the bins on the trailer was flapping around a little. Before it flew off and caused a ten car pileup on the Florida Turnpike, we pulled over and assessed the situation. Some highway side securing solved the problem and we were back on our way.

Halfway home, I discovered that The Man and his family were holding the annual Easter egg hunt for Munchkin to arrive. So I informed my fellow leaders that I'd be making a detour before we pulled into town to drop Munchkin off at the family party so that all the kids could get to hunting.

Munchkin happily skipped off to the hunt in her girl scout camping clothes and not a pretty Easter dress as would have been the norm... but I don't think anyone cared.

By 6:30 every girl had been delivered to their parents, the van had been unpacked, and I was driving home to an empty house. After a hot shower I fell into bed, exhausted. And that was the end of me.

Fort Wilderness Camping with the Girl Scouts - Day 2

2011-05-01T10:50:00.001-04:00

Where was I?

Oh yes, we had just served the girls lava spaghetti from the front seat of the van.

By the time the movie was over, all eleven girls were pretty tired so we headed back to camp and everyone got ready for our first night of sleeping in tents.

The girls showered in the lovely showers that Disney provides. Truly, the best showers I have ever seen at a campsite.

The other leaders and I hung out in our chairs and relaxed a bit while the girls giggled themselves to sleep and then we retired to our air mattresses.

I don't know about you, but I never have any luck with air mattresses. Last weekend was no exception. I inflated my high quality, not cheap or crappy, Sealy air mattress fully and prepared for a comfortable night of sleep. However, at some point I found half of my body touching the ground and the other half awkwardly raised in the air. This always happens to me. I have bad air mattress juju.

The morning came early on Saturday and we were determined to have a day full of fun for the girls. After a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes, we did the standard girl scout dunk bag method of cleaning dishes and the girls went off to play a wicked game of Disney dodge ball.

While the girls were playing dodge ball, my co-leader and I went to refill our propane tank and check out the beach area of the campground where it was rumored that the girls might enjoy a nice picnic lunch. I mentioned before that Fort Wilderness isn't really car friendly, didn't I? Well this would be one of those times when having a golf cart would have been awfully handy.

We had the van, carrying a propane tank and all, and were trying to get close enough to scope out this little beach area. But there is absolutely no place to park. Now it was Saturday around 11, which also happens to be check-out time at Fort Wilderness. So we drove to the nearest campsite loop and decided to park the van in an empty campsite and walk over to the beach area to check it out. Check out just happened, right? So the chances of the new campsite tenant showing up right away was really slim, right?

You'd think.

As we were walking back to the van after leisurely discovering the perfect picnic spot, I heard a horn honking in the distance. And then I realized it was coming from a HUGE MOTOR HOME parked right behind the van.

The van looked really itty bitty in comparison. I think the van was shaking a little with fear.

We ran back to the van and apologized profusely to the people who desperately wanted to get their site set up and we hightailed it out of there.

Back at our site we loaded up sandwich stuff in soft coolers and all of us rode our bikes over to the picnic spot for sandwiches.

We ate and then the girls wanted to head over the the Triple Circle D ranch to look at the horses. These are the same horses that pull the carts on Main Street in The Magic Kingdom and I was totally excited to go see them. Of course, I pretended I was really only going to see them because the girls wanted to go, but secretly I was thrilled.

And that's when I fell in love.

All of the horses there are Percherons and they're ginormous. And absolutely beautiful. And they're all named manly names like John (seen above) and Jake and Dave. And I wanted to take them all home.

After horses and lunch we all went over to the pool and got sunburned. It was joyous. We did apply sunscreen to each and every girl, but the Orlando sun is relentless and our little porcelain dolls fried like lobsters. They had a fantastic time, though.

At 5 we hurried back to camp and made hot dogs and hamburgers for the girls. They served them, just like good girl scouts should do, and we realized that we actually might be doing a good thing for these girls. They served, cleaned up, and all ran efficiently. It was fantastic.

After our cookout, we got ready to head over to the Chip & Dale sing along where the most exciting part of our trip occurred. Before the sing along started, while the girls were getting all ooey gooey with smores over the campfire, one of the cast members came over and asked if our troop would be willing to introduce Chip & Dale.

And all the girls went "SQUEEEE!!!"

No really, that's the noise they made.

So after we cleaned the marshmallow stickiness off of their faces and the chocolate off of their little fingers, we all lined up with Chip & Dale and escorted them on to the stage. Which was awesome.

The girls got a signed photo from Chip & Dale and hugs and kisses and it was fantastic.

After the sing along we took them back to the beach area to watch the Electrical Water Pageant and the fireworks from the Magic Kingdom.

It was really an awesome day.

And in the end, eleven little girl scouts fell fast asleep in their sleeping bags.

Fort Wilderness Camping with the Girl Scouts - Day 1

2011-04-30T10:58:00.002-04:00

So to continue the nature-loving trend I'm having here on Domestic Spaz, it's time to talk a little about last weekend's camping trip.

It wasn't really intentional that we planned a weekend camping trip for the girl scouts on Easter weekend. It was more of a "Hey! We need to book a camping trip! The girls don't have school that Friday, let's book one then!" and bam reservations were made.

It didn't really pose much of a problem for our troop, luckily, as out of sixteen girls, only three decided they couldn't make it. In the end, two more dropped out due to health issues. So Friday morning we gathered at my co-leader's house at the crack of dawn to begin our adventure.

We had gathered most of the girls gear the night before and put it in the topper on my van. The Man packed that sucker like a game of duffel bag tetris and I warned everyone not to even think about opening it until we had arrived at Fort Wilderness.

The real challenge was packing up the open trailer we were using to bring up the tents and food and BIKES. Luckily, my co-leader's husband was willing to pack it up nice and securely for the ride up. Since we're smartypantses, we took pictures of the trailer in order to remember how to pack it up to come home. This would be the first of our genius moves of the weekend.

We got on the road a little late, but managed the 3 hour drive without incident.

The trailer and all of its contents remained secure and once we arrived on our campsite we managed to back it into place and unhook it from the Suburban that had pulled it up there.

Nevermind that we forgot temporarily to actually unlock it from the trailer hitch and managed to actually pick the back of the Suburban off the ground while attempting to unhook it. And nevermind that the block we placed underneath the front of the trailer wasn't exactly level, causing the trailer to roll backward and KACHUNK on the ground. No one was injured and all was well. And we did it.

We quickly ate a sandwich lunch because we were all starving. Then our first real challenge (aside from the trailer) was to set up camp. We had three tents for the girls and one ginormous tent for the five leaders and two adjacent campsites to utilize. So we decided to put all the girls on one site and then put the leaders on the site with the trailer and all of the cooking stuff. This would be the second of our genius moves of the weekend.

The girls tents quickly started going up. Until we got to the tent I had brought for the girls. Now, the last person to use this tent was The Man's cousin when she took our kids and her kids camping with the boy scouts. I was actually in Pittsburgh at the time, but evidently when the tent was returned it was a little disheveled. The Man was dealing with an arm injury at the time, so I guess when he attempted to return the tent to its original condition, he forgot to make sure that the entire structure of tent poles and framing was put in the bag with the tent.

I had planned on setting up the tent at home before the trip just to make sure nothing like this happened... but time caught up with me (as it usually does) and it never happened. So you can imagine my frustration when I realized that the tent I had brought for the girls wasn't going to happen.

Yeah.

Luckily, we had to make a run to Walmart for food just after setting up camp, so the troop could purchase another tent while we were there. Crisis averted.

While one of the leaders and I ventured off to Walmart, the other three leaders took the girls to the pool. There is an awesome bus line that runs throughout Fort Wilderness that will get you pretty much wherever you need to go. But the girls wanted to ride their bikes. And when they had played all of the cards they could play to get us to agree to let them ride their bikes to the pool (that we weren't sure where it actually was), they played the final card.

"But it's EARTH DAY!"

And off on their bikes they all went.

After the pool and the trip to Walmart, we started dinner for the girls. The girls had planned the menu, so Friday's dinner was spaghetti with meatballs and garlic bread.

Time was of the essence (as it always is), so we decided to make a big pot of spaghetti and drive the girls over to the movie (there's a movie under the stars every night at Fort Wilderness) and let them eat the spaghetti there.

So we drove them over (as close as we could drive them, a lot of Fort Wilderness is bike & golf cart accessible only) and set up an assembly line of plates and forks for them to get their spaghetti and walk over to the movie.

The pot was on the floor of the front passenger seat of my van and to serve it, we had the brilliant idea of me putting my hand in a big ziploc bag and grabbing a handful of spaghetti to put on their plate. The idea was awesome. Except for the fact that the spaghetti was like LAVA.

I served the first girl in this manner and my hand was immediately tingly like it was on fire. But I had eleven girls to serve and there was a bit of a sense or urgency... so what did I do?

I persevered.

I stuck my hand into the burning lava spaghetti eleven times and served all eleven girls. And then I cried as the feeling returned to my fingertips. But all girls ate. Mission accomplished.

In the morning I discovered two meatballs on the floor of the van and three strands of spaghetti stuck to my dashboard. But it was all good.

I can totally handle nature that hides in its protective shell until I get far, far away from it

2011-04-29T18:53:00.000-04:00

I spent last weekend at Disney's Fort Wilderness with four grown women and eleven 9 and 10 year old girls. That's why I haven't been posting... because it has taken me a while to get my life back together. Camping with eleven girls takes a lot out of you. Go figure.

I'm still not completely back together. But then again I'm not sure I was together before we left.

I think I'll post about that soon, but for right now I'm going to post about Mr. Turtle.

Today while I was busily listing stuff on eBay, Munchkin came in to say "There's a TURTLE in the yard! A TURTLE!!!"

And I guess I watch too much TV because my first thought was:

But then I realized she was probably talking about the reptilian version. And since we live in the backwoods of South Florida, turtles aren't really odd occurrences.

So I looked at her and said "Yeah, so?"

Because I'm an awesome mom.

So I guess that reaction wasn't enough for Munchkin. Because about 3 minutes later she came in to my office holding the turtle.

A good blogger would have immediately grabbed the camera. But I'm not a good blogger, because I screeched "OH MY GOSH! YOU BROUGHT IT IN THE HOUSE!!!"

And Munchkin turned and ran with the turtle.

Outside I allowed them to pose with Mr. Turtle, all the while reminding them that turtles are VERY SCARY and will reach their little necks out and BITE YOUR FINGERS OFF.

I'm all about giving my children complexes. So they can grow up fearing nature instead of embracing it, just like their mother.

I hope Mr. Turtle figures out how to move his little turtle legs quickly because my children probably won't be leaving him alone until he figures out how to sneak out of the yard without them noticing. Or he bites a finger off. And that will make an excellent blog post, don't you think?

The Man is officially a grown up today, yesterday he was just a kid playing house

2011-04-21T07:11:00.000-04:00

Today is The Man's birthday and therefore a day to celebrate.

Today he turns 36.

When I was a kid, 36 was old to me. I can remember my mom being 36. Vaguely, but I remember it. And in my head, now, 36 is really a grown up. It's like, time to start thinking about mutual funds and plans and safety nets and investments.

What? I was supposed to be thinking of all that stuff before? Pshaw. I have two more years.

Anyhow... I digress.

So, since The Man is officially a grown up today, I guess things around Spazland are going to have to change. We'll have to start doing yard work on Saturday mornings and making our bed every day. Our radios will have to be tuned to easy listening and we'll have to watch the evening news and discuss current events at the dinner parties we're going to have to start having. We'll have to find some friends that are a couple. Their names should be something like "Jack and Alice" and we'll go on vacations to quaint locations with them. We'll have to start going antiquing and The Man will pick up golfing as an excuse to get away from the old ball and chain and drink scotch in country club bars. When people come over for our cocktail parties they'll compliment us on stuff in our house.

"Oh, that side table? I bought that with Alice on Amelia Island last summer at the cutest little antique shop while Jack and The Man were playing golf."

On second thought, I think I'm pretty happy not being a grown up. I'll take the scotch and vacations, though.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Wonderful. I feel so lucky that you were born.

Not that I gave up anything for Lent anyway, but The Spaz will be celebrating the end of it with copious amounts of booze...

2011-04-19T18:11:00.004-04:00

The next few days in Spazland are going to be a little nutty. I feel like I've been triple whammied by life.

Thursday is The Man's birthday. While I'm not planning a giant celebration for him (sorry, Mr. Wonderful), I'd still like to make his day special. :) So I need to find some time to make the house somewhat enjoyable for him and bake him a birthday cake. No big deal, right? Unfortunately, I also have a girl scout meeting that night that is necessary for me to attend so the tribute to The Man will have to wait until after the meeting.

Why on earth would a girl scout meeting trump The Man's birthday? Well, because on Friday (Earth Day!) I'll be heading up to Disney's Fort Wilderness with thirteen 9 year old girls, their bikes, and 5 other grown women for a weekend camping extravaganza. So the meeting on Thursday is kind of an important one to touch base with the girls and their parents and to pack up the minivan.

Now, it's not as if I haven't known about this trip for EVER. But I just wouldn't be me if I didn't leave all the pertinent little details to the last minute.

So between now and Thursday I have to somehow find the time to clean out the van and vacuum it so the girls aren't accosted with something foul that may be living in the 3rd row, get to the grocery store, do enough laundry to make sure everyone has clothes for camping and for the boys at home until I return (including Easter clothes), set up our tent to make sure it's not all screwy for some reason (and to make sure I know how to set up our tent), put a First Aid kit together for the troop, put the topper on the minivan, clean the house, buy all of the stuff we'll inevitably need for camping, buy Easter stuff, pack 200 colored eggs with candy and treats, get new tires on the van, bake a cake, host a girl scout meeting, and, oh yeah, actually get some work done.

I'm giggling a little. It's probably hysteria.

Our check out time from Fort Wilderness is Sunday at 11:00 AM. Easter Sunday. It was a bit of a screw up that we actually booked this camping trip for Easter weekend, but oddly enough, it hasn't caused too much of a disruption with the girl scout families. Out of the 16 girls in our troop, 13 are attending and the other three are not missing the trip due to the holiday.

So on a morning when I would usually be watching my babies wake up to colorful, chocolatey, jelly beany goodness, I'll be breaking down a camp site and loading girls into cars to head home.

And hopefully we'll be able to get to The Man's aunt's house by 2:00 for our annual Easter egg hunt. I'm sending The Man and the boys with the previously stuffed eggs just in case we don't make it.

I think I'll be having a nice, stiff, Easter evening drink.

What's the big deal about organization anyway? Maybe he's just creative...

2011-04-19T10:29:00.000-04:00

Today I had a parent/teacher conference with Goober's teacher. I dread parent/teacher conferences. Before my kids were of school age, I never thought I'd be the mom who hated parent/teacher conferences... but alas, things are never what you expect when it comes to children.

The first thing I hate about conferences is the fact that they're always scheduled at 7:30 in the morning. I typically get the kids to school around this time (they don't have to be there until 8, but Munchkin demands socialization time) so it's not as if I'm not awake. It's that I'm not awake.

At 7:30 the coffee has not had a chance to work its way through my system. It is all I can do to drive the kids to school without veering into a ditch and the kids' teachers expect me to be wide eyed, bushy tailed, dressed in something other than pajamas, and ready to listen to them ~~tell me my kid sucks~~ ~~criticize my parenting~~ ~~tell me I suck~~ talk about my child's strengths and weaknesses.

So yeah, that's the first thing I hate about parent/teacher conferences.

The second thing I hate about them is that they consistently tell me the same things that I've already read in notes, or noticed myself, or heard from other people already. And I want to ask them why it's important that I come in and listen to them tell me these things to my face so I can bask in the humiliation of it all in person.

I can remember back to Bug's first parent/teacher conference in kindergarten. It was no big deal. Because, really, in kindergarten as long as your child doesn't eat paste or stab the other children with dull scissors, it's pretty much no big deal. I figured we were off to a great start with school and patted myself on the back for a parenting job well done.

Unfortunately, things have changed over the years. I'm now fully aware that Bug is slow when it comes to writing, that he's disorganized, that he's melancholy, that he forgets to turn in assignments. I know that Munchkin talks too much in class, has a hard time when she doesn't get her way, and can be bossy. Shocking!

Today's conference wasn't all that bad. Goober's in first grade now and I've learned that the conferences really don't start to get rough until about third grade. But I did get to hear how polite he is, how he's disorganized, and how he's a strong reader. Like a criticism sandwich. They must hold teacher seminars on how to have these conferences because it always goes like that. Compliment, criticize, compliment, sign paper, check.

The thing is, these are things I already know. Yes, Goober is disorganized. He's messy. He's the kid who jams papers in his backpack sans folder and forgets to give me permission slips until the day before the field trip when his teacher finally threatens that he'll have to sit in the office while the rest of the class goes to the zoo. I know all of these things. He's like that everywhere.

Just once I'd like to sit down with their teacher and act shocked.

But Goober's room is spotless at home! He asked for file folders and a label printer for his birthday! We forced those LEGOs on him in an attempt to get him to think outside the box.

Yes, I know my kid is disorganized. It's probably my fault because I'm disorganized. Or maybe that's just how he is. Maybe he's going to be an artist or a musician and his right brain is just too dominant for him to bother with petty little details like paperwork and color coded folders.

Or maybe he's just a disaster. But either way, I know.

Goober has two teachers. One is considered his "homeroom" teacher and is where he reports in the morning and learns science and math. The other teaches him reading and writing. They played good cop, bad cop with me this morning. His homeroom teacher told me how polite he is and how he hugs her and how he wants to please. The reading teacher told me how he daydreams too much and how he won't finish assignments because he is scatter brained. Then his homeroom teacher told me how he's so smart and above grade level.

Criticism sandwich, with two chefs.

And I smiled and nodded and signed. Check.

The Spaz restarts a Give Away

2011-04-18T10:18:00.003-04:00

So now I get to purge my house of all the actual physical books in it. And there are a lot of them to purge. If you're a long time reader of my blog, then you'll remember back a long time ago, circa 2008, when this blog actually got traffic (like hundreds of readers every day... yeah... I know, I'm a big shot) and I did this little give-away thing.

It was simple. One book, once a week, to one reader. Comment that you want to get the book, I do one of those nifty random integer generator thingies and the winner gets the book. Easy peasy.

Well, I'm bringing it back.

The first book is The Host by Stephenie Meyer (of Twilight fame).

Melanie Stryder refuses to fade away.

Our world has been invaded by an unseen enemy. Humans become hosts for these invaders, their minds taken over while their bodies remain intact and continue their lives apparently unchanged. Most of humanity has succumbed.

When Melanie, one of the few remaining "wild" humans is captured, she is certain it is her end. Wanderer, the invading "soul" who has been given Melanie's body, was warned about the challenges of living inside a human: the overwhelming emotions, the glut of senses, the too vivid memories. But there was one difficulty Wanderer didn't expect: the former tenant of her body refusing to relinquish possession of her mind.

Wanderer probes Melanie's thoughts, hoping to discover the whereabouts of the remaining human resistance. Instead, Melanie fills Wanderer's mind with visions of the man Melanie loves—Jared, a human who still lives in hiding. Unable to separate herself from her body's desires, Wanderer begins to yearn for a man she has been tasked with exposing. When outside forces make Wanderer and Melanie unwilling allies, they set off on a dangerous and uncertain search for the man they both love.

The copy I have to give away is a hardcover and has been read. Leave a comment here for a chance to win it. And if you want two chances to win it, post about it on your own blog with a link back to this post (and be sure to let me know you did so in the comments).

Good luck!

I think I should send him to Walmart more often

2011-04-15T11:00:00.007-04:00

Last week I asked The Man to pick up some stuff at the local Walmart on his way home from work. He works pretty late, so by the time he's on his way home from work it's really the only thing open. My list was short... we needed some milk and some other little grocery items. He grumpily agreed to do it.

So The Man got home, placed the bags lovingly in the center of the kitchen floor, and sat down at the table to take off his shoes and talk to me.

I started putting away all the groceries and I had to laugh because I kept finding things in the bags that I hardly ever buy. Evidently The Man had a good time in the grocery section of Walmart.

So I got to the last bag and I reached my hand in and pulled out something entirely different.

It was like Christmas.

No really, it was like Christmas.

It reminded me of the year I wanted an iPod so bad I couldn't think of anything else. Back before everyone had an iPod and when they had just made the video iPods. It's all I could think about. The Man convinced me, thoroughly, that there was no way in hell we could afford one and I was sure I wasn't getting one. But on Christmas morning we were unpacking our stockings, which I was sure I knew everything that was in mine because I had packed it myself, and stuffed somehow into the toe of the stocking was the iPod I so desperately wanted.

But back to the Nook. I love it more than chocolate. No kidding. I would pick the Nook over chocolate. I have books, loads of them, and they don't take up any space. It's amazing! And it does all kinds of other stuff, too, because The Man is a technical genius. Now I just have to force myself to put the thing down and actually work. Darn technology and its beckoning call to procrastinate.

It's a wonder this dog made it as a stray for the first part of his life...

2011-04-14T13:46:00.000-04:00

This week is FCAT week which means the kids have no homework after school. Which means it's a free-for-all when they get home. Every day this week they've been playing with their neighborhood friends who either come to play in our yard or they go to play in their yard. Ah, childhood...

Yesterday they went over to play at their friends' house and poor Sudo was going crazy being trapped inside the house when he knew his kids were outside the house. He whined at the door, he barked, he cried. Finally, I ~~got off my ass~~ decided to take him outside. I opened the front door and Sudo shot out like a rocket.

And then I heard the fight.

Something screamed, Sudo snarled and growled, bushes were moving all over the place, spit was flying. I thought it was going to be the end for the dog.

When I called out his name, he stopped and turned to look at me, and that's when the little bandit made his escape. Up the tree, went a fat, nasty, probably rabid raccoon. (Yes, the dog has had his shots.) And poor Sudo, dimwitted as he is, could not figure out where he had gone. Nose to the ground, Sudo covered the entire yard trying to find that raccoon. And that raccoon was watching him from about 20 feet up the entire time.

That's when I noticed the overturned garbage can. The garbage can that is supposed to be "raccoon proof"... except it isn't when your kids don't bring it all the way up to the house and instead park it on the grass and therefore it is easily pushed over by sneaky little bandits.

Mr. Raccoon had been feasting on our rotten castaways. Disgusting little creatures.

So I retrieved a shovel from the garage and shoveled the trash back into the trashcan (no, I'm not touching it), and righted it, securing the lid tightly on top. Then I scolded the raccoon (who was still perched in the tree and keeping one eye on me and one on clueless Sudo) for getting into my trash. I don't think my lecture made any impact.

This is when Munchkin came riding up on her bike. Wet. And covered in mud.

"I fell in the canal."

Lovely.

The Spaz deals with nosy thrift store shoppers

2011-04-12T02:08:00.000-04:00

While I'm out shopping for inventory I get a lot of funny looks from regular thrift store shoppers. When I'm pushing around a cart packed full of clothing, people tend to give me the eye. I get plenty of comments.

"Wow, you sure found a lot!"
"You must have been here all day!"
"I never find that much when I come."
"You must have a really big family."

And sometimes the questions start.

Over the years I've come up with some interesting answers in my head. I usually don't actually respond to people with these answers... usually... but I just can't help my smart-ass brain.

"Is that all for you?"

Yes, I'm buying an entire shopping cart full of thrift store clothes in assorted sizes because I have a rare genetic disorder that causes me to gain and lose weight at shocking rates. I must have clothes ranging from size 2 to size 22 because I never know what size I'm going to wake up as.

or

No, these are for my life-size dolls. I have a hard time making real friends, but they love me all the time and they like it when I dress them up in pretty clothes. I think Matilda will love this Oscar de la Renta, but it may be a little tight on her. She's a bit hippy.

"What are you going to do with all that stuff?"

I'm going for a Guinness record for the world's largest quilt made of designer clothing. Are you going to buy that Custo top? I love to use those funky designs for my patches.

or

I have a shopping addiction. My husband said he'd leave me if I stepped foot in the mall with the MasterCard again, so we compromised with thrift stores. Did you know you can get purses for FIVE DOLLARS in here?

or

I'm trying to get on that show Hoarders but I don't think I've got enough junk in my house yet, so I decided to pick up some more.

"Are you going to sell those?"

Oh my GOSH! Who would think to sell USED clothing? Do you think people would actually buy it?

But for the most part, I just smile or pretend I didn't hear them.

I used to tell people that I sell on eBay, but that either cued a long discussion about their sister's boyfriend's great-aunt who sells on eBay or a whole new barrage of questions about how I do it or disgust that I'm taking Ralph Lauren evening gowns from the needy and selling them for profit.

So now I just try to pretend I didn't hear them or didn't understand the question. Or sometimes I just laugh, like that question must have just been a joke.

My full cart also gathers a lot of lookie-loos. Sometimes I'll leave it at the end of an aisle to delve further into the depths of long sleeve tops or something similar, and when I get a few steps away from it, I'll notice someone starting to go through it.

"That's my cart. ~~Bitch, back off before I cut you.~~"

"Oh, this is your cart? I thought it was the store's."

"No, it's mine."

And you know what? Sometimes people, while having this little conversation with me, continue to go through the cart.

They'll eye an extra-small cashmere cardigan and hold it up, after I've already pointed out that it's mine, and sort of eye me up and down.

Yeah... I know I'm not a size 2, Ms. Obnoxious Rudenstein... but I just ordered a tape worm from South America, so I'm hopeful.

Just last week I was in my very favorite thrift store when a woman nearby got my attention.

"If you find any Chico's, let me know!"

I buy a lot of Chico's stuff as it sells fairly well, but if someone were looking for something specific and I found it, unless it was some amazing "holy grail" type of find, I'd be more than happy to give it to them.

So I asked her what size she was looking for.

"Um......" she looked around, "Well... it doesn't really matter what size because I have a lot of friends and they all like Chico's."

Yeah. I don't think so, lady. If you're going to buy stuff to resell, I'm certainly not going to do your work for you.

I'm thinking of developing a habit of muttering to myself under my breath and scratching my head often. Then if someone touches my cart or asks a question I don't want to answer, I'll just growl at them like a crazed animal and drool a bit.

Where I ask the Internetz to tell me their irrational fears so I don't feel like such a dumbass

2011-04-08T13:27:00.000-04:00

My parents have this hot tub. And, as their favorite daughter, they allow me to use it pretty much whenever I'd like to. (They allow my sisters to use it whenever they want to, as well, but that doesn't diminish the fact that I'm their favorite.)

Since the past week or so has been particularly stressful, The Man and I decided to partake in some hot tub time the other night.

It was so relaxing, so quiet and calm, and we were really enjoying feeling our muscles relax and the hot water and the bubbles and the beer. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

It was at night and we left the lights on the patio mostly off, you know, for ambiance, and when I looked down I noticed a leaf was stuck to my arm. Stray vegetation occasionally finds its way into the hot tub, even though the patio is screened in, because there are lush plants and stuff inside the enclosure. I thought nothing of it and just reached over to pull said leaf off of my arm.

And that's when the leaf hopped.

Have I mentioned my irrational, intense fear of frogs on the blog before? Evidently I've mentioned it, but I haven't elaborated. Frogs are the scariest things in the world to me. When I was a kid, they weren't a big deal. In fact, I really loved them as a teenager and even had a little necklace with a silver frog on it because I thought they were so cute. They are cute. As long as they're in pictures or behind glass. But if a frog has the potential to jump on me, it invokes a terror inside of me that I can't quite explain. It's irrational... I mean, no one has ever been hurt by a frog that I know of. Aside from poisonous frogs and I don't think I've ever come into contact with one of them. But it's not the idea that it might be excreting deadly toxins from its slimy skin that scares the crap out of me, it's the unpredictability of them.

Pretty much every other creature in the animal kingdom (aside from gigantic predators that are really hungry maybe) will run away from a human if one comes near. Lizards, snakes, toads (toads and frogs are not the same thing), mice, rats, rabbits, birds, wallabies, aye ayes (my precious), bats, armadillos, and everything else all run away when a human comes near.

If you don't see the resemblance, I just don't know if we can be friends.

Frogs do not. Frogs hang out, look directly at you, and then jump on your face. And sometimes, while on your face, they PEE. So my fear isn't completely irrational.

Yes, I know the frog, even if it pees, is not going to kill me or probably even make me sick. But I am terrified, nonetheless.

So when this "leaf" proved itself to not be a leaf at all, but instead proved itself to be a tiny frog disguised as a leaf, I freaked out.

Maybe freaked out isn't even an accurate description.

I didn't scream, I couldn't scream. I didn't run, I was paralyzed. I merely clung to The Man as if he was Superman and we were flying 30,000 feet above the earth and if I let him go I would plunge to my death. I did not breathe, I did not talk, there were no words.

The Man continued to try to calm me down. I was wide eyed with terror, clinging to him, digging my fingers into his back, and looking wildly around to see if the frog was anywhere preparing to make a second attack.

When I could finally speak again, the only thing I said was "Where is it??!??!?!"

He assured me it was gone, that I had probably traumatized it. I had traumatized it.

The Man pryed me, crowbar style, off of him and, when my legs had returned to a solid from their gelatinous, terrified state, we left the hot tub.

Relaxing, my ass. I have never been so tense before in all my life. Literally, I would rather be held at gun point than have a frog jump on me.

Make me feel better, Internetz. Share your irrational fears with me so I don't feel like such a complete dumbass. And maybe some day I'll be able to get back in the hot tub.

I'm horrified... and terrified...

2011-04-07T13:53:00.000-04:00

What do you do if you find out that your teenage daughter has been harassed on the bus? And not just a little harassed, not just picked on or laughed at. What do you do when you find out that a group of boys is sexually harassing your teenage daughter on the bus. Every day. To the point where she doesn't want to ride the bus anymore.

And the boys aren't just making comments, either. The harassment includes grabbing her, dropping their pants in front of her, and rubbing themselves.

What do you do if you find out that she's told her bus driver about it and the bus driver told her to "deal with it yourself."

Do you call the school, the police, the boys parents? Do you just keep your daughter of the bus and say nothing for fear of having her deal with the repercussions of calling the boys out?

It saddens me, deeply, to know that these things happen in places where we, as parents, are trusting other adults to keep our children safe. But it doesn't shock me. I remember the bus when I was in school. I remember how unruly it could get, how one driver who has to focus on the road would never have been able to control the amount of kids he or she was supposed to be in charge of.

But sexual harassment was, thankfully, not something I had to deal with on the bus. And it scares me to know that I might have to have my kids ride those buses when they are older. Right now they ride buses with kids ranging in age from 5 to 11 and these kinds of concerns haven't come up. But next year Bug goes to middle school, where things get more complicated and meaner.

I'm just horrified.

Some people pay a lot more to feel better about themselves...

2011-04-06T10:15:00.001-04:00

As an eBay seller, I don't get the same type of social camaraderie that most people get at their 9 to 5 job where other employees gather around a water cooler or whatever and chat.

So I get my chat on with other eBay sellers on an assortment of forums and facebook groups. And those groups are awesome. I honestly would not be the seller I am today if it weren't for the wealth of knowledge that these ladies share. Mostly ladies... there are some men, too.

Anyhow, so I frequent a forum specifically for clothing sellers on eBay and, just like any gathering of strong women with varied opinions, things can get a little heated sometimes.

I guess around Christmastime, one of the members posted that she was going through a rough time. She was having a hard time paying her bills, her eBay fees were due, and her ability to sell and make any money at all was going to be compromised. Other members rallied around her and started sending her small PayPal payments to help out. Five dollars, ten dollars, whatever they could safely give.

And this member who was going through this rough time was able to pay her fees or her Internet bill or whatever it was that she needed to pay and keep on selling.

Fast forward to the past week or so and this same member comes along and starts posting little conversational things about getting a new dog, replacing the furniture in her house, getting a new roof on her (4000 square foot) house and all kinds of stuff.

And feathers start to get ruffled. People felt like they were scammed. How, in less than 6 months, did this member get back on her feet to the point where she can afford to buy furniture and replace a roof?

People started questioning her, asking her if she planned to pay back the people who had helped her in the past, basically accusing her of taking advantage of the generosity of the board.

And maybe I shouldn't even have an opinion about it. I don't remember the original post and I didn't donate any money to her cause, but I'm like all those women with strong opinions so I'm going to talk about it, anyway.

I question the generosity of the people who are upset. It seems to me that if I give someone a few bucks to get back on their feet, that's exactly what I want them to do. I hope that the money I give to them will help them over whatever rough patch they are going through and be able to live their life in a normal fashion. I'm not going to begrudge them comfort once they do get back on their feet.

Upon reading further into the situation, I noticed that this seller commented on her "new" furniture and how she was shopping for it at a thrift store. She talked about replacing her roof and having it financed because the old one had been leaking. And I know that a lot of these other women, the ones who are all up in arms and questioning whether their little loans are going to be repayed, have read these same things.

Unless I specifically state that this money is a loan, I don't expect it back. I don't expect that once this person gets back on their feet they're going to send my ten dollars back. And I certainly don't question someone buying a couch at the Goodwill and replacing an old, leaky roof.

When you give someone a gift, you give it to them without strings. You don't remind them constantly that you helped them, you don't give them fifteen dollars and a side of guilt, you just give.

But it seems like there are so many people who have some sort of checklist going on in their heads. They're tallying up everything they've ever done for anyone else and then using those "brownie points" as leverage at a later date. As far as I know, this woman never asked for help. She never begged for money. People gave it to her out of their own free will. And they wouldn't have done it if it didn't do something for them, too.

Once I was having a conversation with Jenny about panhandlers. In South Florida we have panhandlers all over the place. Jenny has an interesting view on them. She looks at them as if they are providing a "feel good" service. Say that today I'm not feeling so good about myself. I can give a couple bucks to a panhandler and poof! I've done a good deed and can now feel better about myself.

Most days I don't need that service, but isn't it nice that it's there just in case I'm really feeling like I'm a crappy person one day?

So when those members started sending their friend little payments to help her out, they got to experience that "feel good" service. Bought and paid for. No refunds.

Where @bethenny and @domesticspaz are BFFs and delusion plays no part in it...

2011-04-05T10:38:00.001-04:00

I'm watching Bethenny Ever After, the most recent episode where she has her birthday meltdown. And by the way, I love Bethenny... in my delusional happy land we are best friends and meet for light lunches and Skinny Girl Margaritas every Monday afternoon. I'm not completely off base, either. We've talked before. I have proof.

See? A budding relationship.

But I digress. Anyhow, so I'm watching this episode and the part where Jason (her husband, don't you know these things?) brings out the birthday surprise in front of everyone at her party almost made me cry. She so clearly does not know how to handle that kind of attention, and I get it 100%.

And you might say "C'mon, this is Bethenny Frankel. She has attention on her all the time. She loves that crap."

But no. For some weird reason, birthday attention is just different. In the episode Bethenny has a conversation with her make-up artist that hits the nail on the head. I'm paraphrasing here, but the make-up artist says to her something like "you either get too much attention or not enough" and then "you don't want to get disappointed, so you don't prepare yourself, and then you're disappointed because you didn't prepare."

And it was like an a-ha moment for me. Because that's exactly it. I think, for some reason, and I can only speak for myself, I've decided that I don't deserve that attention, so it's uncomfortable to receive it. For Bethenny, maybe it's because birthdays were probably a big disappointment for her based on her parents being suck ass, non-deserving of a kid, parents. So preparing herself for a big happy birthday is like setting herself up for disappointment... but then getting it without being prepared for it is completely uncomfortable and scary.

My parents don't suck at all. And my birthday was never forgotten (can you imagine how grown-up Samantha Baker might handle birthdays?) or understated when I was growing up. It wasn't like today's kids who get a themed party with friends invited every year, but my mom would make a spice cake and there would be presents and my grandmothers would send cards with money in them ($8 for my 8th birthday, $9 for my 9th, and so on) and I would get to pick what we had for dinner. And that was good. A couple of years I got to have a party and invite friends (my 7th and 16th) and on my 8th birthday my parents took my best friend and I to Disney World, which was awesome.

But I was never comfortable when all the attention was focused on me. When I was really little I would cry when people sang "Happy Birthday" to me. I remember the feeling, too. This desperate feeling of all the eyes being on me, singing, staring, expecting something. I hated it.

So I understood when Munchkin cried when she was younger, too. I remember one year telling my family that we wouldn't sing to Munchkin. We were just going to have the cake and open presents - no singing. They overruled me and sang anyhow (you have to sing, it's her birthday!) and she cried and I felt her pain.

Because there's just something about that birthday attention. There has to be some, but too much is a problem. A big 40th birthday celebration, complete with violinists using hot pink violins (what the hell was that?) and a Bravo TV crew, might be just a little too much for even the most seasoned celebrity.

And Jason being all "It hurt me so much that she wasn't excited. She should have fun because we put so much effort into it" made me want to smack him. He appears to be a great guy, truly... but projecting his own love of birthdays onto her and then expecting her to react the way he wants her to react is not supportive. "I wanted to tell her to suck it up. Sometimes you just have to put a happy face on."

It's her party, Mister Perfect Family, and she can cry if she wants to.

The Spaz kicks this meme in the teeth and steals it's lunch money

2011-04-05T09:05:00.002-04:00

So I'm just going to knock out the rest of this meme right here today. I'm not overly thrilled with the remaining topics on it, so I figure I'll just give you all another bulk post. Today it's a TENfer.

Day 21 - (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?

I go to her. She's my best friend. No argument we could have ever had would keep me from her side if she was injured. This question gets a resounding "duh" from me and makes me think this meme was written by a 12 year old.

Day 22 - Something you wish you hadn't done in your life.

Started this meme?

Day 23 - Something you wish you had done in your life.

When I was a senior in high school I applied to a bunch of colleges. One of them was Loyola in New Orleans. Sometimes I think that if I had gone there instead of to UF I may have been more successful. But I was scared to go so far from home and I was in love and wanted to be close to my boyfriend at the time and all my friends were going to UF so I declined the invitation to go there.

But if I had, my life would probably be a lot different and I probably wouldn't have The Man and the goblins... so I can't say a different choice would have been better.

Day 24 - Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs.

No.

Day 25 - The reason you believe you're still alive today.

What kind of a question is this? I'm alive because I haven't died yet. And that's a good thing.

Day 26 - Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?

I think most people, at one dark time or another, have thought that life might not be worth living. I've never really let that thought linger in my mind for an extended period of time, though. I know that life has its ups and downs and I've always been hopeful for the future. So even when things are really hard, I know that whatever phase I am in will pass.

Day 27 - What's the best thing going on for you now?

It's The Man. I know that sounds all hokey and sugary sweet, but it's the truth. He's my happy place when things are tough. Most relationships suffer when times are stressful, but it's the opposite in our relationship. When I feel like the roof is about to cave in, The Man is the one that shows me everything is going to be alright. The tough times are what have made our relationship as solid as it is. That's how I know he's a keeper.

Day 28 - What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?

If I got someone pregnant I'd call a doctor... and then Guinness... and then the National Enquirer. If I got pregnant (again), I'd be shocked. And considering that I've had a tubal ligation, I'd be petrified I had some sort of ectopic pregnancy thing going on. So I guess I'd call a doctor for that, too.

But I guess the question is truly more about what would I do if I found myself to be pregnant and everything was normal about the pregnancy... and in that case, I'm sure The Man and I would persevere. At this stage in our lives, it would not be a welcome thing at first. There would be shock, tears, a mourning of the loss of our late forties and beyond (because we're counting down, y'all), The Man would lament the imminent thinning of his wallet and hair, and I would lament the loss of sleep and sanity.

And that would go on for a while, and then I'm sure we'd become accustomed to the idea, as people tend to do, and we'd get excited and plan and all that junk. And then we'd fall in love with our fourth goblin. But let's hope that doesn't happen, kay?

Day 29 - Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.

I feel like I already answered this question somewhere in the days before. I'd like to become more organized. I did already answer this, I know it.

Day 30 - A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself.

Dear Beth,

You make me laugh. Considering I am you, that's probably more of a bad thing than a good thing, but I don't care. Laughing is good and I'm glad you make me laugh.

You have really nice hair. Especially now that you've found the correct products to use in it. It would be nicer if your hair didn't insist on turning gray before you'd ever reached 30, but thanks to the advent of at home hair color, it's really not that big of a deal.

That's enough for now. I wouldn't want you to get a big ego.

Love,
Beth

So that's that. We'll resume our regularly scheduled blog posts ~~tomorrow~~ later today.

The Spaz & The Man go on a date

2011-04-04T14:45:00.000-04:00

The Man and I had a date the other night. Like, for REAL a date. We had no kids with us and we went to a restaurant that did not have a kids menu and I ordered a $12 glass of wine. Heck, I ordered two of them. I could have almost had two boxes of wine for that, but ambiance, people... ambiance.

The restaurant was French and located next to the water and we sat outside and enjoyed a gorgeous South Florida night and I felt fancy.

French restaurants are always fun because I get to base what I'm going to order on what I can actually pronounce so that I don't look like a fool to the server. It was all for naught, though, because for an appetizer we ordered this Bistro plate where you pick two cheeses and one meat and they put it all together with some other delicious munchies and I couldn't pronounce any of that stuff, except for Gruyere. So we asked the server for recommendations. And it was good. French cheese is super fantastic.

After our delicious meal, we decided to walk by the water for a while and talk. It was heavenly to be out and wearing make-up and perfume and nail polish on my toes and to be carrying a purse that barely fit my wallet and lip gloss.

We held hands, we talked, we looked at the lights on the water, it was peaceful and romantic and really a perfect date.

And then we went to Walmart.

Yeah... sort of a culture shock. I would have preferred a more upscale grocery store, but at 1 AM you take what you can get. And the cat probably would have smothered us in our sleep if we didn't bring cat food home.

We were the fanciest people at Walmart, though. I'm sure of that.

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, Purple Haze, and Mr. Brownstone

2011-04-04T09:58:00.001-04:00

I've had my experiences with drugs. I won't pretend I haven't. When I was a kid, my dad lectured me regularly on the dangers of drugs. He'd tell me stories of people he knew who found themselves held by the powers of cocaine and heroin and how it ruined their lives. And for most of my teenage years those stories kept me from experimentation.

When I got a little older I dipped my toes into the waters of drug use with a little pot and some LSD, but for the most part I stayed away from drugs. I like to be in my right mind, I guess, and anything that alters my reality is a little uncomfortable. So drugs never really captured me.

It's my opinion that marijuana should be legalized. Or at the very least, decriminalized. I see no reason to imprison people who like to giggle and eat Doritos and I see far more damage done by alcohol than pot.

I guess I have a pretty moderate attitude toward mind altering chemicals. It's not really any of my business whether another person decides to spend their life in a drug induced haze or mania. As long as that person isn't coming into my home and robbing me or holding me at gunpoint, I don't concern myself with their decision to throw their life away. Unfortunately, those drugs often push a person to endanger other people and that's when I think laws need to protect the innocent.

When it comes to my own children, I give them the same lectures that my dad gave me. Those talks kept my sisters and I on a pretty straight path, at least until we were old enough to make more educated decisions. If I find out that one of my children, in their adulthood, decides to experiment with drugs I will continue to give them those lectures. I will continue to talk to them about the dangers and the risks and I will pray they know their limits and know when to say no thanks.

The Teenager and I have talked about drugs and so far it seems she's not that interested. At 17, I'm sure that she's encountered a reasonable amount of peer pressure to try things and I know what it feels like to want to be accepted by even the most surly of friends.

My advice was to tell her friends how badass she used to be and how she can't smoke that stuff anymore because her parents are drug testing her on a regular basis. Or how she's on probation with the law and has to come up with a clean urine sample.

Or she can just tell them she doesn't feel like it. Whatever works in that situation. In my experience, kids don't push as hard as people think they might. A simple "no thanks" works pretty well and doesn't raise many eyebrows.

This post was Day 20 on the 30 day meme, Your views on drugs & alcohol.

These subjects shouldn't be discussed at garden parties or other social events in polite society... good thing I don't go to garden parties...

2011-04-03T09:58:00.001-04:00

Today is Day 19 on the 30 day meme and it's a doozy. Today I'm supposed to talk about politics and/or religion. Two subjects I've been told never to talk about.

And that's good advice, really, because these conversations never really lead anywhere good. Unless you're with like minded people, in which case what's the point?

But for the sake of not being a quitter, I'm in!

As for politics, I tend to lean libertarian. I hesitate to lock myself in there, but I definitely lean there. I believe in free enterprise and small government. I think people should be free to make their own decisions as long as those decisions don't harm others or prevent others from making their own decisions. I worry about anyone leaning too far to the left or too far to the right. Bumper stickers stating political opinions irritate me. Sometimes they even ignite a private little rage within me.

Today I saw one that said "Remember 9-11-01. Because the Democrats have already forgotten." On the same car was another sticker that said "Does my American flag offend you? Call 1-800-LEAVE-THE-USA" And it sort of made me want to smash in their windows. Not that the idea behind either of those stickers was so offensive... but the manner in which the message is delivered is. It was parked in a handicapped spot. I was tempted to wait and see if the driver came out and was actually handicapped. Then I realized I would have been disappointed if they were handicapped, so I went on with my life.

As for religion, I've cause many a loved one much agony over this. I was raised in a non-practicing Catholic household and religion was never forced down my throat. The story of Jesus and the Virgin Mary is beautiful and the promises Christianity make are truly amazing.

But I will never be a Christian.

Do I believe in God? I haven't decided.

I study Buddhism and I try to follow the teachings of Siddhartha Gautama. It's a path that I will continue to walk for the rest of my life. And whether I am reborn into a new life when this one is over and get to go further in my quest for enlightenment is not something I dwell on. Maybe that's what happens and maybe we are all reunited with our loved ones in heaven. It's not for me to know or pretend to know.

What I do know is that I can continue to live my life as close to the Eightfold Path and the Middle Way as I possibly can. I can bring myself back to center when I stray, and I can truly live the most honest and noble life I am capable of.

And if that lands me reborn or in heaven or just recycled into the earth to feed plants and worms, that's just fine with me.

First comes love, then comes a legal civil union, then comes an adopted baby from Vietnam in the baby carriage

2011-04-02T09:58:00.001-04:00

Finally this meme got a little interesting! For Day 18 I'm assigned to write about my views on gay marriage.

My opinion on this subject is a resounding "Of COURSE!" And I can't even wrap my head around any other option. Why wouldn't two people who love each other be allowed to marry each other? And don't come back with some stupid ass argument like "What's next? Should we let people marry their dog?"

Dogs aren't people, y'all. You show me a dog that can sign a marriage certificate and say vows and I'll give this dumbass argument some thought.

It surprises me that this is such an issue with people. In my opinion, there's no argument to be had. Don't bring your religion into it, because then you're just persecuting someone based on their different religious beliefs and you may as well be driving them out of England in the 16th century. Don't tell me that marriage is a commitment before God and God thinks homosexuality is an abomination. That's what your marriage may be to you, but that's not what a ton of other marriages are about and you didn't stand up at their wedding and tell them they couldn't get married. Today, marriage is a legal agreement.

Maybe we should just abolish everyone else's marriage and make them all legally go get "domestic partnerships" and marriage could be saved for something that has nothing to do with legality and only to do with religion. Then it wouldn't be your business or my business whether Bob and Bill or Jennifer and Jessica were married because they did it in their own church under their own religious guidelines. And legally, we'd all have the same equality that we should have.

That all being said, marriage is not important to me. I have been married before and that didn't work out. The Man and I decided not to legally marry, but we are more committed to each other than my husband and I ever were. Maybe when everyone else who loves each other can legally marry, we'll get married, too.

In Vegas, by an Elvis impersonator or maybe a fabulous drag queen. Definitely the drag queen.

Bring me a TAB and a chocolate doughnut, please. Hold the strawberry ice cream.

2011-04-01T09:58:00.000-04:00

Ah, we've arrived at Day 15 of our meme. Something or someone you couldn't live without, because you've tried living without it.

This one's easy.

It's diet soda. Dammit, I love diet soda. There's nothing better than opening the fridge first thing in the morning and cracking open a cold can of diet soda. I'm not horribly particular on the type of diet soda, either. Some people are all about Coke and others Pepsi, some people love a Dr Pepper or a 7-up. I'll take them all. Give me aspartame and fizzies and I'm happy. Add cherry flavoring and I'll be your new best friend.

I have tried to break the habit. I've read stuff that made me think the aspartame was going to cause me to grow a third eye or start barking at random intervals. And I'm cool with the Splenda versions of diet soda, too. In fact, TAB, made with saccharin, is probably my favorite of all. I think my mother put it in my baby bottles.

When I was growing up, we probably went through 10 2 liter bottles of TAB and then later Diet Coke in my house a week. That might even be a low estimate. My dad never touched the stuff, choosing to drink mostly water and occasionally an iced tea with no sweetener. He's always been the healthiest out of all of us. We didn't even typically use glasses. We'd just take a "chug" from the bottle straight out of the fridge. We were so classy.

There was always a 2 liter in the door of our fridge and whoever drank the last "chug" had to replace it with a 2 liter that would be found in the fridge located in the garage. My mom called it the "back porch fridge" because evidently in the years before I was born they had a refrigerator located on the back porch and she never could stop calling the 2nd fridge that. I think she might still call her garage refrigerator that.

I've heard warnings that if you drink straight out of a 2 liter bottle it will go flat faster. We never had one in our fridge long enough to know if that is true or not.

I don't buy myself diet soda on a regular basis. Though, the last time I went to Publix they had these two new flavors of Diet Mountain Dew (Supernova and Voltage) and I did grab a 12 pack of both of them. Delicious, by the way, and with lots of caffeine. Huzzah!

So I don't always have it in the house. It's the only way I can regulate myself. I grab one every time I visit my parents, who keep a stocked assortment of sodas in the "back porch" fridge, and it's fabulous.

The best, is really a fountain soda, though. And please don't tell me how disgusting fountain sodas are and the lines don't get cleaned and all of it. I know. I've heard it all. But there's just nothing like a big ginormous* cup of crushed ice and a cold diet soda with a straw. The deliciousness.

At one point I tried to switch to regular soda because I thought the artificial sweeteners were surely going to send me to an early grave. But I was panicked about the calories and I couldn't really enjoy it. Hand over the box of doughnuts, but don't you dare put a real Coke in front of me.

Why can't they come up with calorie free doughnuts that taste that good?

And on a similar note, I'm going to go ahead and knock out Day 16 of the meme, too. Someone or something you definitely could live without.

This one is strawberry ice cream. I never could stomach it. Strawberry ice cream, strawberry milkshakes, all of it. Blech. And what the hell is up with Neopolitan? Why would someone ruin that delicious chocolate and vanilla with that horrendous pink stripe? When I was a kid my dad would buy Neopolitan ice cream and my sisters and I would attack the chocolate and vanilla leaving only this perfectly formed island of strawberry in the middle of the carton. Like a pink land bridge across the carton with remnants of chocolate and vanilla on either side. Come to think of it, that strawberry ice cream was nothing but an unwelcome implementation of segregation.

The snake got out of the box, Ryan.

2011-03-31T09:42:00.002-04:00

I can't really say Ryan Reynolds was ever my hero exactly, but he's easy on the eyes, if you know what I mean. I don't have a lot of actor crushes, honestly, but I don't mind watching a couple hours of him. I didn't really notice him until The Man dragged me to see X Men in the theater and he came on screen as Deadpool. Yeah. You should see that if you haven't.

Anyhow, so then I made a point to watch some of his other movies and I wasn't disappointed. Just Friends, Definitely, Maybe, Adventureland, The Proposal, all entertaining movies. Nothing I'm going to jump up and down about or tell people they just have to see it, although the scene in The Proposal with Betty White and Sandra Bullock in the woods is something I've told people they had to see - oh heck, let me show it to you.

Hilarity!

But back to Ryan Reynolds.

So I watched Buried even though it seemed like it was going to be a boy movie and I'm not much for explosions and dirt and grime and all that junk because I figured The Man would like it and I'd get to look at Ryan Reynolds the whole time.

Except you can't even really freaking SEE him! It really is in a dark coffin the whole movie. No flashbacks, no seeing other people outside of the box, and the lighting is pretty much what you'd expect from the inside of a coffin. And the movie itself really sucked. Setting aside the fact that it's horribly unrealistic, because that's about 95% of movies anyway, I didn't even really care if he ever got out of the stupid box, to be quite honest. I mean, you'd think I'd actually care if he got out of the box, right?

And where the hell did the snake go?? The snake got out of the box, Ryan.

Which made me wonder if maybe I've been duped by Ryan Reynolds. Maybe I've been fooled by his glistening, pretty boy, ridiculously cut exterior? Maybe he sucks as an actor? Because if he couldn't make me give a damn whether he was buried alive or not, then I can't say much for him. I mean, I'd pretty much not want anyone to be buried alive... but about an hour into Buried I was sort of hoping the box would just cave in so I could turn it off and go to bed.

The budget for the movie was $3,000,000... to film a man in a box. I could have filmed this movie for $20 with HandyCam. I can't imagine how that money was spent. Maybe it all went to Ryan, I don't know. There are starving children in the world and Hollywood is spending 3 million dollars to film a man in a box. I'm just glad we saw it at home and not in the theater because if I had unloaded the amount of money it costs to go see an actual movie on this, I would have been livid.

Critics loved this thing, too. And I'm not one to poo poo on indie films and Sundance gems and all that stuff. I love a quirky independent film and I'd have had no problem with the whole man in a box thing the whole time if the man in a box would have at least been a little likable. But all in all, you just get the impression that he's an ass.

You let me down, Ryan. I am disappoint.

PS - I guess I should mention that this is Day 14 of the 30 day meme - Write a letter to a hero who has let you down. Although not in actual letter format, the same principle applies.

Ooh, it's a twofer! Or a sixfer! Even better!

2011-03-30T09:56:00.001-04:00

So as far as the meme goes, I never promised I'd do the whole thing, and this is my blog, and I'm not much for following rules. So I'm half-assing the next 6. I don't think they're worth a whole post a piece, so here's a 6 in 1.

Day 8 - Someone who has made your life hell, or treated you like crap.
I considered posting about one of my ex-boyfriends and making it a whole PSA about teenage domestic violence, but I don't want to drag that junk out. So here's my PSA - if your child is dating someone and you think they might be violent, do whatever it is you have to do to figure out if your child is being hurt. Follow them, stalk them, read their diary, whatever. Protect your kid first. They will most definitely hate you while you do it, but when they grow up they'll love you even more for it.

Day 9 - Someone you didn't want to let go, but just drifted.
I had a friend in elementary school. We were like peas and carrots, y'all. The BEST friends EVER. She moved to Colorado when we were kids. She came back to Florida a few times for visits and we'd see each other but it's not so easy to maintain a long distance friendship when you're a kid. The last time I saw her we were 16 and I had just gotten my first car. Like seriously, JUST gotten it. It was a stick shift and I could barely drive the thing. We drove around all day listening to the Violent Femmes and stalling out all over town. It was great. I still miss her.

*Note - this portion of the post was edited. Originally I had included my friend's name because I had hopes that maybe some day she'd google her own name and find this post. See, when I last went searching for her I did google her name and nothing substantial came up. I tried facebook, all that stuff. When I posted this, I didn't think to google her again just to see if anything had changed because it really wasn't all that long ago that I attempted to find her. Well, I did google her after this was posted and what came up wasn't good. Evidently my friend and I have walked different paths in our lives and her path appears to have led her to a place where armed robbery is an option for her. With that new light, I'd rather our paths didn't cross again. I am deeply saddened to have discovered this. It's shocking to know that this person who was the sweetest, most genuine and kind person as a child, could get to a place where $50 is worth putting someone else's safety in danger. I just don't even know what to think.

Day 10 - Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn't know.
I honestly can't say I have anyone in my life I need to let go or wish I didn't know. I mean, maybe there are some people who come along every once in a while that aren't my favorite people to deal with, but I can't exactly say I wish I didn't know them.

Day 11 - Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
It's my sparkling personality, y'all.

Day 12 - Something you never get compliments on.
My housekeeping abilities. Never once has anyone wanted to eat off my floor... except the dog.

Day 13 - A band or artists that has gotten you through some tough days.
The Cure. It's awesome brooding music. During almost any teenaged angst filled day of the 90s I would turn on Robert Smith and let the black sadness wash over me. Later on I turned to Sarah McLaughlin and lots of country music to get my cry on. Lately a simple Hallmark commercial will do it for me.

Tune in tomorrow for Day 14 - A hero that has let me down where you'll hear my hero say "I'm buried in a box. I'm buried in a box!"

The golden bed time hour at the Spaz house... now with fancy artwork!

2011-03-29T21:15:00.000-04:00

Bed time here at the Spaz house is 8 pm sharp. I've been told that is a little early for most kids, but only by parents who have, like, 1 kid and therefore have no idea what they are talking about. By 8 pm I'm ready to be done with mom duties for the day and it is time for bed.

Every night around 7:45 I remind the kids it's time to get ready for bed. Typically, at this time, I'm trying to get some work done so I just casually call out the door of my office and hope they give a damn.

They don't.

So at 8:00 I give them the solid command.

One of them might brush their teeth at this point. If I'm lucky. Usually, though, they don't stop playing with LEGOs or Club Penguin until I get a little frazzled. Around 8:15 I give my second warning.

Usually this gets them to at least get ready for bed. Teeth will be brushed, they'll come in and kiss me goodnight. They may even go to the correct bedroom. But in bed? No. 8:30 rolls around and I become loud mommy.

Loud mommy typically gets them in bed. They'll be all snuggled in and I think I can breathe. I start to relax and then around 8:45 I hear something. Maybe a giggle, maybe a clink of a LEGO, maybe one of them decided that they're so incredibly thirsty that they MUST HAVE A GLASS OF WATER NOW OR THEY WILL DIE.

And that's when loud and scary mommy comes out.

This typically brings on tears from at least one kid. The others cower in their beds. My eyes start to twitch and I feel like I may, in fact, actually, truly lose it. They go to bed. And I try to calm down.

And usually around 9 pm I hear something else. A whisper from one brother to another or to the dog or to the cat. And I give up. They're petrified to actually leave their beds at this point and they'll fall asleep eventually.

This post is so mushy and sweet it should be called oatmeal

2011-03-29T09:39:00.000-04:00

I'm writing today about someone who has made my life worth living for.

I've given this some thought and I continue to come up with the same cliche answers. The people closest to me, The Man, the goblins, my mom and dad, my sisters, my nieces and nephews, and my best friends. They've all made my life worth living together.

There are days I wouldn't have gotten out of bed if it weren't for the fact that I had children to take care of. Dark times in my life when I'm not sure I would have kept on going if it weren't for them. The day that Bug was born my life instantly, without me realizing it at the time, went from all about me to all about him. My goblins cause me such a complicated range of emotions. They are both the most frustrating and most wonderful things that have ever happened to me. I'm almost embarrassed to say it, but not one of my children was planned. Delusion, Birth Control Pills, and IUD failure caused my little miracles and they are the most incredible accidents I've ever had.

With each positive pregnancy test I wondered how I would manage it. When I discovered I was having Bug I had no idea what I was about to embark on. I was a clueless 22 year old, fluttering around in my life like a butterfly being blown around in the wind. I embraced motherhood with the same technique I had embraced every other change in my life up until that point, I took whatever was thrown at me and dealt with it in the moment without much thought to the future. When I look back to the pure ignorance and immaturity of myself at that time, I'm shocked they let me leave the hospital with him. I remember that day so vividly. My mother drove me home from the hospital to the little townhouse I shared with my new and even more immature husband. She left me there, alone with this tiny little creature and I felt a sense of panic I had never experienced before. I think it may have been that very moment that I became a mother.

My children changed me into a better person. They've made my life rich and selfless and shown me how fulfilling it can be to love someone else more than you love yourself. I have learned more from them than I think they will ever learn from me and they absolutely make my life worth living.

The Man came into my life at one of the darkest times. He was always in my life, really, but he stepped up during one of the hardest times of my life and grabbed me by the hand and held it all the way through until I could see the light again. A young mother of two, with the rug swept out from under my feet, I felt worthless and unlovable and sure that no man would ever look at me again. He opened my eyes to my own self-worth at a time when I had completely forgotten it. And for a decade, he has stood by me through the best and worst of times and never even considered leaving. He brings me a happiness I never knew could exist and makes every day worth waking up for.

My parents and my sisters, the family that raised me, they have stood behind me through all of the ups and downs of my life and they will continue to stand behind me. I am the baby of the family, a decade younger than my sisters, and therefore have always had a safety web of adults who have helped me through those difficult growing up years. They've watched me make mistakes and have always welcomed me home with open arms when I needed a safe place to come home to. My mom and dad, my sisters, and the men that my sisters have chosen to marry and raise their families with are truly my friends. I love to be with them and I know that, even though we don't always agree, that we will always be there for each other.

My nieces and my nephews, all of them. Ranging from the sweetest and newest baby on one side of my family to The Teenager, who you may have read about, on the other, and everywhere in between, each and every one of them has a piece of my heart. Such an amazing mix of personalities they have. There is nothing quite like being an aunt. To know these kids and be allowed to watch them grow and become the men and women they will become is an incredible honor. I've always tried to make sure they all know I am here for them, and on many occasions they've trusted me with what is in their hearts and minds. Being loved by all of these amazing kids is a privilege I would have never imagined I would be so thrilled to have. When B1 first made me an aunt back in 1994, I had no idea how much that little baby would steal my heart. And somehow, as each one of them has come into my life, my heart has only grown bigger to allow each and every one of them into it.

And my friends. I have the best friends in the world. As time goes by, I've learned who I can truly call my friend and I can't imagine my life without them. With all the hundreds of people who have come into my life and left an impression, precious few of them have remained my real friends. They're the ones that call just because they're thinking of me. They're the ones who know me at my best and my worst and love me anyway. They're the ones that really get me. They are always there, even if we haven't spoken in a year, they are always there. A phone call away or maybe an email, when times get tough we rally around each other and hold each other up. Those are real friends and they've made my life worth living.

It's a network that makes my life worth living, a circle of hands, of hearts, of smiles, of souls. It's all of them together. Those people who have made my heart so full of joy and love and happiness that make me think I must have hit some jackpot of awesomeness in the slot machine of people who can be in your life. I'm truly lucky and blessed.

This meme makes me frown more than smile... Not sure if 30 days of it is a good thing...

2011-03-28T09:35:00.001-04:00

Something you hope you never have to do.

This meme is sort of depressing, you think? Because this topic is obvious to me and when I first noticed it on the list I was tempted to skip it. I don't want to write about it, I don't want to speak it.

It's my biggest fear and one that I know so many parents have had to endure... and it terrifies me that it could happen to me.

I hope I never outlive any of my children.

I have a lump in my throat just to write it.

And it happens so often... and it just never should. I know mothers who have lost their babies, their daughters, their sons, their adult children... and the anguish and despair they must endure is incredible.

Yet, I see them move on. Sort of. In a different way. Nothing is ever the same for them, but they can live. They find a way to keep living. Maybe for their other children, maybe for their partner, maybe for themselves. I'm not sure for what. Maybe just because they don't have a choice.

I can't fathom it. I can't imagine how to move on from losing a child.

I think every parent has had that gripping, chilling, fear when, for a split-second, they think one of their children is in grave danger. Maybe you've been somewhere and you turned around and couldn't see one of them for a second. Or maybe there was a car accident and you didn't know if your child was involved in it. Or maybe you went to pick them up somewhere they were supposed to be and they weren't there.

And when you finally spot them in the crowd, or find out that the blue minivan in that accident wasn't the one your child was in with his best friend's mom, or realize you got the pick up time wrong from the field trip and they're not supposed to be there for another hour... when you realize everything is just fine the sense of relief washes over your body like nothing else.

If ever a day comes when one of these little things happens and everything isn't okay, I just don't know how I could ever pull myself out of it.

Around the world in my head for now

2011-03-27T08:04:00.000-04:00

Something you hope to do in your life is today's meme topic. How am I supposed to narrow it down to just one?

I hope to travel to as many places as I can go. I want to see the world. So far I've lived a poorly traveled existence. At 34, I've been very few places.

I've had two visits to Washington DC as a child, once with my mom and sister to visit my aunt and once with the safety patrols in 5th grade. Summers were spent with my family in the mountains of North Carolina when I was growing up and those vacations often included day trips to places in Tennessee and Georgia.

It was my sophomore year of college that I bought my first plane ticket and flew with Jenny (I've mentioned her before... keep up!) to visit our friend, Liz, in Boston. On that trip I took the bus to New Jersey to visit another friend for a couple of days. We took the train into New York City and I got to lay on a bench in the plaza in front of the twin towers and look up at their magnificence. That's definitely something I'm glad I did. We were too poor to pay to go to the Observatory at the top, I can't remember how much it cost, but we were poor college students so our observing had to be done from the ground.

That same year another good friend of ours was married in Georgia so we drove up from college in Gainesville to attend her wedding. We had her bachelorette party in Athens two nights before her wedding which was genius of us because she was so sick the next day she probably would have vomited on her groom.

The next year was the year I sold vacuum cleaners door to door. We had a convention in New Orleans so I hopped in my soon-to-be boyfriend's car and crossed into the Central time zone for the first time. Almost west of the Mississippi, but not quite. That was when I learned that, though the law had recently changed and raised the drinking age from 18 to 21 in Louisiana, all you really had to do was show the door guy at any bar and he'd let you in anyway. Evidently they just had to look like they cared. (I would have been 21 in a month, anyhow.)

That was a fun night. I spent the evening drinking these green drinks called Hand Grenades that had little floating plastic grenades floating in them. I collected a ton of them. If it hadn't been for soon-to-be boyfriend, I probably would have jumped on the back of a Harley with this random guy who asked if I wanted to ride. That wouldn't have been stupid or anything. We left New Orleans the next morning and I remember the drive back being truly wretched.

In the late 90s I worked for a company that was headquartered in Atlanta so I got to fly there and back a lot. At the time, B2 lived in Atlanta so it was convenient that I got to see her. The malls in Atlanta are super-fantastic, y'all. I could very happily live in that city.

In 2001 I purchased a plane ticket to fly to visit a Jenny in Portland during her brief stay there. I was so excited because we were going to drive down to visit the Redwood Forest. I have always been enamored with pictures of those gigantic trees. My trip was canceled due to the September 11 attacks, though, so I'm still waiting to see those trees.

In 2005 my dad surprised all of us with a trip to the Bahamas on the Disney Cruise. It was my first time on a cruise and my first time out of the country. Since that trip we've visited the Bahamas twice more, once by plane and again on the cruise. The plane is nice, but that boat is definitely the way to go!

In 2009 I flew to Pittsburgh for Jenny's baby shower and to see the house that she and her husband renovated in Braddock. Jenny took some time to drive me into Pittsburgh and show me some stuff. It truly is a beautiful city, too. And the Heinz bottles! I have to love a city that produces such adorable little condiments.

That is the extent of my travels, though, and that makes me sad. I don't think I see great travels in my near future as it's just difficult to have young kids and animals and travel the world. But give me about 10 years and I'm all over the globe. I want to go everywhere and see everything.

Remember that "Forgiveness" song that Anna Farris sang in the movie "Just Friends"? That was awesome... someone should totally record that.

2011-03-26T05:59:00.002-04:00

Something I have to forgive someone else for. That's today's meme subject.

I do have someone in my life right now that I haven't forgiven. Right now, I'm not ready to forgive. Honestly, I don't know if I ever will. And if I do forgive, things wouldn't go back to the way they used to be with this person.

This person and I used to be really great friends. The kind of friend you call when something awesome happens to you because they're one of the first people you think to tell. The kind of friend who you feel like you can say anything to and they won't judge.

Except I was wrong. This person was judging.

And I guess it's that judgment, and the way that it was revealed to me that the judgment was happening, that stings the most. It was like the whole backbone of that friendship broke. Or, I guess, it wasn't ever really there.

I wonder why I thought it was, I guess.

And when it all came out, when the word vomit spewed forth and I saw clearly that this person was so self-absorbed that the reality I saw and the reality they saw were entirely different, everything changed.

There's no way to get that friendship back. Forgiveness won't change the words that were said and the fact that this person truly wasn't ever the person I thought they were.

It's funny because people warned me. And I could see for myself the wreckage this person could make out of relationships. But I thought things were different, that our friendship was different. I don't know why, I guess I just really felt a bond with this person. Or maybe, at the time, this person was the only option I really had so I clung to it.

I don't feel comfortable with the anger I hold inside of myself because of it, though, so I know I need to find forgiveness. Not to regain that relationship, because it's not possible to get something back when you never had it in the first place. But I need to forgive so I can stop holding on to anger.

People are who they are, no matter how much you want them to be someone different. So how can I be angry at someone for being the person they are?

Quite easily, actually.

Maybe I should have been a librarian...

2011-03-25T12:54:00.000-04:00

I have a lot of books. A LOT OF BOOKS.

I love to read. When I was a kid my favorite place to go was the library (shut up, I was not a dork). My mom had a friend who was a librarian so I was in luck. She took me a lot.

I was allowed to check out 7 books at a time and I would carefully select them. First in the children's section and then later on in the young adult's section. Every week I devoured all 7 books and then we'd go back to the library.

In middle school, I found myself awash in the world of VC Andrews and other such trash. A friend and I even developed our own pen name where we wrote our own smut together. EB Dahl. It was an awesome pen name. I wonder if she has copies of that smut because I don't. I think it could have been published. :)

My love of books has never dwindled. In college, my roommate and I happily bought a book case and filled it with beautiful books. My parents thought I was spending all my money on beer, but a good percentage of it was really going to pretty books from Barnes & Noble where we would happily spend evenings reading. (Seriously, I was NOT a dork!)

In my life I have moved nine times and each time my books went with me as a priority and each time there were more boxes than the last. If I had to move them now, they would probably need their own U-Haul.

And as much as I love them, they're taking over my life.

There are books everywhere. They have filled two book cases in the living room, the shelf on top of my desk, there are piles in the bedroom and the bathroom and the family room. They are stashed in a cupboard in the hallway, boxed up and in the garage, and there are multiple boxes in the attic of poor, banished books.

Many I've read, many I plan to read, many I read a few pages of and set aside for another time.

So I've made a decision. I'm going to pick up each book and make a decision. I'm either going to read it or not read it, and then I'm going to get rid of it. I will not buy any more. This is hard for me as I spend a lot of my time in thrift stores and seriously, books for a quarter? How can I say no?! But I have made a promise to myself and a promise to The Man (who can't quite understand why I love them so much).

There may be a few that I just have to keep (Le Morte D'Arthur and The Mists of Avalon are very close to my heart and I think I'll need to keep them, probably everything by Phillipa Gregory will remain, and I'm sure there are others I'll be unable to part with) but most of them are going. Nora Roberts, I love you, but I can't keep a zillion paperbacks filled with the same romance written over and over again in different forms. Anything that was part of Oprah's book club is going to be read and given away. Little Children, The Thirteenth Tale, and The Glass Castle (all recommendations I read because of Jason - he has a 2011 edition of his book recommendations, too!) are some of the best reads I've ever had, but they're being passed on to someone else. Sophie Kinsella, Jane Green, and Emily Giffen, you've made me laugh and cry and I thank you, but off you go. Twilight Series, you're being handed off. Thanks for the super fast weekend entertainment. So far I couldn't get into The Host, but I'll be sure to give it a chance before it goes into the donation pile. And Charlaine Harris, you're a simple genius and I'm sure the person who holds my hand-me-down Sookie books will love you just as much.

And once I've cleared them all out and it's all narrowed down to the must keep pile, I'm going to reward myself with this.

it's so pretty...

Oh how I want one. But I need to earn it. And honestly, by the time I get through with this crazy project I'm sure there will be a better one for me to covet.

I just finished The Levee (it was GREAT) and now I'm finishing up the first of Nora Robert's Daring to Dream series (a great bathtub read as all of hers are) and I'll try to whip through the rest of her paperbacks that I have piled up as quickly as possible.

And one day I'll be paperless.

It's not easy to forgive yourself for being a crappy mom

2011-03-25T10:00:00.001-04:00

The trip down meme lane is a tough one today. Today I'm supposed to tell you all about something I have to forgive myself for.

So today's post is all about my Bug.

Because I feel like I've failed him more than my other children. He needs me the most and I'm not as available as I wish I could be. And I have to stop beating myself up over it.

I know I'm a good mom. I know I'm the best mom I can be. I know that I give my kids as much as I possibly can, and sometimes more than that even. Bug is no exception to that. It's just that he seems to need more than the other two.

The homeschooling debacle is only one example of how I feel like I've not risen to the occasion with Bug. When we decided to give it a try this year, I really thought we were making the best decision for him. I really felt like I'd be able to give him enough of my time that he'd excel. I really felt like the break from regular school would be just what the doctor ordered for Bug.

But it all unraveled before my eyes as we got deeper into the school year. Bug needed a lot more attention that I would have ever imagined. And 5th grade is no picnic, y'all. I tried to scramble and make up for lost time. I picked and chose to make sure he was learning what he needed to learn but that no time was wasted. But that wasn't really doing him any good and I saw my Bug feeling more and more overwhelmed and I felt helpless.

Thank Heavens for the principal at his school now. The man who let me sit in his office and cry while I explained that I was failing my son. He understood and he told me I didn't suck.

And then, of course, there was the time I ignored appendicitis. I ignored appendicitis. I told him to go back to class and stop complaining.

Appendicitis!

I still haven't forgiven myself for that.

Bug needs me more than Goober or Munchkin. He wants to be with me. He will come and sit in my office while I work just to be with me. He wants to tell me about all the weird thoughts in his head and about the new iPod that's coming out or the new update to Android. He asks me if we can go out and look for butterfly eggs (cocoons, I guess) and if I have a roll of tape he can use to create a prototype of some invention he's got floating around in his head.

Today while he was doing his homework he imagined the numbers were kids. One number was picking on the other number and then the other number was multiplied and got bigger and picked on the original number back. It was both an interesting and a worrying thought.

He's the one I worry about, he's the one I feel like I'll never be good enough for. And I know I have to forgive myself for all the times I wasn't the best mom for him and just keep trying to do better.

This post was rough. I think we'll strive for levity next time.

The first title that came to my head was largely inappropriate... I'll use this one instead

2011-03-24T09:50:00.003-04:00

It's supposed to be Day 2 of the 30 day meme and I'm supposed to talk about something I love about myself. It's not that I don't think I'm fabulous, because I think the fact that I have a certain degree of narcissism is evident by the fact that I write this blog.

It's just hard to really narrow it down to one thing.

I jest. No, I typically don't toot my own horn but there is one thing I really do love about myself.

I'm pretty open minded. I really do try to look at things from all angles before making decisions. I try not to judge people based on first impressions or initial reactions. Sometimes this bites me in the ass, but typically I think it serves me well.

Open mindedness, however, also leads to a lot of analysis* about things that a lot of people take for granted. Big issues like religion and education and morality and small issues like whether strawberries might taste good on pizza (not bad, actually).

Some times it's a pain in the ass to be open minded. It often puts me on the other side of the fence in social situations and it forces me to really think before I make decisions. Open mindedness is often time consuming (maybe that's my time-management issue).

I can remember back to the first presidential election I was able to vote in. It was 1996 and my sophomore year of college. My friends were hugely liberal and were all voting for Clinton. I chose not to think and voted for Dole because he fell off the stage in California during a campaign event. (I've always had a thing for injured animals, too.) That, and my dad told me to vote for him. In fact, I remember sitting on the phone with my father as he told me what answers to put on my absentee ballot.

Hey, at least I voted. Or... my dad did... twice. Our two votes didn't help poor old Bob Dole, though.

Now that I'm older, elections require eons of thought. I research everything until I'm bleary eyed and I'm not sure I even end up making better decisions. My votes will span the entire gambit of political parties because I research the candidates directly. My dad still gives me his insight and I take it to heart, but now those votes are truly my own. It seems pointless, honestly, as I wait for the results on election nights as though I'm waiting to see if the team I bet money on is winning. Generally, I'm disappointed by the results, but if my parents ever taught me anything it was that not voting wasn't even an option.

Being open minded hasn't always turned out for the best, however. I've come to the defense of more than one person who I felt was being bullied only to find out in a short amount of time that they were quite deserving of every bit of ass they had handed to them. Nothing like being made to look like an idiot by another idiot.

In most cases, the fact that I can see things from a different angle has given me a greater perspective and I'm pretty happy with the results. I have friends that I might not have had because of it and I think people probably value my opinions because they know I've given them some thought before spouting them off. I may just be inferring that last point, though.

Sometimes it leads me down some interesting roads of thought, but that's usually a fun journey. And it's always fun to listen to the reactions I get when I take people down those interesting roads.

*Did you know that analyzation isn't a word? At least blogger doesn't think so. I guess that's a non-word of the day. Heh.