I'm in love with a Wiggle

Sorry posts have been slow this week. I went back to work from my maternity leave. I guess my boycott didn't work. Figures.

It broke my heart to pieces to go back to work. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have always considered myself a career woman. I didn't ever really think I'd stay home with my children, I went to grad school, I've invested my whole career at one place essentially and on occasions I usually like it. So, I always knew this is where I'd be. But there is that a primitive urge that just kicks in when you've been sitting on your butt in skanky sweatpants, watching TV on DVD for hours each day spending every moment with your child since the second they were born. You just so badly can't fathom handing them over to another human being to see to their well being for 9 hours each day. And by primitive I don't mean Geico-style cavepeople, although they are great, don't get me wrong. I just mean, that innate want to be there with them. It really is heart breaking.

But maybe it's time. When you are segregated from the real world for so long that you are starting to have feelings for a Wiggle (the blue one) then you know that things are getting desperate. But, in my defense, he kind of, like if you squinch your eyes, and if you are really sleep deprived, resembles Clive Owen. Granted, he wears tutu's and sings nursery songs with corresponding choreography and that's not exactly what I see in Clive, but pish posh.


So, Millie. I love you and will miss you so much each day, more than you could imagine. I wish I could be there with you every second, to savor those smiles, that whispy hair and the way you smell. It brings tears to my eyes know that there are "firsts" that you will have that I will miss now. I pray that God knows what is best and is guiding us that way. I know you will learn and grow in a loving environment.

Ditto Blue Wiggle. Ditto.

I think I'll boycott that...

Maybe you've heard of this little character Rod Blagojevich. You know, the Illinois governer caught on tape trying to profit from selling the senate seat.

His latest, is that he is boycotting his impeachment trial. WHAT. THE. HELL. Can you do that? Why didn't OJ think of this- I mean, in his second trial- the burglary, kidnapping one. "Yes your honor, I'm just going to go ahead and boycott this trial. But thanks for the offer." It's sheer genius really. You don't like the reality of a situation? Boycott it.

In the spirit of Captain Delirious Gov. Blagojevich, I have a few things I am going to boycott. I don't know why I didn't think of this method sooner!

*Sagging baby pouch, muffin-top, tiger striped stomach: I boycott you.
*Sleep deprivation: I boycott you.
*Maternity leave ending soon: I boycott you.
*Clive Owen living in LA, being married and not wanting to be my weekend bootie call. That's boycotted bitch! (Throws head back in evil laughter! "muuaa ha ha ha ha!")

*Iowa winter- snot freezing in your nose- weather: boycotted.
*Not having DVR: boycotted
*The fact that I am too busy to get myself in for a pedicure? B- to the- oycotted!

Wow, this is fun, I could go on all day!

*What? My 401K has lost 40% of it's value this year? Oh wait, I think I'll just BOYCOTT that!
*Chevy Venture: You're officially boycotted in favor of a Chrylser 300.
*Lurkers who never leave a comment: You are boycotted!! (which really just means you have to comment now. Sorry, that's how the boycott works. I don't make the rules- I just follow them)

What would you boycott?

The evolution of a wife

You hear people talk about the "7 year itch" with marriages. My husband and I just had and completely ignored celebrated our 7 year anniversary. So, I thought it was timely to do a post about the complete digression evolution of a wife.

Like many women, I was once smitten with my spouse. I smiled at his emails. I spent all of my spare time with him, I thought my heart would absolutely break when I had to be away from him for 3 weeks on my trip to Greece. I know, how can I say all of this with a straight face, right?

I am now going to pull out the proof. The actual, visible proof, that I was utterly annoying so in love.

It was Valentine's Day. I got by husband a big box of chocolates. But not an ordinary box of chocolates. I carefully, handmade (I know, I know, I'm glad that before I had kids I had so much extra time to piss away on mundane tasks) new labels for all varieties of chocolate bars. I rewrapped them all and put them in a large gift box. They were supposed to convey how I felt about my man. I don't know if I feel a sweet sigh of nostalgia coming on, or fighting back the acidic taste of bile as I vomit in my own mouth. You be the judge:

In case you can't read my labels they were: Buzz IS GRAND, He Brings me ALL MY JOY, HE'S MY HONEY, Heart Him a BUNCH, Buzz is MR. GOODGUY, HE&SHE=true love, PIT-PAT goes my heart, No more SOLO, He wants to SKOR, My SWEETHEART, No more CHIX, I'm a KISS-HIM-A-HOLIC, KING OF STUDS, HUNKY GUY, Wants My MOUNDS, and finally, 2 MUSKETEERS.

I know, right. I am speechless reading this. "Wants my MOUNDS?" Come on! Talk about evolution of a wife, let's talk talk about evolution of my mounds. I mean, these things were once my funbags and now what? Now, I could pose for the cover of National Geographic as some tribal woman, topless with babyjugs down to her waist. KING of STUDS? Ok, that one is still true, I mean, he does know how to use nunchucks, so I mean, you can't really argue with that.

Ok, now let's compare our gift giving abilities to those of Christmas 2008
:

Me: Hey, let's not spend very much this year.

Husband: Cool.

Me: I mean, didn't you want like some part for your computer or something anyway.

Husband: Yeah.

Me: OK, well, can you just order it, I don't know what it is.

Husband: OK.

Me: SWEET! OK, I'm going shopping with the girls. But glad to know you are crossed off my list!

I especially like our enormous power of conversation. It's amazing how much we can communicate via one-word answers. Some would call that estrangement. I say F-'em. I call that the efficiency of 7 years of living together.

He's still her hero

I've never uploaded a video to my blog before, but always inspired by classy gals like this, I decided to give it a try.

Let me give you a brief back story. We got my daughter Lego's for Christmas. Half of them were mine from my childhood, half of them were my husbands. So we busted them out of storage and envisioned hours of fun building things with her, while secretly encouraging her creativity and making her a mathematical genius. (What? Legos doesn't cause mathematical genius? I could have swore I read that somewhere...)

So, she gets the Legos and she excited about it. Because now, she has a 5 gallon-sized tub of thousands of little colorful things that she can dump out and watch mom and dad curse every time it takes us 20 minutes to pick them all up. It's fun. Oh and every time we step on one that somehow got left behind, she gets to see us hop around on one foot, get red in the face, say a bunch of funny sounding words and then give a speech about how those are naughty words that only mommys and daddys should say.

But my husband, he gets into this Lego stuff. He is actually a 12-year old boy in a man's body, so short of blowing something up and talking about boobies, Legos are like, top of the list on ways to spend a Sunday afternoon. But, as I have mentioned before, he's also a bit of a nerd. He doesn't build houses or simple square things. He only builds machines. If it doesn't have an axel, spindle, hinge, wheel, pulley, valve, motor, or any other kind of moving mechanism in it, he won't build it. You never know what's going to be next. I always tell him he should have been an engineer. Of course, somehow, making 6 figures for doing what he loves doesn't appeal to him. Why would it? Why would he ever want to be my sugar daddy so I could work out and play tennis all day? No, building Lego machines is really a much better plan... (insert eye roll here)

And so last night, in his attempt to build something his 3-year old princess-loving daughter would appreciate he built this: (just watch it, it's like 15 seconds in all- PS- that voice in the background is my daughter making her Lego people talk to each other in her pretend grown-up voice. Yes, that is apparently what I sound like to her...)


It's a like one of those huge windmills you see parked all over the Midwest, generating energy. Except this windmill doesn't generate energy- it generates gayness. That's right- look closely and you will see his two little Lego men dancing together on the platform. And just the fact that it's two men, that wouldn't necessarily make it a gay-mobile- but the fact that one of them is a construction worker is CLEARLY evidence that these two are a couple. I mean, can anyone say Village People?

Much to husband's dismay, our sweet 3-year old couldn't be bothered to look at his awesome dancing contraption because she was busy playing with the scrap of material I had just discarded while I was cutting pieces for a new quilt. To her credit, it was a super cute print, can you blame a fashion-loving girl?

Round 1

"This is so much fun! Just chillin' with my Mom! Kickin' my legs! Thinkin' about milk... ahhh milk!" "Oh no.... oooooohhhh noooo... I think that's.... Yep. That's a deuce. And it's coming out. Please Mom, put the camera away for God's sakes. Can't a girl make a number two in private these days? Ohhhh noooo. It feels a little runny. Yep, definitely a little runny. I told you not to eat that broccoli last night Mommy, it messes with my gut. Now I have the shits. Are you happy? Can you give me a minute here?"

So I do. I give her a minute to do her thing. And then when I think she's finally finished here is what I have:

Um excuse me, but when they say "extra leak guard" on those adorable tiny diapers, I think they mean, "FYI the runs are gonna totally ruin whatever the hell she's wearing anyway but we think it's effin' hilarious that we can charge you more for this shit!" I'm sorry I had to post a picture of actual poo here (that's normally on my list of three things you can never in good taste post a picture of), but I am quite certain that you wouldn't have believed the extent of the damage without the visual. I mean, there is POOP up by the collar people. Next time you think you have the runs, ask yourself, "Self. If I laid down right now, would my feces creep out of my underwear, all the way up my back and into my hair?" If your answer is no, then you really don't have the runs.

So, in the spirit of any good competition, I have to find a contender for Poop-Holio's gown. I had 3 choices.
THE SHOWDOWN: In round one, tenacious and stubborn, she's orange, she's runny- give it up for Poop Covered Jammies!!! And in the other corner, weighing in at 8 ounces- you can't beat a product with a Genie on the bottle who's smoking a joint, it's Gonzo Stain Remover!!! Let's hear it for our contenders!!! Ok you two, I want a clean fight here... no seriously, get this crap clean.

Well, the verdict is still out. It's going on it's third cycle through the wash. The Gonzo Bottle said, and I quote here, "Gonzo removes Blood, Milk, Perspiration, Tea, Urine, Vomit and much more." I took much more to mean copious amount of crap. I thought maybe they drew the line at advertising the removal of crap. Like you are supposed to infer if it works on blood, urine and vomit, then you're supposed to read between the lines? I dunno... to be determined I guess... stay tuned.

What gets you through???

My good friend T over at Still a Rockstar recently posted how oldies music just gets her feeling upbeat. For starters, I concur. I love me some oldies.

I have thought a lot about music lately. Why? Because My post-baby whale of a body is having to slither itself onto a treadmill regularly and music is the only thing that gets me through the workout.

I almost always start with some R&B. My current fav is Single Ladies from Beyonce'. I picture myself all thugged out, oversized sunglasses, yachting with Jayzee. I usually make it through a few more such songs before I start to feel a little fake. I mean, I am about as un-gangsta as a girl can be. I live in SUBURBAN IOWA people. If thugs were ice cream they'd be Rocky Road- lots of nuts, marshallows, chocolate chunks, etc. I am vanilla people. Very vanilla. Well, maybe vanilla bean- I do like those little dark specs. The closest I have ever come to a gang is that time 5 years ago when the broadway production of Grease was in town. And really, Kenickie was more of a greaser, not so much a gangster so even that is a stretch.

From there I skip to a different playlist, usually some 80's classics. Now I am the Flashdance Goddess. Now I have legwarmers and glorious 80's-style bouffant! After a few tunes that remind me of my Rainbow Bright days, I skip again.

From here I'm usually good for one Christian song. You know, an uplifting power ballad type of song. Sometimes I'll do an oldies here. A nice 50's duwoppin' type of song.

When I am just getting beat- when I am trying to trudge through my last mile and I feel like I can't go on, then I have to pull out the big dogs. I know, I know, most of you will disagree with me on this one. But what REALLY gets me through, what really helps me suck it up to finish my workout on a sprint, is a good old toe-tappin', two-steppin', twangy as hell, old fashioned country song, the likes of Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Conway Twitty, etc. I know, I know, stone me now! I am embarrassed to admit this...

PS- Let the playlist at the right of my blog load and then tell me that doesn't get you tapping your feet!!!

PSS- I swear I'm not a honky hick! I don't own one pair of cowboy boots or a single plaid, fringed shirt...

Addendum: Thank you to ErinJ for commenting about groovy 70's music. How could I forget THAT? I love funky disco music and often work out to that as well!

PSSS- I must make a sidebar that I LOVE Abba and Abba WOULD have made the list but it is reserved for cleaning house. Because after all, how could I pull out my wicked choreography on a treadmill? Duh. I need a dance partner (Swiffer) and a wide open space to play some Abba. The body must do what the body must do. You can't put Baby in a corner... (not really applicable here but you get the idea)

This is how boys and girls are different.

This is how boys and girls are different. I like to host a get together. Invite some people over. Spiff up the place, light a few candles. Think about what I am serving- like the time my girlfriends came over for a movie on the big screen and I served up a huge tray of boxed candies like Milk Duds, Junior Mints, Tamales, etc, etc. It's kind of a theme, right? (PS- before you invite a roomful of women over to watch Borat projected into life size on your wall, screen the movie for scenes of men wrestling naked with their junk flying all over- could be disturbing to some viewers...)

So anyway, you get the idea. Recently, The Husband was having some friends over for a LAN party. What's that you ask? It stands for Local Area Network which is the acronym for bunch of guys huddled around computer screens for hours on end playing some virtual game together, totally nerdin' out. My husband, he is an uber nerd, can't remember how many times I've mentioned that. It's always good to just clear the air if there is any question. So he is having this party (no they don't wear robes and masks or anything having to do with wizards or dragons. I think they basically shoot each other with simulated guns and tanks. Very manly...)

So anywho, he is having these guys over like he sometimes does and like a good wife who wants to impress all who enter who wants to help her husband out, I ask if I can get him anything at the store to serve the guys. You know maybe some little smokies, meat and cheese tray, homemade pizza, whatever. He says, no he's got it taken care of.

And then, in his infinite widsom, he gets out "the spread" he has planned.11 kinds of chips. And that's it.

Well, I shouldn't exactly say that's it. Because in honor of his buddy's birthday, my husband did actually make him a cake- a nobake cheesecake, but I'm impressed none the less. Come to think of it I'm a little pissed actually. Where's my birthday cake A-hole? Here was the masterpiece that the men plotted together:


Lest you can't figure out what is on the cake, let me help you. It's a big hairy (yes, the brown sprinkles are pubic hair) AssCake. And hanging down from the bending over ass, is a large, pink, man junk. And coming from the man junk, in white "cream" icing is the birthday greeting.

So there. That's a boys party. Them with their computer games, 11 kinds of chips and Ass/Penis Cake. Need I say again, boys and girls are indeed different...

My baby girl!

A few of my newest photos of my sweet baby girl! Love her to pieces!

It takes just one...

It takes just one. One tiny crayon. One tiny black crayon. In the dryer. Half of a black crayon actually. To ruin an entire load of laundry. And oh no, it couldn't have been a load of hand towels. Or a load of black work socks. No, it was cute little pink frilly things. Onesies and gowns with pink lambs stitched on them. The new adorable pink Adidas outfit my Grace got for Christmas. All of it, ruined. Well, I mean, if you consider black spots and smudges adorning random places on every outfit to constitute ruined. I do.

I supposed that makes sense because how would a half of a black crayon get into a load of work socks. Doesn't seem likely does it. But try this scenario on for size:
(voice in the head of my 3-year old):
"Oh my, this coloring is so much fun. This staying in the lines crap is so freakin' easy. I better not let on what a cake walk it is though. Apparently Mommy thinks it makes me some kind of genius because she's always ooohing and aaaahing over it. I think I can work that genius angle awhile longer with her. Maybe she'll plaster another one of these "masterpieces" onto the fridge. Simpletons! I've been using a big potty for over a year now and I can manipulate seasoned adults into doing whatever I want- I think a little coloring insides the lines would be sort of obvious by now. Adults are so naive. Ahhh shit I just broke my black crayon! I mean oopsie, Mommy and Daddy don't know that I know that shit word. I'm saving that juicy little bomb for when we are either in church or talking to that sweet old couple across the street. (insert evil laughter) If Mommy sees this crayon she's likely to throw it away. I know, I'll stick it as far down into my pocket as I can, then no one will ever know it's broken. Maybe I'll get it out later and color on the walls or something. Or maybe I'll just keep it in my pocket for next time. Hmmmm...."

So there you have it. That's how half of a black crayon ends up in the dryer. Well, somehow it ended up in there, I think that scenario seems as plausible as any?

Honest Scrap

I was recently tagged by my friend Andrea with an award, “When Life Gives You Lemons.” It was actually my first bloggy award, so thank you Andrea. You have to check her blog out, IowaSewGirl- she’s crafty (like actual crafts, not creepy), sassy and hilarious! I also got tagged by my good friend JO over at My Cynical Point of View. Another great blog, 20-something finding her way in the world and full of attitude! LuvNit! Plus, I get to live vicariously though her! She gave me the “Honest Scrap” award and the rules are: A) List 10 honest things about yourself - and make it interesting, even if you have to dig deep! B) Pass the award on to 7 bloggers that you feel embody the spirit of the Honest Scrap.

1) My “real life” friends know this but many of my blogger friends probably do not. I was born with just one hand. It doesn’t really limit what I can do. I did wear a prosthetic hand for all of about 2 weeks when I was in 8^th grade- until a boy asked me if it was some kind of Halloween prank It wasn’t but I wanted to seem cool so I took it off and started leaving it in peoples’ lockers to freak them out. In college I decided to do an internship at the Shriner’s Hospital in Minneapolis in their prosthetics unit. (thank you to the family of ErinJ for hosting me those 3 weeks) I got to make a myoelectric hand/arm for patient from scratch. It was really awesome! It made me feel a little bad for treating my own "arm" as a gory limb that was loose in our middle school.

2) I love sports, I’ve always loved sports. When I was little it was ballet, tae kwon do (I’m an orange belt, so watch yourself!) and little league (one time I made an unassisted triple play and was on the evening news!) In high school it was basketball, volleyball, softball and tennis. In college I played tennis and was the #1 player on my team. I won the Iowa Games gold medal twice and was invited to compete in the national games, but I couldn’t afford the airfare. Alas, my legacy dies. Unless of course I join a bowling league and end up making the pro circuit… kind of like that guy in Kingpin.

3) I’ve had stitches 8 times and staples once. In 4^th grade I was very ill and the doctors kept sending us home saying there was nothing wrong with me. A few days went by and my mom finally hurried me to the ER one night when I couldn’t stand the pain any longer. They did an emergency surgery on the spot, and discovered there was a problem with my small intestine. It would have ruptured soon. I was hospitalized for a week. Lesson learned: ALWAYS be your own advocate when it comes to health care.

4) I would love to take up square dancing. I mean it. Wear me a gingham colored skirt and promenade my partner two by two! Someday it will happen. Just look for me at your local state fair… I’ll be the blond with the 70 year-old partner because if there is one thing I know about my husband, he AIN’T going to learn square dancin’ for no one!

5) I didn’t fly on an airplane until I was 20 years old. I went to Greece for 3 weeks on a college trip. It was a fiasco from the start, lost luggage, missed flights, you name it- but still, it was Greece. Unfortunately, while I should have been having the time of my life, back home, my grandfather suddenly passed away- this was an amazing man that was much like a father to me. It was a terrible loss. I was on a small Grecian island and by the time I got word, there was no getting back home for the funeral. The next day he was buried and I ventured away from my group and stumbled upon a beautiful little Monastery on the side of a hill. I walked in, just seeking something, anything. There was a choir of nuns singing up front. I was the only “spectator” in the place. A nun came up and asked me if I’d like to light a candle to honor someone. She said they were singing a song that honors the dead. It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it. At one of my lowest points, 3,000 miles away from my family, I felt like God was trying to give me comfort.

6) I’ve kissed 8 boys in my life. 7^th grade, 8^th grade, summer before high school, high school boyfriend of 4 years, 3 sophomore year of college, and my husband.

7) My mom and her sister, married my dad and his brother. So my 3 cousins and my brother and I actually have the genetic makeup of siblings- we all come from the same 4 grandparents. It was fun growing up, we’d get to see each other at family reunions and Christmas celebrations on both sides of the family.

8) I can play the piano, drums and trumpet (well I should say used to be able to play those, I am a little out of practice). Oh also, I totally rock at Guitar Hero, so that should count for something.

9) I’ve read every single book Dean Koontz has ever written (and there’s a lot of them). It started in high school when I went through this dark phase. Now, it’s easy to keep up because I only have to read one a year or so.

10) In high school I had a friend named Robyn and she was very dear to me. One time when her family went on vacation to Jamaica she felt sad for me because I had never seen the ocean. She brought me back and old glass Corona bottle filled with beautiful white sand from the beaches of Jamaica. I still have that bottle of sand, it’s one of the few things from my life I can’t part with. Everyday at volleyball practice we’d partner up to “pepper,” a way of bumping, setting, and spiking to warm up. I’d gotten to practice a few minutes late and she had partnered with someone else. I was mad. She often gave me a ride home after practice but that night I avoided her and just walked home. Passive anger, that would show her I thought. That was the last time I ever saw her. The next morning she died in a car accident on the way to school. It hurts my heart to even remember that last day. She was a beautiful person inside and out and had a smile that brightened the room.

It was a very dark time in my life and it taught me a lot. I don’t take friendships for granted. None of my friends are perfect (and neither am I). I forgive easily. I don’t hold grudges. I know how it feels to have regret smother you and I vow to not ever let that happen again. If you wrong me, well, I’ll get over it. I appreciate the good parts of my friends and family and enjoy them for what they are.

There’s my TOP TEN secrets that not everyone knew about me. I am now going to tag 7 other bloggers. It’s going to be E over at Mrs. Paproth’s Barn because she is so interesting and wise and a great writer as well, Kara over at a Tale of Two Chihuahua’s because although it’s a blog about her dogs, she is interesting and the dear readers would like to know more about her! Trace at Smart A$$ mom and let me tell you she’s not just another mommy blogger-although she does have crazy adorable kids. This is where I go for my daily dose of sarcasm and I LOVE it! Kristen over at Mighty Morphin’ Mama- my newest bloggy friend- looking forward to getting to read her blogs. Amy- a high school friend that I recently reconnected with via the blogosphere. The “other Amy” from Amy's Brat Pack- lots of hilarious stories and great pictures as well! And my other new bloggy friend Kristyn- cute blog, adorable kids, great stories. What’s not to love?


Whew, that was a long one!

It was one of THOSE nights...

Last night was awful. It as one of those nights where you tell your spouse, "YOUR child was a monster last night," with lots of emphasis on the your, because you are certain that all of the stubborn DNA came from him. One of those nights where you want to just kill yourself from being so tired. I contemplated wrapping the mobile around my neck, turning it all and hoping it swiftly did the job so I could finally enjoy some peaceful rest (albeit eternal rest). Alas, I did not commit mobilcide on myself, but here is what almost drove me to it...

Let me paint the picture. You get your angelic child asleep. In my case, I had just nursed her. I had just finished up on one side, and was trying to get her back awake to nurse on the other side before putting her back down to sleep for good. She wasn't having it (therein sealing my fate to forever be lopsided "up top"). She was out. I mean, OUT! She was in a lactose-induced coma. Full on milk sedation. I have seen grown women with 17 Vodka Tonics in them, lying on a bathroom floor in a bar who are more responsive. (OK, that was actually me. It was my bachelorette party- don't judge. And- while the bouncer did have to practically carry me out, my feet were sort of shuffling so I was therefore more responsive than said child).

OK, so she's in this milk coma like she gets. I tickle her, I change her diaper, I make her go all marionette and have her do little jumping jacks as I envision her watching "Sweatin' to the Oldies" with Richard Simmons. I do everything humane to wake her up and she is lights out. There is NO waking this kid up.

Ahhhh, but there is. As any parent knows, there is. So, resigned, I ever so softly, ever so gingerly place her in her cradle. I lay in bed, pull my warm covers up to my shoulders, shut my eyes and let my body relax... and BAM! She's awake. She's looking around, grunting, wanting held. 10 seconds ago she was sleeping through baby jumping jacks and now, she's wide awake and all, "Hey lady, pick me back up!"

And it's not like this kid doesn't sleep. She does sleep, often in fact. She sleeps in my arms, she sleeps in her swing, she sleeps in her carseat, she sleeps on my chest, she sleeps in her cradle, she sleeps in my arms (I know I said that one but since that is all I do all day long I figured it was worth mentioning twice). She does know how to sleep. We've even had a 5-hour stretch or two lately. But last night- oh man. This baby joust occurred ALL night long. I mean all night. I mean, I finally got her down at 6:45 AM (that's right, AM) only to have the rest of the household wake up 45 minutes later.

I'm tired. I haven't completely ruled out mobilcide- we'll see how today progresses.