What I did on Thursday

Evergreen, Colorado
My brother-in-law Erik and his new wife Stephanie.

what i did wednesday

Travel day.

Flying to Denver.

speaking of wildlife

I live in the "country."  Or kind of the country.  I grew up in my little country town, so seeing forms of wildlife around here isn't all that unusual.  But the animals we usually see around are more like deer and annoying cute bunnies.  Eating things out of my garden.

So this past weekend it was all about the baby opossums of course, but guess what I saw last night on my walk?  Baby skunks!  Three of them!

They were so (stinking) cute.  They were rolling around on the neighbor's lawn like fluffy little kittens playing.  I had my iPhone with me, so I debated taking a picture to show my kids, but then I was thinking the photo op wasn't worth potentially scaring the spray out of them.

Just take my word for it, cutest ever.

And then a bat tried to fly into my hair and thankfully I didn't scream like the girl that I am.  I think it was dive bombing bugs.  Apparently my hair looks like a bug's nest?  Do bugs even have nests?  So then one of the bugs dive bombed my eyeball and let me tell you, have you ever gotten a bug in the eye?  Because it doesn't tickle!  It burned.  So I had a burny eyeball, but on the plus side, I was in the homestretch so I just sucked it up.

We also have foxes (Foxes?  Is that the right plural form?  I think it is but I'm too lazy to check.  I'm going with it.).  That's the thing, walking at night.  I look around a lot, like I am always looking at things like the observer that I am, but in the dark, I could really miss a skunk!  And walk straight in his path!  Or a fox, who I'm sure would bite my leg.

I feel like a wildlife blogger.  Are there wildlife bloggers?

OK, OK, I'll stop taking about animals now.

I always thought I could be a wildlife hero.

While I was out walking this weekend, I passed an opossum that had been hit by a car and killed.  Which was really gross.  Since I have this weird fear of gross smells, I was going to cross the street , but then I almost stepped on this teeny tiny little baby opossum!  It was like, smaller than my hand, and even though I have big man hands, it was still really little.

It was wobbling around on the street all pathetic-like with it's eyes mostly closed, like right on the white line!  So I was all thinking, oh poor baby opossum, I really don't want to pick you up.  But then I though, I have to figure something out because obviously the mom is dead, so I can't just leave the baby here to die.  So I called the vet, while trying to sort of move the little guy onto the grass with my sneaker.  Then it climbed on my sneaker and wrapped his little tail in my laces and I was scared.  Like do they bite?  It was definitely a little baby, but I know they are kind of scavenger animals and you know I don't like germs.  I didn't want to get bit by a germy baby opossum.  So I let him sit there.  Because I am very nice to animals apparently.

Anyway, the vet's office told me that they don't take wildlife rescues and they directed me to a wildlife rescue place.  And when I called, I had to leave a message!  So I was standing there practically in the road with a baby opossum on my foot, and I made the executive decision to call Alex to come pick me up from my walk so I could at least put the thing in a safe spot til I heard from the rescue place.

So Alex was still sleeping and sounded less than thrilled to come get me and a baby opossum, but he said he would be right there.  I was literally less than a mile from home, but I didn't want to pick it up and carry it.  Because, um, gross.

So TEN MINUTES LATER, I called Alex wondering where the hell he was, and he was all like, "I'm just leaving the development."  So I was like, "Well you brought a box, right?"  And he was like, "What for?"  And I was like,  "To put the thing in?"

Then he proceeded to tell me that no he did not bring a box, he brought a broom pan thing.  And I was like, "WTF were you planning on doing with a broom pan thing??"  and he goes, "Scoop it into the grass or something?"  And I was like, "And leave it there to die??"  and he kind of was like, "Maybe?"  So I was like, "Omg, can you just bring me a box please??!"  So he turned back home to get a box.  Begrudgingly you guys.

Anyway, while all of that dumb conversation was going on, I saw another baby in the grass!  So I had to try to direct that one from walking into the road too.  It was quite a show.

Eventually, Alex arrived with the damn box, and I discovered that he neglected to bring something to actually pick the babies up with, and like maybe a little towel or something.  And the question that I did not exactly say out loud was, "Really?!"

So the only thing in the car I could find to pick them up with was a sock.  And I picked those little babies up and put the in the box and we drove them home. 

Brooke named them Grace and Brooke.  She was thinking we were going to keep them.

Obviously, I googled what the heck to do with orphan baby opossums, and kind of read about how to take care of them.  After a bit, the wildlife rescue lady called me back and we arranged to meet up so I could give her those little babies.

Once I met up with the lady, I brought the box over to her car and she just reached in there and picked them up with her bare hands and I felt guilty that I didn't pick them up.  The website did say to give them body heat but even though I was pretty much a wildlife hero, I wasn't about to put one of those things on my body, so I put a heated pad in the box to keep them warm.  The lady said that was OK.  So my status as a wildlife hero was still firmly intact.  Phew.

Then she asked me to go check the dead mom's pouch to see if there were more babies in there and I was like, yeah, you know, I don't think I can exactly poke around on a smelly dead opossum with flies on it!!  So she said she would do it because there were probably more babies there.

So I left her to do her thing, and even though my morning walk was cut short by the orphans, I was glad that I found someone to take care of them because aw, their mom just died.  Poor little guys.

a long-winded nutshell

It's been a busy week and I'm sorry to say that I've been behind in my blogging.  Writing, reading, posting...  It's all shockingly been put on the back burner.  Who knew I could prioritize?  And who knew I could actually get my priorities in the right order?!  Go me!

For starters, this was the last GD week of school for my kids.  It seems that the powers that be decided that us poor parents should be slowly tortured into the summer vacation by having each day this last week be a half day.  Except today.  Which was one hour.  So today I had to get up, feed, dress and get kids out the door on time for a bogus hour of classroom time.

But whatever, that really wasn't the biggest deal this week.  The half days weren't messing with my blogging time that much. It's just that there were a lot of events this week.

The first event was a little thing called Kindergarten graduation.  Because my Kindergartner passed with flying colors and is moving on to the grades!  She's so excited.  I didn't have much to do with the adorable ceremony, but I did have to bake for it.  Mini blueberry muffins that were scarfed up before I could even taste one bite, darn it!  Brooke's ceremony was just super cute though, and she was so proud.  The only bad thing was this:  Since when did parents start buying the kindergartners graduation gifts, balloons, flowers, etc?  Why??  Can someone tell me why is this necessary?  And can someone tell me why it is necessary to bring those gifts, balloons, flowers, etc to school?  So the kids who do not have those kinds of things get to look at them with envy?

They're going into first grade, not grad school.  I get that it is exciting and important and all, but seriously?  So, after the ceremony, I went up to kiss Brooke and tell her she did great up there on the stage and check out her "diploma," and she looks up at me expectantly and says, "So where's my present?"  And I was all like, "Huh?"  And she goes, "You know, my graduation present, what did you get me?"

And then Alex and I looked at each other like, shit.  So then I had to pretend that I had planned to take her to pick out a present and ice cream the whole time.  But only because I felt the pressure to keep up with the people who thought that it was appropriate to shower their five year olds with gifts for passing kindergarten.  Can I just say omg and leave it at that?  No, no I can't actually, because I just feel the need to say one more thing.  Really??  That's it.  That was my one last thing. OK no, it was almost my last thing.  My real last thing is that I am mad at myself that I caved to the pressure.  There.  That's it.

So anyway, that was just one of the busy things.  We had ceremonies all over the damn place.  Meg and Alex had awards ceremonies, and then Megan had her Moving Up ceremony.  Because she is moving up from elementary to middle
school.  Which is also very exciting.  Her ceremony was great and I had to bake something for that, which again, I did not even get to eat.  One of the songs that the kids sang maybe gave me a little tear in my eye that didn't fall.  Meg was really cute and happy and excited.  She did not ask me for a present.  No scratch that.  She did ask me for a present and I said "are you kidding me," and she said, "well can you at least get me an itunes gift card?"  And I said no.  Because I am a mean mom.

Then, yesterday was Megan's birthday.  She turned ten years old and I just can't even believe it.  I seriously feel like somehow these years flew by, and my raspy voiced little shy peanut is turning into such a nice, kind, smart, creative and funny little girl.  The birthday kid gets to pick the dinner in our family, and she chose... Applebees.  Usually I make the kids their dinner of choice, but she was into going out to dinner, so we did that and she was really happy.

Also this week, I have seen less of my husband than I usually do because he has been hard at work up at the Capitol.  Tonight marked the passing of the Marriage Equality Act for New York State, which is just such an exciting thing.  Pretty cool that he is in the thick of it and gets to be there watching big things happen.  I don't usually find government and laws and all of that crap too exciting, but tonight was pretty awesome and I admit that I had my TV tuned in to the legislative channel.

So that's it, in a long-winded nutshell.  That's why I am behind.  Maybe next week will be a little less busy, but really there are no guarantees.  Because, don't you know?  It's summer vacation!

double digits

Today is Megan's 10th birthday. 

TEN.  Wow.  It feels like yesterday when this little girl came out crying, and crying, and crying with her pouty little lips and soft dark hair.  And though I was loopy on some excellent meds, I remember thinking to myself, who in the heck does she look like? 

Poor little one was a few weeks early, and I don't think she was quite ready to make her debut. 

Meg was definitely tied for my easiest, calmest kid.  Such a thoughtful observer, so sweet and sincere, and loving.  She would literally, and I am not kidding, play happily alone for hours with her dollhouse, reading, doing art and other creative things. 

And now, in the double digits.  She makes me smile every day with her intelligent humor.   She is such a good and patient sister. She loves books and art and riding bikes, history, swimming, baking and playing outdoors and she just reminds me so much of myself growing up, minus the mischievous naughtiness of course.

I sure do love this ten year old girl of mine.

I may or may not get botox

So yesterday, I went to this plastic surgeon to have him look at a scar I have on my face.  Not fully Tina Fey, pretty small actually, but it really bothers me. 

That's it. Right there at the arrow.  Ugh.
It's that noticeable and I'm not even smiling.

It's just that it was stitched up back before people cared too much about making those things look nice.  I mean, if one of my kids had to have face stitches, I would absolutely get a plastic surgeon to come do it instead of just a random ER doc.  It looks like a weird wrinkle by my laugh line, and I am so over it.  Every time I smile I feel like it is really noticeable.  Especially now that I am older.  And wrinkly-er.

I have had it for 35 years or so.  Rotten kid in my neighborhood hit me in the face with a teeter totter.  I still remember that.  In fact, that kid/guy is still around here and I still feel a little mad at him whenever I see his dumb face.  Grudge holder?  Who, me?

Well, I'm pretty sure he did it on purpose!

But anyway, I went to this surgeon and he was so awesome and nice and I really didn't feel like he was trying to scam money out of me and persuade me to do things just to do them.  He told me that my scar would be a hard fix.  He said he thought he could make it a little more even, but there was no guarantee.

So I guess I am going to live with the stupid scar.

But instead, maybe I will get a little tummy tuck, a little lipo, maybe a firming of the bosom.  Just joking.  Maybe.  But definitely BOTOX.

Bosom is a pretty funny word.  I think we need to bring that word back into this century and like, use it a lot.

haphazard plops are just no good

Speaking of peanut butter and jelly, don't you think it's very important to get the perfect peanut butter to jelly ratio when you are making a sandwich? 

I hate when there's like globs of jelly, haphazardly plopped on a tiny smear of peanut butter, or when Cod forbid there is a thick layer of peanut butter and just a measly thin layer of jelly.

It pretty much takes a pro to get the ratio just right. 

Ultimately, pb&j is best on white bread.  Sad, but true.  It's all about the sticking to the roof of the mouth thing I think.  And personally, I don't like a thick layer of peanut butter at all.  And personally again, I prefer strawberry jelly.  Or raspberry.  Yum.

We don't do white bread here unfortunately, but lately I have been making these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on English muffins, so they are a little melty and warm and oh my word, it is a fantastic thing.

Sheesh.  I love food.

Can you tell I haven't exactly eaten anything all day?

*Odd, I just realized that these last three posts of mine are basically all about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  Just in case you were concerned, I'm officially done speaking of pb&j.  For now.  Maybe.

pb&j

I bought these cute little friendship rings for my girls on etsy the other day.  One is peanut butter, and one is jelly.  I explained to Brooke that she gets to keep one and then she could give the other one to her best friend.  And she gave one to me.  I'm the peanut butter to her jelly.  I'm pretty sure that's like the awesomest thing ever.

a praise sandwich

Have you ever heard of the theory of the Praise Sandwich?  I'm not sure if it is an actual term or just something my BIL John made up.  But it's a pretty interesting theory.

The idea of the praise sandwich is to sandwich a bad thing with two good things. Like, if you're annoyed at your kid, you could say something like, "Wow, you are really great at riding no-handed on your bike!  Unfortunately, you're grounded because you were riding no-handed on my bike without asking me to use it.  Your hair looks great!"

Or something like that.

Get it?

Praise (bread): Great at riding with no hands.
Bad thing (peanut butter and jelly): Grounded for taking something without asking.
Praise(bread): Nice hair!

This is not exactly a great example.  Note how shocked Dean looks because clearly someone neglected the other piece of bread.  It's a system people.  TWO pieces of bread, praise in the middle.

Apparently, it's supposed to lesson the impact of getting in trouble?  You know, take the sting out of criticism I'm thinking.

Or you could use it in a scenario something like this:

"You are very strong and manly.  Can you take out the garbage that smells like ass and mow the lawn that looks like a hay field?  Wow, your tie matches your suit perfectly!"

Praise: Strong/manly
Bad/annoying: garbage and mowing
Praise: matched himself all by himself 

See?  Just sandwich the bad/annoying thing with a couple of positives, and you're golden!  Why didn't I think of this before?

wtf walt disney

Have you ever taken a moment and just thought what exactly the five classic Disney movie/stories are really about?  I mean, honestly, it just occurred to me that they are all pretty dark and demented and rather scary.

I guess I always knew Bambi was scary.  Like hello?  Who thought that a story about a sweet little baby deer witnessing his mom get a cap in her ass was a great idea?  Was that Walt's great idea?  Well if it was, who knew Walt had such a skewed idea of what was an appropriate bedtime tale for your average kid.

And Dumbo.  Poor Dumbo.  So someone also thought it was a good idea to write a story about an elephant that everyone else made fun of.  Those jerk bully animals teased poor Dumbo about his big ears.  It must have been during a time period before the "pinning your ears back" plastic surgery was all the rage.  And his name... Dumbo.  As in DUMB-bo.  How's that for your self-esteem, kid?  And then the mean guys go ahead and lock his mom in a cage and call her a crazy.  Were these stories supposed to put kids to sleep?  Because, um.  I'm thinking no.

Then we have Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.  First of all, of course Snow White is a slave-maid to her mean old stepmother/Queen.  Then we find out that the stepmother/Queen is actually a jealous murderous betch who tells this lumberjack guy to go and cut SW's heart out and put it in a box.  Very Jack the Ripper-ish.  Somehow I'm finding it hard to believe that at this point my five year old would be dozing off peacefully while sucking her thumb. 

Anyway, then we find out that Snow White runs away and breaks into a house owned by a bunch of weird little guys who seem to do a lot of simultaneous and irritating whistling.  So apparently she's a juvenile delinquent slave-maid.  Finally, the story ends with the stepmother poisoning poor Snow White, then the stepmother subsequently falls to her death and gets herself mashed by a huge rock.  Yeahyeah, Snow White lives happily ever after, probably suffering PTSD and heavily medicated, but still, happily ever after.  Once again, that's some scary shit, Walt.  Did you not have kids of your own?

All I am going to say about Fantasia is that not only was Walt dark and scary, I am pretty sure he was a stoner too.  If you ever actually get the gumption to watch Fantasia, you're definitely going to want to get high.  The attraction at Disney World?  Super cool, a must-see.  The movie?  Weird as shit.  And rather long and tedious.

And last but not least, Pinocchio.  You know, the kid/puppet who is a damn liar.  And have you ever heard of Pleasure Island?  (wink wink)  It seems like little Pinocchio may have also been a perv.  So pretty much Pinocchio is a pervy wooden puppet, who turns into a naughty boy with a big nose who turns into a half-ass/donkey who turns back into a puppet and then gets eaten by a whale.  Seriously Walt?  Who makes this stuff up? 

I have a lot more to say about the rest of those Disney movies, but frankly, I am feeling slightly traumatized by accidentally reviewing these particular five classics.  I'm tapping out of this post.  I will continue with my review of the next five Disney movies at a later date.

You're welcome. 

dream

So last night, I had this weird dream.  I almost always remember my dreams, or big parts of my dreams.

In my dream, I was following an old friend though this corn maze thing.  And it was sunny, and there was laughter and it felt really warm and happy.  And then he turned around and smiled and said something to me, like encouraging me to come closer.  It was very vivid - I can imagine the ways his eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled.   I tried to respond, tried to move forward and then he got this puzzled look on his face because I couldn't speak or move.  Like the words just wouldn't come out and I was stuck.  And all of a sudden it was silent.  And shadowy.  And my friend kept looking at me like he expected me to say something, the right thing, and he was unhappy that I couldn't talk, that I wouldn't come closer.  And then I felt really sad because I wanted to come closer and I wanted to talk, and then it kind of felt like a bad dream.

So the dream had been with me all day.  Like I kept thinking about the images, how clear it was, how happy and light it was, and then how all of a sudden it felt like someone hit the mute button and dimmed the lights.  So of course, I googled dream interpretation.  Because that's what I do.  I over analyze things.  I need to figure things out.

And this is what it said:

To dream that you are voiceless, represents a loss of identity and a lack of personal power. A dream about light to darkness can symbolize a fear of the unknown, and can also be metaphorical of unforeseen possibilities. Dreaming about paralysis may be a warning to you to stay still and do nothing for now in regard to a real-life situation that is on your mind and may be problematic for you.

I wonder if I believe in that stuff, dream interpretation.  I guess it sort of makes sense - the symbolism. 

What do you guys think?  Do you believe in dreams somehow mirroring a sort of reality?

summah

Well, the count down is on.  This is officially the last full week of school for my kids.  Then, these monkey kids of mine will be home all day.  Every day.  For a lot of days in a row even.

No lounging on my comfy red chair for a ridiculous amount of time.  No running to the store at whim.  Well, I can still run whimsically, I just will have a kid or three with me.  Which isn't exactly my favorite way to go grocery shopping, let me tell you.


Did you ever notice that when you have your kids or husband with you, your grocery bill seems to be way higher?  It is a proven fact I think, that their presence alone makes the damage at the checkout much worse.  I used to have this goal every week to get out of the grocery store paying under a hundred bucks.  Hahaha! ::hysterical laughing::  Wasn't that a funny goal?


But really, I try!  Most times I can do it in under $120, but if I am not alone, things get messy.  Like, I don't feel the need to buy misc grocery things that I never buy.  Particularly, expensive ice cream treats, expensive hair care stuff, crackers, candy and cookies.  Or grass seed.  Or spray cleaner stuff for cars.  Or workout DVDs that I am not ever going to use.

Yeah, I like to get in and out without deviating from my tried and true list.  But deviations definitely occur with the fam involved.

My kid is the one with the ball, in grey

 Anyway, back to my kids and summer vaca.  Actually, my summer is pretty solid.  We have a lot going on, and I really feel like my kids will be going back to school before we know it.  As much as I like my current routine, I do like when the kids are around.  I like to watch them swim, ride bikes, play their summer sports, make lemonade stands.  I like that they are free to sleep in and be lazy.  Not too lazy of course, more like relaxed.

I once again, am planning on making a list of things we want to do/accomplish this summer.  Because I love lists.  And my favorite thing to do is cross things off of lists.  Hopefully this summer I will be more successful in actually doing stuff.  Or maybe just being free of lists is better.  Ah, I don't know.  I like to have a general plan of action, ideas about things to do that will entertain everyone.

Which, you know, is actually kind of stupid.  I remember when I was a kid, and it was summer vacation, my mom was kind of like, "go play," or "go find something to do."  Then she'd push us outside and lock the door til dinner.  No, just kidding.  But she didn't go out and play with us.  She didn't organize kickball games or push us on the swings.  She didn't sit out in the sandbox making mini people villages with us.  Pretty much the most my mom participated in our summer fun was to watch us at the pool to make sure we didn't drown.

Why can't I just do that??

converZations

Five minute brain purge:

I've been rather introspective lately.  More so than usual I guess.

My mind is often racing and I find it hard to fall asleep.  I'm always thinking thinking thinking.  My brain is all over the place.  And I can't exactly put into words what it is, what exactly it is that I am thinking about.

It's weird.  I'm forty years old, so I pretty much know myself.  I'd say that I've had enough time to get used to me.  My random thoughts, my vivid imagination, my irrational worries, my erratic dreams.  I have found myself surprised though, lately.

Moments that are amazing, puzzling, exciting, tense, funny... I'm not really used to that.  I am more used to relaxed, consistent, straightforward, calm, entertaining.  I waiver on which I believe is better, for me.

Maybe it's just little things I pick up on, in conversation.  A little something here, or a little something there.  Moments that somehow clarify all of these colliding fragmented thoughts.  Moments that somehow make all of these colliding fragmented thoughts crystal clear.  

I don't even know where I am going with this, this is odd, mysterious post.  Just following the words in my brain I guess.

Five minutes.  Time's up.

marshmallow

do you like your kids?

Did you see that clip on the Today Show this morning with the mother who wrote an article in Redbook about the fact that she didn't/doesn't like her daughter? 

Just to be clear, I am not posting to trash and judge the mom, because that's just not what I do.  I am posting to give you my opinion.  Because I have one and I want to share it I guess.

If you haven't heard about it, the mom (who remained anonymous) went on the show to discuss the fact that she could never identify with her child.  She was disappointed in her child because she didn't reach the typical milestones that children are supposed to reach timely enough, that her child didn't make good eye contact.  She didn't like her child because she didn't sleep great and looked uncomfortable when playing or interacting with other kids.  Basically, the mother didn't like her child because she didn't meet her expectations. 

I really wanted to have some sympathy for her because I think (and know personally actually) that many moms today have this idealistic (and unrealistic) idea that somehow they will be able to be perfect mothers and have perfect children.  They feel this pressure to show the world that they have it all together, all of the time.  

That pressure comes from all sources of course, but I believe it comes mostly from inside of yourself.  You are looking at that one mom who's kid never seems to throw a fit in the grocery store, the one mom whose five kids somehow sit quietly through church every week, the mom who just made the cutest cupcakes for the bake sale effortlessly, or the mom who always seems to breeze through the school with her child looking like she just came from a photo shoot.

And then you look at your child, who refused to wear the dress you put out for school, then smacked her brother's cereal bowl off of the table and dumped baby powder all over the bathroom floor.  On purpose.  And you feel like a failure.  You  feel like people are judging you, you're judging you, and you're like, what is wrong with me?

I had to learn that it's just not realistic to ever expect perfection.  Type A or not, nothing in child rearing is ever going to be perfect.  Nothing.  So if you are going into parenting with that expectation, prepare to be disappointed.  Prepare for the "poop-up-the-back of the onesie diaper explosion as you are walking out the door to an important meeting" moment.  Because it's going to happen.  If not poop up the back, certainly something equally unexpected.  And gross.

So anyway, I wanted to be sympathetic.  I really did.  But then I heard what she had to say and I felt terrible.  Not for the mother, but for her poor daughter.  The one who has to suffer the ultimate rejection.  I wanted to scoop her up and bring her home with me, and love her - regardless of her struggles.

I will say that I appreciated the mother's honesty.  But I was devastated for her daughter. I am so not one of those perfect moms who has perfect children and a perfect marriage. I am not ridiculously happy radiating sunshine every moment of every day.  So basically, this opinion is coming from a pretty imperfect person.  

As a mom of four kids, there are definitely moments when I don't like something my child has done.  Definitely.  And there are definitely moments when I am disappointed in one of my children.  But never have I been disappointed at who they are, or at what I got.  And never have I felt a dislike for my child as a person.  Sure, a dislike of an attitude, a moment, something that one of them has done.  But never would I look at one of my children and wish that I got something else.

I think our kids are in many ways a reflection.  Some things, some characteristics, are just intrinsic of course, but for the most part kids learn what they live.  Parents are the single most important role models their children have. 

I think it is cruel to tell your child that you don't like them.  I do.  I think those words from a parent cut deep, and they are words that will not really ever be forgotten.  I think it is 100% acceptable to tell your child that you don't like something that they did or said.  I'm not suggesting we sugarcoat life and give our children the impression that everyone is going to like them all of the time.  But I sure do think we need to tell our kids that out of everyone in the world, we are always going to like them.  Even if they do misbehave, even if they have trouble making friends, even if they mess up on a math test, even if they don't sleep well.  I guess I feel like those are the moments when our children need to feel our like/love for them most of all.

What did you guys think?

violated

So I got pretty violated today at my annual exam.  Dr. Clark and I got so intimate I thought he might offer me a cigarette as he was telling me I could go ahead and get dressed.  And to think I paid for that experience. 

Yeah, so not my favorite place in the world.  But I do love my doctor, actually.  Not in an, "I love you and really do want you to feel me up without your doctor's coat on" kind of way, more like an "I think you're an amazing doctor and I am so grateful that you helped me deliver three healthy little kiddos" way.

Plus he rocks a handlebar mustache, which in itself is a pretty awesome thing.

So anyway, after the  foreplay appointment, I really needed a little retail therapy to get me functional again. And as I was driving over to the mall, I remembered that time that I ran into my first gynecologist at Banana Republic and was mortified because a) he has a life and he shops at Banana Republic?  and b) he's seen me very naked and rather vulnerable in some really unforgiving fluorescent lighting, and here we are, face to face in a clothing store. 

I'm sure I was all shades of red and just got out of there as fast as humanly possible.  Shortly after the run-in, I left that doctor and found Dr. Clark.  So in essence, the embarrassing run in was a good thing, because it forced me to look for a new doc.  See how glass half full I am?  You can always find a bright side.

Speaking of bright sides, whoa.  It is hot out.  It's pretty much 95 degrees right now, and we have got to hit the pool.  Oh I spoke of the weather.  Sorry.  Since I'm not complaining about the heat, I think I get a pass.  I'm merely making an observation, not a complaint.

So, Happy Wednesday guys!  I won't go ahead and post an illustrative picture of my day.  It most definitely would be traumatic for everyone involved.  You can thank me later by coming over and bringing me a raspberry daiquiri.  With whipped cream on top please.

A couple of random observations/thoughts

So you know, I just have a couple of random things to share with you today.  OK, we all know that I could probably share way more than a couple of random thoughts.  Alright, let's just be real and say we all know I could share more than a couple and of course, talk about them til we all want to use the gun app.

But hey.  I can't help it.  It's definitely a fault, my long windedness.  I make no apologies.

Incidentally, do you think windedness is a word?  If not, I think I will just go ahead and consider it a word anyway, because it's very fitting, don't you think?

ANYWAY, back to my randoms.  Right.

Don't you think it's crazy how people complain complain complain on facebook all winter long about how cold it is, and how much they miss hot sunny days, and how much they can't stand one more day of this shit! and then all of a sudden, the sun comes out and maybe gets a little hot and everyone now complains about how hot it is?  Like, zomg I am tired of hearing about the weather.  Seriously. Let's all facebook status about something else for a change.  Please?

My husband called me a carpenter's dream the other day and I couldn't decide whether to be excited about that or offended.  Because without sounding a little TMI-ish, I have never been called anything remotely close to a carpenter's dream, like ever since sixth grade.  And I always wanted to be a carpenter's dream.  Somehow, in a pleasing turn of events, adding the morning walk and losing the coffee caused me to drop a few pounds, and I think I might have accidentally dropped a bra size.  Woo Hoo!  or, Crap!  I still haven't made up my mind yet.

OK, I never watch award shows, but since there is nothing to watch on freaking TV lately, I resorted to half-assedly watching the MTV award thing that gives out the popcorn statues.  And by the way, WTF are you supposed to do with a popcorn statue anyway?  Do you really want to put that in your fancy award cabinet to display?  I mean, does it have to be a popcorn statue?  Not that there is anything wrong with popcorn because I am definitely a fan.  Butter and salt please.  So, my observation is not necessarily about the dumb statues, but more about the fact that Rob Pattinson said fuck before they could bleep him out and it was hilarious.  He did sound a little drunk on more then one occasion, which I was mildly amused about, but he said fuck.  I love when an occasional swear word slips through the cracks.  I just picture all of the bleeper people freaking out, running around going, "Shit!  He said fuck!  What do we dooo?!" 

What are the bleeper people called anyway?  Does anyone really know?  Do you think they have an actual job title?

(Wait.  Guys, this is my brain.  I'm sorry.  Welcome to it.)  

And speaking of Rob Pattinson, am I the only one who is ridiculously looking forward to some Twilight saga action?  I really can't wait to see the next movie.  I might go all by myself even, the day it comes out.  The last time I went to a movie by myself, that stupid jackass ticket taker wouldn't let me bring my sandwich in.  He checked my bag!  Can you believe that??   So I had to stuff my sandwich down the back of my pants.  Along with a cheese stick, a water bottle, a handful of fireballs AND some mini rice cakes may have made their way conveniently down my bra.  Which was rather impressive if I do say so myself.  And really I had to give him a dirty look when I came back through the line looking um, a little lumpy.  And I wanted to say eff you but I controlled myself.  Anyway, I am happy to go alone to the movie so I can focus on Edward/Rob.  And then I will happily go again with anyone who may want to join me for a second viewing.  And I will be sure to bring an entire lunch down my pants again, if necessary.

And finally, I love Lady Gaga.  I'm sorry, I know she wears meat dresses and that's really weird.  But I just think she is so cool.  My only problem is I don't even know what to call her, if we ever happened to cross paths.  Hey Gaga?  Hey Lady?  It just doesn't roll off of the tongue really.

So yeah.  That's it.

Way to go, me.

Don't you think it is HARD to make friends as an adult?  Definitely way harder than when you were a little kid and you just ran outside and started riding big wheels with anyone in the near vicinity that seemed like they were about your general height. (run on sentence much?)

I mean, lets be real, it just doesn't work like that anymore.  Because nobody that seems to be around 5'7 wants to ride big wheels.  Right?  I mean, I'd find it hard to believe that I would just go out and find someone my height playing. It most definitely would be physically impossible to fit my ass into a big wheel.  Unless it was a big wheel for giants! 

But really, when you were younger, it seemed like everyone initially eyed a new kid suspiciously and then they just got over it as long as you weren't overly obnoxious, and as long as you didn't smell like pee.  Because really, you were all pretty much on the same playing field, all pretty much equally dorky and/or oblivious.  And then eventually, you know, as you were hanging upside down next to someone on the monkey bars, all of a sudden you were just friends.  And there was nothing more to it than that. 

But like now?  As a grown up?  How does one actually go about making new friends?  Now that monkey bars and big wheels are out of the equation.  Not that I am looking, of course.  I know I have mentioned several times before that I am an introvert and panic at the thought of adding anyone to my tiny little circle.  But for curiosity's sake. 

I tend to be on the quiet side, so I think for someone like me, it would be painfully difficult to make a new friend that is an actual real live person.  The sad truth is, it probably would be very unlikely that it would ever happen.

I'm just not good at striking up a conversation that doesn't sound forced.  That is because I am a chronic overthinker.  While I might be saying out loud, to your face, (real live recent scenario at a PTO fundraiser thing, unfortunately) "Oh hi!  Your kid is in Kindergarten, right?  Who is her teacher?"  On the inside I'm definitely saying, "Wait, what?  Did she just look at my overly white tooth?  Did I say kid but maybe the better more fancy thing to say should have been child?  Wait!  Does she have a boy and not a girl???!  Oh my Cod I think I have too much cleavage in this shirt.  No, she has too much cleavage and I'm just projecting!  Oh fuck it.  Whatever."  And then it's all over.  Because at that point my face is probably red and I might actually have sweat on my brow and then I am going to certainly pretend I just have to run to grab a drink of water real quick because I'm parched! and then I just never come back.

Because that's how cool I am guys.  Cool as a cucumber.  Way to go, me.

I guess it's sort of good that I'm alright with the friends that I have, huh?

music snobbery and highway robbery

I can't stand when people get all self righteous about music.  Like if you admit to actually enjoying a Justin Beiber tune, you suffer the snorts and eye rolls that come from the people who think they have it all going on and JB is not where it's at.  Musically speaking that is.  Not that I am stamping my foot and admitting to Beiber Fever.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  And whether you're a lover or a hater, kid's got a fat bank account and he gets to do what he likes, so who's to judge?


But really for me, it's as simple as I like what I like.  My itunes library is definitely bipolar.  No, schizophrenic.  No, eclectic. 


Growing up, I was always a top 40's kind of girl.  I listened to what was on the localish station and besides the Neil Diamond that was played incessantly by my parents in my house, top 40's were pretty much all I knew about music diversity.  And there wasn't much of it there.


Then, I made my way out west and I met this guy who totally opened my eyes to a world off of the Billboard charts.  And I've never looked back.  Who knew there was so much out there?


I don't know why, but every song that has some sort of meaning, that I have some sort of connection to, seems to be directly related to a moment.  I think I read somewhere that music is definitely a memory stimulant.  It's scientific even.  Personally, a song can come on the radio that will immediately bring a tear to my eye, make me heavily emotional.  Or definitely bring a smile, or a smirk, or an angry frown.

I was just recently listening to and downloading a bunch of music that I was into when I was a teenager - The Replacements, The Cure, The Thompson Twins, The Psychedelic Furs, U2, Rush... and whoa.  It is literally immediate, the emotions and thoughts that are conjured up with specific tunes.  Pretty powerful stuff. 

Anyway, can you believe that itunes are now $1.29 a song?  That's highway robbery.  And annoying.  But I can't complain really.  How great is it that you can have every single bit of music that you like on one little device that is insanely easy to carry around and use like, anywhere?  We went from crazy huge boom boxes to something that can fit in the palm of your hand.

That's pretty awesome.  

sore core

So my core is sore.  Because I am trying a little yoga.  And I hate it.  Who can do those dumb moves anyway?  But also my neck is sore.  Is that normal?  Who knew you used your neck in yoga?  Anyway, I'm 92% sure I will never be able to do the majority some of those moves.  I've never been very bendy. And a lot of those moves have odd, hard to understand names.  I tried normal yoga yesterday, and I quickly decided that maybe I should start with kid yoga.  So I did that today, because I am rather wimpy and it takes me a while to get things.  Those yoga people sure do talk about your core a lot.


Anyway, I thought it would be sort of OK because it doesn't seem so hard on the wii.  So I've made the executive decision that I'm giving it a week.  Two weeks max.  If I still hate it and continue to look like a humongous fool while attempting it, I will just have to do something else.  Like something way less bendy. 

I'm already sick of talking about yoga.  And cores.  Gun app anyone?


I am cranky and lonely today with my sore core, so I decided to go to damnyouautocorrect.com, which never fails to cheer me up.  Seriously guys, I didn't get past two of them before I was laughing so hard I was pretty much crying sitting here on my big comfy couch, like tears on my face full on laughing out loud.  I strongly suggest you check it out if you want to laugh your face off.  And be sure to click on best of dyac.  Just don't bring your kids, because they are all pretty much way inappropriate.  And if your core just so happens to be sore, watch out.  Laughing ridiculously hard + sore core = more sore core.  I'm so rhyme-y!


Just in case you are unclear on what it is all about, damnyouautocorrect is a site where people submit text conversations that incorrectly and automatically correct certain words.  Mortifying.  So far my worst autocorrect was accidentally calling my daughter a ho, which after reading some of these things isn't really bad at all.  She wasn't offended.  Kids these days get it.

So I'm providing you with a few autocorrects for your viewing pleasure.  Because I am feeling all sorts of generous like that today. 

This is the last time I am mentioning it. Maybe.

My sister Jenney is anti app. Her husband just got the iPhone and apparently has been talking incessantly about apps on their morning walks. And they walk five miles every day -- so that's a lot of app talk.  In a funny twist of irony, Jenney actually may or may not have opened up the gun app during one of our windy app chats this past weekend. As in, the conversation was so painful, she’d rather mock shoot herself with a mock gun than continue to listen. The gun app is pretty cool even though I can't say that I have personally downloaded it. My BIL Ty has it, and he pulls it out regularly, as necessary.



Who knew I could be a part of so many conversations that someone would want to shoot themselves over. Imagine if I were the common denominator in the boring conversations?? If it were me!  Am I really that boring?


Well. Damn. Maybe I am. Maybe I think a good chat about soup is very informative. Ty however, not so much. Chickchick BOOM. And I am new at apps, so a lengthy discussion of fun and helpful apps to me is kind of a worthwhile one. To Jenney, not so much. Chickchick BOOM.  Rude.


Well I’ve never needed to use the gun app on someone. Although I can't say that the thought hasn't crossed my mind on more than one occasion.  The thing is, I know when to tap out of a boring conversation. I don't necessarily need a gun app to highlight the fact that I am smoothly slipping away from getting stuck talking about your dog's allergies.  And no Mom, of course I'm not referring to poor dumb Ralph's eczema and weekly trips to the vet.

Speaking of dumb, I'd like to see a Dumb Button app.  So when someone says something dumb, you can just whip out your app and press the dumb button.  And then they'll know, without you actually having to say the words, "you're dumb."  And I have previously mentioned the I Want to Really Smack You app.  I definitely need to invent that because seriously, who wouldn't find that handy?