The Crazy-Creepy Stuff You Find In The Day-After-Christmas Sales...

While I've been behind on my blogging, and I know it is no longer the actual day after Christmas, I still wanted to share the oh-so-fun things I spied while out shopping with Jarrod this past weekend.

First and foremost, I should just say that I love having a camera phone, finally. It enables me to document all this random crap that I see when I'm out in stores or at garage sales. Speaking of which, I'm totally going to incorporate some pics from the giant B.A. garage sale from this Fall that I still haven't gotten off my phone. I should periodically do "Weird Crap I Saw While Out Shopping Today" blogs. I need to share my bewilderment with somebody, afterall.

So, to Jarrod's credit, the first item in question was actually spotted by him, not me, but I can at least say that I shared in his horror. While perusing clearance pj's in a mall department store, I heard Jarrod let out a groan of disgust, as he asked me to come view his finding: a pair of super-short knit pj shorts, complete with sherpa-trimmed legs and butt-cheek hearts. Why? Who makes this crap, and furthermore, who buys it? The only person I could even picture wearing these would be Mariah Carey in a tacky music video. I'm not sure which she would get more use out of-- the tasteless shorts, or this giant box of scrunchees we saw at a garage sale. Again, I ask, "Why?"

Who wants a fur-trimmed butt? Lotsa scrunchees.

The second item in question also popped up at a department store. Aren't those places supposed to be a bit classier than the rest of the mall? Apparently not. I was sifting through some clearance Christmas decor, when I ran across Creepy Christmas Cat. Well, that's not it's "official" name, but if I had my way, it would be-- just like I have officially renamed this odd garage sale Christmas painting Child-Molester Santa. Ah, the creepy parallels in holiday decor (of all things). Oddly enough, I was a bit drawn to the cat (maybe it's wicked eyes were secretly trying to hypnotize me), and had it not been so expensive (even on clearance), I probably would've brought it home. Afterall, nothing says, "Merry Christmas" like a demonic-looking cat with reindeer antlers, that looks like it wants to claw your eyes out!

Cats apparently hate Christmas.

Sorry, this one had to be larger so you could see the detail (creepy Santa!!!!)

On to Target! I love Target, I'm not going to lie, and their Christmas stuff is the bomb, so of course we had to go there. We scored some great deals, but while I was on the hunt for a new black skirt (grrrrr), we stumbled upon some things that simply could not go undocumented on our blog journey: Gold and silver lame leggings! Those of you who are closest to me know how much I loathe lame, and why I loathe lame, so why did Target have to go and tarnish their otherwise cool image by housing such horrid leggings? ICK! I love funky and unusual fashion, but these were just cheesy and reminded me of something from a Halloween costume. They would've gone perfect with the lovely, leprechaun-green, sequined vest we saw in someone's garage this Fall. I will admit, however, that I couldn't refrain from purchasing a pair of snow-leopard print ones (only slightly shiny). Jarrod tried to talk me out of them, and seemed relieved when I couldn't initially find my size, but a little while later there was a small miracle from God, and I found some anyway. Wahoo! At least I didn't require any persuasion to not take up the offer of a free, used garage sale bra. So, what have we learned? Leopard-print: good. Gold and silver lame: very, very bad. (Oh yeah, and don't take free bras from strangers.)



Wow... Double-wow...

I feel a show-tune coming on... Free bras, anyone?

On a whim, we decided to hit a bookstore, and joked on the way in that we might find the David Hasselhoff autobiography in the stacks of bargain books. After we finally found the bargain books, we both burst out laughing when, sure enough, there it was-- "Don't Hassel The Hoff". Try to control your laughter, because we couldn't. Of course it had to be featured in this blog photo journey, without question. Jarrod tried to persuade me to buy it, just as he tried to get me to buy Michael Jackson's "Thriller" album at the garage sale, but I just couldn't justify paying the whopping $4.97 to do so. I could go eat out for that much, and I would probably be left much more satisfied.

Would you pay $4.97? When MJ was cool...

The real question, at the end of our journey, is, "Why does Jarrod take the same amount of pleasure in eating a turkey leg as he does holding up the David Hasselhoff autobiography?"

Mmmm... turkey! Jarrod's hero... Ha-ha!

Invisi-Mouse

Okay, so you're all going to laugh, but I'm not sure if this is laugh-worthy, or just plain creepy.

So, as you know, I set up my video camera on "night-vision" a couple of nights ago, in an attempt to catch the mystery creature in action. I went to bed around 1:30, and about 20-minutes later (roughly-- I don't know for sure because I wasn't facing the clock), I could hear my visitor quietly chomping on a Smartie. I smiled to myself, knowing that the camera was rolling, and that, in the morning, I would be able to see it for myself.

Or, so I thought. After hearing the creature eating the candy on my nightstand, I really couldn't go to sleep. In fact, I was awake when the camera finally shut off (I only had a couple hours-worth of tape left). I actually got out of bed to turn the camera off when the tape stopped, and confirmed that, yes, there was one out of three pieces of candy missing. At least I knew that whatever it was had been caught on tape.

I am not kidding you-- I fast-forwarded through that entire roll of footage, and there was nothing there. There was no way I could've missed it-- you could see the entire top of the nightstand just as plain as day. I have scanned that tape twice for evidence and there is nothing on it. I was hacked...

... and, to be honest, a little creeped-out. On Saturday night, prior to filming, Jarrod suggested the possibility of a "cloaking device", to go along with our other hair-brained theories. Maybe I should've added another option to my poll-- "Invisi-Mouse". This is just too crazy for words.

I filmed again last night, offering the thief four peanuts instead. All four were gone this morning, so it's all a matter of whether or not it showed up before the tape ran out. I have yet to view the footage, because I need a decent block of spare time to sit and fast-forward through two hours of footage, and with the day I've had, the opportunity to view the tape hasn't even remotely come close to presenting itself. Maybe tonight when the kids go to bed.

Wow, I really am a freak-- this is my idea of an exciting Monday night? Really?

Puke Monday

One of the many joys of single-mommy-hood is that when someone throws up in the middle of the night, it is now my proud duty to handle the mess. Bring on flu season!

Some of you know that Josh was sick right before Thanksgiving. To be quite honest, I have never seen so much vomit, most of which ended up on my couch. Blankets and pajamas are easily tossed into the unlucky washing machine for de-puking, but the couch? That's a bit trickier. After contemplating just burning the entire sofa in the backyard, I reconsidered, and let good ol' Oxyclean, hot water, and dish soap tackle the salvaging job. I'm happy to say that it worked, and my couch shows no signs (or smells) of the shower of puke that rained down on it only a couple of weeks ago.

Soon after Josh recovered from his bug, I got it-- or, at least I think I got it. I'm still debating on whether or not it was just food poisoning, but oh well, I'll never know for sure, so who cares at this point, right? I pretty much Lysol'd my entire house at that point, just because everything felt so completely germ-infested that I had to do something. It took me days to get over whatever it was that invaded my innards, and I had finally just returned to the natural swing of things, when WHAM!

Gabe lurched a runny paste of ground Cheerios all over his bed (and his brother) last night, right as I was about to turn in for the night. Just my luck. Now, I'm pretty immune to all things gross-- I mean, I worked at a vet's office for awhile in college, so there isn't much that can turn my stomach. The odor wafting from Gabe's vomit last night, however, was enough to make me want to open all of the windows in the house in the middle of winter. So foul. Of course, it saturated every little last item that was in his bed, so I had to stay up until midnight, just to get all three loads of puke laundry through the washing machine. There was no way I could let that stank sit until morning. NO WAY.

After tossing both boys in the shower to rinse the puke off, getting them dressed, and changing their bedding, I started the laundry and proceeded to piddle around the house, looking for something to do until the last load of laundry had been tossed in the wash. All I wanted to do was go to bed, but no. It's at times like these that I get a little frustrated, as I'm sure you can imagine.

The good news is that Gabe didn't throw up anymore, so yippee! He stayed home from school today without any complaint (miracle), and hopefully he will be able to return tomorrow, because he "misses his friends". So sweet.

Well, for now I am off to check on dinner in the oven. Soon it will be the kids' bedtime, and I can breathe a sigh of relief that my crazy, pukey Monday is now over.

Smarties? Check. Night-Vision? Check.

Just a quick note to say that I have decided to commence with Jarrod's suggestion of night-vision filming. I have also learned that chocolate is toxic to mice, so I have switched out the M&M's for Smarties. After tonight, we should finally know the identity of the mystery visitor (providing it didn't receive a lethal dose of chocolate last night).

I will convert my video clip and get it posted with my next blog (hopefully). There is always the chance that the visitor has the ability to create a lot of video static at the moment of its arrival. We shall see.

Experiment

So, after musing over the skills of my nightly mystery visitor yesterday, I decided to leave "it" a little treat on my nightstand, as a sort of experiment. Before I went to bed, I deposited a single green M&M on the top of the table, just to see if it would be there in the morning. I know-- I'm weird.

Like on Christmas morning, I woke up excitedly, to glance to my left to see if the candy was missing. Sure enough, it was! A-ha! Once again, there was no other evidence of the creature's existence, other than the missing sweets. This thing's got guts.

Since my last blog, I have been able to count on Jarrod for some various theories regarding the mysterious nature of my friend. First was that, since it was so incredibly high on sugar, it was simply moving too fast for me to see. Good point-- I hadn't thought of that. Another theory (to support Jarrod's Cockamouse suspicion), was that it simply had to be a Cockamouse for one reason, and one reason only-- a Cockamouse can fly. Therefore, that would explain why it so easily evaded Kooka's detection, and left no droppings. Very compelling theories.

At Jarrod's suggestion, I might just set up my video camera tonight, on the night-vision setting, and see what shows up. It goes without saying that if I do this, I will most certainly be posting the video on the blog. I mean, this could be my equivalent of catching a Sasquatch on camera or something. Ooooooh, Sasquatch! I hadn't thought of that before now... Perhaps I should change my poll.

The Mystery Of The Sugar Addict

Wow, so here I am, blogging again, after nearly six whole months! I'm really going to try to get back into the swing of things, but I make absolutely zero promises.

So, over the weekend, I think I got a nasty bit of food-poisoning, because early Sunday morning found me with my head hanging in the toilet, shooting my dinner out of my nose and mouth. Many of you already know that vomit and I are old friends, but this particular friend of mine was simply not welcome to visit over the holiday weekend. Go spend your holiday someplace else, please. Anyway, I normally bounce back from stomach bugs pretty quickly, but this one decided to linger for a few days. I was miserable, and although I wasn't throwing up, I just felt "icky".

Some of you may remember my tendency to salivate profusely when I was nauseous during my pregnancies. It was truly foul, in every way imaginable, but nothing seemed to take care of it, unless I was constantly sucking on candy of some sort. Well, when I was sick this week, I finally figured that one of the things that was making me feel so gross was the fact that I was salivating a bit, and swallowing it all. Ew. I know, it's weird that I tend to drool when I'm sick-- only my dogs do that! Anyway, I was trying to figure out a way to dry-up the drool that wouldn't require me taking a Benadryl (no need to add to my exhaustion). I was in the shower Tuesday night, and suddenly had a craving for Sweet-Tarts, knowing they would quench the saliva. I know, you're thinking, "You felt like barfing, and you wanted Sweet-Tarts?" I really must be Jarrod's sister after all.

So, Tuesday night, there I was, poring over three more chapters in "New Moon", popping Sweet-Tarts like they were the latest drug. All I have to say is thank goodness for the kids' leftover Halloween candy! Oddly enough, the candy really did hit the spot, although I skipped the green and yellow ones, because the taste just wasn't working for me. All in all, I felt a bit relieved of "the ick", and managed to fall asleep a little after 10:00, despite my recently-attempted sugar overdose.

Wednesday morning, I awoke, pretty much good-as-new, which was a welcome change to feeling like I'd been hit by a semi-truck the day before. I called my Mom to tell her about my "magic Sweet-Tarts" and of course she couldn't believe I could stomach something like that when I was feeling so ill. I guess your body just knows what you need, even if it doesn't seem all that logical. By Wednesday night, I was chatting on the phone, feeling nearly 100%, when I noticed that some of the green and yellow Sweet-Tart leftovers were missing off of my nightstand. I didn't think too much of it really, and just figured that I had knocked them off in my sleep or something. I curled up to read a couple more chapters of my book, and went to bed around 11:00.

At about 12:15, I awoke to hear the rustling of the empty cellophane Sweet-Tart wrappers on my nightstand. I didn't think too much about it at first, since I sleep with my ceiling fan on, and they could've easily just been blowing around, but then suddenly I was fully awake, realizing what had happened to the discarded candy next to my bed. Mouse. Crafty, sneaky, and most importantly, ballsy little mouse.

Last month, a mouse broke into the cabinet on my nightstand to try to gorge itself on the corn inside of my microwave-corn heating pad. I used the live trap to catch him within all of twenty minutes, and deposited it back outside. I know you're thinking, "What is the matter with you? Why didn't you kill the little sucker?" I just can't. I had all sorts of pet rodents growing up, and it just seems wrong, so I use the live trap to deliver them back into the wild. Call me crazy all you want. Anyway, I thought I had figured out from where the mouse was entering my room, and plugged it with steel wool (absolutely fool-proof, in case you didn't know that), and since then, I have heard no gnawing, tapping, or seen any signs of rodents anywhere. As a precaution, however, I've kept the live trap baited in my nightstand, but I hadn't had any visitors so far.

Crafty, sneaky, ballsy little mouse.

This mouse-- this particularly smart and brave little guy, ventured not two feet from where I was sleeping, not once, but twice! Not only that, Kooka was laying on the floor at the foot of my bed, so this mouse must have apparently been slightly suicidal in addition it being a sugar addict. The strange thing is, I haven't so much as seen or smelled any signs of a mouse anywhere. I should probably clarify that I can smell a mouse in the house before the little stinker even decides to make an entrance, so the fact that I haven't noticed any odor is a little puzzling. More importantly, there are absolutely no droppings to be found, anywhere. Hmmmmm....

I began wondering if it was even a mouse at all. Maybe it was a very discreet alien. After all, E.T. had a weakness for Reese's Pieces, so maybe I had an alien invasion on my hands. It was entirely possible. Another possibility, without question, was a candy-hungry gnome. Jarrod blames gnomes for any and all unexplained phenomena, so these circumstances could certainly fit gnome criteria. Pesky gnomes. And if it really was a mouse, then maybe this mouse possessed super-high-tech stealth equipment, which he used to cover his tracks-- kind of like Batman. Or should I say, Batmouse?

Jarrod, don't say it. I know what you're thinking. It must be the Cockamouse.

Whatever it is, I don't have the heart to trap it and toss it out into the bitter cold. It clearly possesses high levels of intelligence, not to mention sheer guts, so I have to respect a creature like that. I mean, I'm starting to think that, whatever my candy thief may be, it may just be smarter than me. Creepy. Therefore, I have no intentions of angering it in any way (or its evil minnions, for that matter).

So, if you don't mind, humor me and take the poll on the right-hand side of the screen as to who/what you think the Sugar Addict is.

The Catch-Up Blog

Okay, so I haven't blogged in like, a month. This is sad.

Let's see, what's happened? Oh, I think I can call it "official" that my house is an actual weather magnet. Remember all the hail? Well, during the weekend of the Tulsa Tough bike race, one of my big backyard maples was struck by lightning! Thankfully, I wasn't at home, or I may have wet my pants when it hit! I don't know how poor ol' Kooka is still alive-- I'm surprised he didn't have a heart-attack. At least the lightning didn't take out the entire tree, just part of it (as you can see from the picture). Wouldn't you know it?-- My homeowner's insurance doesn't cover trees? Go figure.

My poor tree! :(

Speaking of hail damage, I finally got my car back from the shop, but after having it back just a couple of days, I managed to back over the front end of my mom's convertible, while pulling out of my garage. Just what I needed! I crunched her car pretty good, and did some damage to my new back bumper. I swear-- I can't catch a break these days. No, I am not going out into the garage to take pictures. It's just too embarassing.

In better news, I decided to sign up for the MS150 charity bike ride in September. It's 150-miles over two days, and it's supposed to be fun. Fun? 150 miles in September in Oklahoma is supposed to be FUN? I've been told that there are beer-stops every 10-miles or so, like that was supposed to entice me somehow. I'm not a drinker, so I'm definitely not going for the booze. I can't even fathom drinking a beer and then getting on my bike (puke). I've been on several training rides since I committed to doing the ride, and I'm already feeling pretty good. Riding is seriously the BEST therapy-- EVER. Makes me wonder why I'm paying my therapist, really? I still don't quite have my spin back to where I want it to be, but it's getting there. My speed is so-so, but my strength is nowhere close to where it needs to be. Luckily, I have a fun group of people to ride with, so it at least makes it fun. If you're interested in checking my training progress, or better yet, if you're interested in donating (puh-lease), please visit my page at: http://bikeoke.nationalmssociety.org/site/TR?px=4218011&pg=personal&fr_id=8590

Yes, I was actually too lazy to go out in the garage and take a picture of my OWN bike, but this is it. An 'o5 Trek Pilot 2.1. My darling girl!

I'm also thinking about going down to Wichita Falls, Texas in August, to do the 50-mile leg of The Hotter n' Hell Hundred. It's supposed to be U-G-L-Y, but I think I'll be able to handle the 50-miler. Jarrod (my brother) and some of his friends are doing the century, which is awesome, but I know I'm not ready for something like that. I just figured it would be a fun road-trip, and something to be proud of at the end of the day. Plus, there's a t-shirt, and we as we know, it's ALL ABOUT THE T-SHIRT!

Let's see, what else? Oh yeah, I turned thirty. Yikes. Excuse me while I go crawl under a rock and die. It was a pretty sucky birthday (as most of you already know), but I tried to make the most of it anyway. I'm pretty sure I didn't sprout anymore gray hairs or anything, so that's good. To be honest, I've started feeling better all-around in my life since my birthday, so maybe turning thirty was a positive turning point for me. Maybe it only gets better from here on out. Man, I sure hope so! This is a picture of me on my birthday (don't I look like I'm having fun?)

I am H-O-T!

Tick-tock, tick-tock, okay... what else? You're probably wondering what the kids have been up to (or not). Just making me crazy and enjoying the summer weather, like always. I took the boys to the fire station with Kris and Shawn last week. Shawn is practically part of the squad already, but he was excited to show the boys around "his" station. Very cute. The boys crawled in and out of fire trucks, ambulances, you name it. They even met the fire dog, a young chocolate lab. Later, they got a tour of the fire station, and got to see where the firemen eat and sleep. I threatened to leave them there. Even with as much as the firemen enjoyed their visit, I don't think they would've wanted to "keep" the boys! Here's a picture of the boys on the front of the fire truck. Thank you, Shawn, for smiling!

Oh yeah, my hair re-growth update. I'm really behind on that, huh? Well, it's, uh... growing? Sometimes it's a real pain to mess with, mostly because I'm not used to having this much hair, but I'm getting used to it. It's pretty versatile, too, which is nice, but not as versatile as it was when it was shorter. Oh well. I haven't really done much with the color, sorry. Just same ol' dark brown/black with blonde highlights-- whoop-dee-doo. I think that I'll have it grown out by the end of the summer, but there's no telling. These are pics from May and June. Slow but sure, good grief!

Mid-May

Late-June

Oh, I also re-vamped my studio area, which isn't all that exciting to most of you, but whatever. My desk had turned into this massive stack of mail, and so the entire area just needed a bit of sprucing up. So, I moved my desk around, reorganized it, added fresh curtains, and straightened my easel area, since I've been painting a lot more.

I'm also in the process of giving my bathroom a moderate face-lift. Nothing major-- no remodel (as much as I would love new cabinets, countertops, and an updated tub, shower, and toilet). I'm just giving everything a fresh coat of paint, throwing some window treatments up, some updated hardware, and maybe some new towels. I really want new faucets, BAD, but those will have to wait. It isn't that the old bathroom was just ultra-ugly, it was just "blah" and needed to take on a new life, you know? I don't have any "after" pictures yet-- it will be quite awhile before that happens.

So, I really think that may be about it for the last month. Geez, my life is dull. Wow. That's all that happened to me in a month's time? Really? Okay, I'm going to go crawl under the covers and cry about the fact that I have no life now (okay, not really, but I AM going to go to bed-- yes before 9:00) I'm tired.

Like Father, Like Daughter

I always knew that Quincy Boo-Bear was going to be the one we had to watch out for. She's just so crazy, and knows no fear. She thinks it's hilarious... I do not.

So, I was joking the other day about how Quincy would totally make it to the ER before the summer was out, and sure enough, one day into summer, off she went. In her defense, it wasn't anything she did, which wasn't how I would've pictured it, with as freakin' fearless as she is and all. I swear she'd touch an electric fence forty times before she realized that it hurt. She's nuts, and she laughs in the face of pain (ha-ha-ha!) Maybe she really is a ninja, like Jarrod says, and that Chuck Norris is slowly grooming her to take over the world. Chuck Norris knows no pain, and neither does Quincy Boo-Bear.

Anyway, so this is how it all went down. We had torrential rains on Monday night/Tuesday morning, which meant that our driveway would remain flooded until I kicked the pump on for it to drain. Wahoo. So yesterday afternoon, I went out front to switch the pump on, and specifically told the boys to stay in the house. I believe my exact words were, "Do not open that door because I don't want Quincy getting out here." Of course they're four years-old and have selective hearing, so that didn't work out quite as I had hoped.

Sure enough, within seconds of me being outside, the boys were on the porch, getting into things they shouldn't, while I waited to make sure the water was draining. In the meantime, Quincy was inside, standing at the storm door, screaming her fool head off and banging on it, wanting to come outside. Great, boys, this is exactly why I told you to stay inside. Ah, you gotta love how they listen! So, after a couple of minutes, the pump was draining good, so I started to herd the boys back inside, while Quincy was still standing there howling. As I went to open the storm door, I realized that her finger was pinched in the hinge-side of the door, and apparently had been since the boys came outside! I think I probably turned green as I opened the door, and she pulled her newly-mangled finger out.

Had she not been in horrible pain (and who wouldn't be after that?), I would've taken a picture of her finger to show how gnarled-up it was. It looked like finger road-kill, complete with tire tracks. Her pinky was completely flat, and that is no exaggeration. It doesn't help matters that Quincy's pinkies have a natural bend in towards her ring finger, which only made her finger look more deformed. It felt like rubber as I slowly bent it back and forth, but seeing as how it was so little, it was hard to feel if it was broken or not.

After screaming for all of five minutes, Quincy got quiet and was trying to play with the faucet on the sink as I examined her finger. It just looked like a mangled piece of hamburger as I was on the phone with the doctor's office, who told me to take her to the ER to have it x-rayed. So, I called my parents, so that someone could come watch the boys, and tried to get ahold of Eric, which is always easier said than done. In the meantime, Quincy was walking around with a floppy finger, trying to eat out of her snack cup, which just amazed me, but whatever.

So, my dad arrived, and then Eric arrived too, and he ended up taking her to get her x-ray. By that time, a lot of the "flatness" had gone away, but her finger was about eight shades of purple and red. According to the doctor, baby bones are really flexible, and there is a lot of room between their finger bones, which allow them to get squished, twisted, you name it, and still come out okay. The doctor was also pretty impressed that Quincy didn't fuss when he was bending her finger every which way. Eric explained to him that it is more of a curse than a blessing, since she laughs when she she gets a swat on her hand, and at that point, we had the doctor's sympathy.

This morning, her finger was just red and puffy, with bruises here and there, but she doesn't seem to mind too much. Crazy kid. Hey, if this is all I have to deal with all summer, I'll be thrilled.

What The Hail?

Hail is my mortal enemy.

As some of you know, we were hit with a massive hail storm nearly two months ago, which completely wrecked my car and our house. Between the car and the house, we sustained over $20,000 in damage-- wahoo. Thank goodness for insurance, because golf ball-sized hail is a real bitch.

So you can imagine my reaction at 6:20 this morning when I started to hear hail coming down amidst the torrential down-pour that was also taking place. No joke-- I only heard about three pieces of hail hit the window before I was literally flying down the stairs, disabling the alarm, and opening the garage door to bring Eric's truck inside. This is not my idea of fun early in the morning, let me be clear.

Several weeks ago, I had spent my evening cleaning one side of the garage, so that we wouldn't be faced with another Hail vs. Car disaster. I cleared more than enough space for one of our massive vehicles to fit inside, and I was completely happy with myself. Of course, it would've been better if I had done this before the first hail storm, but hindsight is 20/20. For over a week now, I have had to drive Eric's truck, because the Dent-Mobile has been in the shop, having the hail damage repaired. Any of you that know Eric know that he loves his truck, and it pains him to have to let me drive it. Any of you that know me also knows that I hate driving the truck, because it's huge, noisy, and has hunting-related decals all over the back window.

So, when the hail began to rain down this morning (albeit pea/marble-sized), I knew I was in a position of life or death-- either leave the truck outside, and hope for the best, or brave the monsoon and try to get it into the garage, in order to spare myself Eric's wrath. I know this seems like a no-brainer, and it would've been-- I would've just gotten soaked in my pj's and brought the truck inside, especially since the garage would now be able to accomodate it, right? Wrong. No, Eric had stored his lawn-mowing equipment on that clean side of the garage, and I didn't think there was any way to squeeze the truck in. Well shit, now what do I do?

I called Eric at 6:30 a.m., that's what I did. I felt terrible for doing it, especially since it was a holiday, and he actually got to sleep in, but better to be safe than sorry. I had to double-check with him to see if he thought the truck would fit, even with the lawn mowers. He said no, but that I could pull the front end inside. Gee, thanks. So, I sprinted outside, through ankle-deep water (yes, my driveway floods, bad), got completely soaked, and pulled the cab of the truck into the garage. Then I just sat there, because I really had nowhere to go, since the truck was wedged in so tight that I couldn't open the driver's door. Good times.

Once the rain and hail began to subside (quite awhile later, I might add), I pulled the truck back out of the garage and went inside. Naturally, after doing sprints and being soaked to the bone, I was completely wide-awake at this point, which pissed me off, because I was sleeping so good before the hail thing happened. So what did I do? I rotated the laundry, and went outside to take a picture of the hail (for this blog, of course). I stormed around the house, completely aggravated that my once-peaceful morning had been ruined, and stewed over the fact that this would be such nice sleeping weather. What a way to start my week. Then, every time I would hear Quincy's overall clasps banging around in the dryer, I would panic that the hail had started again, which got really, really old. So finally I went back upstairs and basically forced myself to try to go back to sleep for an hour and a half, which of course didn't happen because the boys decided to start the morning off fighting. Yes, on top of my hail freak-out, I had to deal with Gabe ripping the head off of Josh's baby (for the n-teenth time), and had to get out of bed to sew it back on.

I have pretty much been able to maintain that same pissed-off state for the rest of the day. Happy Monday.

Some People Shouldn't Procreate

Okay, normally I would never criticize someone else's parenting techniques, but what I witnessed tonight while I was out shopping nearly prompted me to confront a fellow shopper.

I quite value my free time away from the kids. It's "quiet" time, even if it isn't completely quiet where I'm going, so I don't really appreciate it when I go out for "quiet" time, and there are screaming children present. If I had wanted to subject myself to the wild, unruly behavior of small children, I would have just chosen to stay home. So, there I was, attempting to clothes-shop (my therapy), and there are two young boys who are racing toy cars down the shopping aisles, screaming, "I win again," over and over and over. All I could think was, Where the hell are your parents and why can't you just shut the fuck up? If I hear, "Ha-ha, I win again!" one more time, I'm going to come over there and stomp on your cars and make you cry. Okay, so I wouldn't really do that, but I was totally thinking it. Of course, their mother was practically across the store, shopping for herself, seemingly oblivious to her sons' behavior. C'mon lady, get a freakin' clue.

It only got worse when I went to the dressing room. Miss Mother Of The Year actually had four small children with her-- two boys, probably ages 7 and 5, and two girls, around 3 and under 1 year of age. Why would you even try to shop with four kids? I mean, I give people props who can successfully shop with that many kids in tow, but this lady was not succeeding, seeing as how her kids were running amuck in the store. So there I was, waiting to get my dressing room number, and I witnessed her tell her oldest boy to watch his baby sister while she went to try clothes on. Um, what?!?! This kid was maybe seven years-old, like I said, so why on Earth would she leave the younger three children with him of all people?-- Especially when he was far more interested in racing cars down the clothing aisles with his brother? My jaw literally hit the floor, but I held back my urge to say something to her. She was a bigger woman and probably could've kicked my ass.

Anyway, so I thought that maybe, for a few moments, I could escape the insanity of her children's behavior, long enough to indulge myself with new fashions, when I hear her toddler daughter stroll in and ask, "Mommy, so-n-so (whatever the oldest son's name was) left (baby's name)-- what should I do?" Miss Should Be Incarcerated For Child Neglect replied in a huff, "Ugh! I'll be right out, just stay with the baby!" Excuse me? What did you just tell your three year-old daughter to do? Baby-sit your infant in a crowded department store until you can get your clothes back on? Are you fucking serious? Had I been in her position (and let me emphasize that it would never ever happen), I would've flown out of that dressing room half-naked if I knew that my children were unattended. So naturally I expected to hear her whip out of the dressing room in a flash, so I could go on about my dressing room experience in silent bliss, but no. She continued to try on clothes for another ten minutes until (are you ready for this?), the dressing room attendant wheeled her baby, shopping cart and all, into the dressing room area, and said, "Ma'am? Your other daughter left, so I thought I would just bring the baby in to you." I damn near choked. Wonderful, I thought. Now three of her young children are running around the store unsupervised, either getting into trouble, or being abducted, while she is no doubt, by the looks of her, making horrible fashion decisions.

So, what does the idiot do next? She continues to try on clothes, with her baby with her (thank goodness), and finally goes back out into the store to seek out her other offspring. I so badly wanted to shout out over the top of the dressing room door, "You better hope they're all still out there and some random lunatic hasn't run off with them!" Actually, what I really wanted to say was, "Ever heard of an Amber Alert?" Seriously, what could she have possibly been thinking? I don't even let my shopping cart full of contained children out of arm's reach at the grocery store.

At least the store manager finally approached her and told her that she needed to keep her children with her at all times. It was a good thing, or I may very well be at the hospital for having the crap beaten out of me.

So, the moral of the story is: If you ever feel like you are a bad parent... If you are ever having one of those days when you feel as though you have quite possibly scarred your children for life... If you ever feel guilty because you were just too tired and decided to skip your kids' bath-time... Remember that you could've left all of your kids in the hands of a dressing room attendant and actually thought it was a perfectly fine idea!

Ah, To Be Nineteen Again...

As my thirtieth (choke) birthday fast approaches, (or as I like to call it-- "Twenty-Nine: Part Two), I have been having trouble swallowing the idea of growing older. I know, I know-- it isn't as if thirty is really all that old, because it's not, but it's been this horrible, dreaded birthday in my mind since I was just a youngster. Why?- you ask? Well, the thing is that I can remember my own mother turning thirty, and the way I see it, if I am actually embarking on an age that I can remember my mom being, then I am now officially an adult.

Of course, being an adult sucks-- we all know that.

I've never really viewed myself as anything other than young, although I'm really not terribly sure why. Let's face it, being a kid is always a lot more fun than being an adult, and I guess I just never thought I'd reach the point where I actually would have adult responsibilities. I can recall watching my mom go through the checkbook, paying bills, calling the insurance company, etc, and thinking to myself, "Ew, I never want to do that-- EVER." Well yeah, only adults do that, and clearly, being an adult sucked. There was stress and obligations, and it was something I feared I suppose.

So, why did I go off and get married and pop out a handful of kids if I was frightened of responsibility? Well, maybe that's because I knew I could handle it, and at some point, we all have to grow up to some extent. Since then, I've tried to find that happy balance between "responsible adult" and "free as a bird". I haven't always succeeded, but I've put out a good effort, because I really believe it is possible to be both, as long as you manage yourself properly. Perhaps one day I'll figure out that balance, because so far, I've failed miserably.

So as I inch closer to Doomsday, I think my mind is playing tricks on me, making me feel older than I am. Most days I feel about seventy-nine, not twenty-nine. Is my hip going out? Am I starting to lose my hearing? Needless to say it made me quite happy this weekend when someone pegged me for a twenty year-old! Thank you-- thank you so much for knocking nine years off my life! Wahoo! Tonight, I was even given an extra year of my long-lost youth back when I was told that in fact I gave off more of a nineteen year-old vibe. Oh please, stop... you're killing me! Yes, I'd like to thank the Academy, and my parents, who gave me really good genes...

I can't even remember life at nineteen. Seriously, I'm sitting here in the tub, really trying to remember, and I can't. I was in college, yes. Probably dating one of many science geeks from one of my classes (yikes). Working at the library (make the geek revelations stop, please). Wow, so at nineteen I was apparently a real nerd-- that's what I've surmised so far. Hmmm, so not much has changed-- lovely. Good times. I was at least probably in better shape than I am now-- boxing and mountain biking, like ALL the time. Oh yeah, and sleeping a lot more--definitely. Most likely drinking coffee like it was water, and consuming more crappy food than should be allowed by law.

Wow, life at nineteen sounds rather dull. I think I'll stick with life at twenty-nine. I only hope that I'm still saying this at thirty-nine, but I really can't possibly begin to even think about thirty-nine right now. Gotta pace myself.

Scabs

Okay, if someone would have given me a job interview for parenting, and they would've asked me, "In what ways do you think you're not qualified for this position?" I would've said, "I can't handle scab-picking or removal of any kind." I really just can't. It makes me sick when people pick at their scabs, and while I realize that it is all part of being a little boy, it doesn't make it any easier for this mommy to handle.

This morning, the boys were climbing on the fence, as usual, only this time it was the chain link fence that divides the yard. They were essentially just goofing off, but they couldn't hold themselves up on the fence for very long, since they didn't have a real great foot-hold. Well, last week, Josh skinned the crap out of his elbow at Grammi and Papi's house, and it had one honkin' scab on it, which was by no means ready to come off yet. So, when Josh slid off the fence, he scraped that gigantic scab right off, and immediately started screaming. It was a good thing I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, or I would've launched it all over the gate-- no lie. Of course, it was bleeding all over, and he was screaming, so I took him to get cleaned-up, and convinced him that a Band-Aid was probably a good idea at this point. Luckily, we had some huge flexible ones in Eric's old bicycle crash kit. Who would've thought that would come in handy with our own kids?

It's not even the blood that gets me-- it's the picking or ripping off. It's just nasty. Yes, I have performed surgery on people's pets, done autopsies, given stitches, shots, and loads of other stuff, but none of that ever bothered me. It's those pesky scabs that bother me. No thank you. So now I know the boys have reached the age when this will be a regular occurence, which is frightening. I guess I should start getting used to it!

The Irony Of Mother's Day

Here it is, Mother's Day, and what am I doing (besides blogging)? I am doing laundry, cleaning up the house, and wrangling the kids. I was going to mow the grass, but it just seemed wrong to slave in the yard on Mother's Day, so I said 'screw it'.

I think it's funny how on days like Mother's Day, moms everywhere are being "celebrated", but they're still having to deal with the all the crap that they don't like to deal with as moms. No mom wants to do laundry on Mother's Day-- c'mon! While I was at the grocery store yesterday, the cashier told me that so many moms were there, buying food for their Mother's Day dinners. That's just sad! I mean, nobody in their right mind enjoys going to Walmart on a Saturday, but families everywhere were sending out the poor moms to buy the goods for their own Mother's Day celebration. Sick, I tell you, sick.

Of course, this is sort of a bummer Mother's Day for me this year (as some of you know), but I'm still making the most of it. The kids got me a new bicycle helmet, which they proceeded to wear around the house this morning. I really needed one, considering I have had my old one since 1997, so that was cool (and the new one is really pretty). Unfortunately, Josh sort of ruined the surprise last night, by pointing to the wrapped gift on my desk, and telling me that they got me a helmet. Oh well-- the laugh I got from the spoiled surprise was worth it!

So, once the kids are up from their nap (no time soon, I hope), we are going over to my parents' house for the usual barbecue. I swear, no family grills as much as my family does. Any and all family get-togethers must involve the grill, or so it seems. Anyway, that'll be nice to go over there and be good and distracted until I take the kids home to bed.

On another "mommy" note, the boys are nearly potty-trained! If they can make it through tonight without any accidents, I am going to make it official, I think. They've been doing so well at night, having only a couple of accidents since Tuesday night. I will say, however, that it is a little bittersweet not having to diaper them anymore. I know, I know, you're thinking, "What the hell is the matter with you?" but the whole "no diapers" thing just makes it sink in even more that they are no longer babies. It's so unfair! Nevertheless, I am really proud of how quickly they potty-trained (once they finally caught on, anyway), and they seem pretty happy with themselves, too. I guess they have to grow up sometime, right?

Yikes, my foot is falling asleep big time, so I'd better get this computer out of my lap and go do something else-- like get ready to go to my mom's, especially since I can now hear the boys fighting. Gee, that nap was short-lived.

Re-Growth

Okay, so I've decided to grow my hair out. There, I said it-- so it must make it true. Oh boy.

Anyone that knows me knows that I have just about as many hairstyles as Madonna. It's kind of strange, when I think about it-- why couldn't I ever find one style/color that I was happy with for more than a few months? Maybe it's a sickness. I guess I should consider adding it to my list of things that I need to discuss with my therapist-- ha-ha. Anyway, I've been wanting a change for awhile now, even though I loved the faux-hawk. I think I got more compliments on that style than any other, which I find completely odd, but whatever. So, I will be a bit sad to see it go, but truth be told, I've never chosen a hairstyle for the compliments. If that was the case, I would've kept my hair long and curly, and endured random strangers feeling the need to touch it all the time. I get the heebie-jeebies just thinking about that.

Regardless of what my therapist would even have to say on the subject, I think I know where my sick hair-obsession comes from. As a kid, I was a walking Chia Pet, and that is no exaggeration. This was before the days of Styling Products On Steroids-- which was what I needed to "tame the beast", especially after I went through puberty. I never could have my hair look the way I wanted it to look. I couldn't loosen the curl, ditch the frizz, or find a style to compliment my face-- it was just long, heavy, thick, and freakishly curly, and I was stuck with it. So, as I got older, made my own money, and styling products got better, I started to discover all the fun options I had in terms of my hair. Fun color, better textures, easier cuts, you name it. I guess I just got addicted to the idea of "endless possibilities", and just went wild, trying on color after cut, after color, etc. The rest is sort of history.

I don't want people to think that I'm necessarily so stuck on my hair that I think it's fabulous, because really, that's not the case. If I was convinced that it was fabulous, I wouldn't always be changing it and I'd finally just leave it be for awhile. Instead, I feel like I'm sort of making up for lost time, since I didn't get to do this kind of stuff when I was younger. Am I picky about my hair? Absolutely. Is there something conceited and wrong with that? I don't think so. Why shouldn't you always want to look your best? I remember reading a story about Halle Berry, a long, long time ago, and she talked about how she got off a red-eye flight one time, and when she got off the plane, there were paparazzi everywhere, and there she was, dog-tired, lazy hair, and no make-up. She said that since then, she realized that it's always beneficial to put an effort into your appearance, because you never know who you might run into or what you might be doing. I completely agree with that-- not because I'm full of myself, but because you could be at the grocery store and run into someone you admire career-wise, and you know what? Had you not been wearing old pajama pants, a t-shirt, a ball-cap, and no make-up, that person might have thought you were "together" enough to offer you a job. I know it may seem far-fetched, but seriously, you just never know, and how you present yourself to the rest of the world is important.

Okay, I didn't mean to go off on that sort of weird tangent there, but that's what blogs are for. So, you might be wondering (or not), "Just how long are you going to grow it?" Well, let me start off by saying, "Don't kid yourselves-- it's not going anywhere past my chin." Let's face it; I'm a short-hair girl, plain and simple. I can't handle all the muss and fuss of long hair, plus, it typically makes me look twelve. So, I thought it would be fun to document my hair-growth-- if for no other reason than to provide you all with hilarious "transition" photos. As we all know, nobody looks good while they are growing their hair out, especially when they have uncooperative hair like mine, so I plan to look like a total freak for the next several months. I have added a picture of where I stand right now, at the beginning of May, and I'll add a photo every month, I think. I figure it will take me until about the end of the summer to reach my desired "hair goal" (see Meg Ryan photos).

Now, I make no promises regarding hair color during this time of transition. I finally decided to lighten it up a bit again, after going back to my natural espresso-brown-ness. Summer is fast approaching, and that darker shade just wasn't going to fly, so now I'm a golden brown with a hint of auburn? That's the best I can do to describe it. It looks nice, though-- very rich and warm, but not red. I loved being red, but the maintenance-level is just more than I can stand, when I'm also having to deal with straightening it all the time, and it fades so fast, too. No thanks. Maybe I'll consider some red highlights, instead. Who knows.

Anyway, I realize that was just a riveting blog, but I thought it would at least provide a few laughs!

Garage Sale Season Is Officially OPEN!

Spring, in and of itself is perfectly lovely. The weather gets warm, we get nice afternoon rain showers which always seem to persuade me to take a nap, I get to work in the yard, and best of all, I can boot the boys outside and not have to listen to them fighting over the recliner! However, the best part about Spring is the fact that it is the beginning of Garage Sale Season.

This past weekend brought numerous neighborhood sales, which is really all I do-- more bang for your buck, so to speak. I'll admit, I got a bit lazy compared to my normal routine, and decided to pick Amanda up at 8:00, instead of my usual 7:00, and we decided to tackle Eric's mom's neighborhood sale. For one thing, this neighborhood is massive, and I can't tell you how many times (even with as many times as I've been in and around that neighborhood-- either visiting my inlaws, or HELL-- I went to elementary school there, so you would THINK I would be pretty familiar with the place) we got turned around. Anyway, we scored some good deals, and oddly enough, I managed to find some cute clothes, which I rarely look for, much less find at these things. I can't recall a time when I've nabbed a beautiful light-green, short-sleeved angora sweater from Banana Republic for a whopping $1.00! Amanda was also quick to inform me that it had a "condom pocket" on the chest, which interestingly enough, was an entirely foreign term to me, but hey, you learn something new everyday.

I also managed (please do anything and everything to contain your laughter) to find a pair of red-red, pointy-toed women's cowboy boots! Now, normally I would never, EVER buy or wear cowboy boots, but these just kicked ass. I'm sorry, but they did. They were just sassy, and really didn't give off that whole cowboy-boot-hey-I'm-a-redneck-hoochie kind of vibe, so I bought them. They rock, and I really wish I would've had them for the Bon Jovi concert. That would've kicked ass. The first time I wear them, I will post pictures for your amusement.

What else? Oh, I got this great iron bird feeder dish on a pedestal that is this fantastic brick red color, so it will match my front door. I also found a divided serving bowl that matches some really fun retro dishes that I bought at an antique store back in college. I've been working on finding a complete set without resorting to paying eBay prices, so I was thrilled to get this bowl for $1.00. There were two really great things that came along with this bowl-- #1: Apparently, the lady brought it all the way from Boston, and you just can't beat that (talk about fate!), and #2: The lady asked me, "You're not from Oklahoma, are you?" THAT absolutely MADE MY DAY! I know I should probably be more proud of where I'm from, but apparently I gave this lady the impression that I was far too awesome to be from middle-America and that made me happy! Amanda couldn't stop laughing.

However, that lovely compliment was quickly shot down after another woman, and her elderly mother began commenting on my hair. I've recently let it go curly again (loose curls, nothing kinky-- good lord), and these two women loved it. Now, I'm sure you're asking, "Well, what's bad about that?" Okay, let me explain something-- when a middle-aged woman and her elderly mother refer to your hairstyle as "precious" you have to start questioning yourself a bit. I mean, as it is, sometimes when I style my hair now, I feel like I'm walking a very thin line between Little Orphan Annie and Old Lady Hair. 99% of the time, I'm successful at falling into neither category, but their comments certainly got me wondering. I mean, at nearly 30 years-old, do I want to be referred to as "precious"? Kittens are "precious"-- newborn babies, even, but my hair? Shoot me now.

Ugh, I'm tired. Way too tired for a witty conclusion, I'm sorry. Plus, I have to sit down and watch a couple of episodes of season six of "Sex and the City" so that I'm good and caught-up by the time the movie comes out next month!

Good Times With Bon Jovi

It isn't often, especially since becoming a mom, that I get the opportunity to go to a concert, but last Fall, my brother Jarrod (and die-hard Bon Jovi fan), scored some tickets for Tuesday night's big show in OKC. It was a long, long wait-- I'm not going to lie, but oh was it worth it!

Jarrod has seen Bon Jovi now five times, and this was my second experience. Daughtry opened for them, which in and of itself, was phenomenal. That band can rock-- there's just no other way of putting it. Of course, if I'm being honest, the show was really all about Bon Jovi for me, because after seeing them perform in Chicago many years ago, I knew it was going to be a fantastic show. There are a lot of bands that I love, but if they can't put on a good live show, I really have no desire to see them in concert.

Our journey to OKC began around 3:00 that afternoon. The four of us (me, Jarrod, Amanda, and Matt) all piled in The Toaster, and off we went on the two-hour drive to the city. I was hoping to get some pictures of some stupid billboards along the way-- you know, the ones for the Microsurgical Vascectomy Reversal and so forth, but with the storms we've had recently, the billboard was trashed. Bummer! The most excitement we had on the way up there was Jarrod incurring yet another crack in his already scarred windshield, when some gravel flew up on us part-way into our drive. We watched as the ding in the glass turned into a crack, and began creeping across the windshield. Lovely! Of course, that was totally photo-worthy-- as was Jarrod's violating the speed limit the entire drive down there.

When we got to OKC, we nabbed a great parking space underground at the arena, and took a short walk to Bricktown to grab a bite to eat. To our dismay, Stumpy's was closed, so we opted for Spaghetti Warehouse, which was pretty good. I even got dessert-- by golly if I'm going to live it up for an evening, I'm getting a piece of cheesecake to go with my side of Bon Jovi! Of course, we can't forget the stupid photos that followed, namely the one of the nasty "gum wall", and Jarrod pretending to lick it. Ew.



The wind that day was horrendous, which blew my already over-amplified 80's rocker hair into whole new territory. The thing about Bon Jovi concerts is that you're bound to see some seriously trashy-looking women-- not as bad as say, at a Poison concert, but it can get pretty bad. We spotted some girls wearing serious "hooker boots", who really had no business wearing them (see photo-- if you dare). After our stupid photo session had ended, we headed out to the arena and waited to get in. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring my camera in (damnit), but I could bring dad's in, because it didn't have a detachable lens. Better than nothing, and honestly, it did a fair job of getting some decent pictures-- a bit grainy, but not terrible.



Daughtry opened, and as I said, it was awesome. During a short intermission, Jarrod encountered a guy (in the restroom line, of all places), who had seen Springsteen in Dallas on Sunday, Bon Jovi in Dallas on Monday, was there in OKC for Bon Jovi (duh), and was going to Kansas City to see Bon Jovi again on Thursday. Bastard. I want to live like that-- a highly disposable income, and no responsibilities! Where can I sign up for that job?



So, the moment we had all been waiting for arrived, and there they were-- Bon Jovi, live on stage, ready to rock our world once again! Good times! The set list was amazing-- new stuff, older stuff, really old stuff-- a nice variety. Of course, Jon looked amazing, and had so much energy that I think he would actually make a great aerobics instructor. I've never seen a guy with that much energy. I was like, "Dude, I'm just standing here, watching you play, and I'm exhausted." Richie totally rocked the house, especially with his "I'll Be There For You" solo, which was cool to see. One of the best highlights of the show was when Chris Daughtry came out and did a duet of "Blaze of Glory" with Jon. It was off the hook, and of course, the arena went crazy. For the record, Jon had exactly three wardrobe changes-- in case anyone was wondering.

We finally got out of there after 11:00, and the show started at 7:30. They definitely give you your money's worth, there's no doubt about that. I'm not usually a huge souvenir person, but I bought a totally old-school Bon Jovi tank top, and some dog tags to frame up with my ticket stub. We were all completely wasted-tired by the end of the night, and Amanda and Matt fell asleep in the backseat, while I tried to keep Jarrod awake on the drive back. Speaking of which, we ran over some pretty fresh road-kill before we even got out of OKC, which was disgusting. Jarrod asked if I wanted some road-kill fur for my scrapbook. Smartass. Anyway, they dropped me off about 1:15, and as much as I wanted to take a shower to cleanse myself of all the sweating I did (it was hot in the arena, even with a tank top on), I was lucky to even have the energy to get out of my clothes before I got into bed. Maybe I'm getting too old for this!



Nevertheless, it was exactly what I needed, considering all my personal drama right now-- a good getaway with good music. Call it cheesy, but nothing, and I mean nothing makes me feel better when I'm low, like good music. It's the absolute best pick-me-up. So, thanks to Jon and the guys for a great show, and for brightening my day!

Reality TV B.S.

Oh goodness, The Bachelor. What can I say, really? Here is what seems to be a nice, English guy, being subjected to a bunch of crazy American women, and we (and by "we" I mean Jarrod and I) are crossing our fingers that the most cliched "American Girl" (Lorenzo Lamas' daughter, Shayne) will get to take this poor English chap home to meet Daddy. Now that's good reality television, people!

We can't help it that we are so fascinated by the inflated ego and poor acting skills that encompass Lorenzo Lamas-- it's a sickness, kind of like our obsession with All-Things-Hoff.

In other reality TV news, my other weakness, "Rock of Love II", came to a close last night (insert holy angel singing here), and thank goodness our dear friend Bret Michaels did not choose Daisy! That girl was on a path that led straight to Joan Rivers-ville, what with the nasty hair extensions, overdone lip injections, ginormous fake breasts, and eyelashes so artificial that you could barely see her actual eyes through them. She didn't even look human. However, let me be clear, there really weren't any "high quality" ladies on this show-- that's the whole point of the show-- trashy girls throwing themselves at an 80's rock star. Don't get me wrong, I love Bret Michaels-- (viva Le Poison!), but his taste in women is just horrid-- horrid! The woman he did pick, (thank goodness), was Ambre, who was the only one who I thought actually possessed at least half a brain, and wasn't completely slutted-out. So, here's hoping Bret finally did find his "rock of love" (even though I would secretly love it if there was "Rock of Love III").

Okay, momentarily back to The Bachelor. Robyn is just nasty-- she is. She is not attractive, always has this sort of sick, disapproving scowl on her face, and I can't stand her bad teeth. There, I said it. What's worse is her attitude (yes, for the record, I am not a complete snob who judges people on their looks)-- she interrupts all the other girls when they are with The Bachelor. Wait your turn, you attention-hungry troll!

Ah, I feel better.

Define Child-Proof

As you may have guessed from the title of this blog, I'm starting to question what "child-proof" really means. In many cases, it is supposed to mean, "Hey, your child absolutely will not figure this out under any and all circumstances." Sometimes, it means, "If your child breaks this, we will give you your money back." Having three small children, I am starting to find both of those definitions to be completely invalid.

Perhaps it should really read, "Hey, your child absolutey will not figure this out under any and all circumstances for a fragment of their childhood, and then you as a parent will be screwed." Those fancy doorknob covers are no longer a match for my two four year-old boys. Now, I know that most kids would've probably figured them out by now, but I was really enjoying the fact that they had respect for that hard plastic casing that surrounds every doorknob in our house. Now, nothing is sacred, and it pisses me off. Child-proof, my ass.

Then, there's Quincy and her new-found love of breaking plastic tableware. Baby companies everywhere design and market oodles of cute little plastic plates, cups, bowls, and flatware, especially to suit a toddler's (and parents') needs. You've seen them in the store, covered in jungle animals, or the latest-greatest cartoon character, and you think, "Well, it's marketed towards parents of toddlers, so it must be just fine for my toddler to use it." I'm here to tell you that's crap. Melamine is no match for my nineteen month-old daughter. In the last month alone, she has broken three bowls and an insulated sippy cup. Two of the bowls were broken in a 24-hour period. Are you kidding me with this? I would hope that if a plastic dining set was hanging on the wall in the baby aisle that it would be fit to withstand their somewhat violent tendencies at mealtime. I was apparently deceived.

Why, I ask you, do kids take pleasure in destroying their own toys? It seems sort of sick, don't you think? I mean, why demolish something you take so much pleasure in playing with? It makes absolutely no sense to me. While I will say that there are indestructible toy brands out there (thank you, Tonka-- thank you), most of the toys geared towards four year-old boys don't stand a chance against exactly that-- four year-old boys. C'mon, people-- these guys are going to step on, throw, kick, tug, and sling these toys up against a wall faster than I can tell them, "No!" Case in point: The boys' new camping lanterns. I got them the cutest little camping lanterns to play with inside their tee-pee, and after having them in their possession less than one hour, they had somehow managed to rip the plastic lantern casing clean off of the pegs that attached it to the base. What? They seemed sturdy enough to me, and what would make me think that they would try to detach the base of the lantern? Thank goodness it only cost me $4.00, but I would've expected more from a product that was designed for the outdoors.

This brings me to my biggest pet-peeve, which are cardboard puzzle boxes. Children's puzzle manufacturers are cheap bastards-- that's what I've decided. Common sense would tell you that if you were making a puzzle designed for a toddler, that you would put the pieces inside a container that has more substance than a flimsy cereal box. Hell, my kids try to shred cereal boxes when we're still at the grocery store, so what makes the puzzle people think that their boxes are indestructible enough for household playtime? Every single cardboard puzzle box in our house has had its sides and corners retaped so many times that they are starting to look more like wads of packing tape than actual boxes. Use your brains, people! Thankfully, I have been lucky enough to come across a couple of floor puzzles that (would you believe it) were contained inside heavy vinyl bags that snapped shut. Now we're talking!

So, that's me-- on my soapbox as usual. I know I should probably be focused on more serious issues, like the Presidential campaign, or global warming, but instead, yes, I'm ranting about my dissatisfaction with flimsy children's items. Call me crazy-- everyone else does!

Opening Blog

While I'm typically busy enough with my two MySpace blogs and the kids' website blogs, there are either a) a lot of my friends/family who are not on MySpace, or b) things that simply aren't fit to be discussed on a child's webpage! That being said, I'm following Heather's lead, and taking a more general approach to the blogging world (gee thanks, Heather-- just what I needed-- another blog).

What is truly tragic is that I really don't have much to offer you at 10:24 on a Thursday evening. I'm actually just killing some time until 11:00, when I'm hoping that the Old Navy Kids Sale will kick into gear online, and I can score some new duds for the grublets for a sweet deal.

Big news in my life? Not much, really. We have the big "Salon VS Brawn 2008" film festival this weekend, which will undoubtedly provide nothing but good times and even better laughs (visit www.badmoviefest.com).

Other than that, I've been planning the boys' big Leap Day birthday party. After researching a bit of Leap Year trivia online, it has come to my attention that babies who are born on February 29th are not "Leap Year babies", they are Leap Day babies, because using the word "year" implies they were born sometime over the course of that particular year. I had no idea that people were so sensitive on the subject, but apparently I have been doing my boys an injustice by referring to them as "Leap Year babies" for the last four years. Did you know that there are only 200,000 people in the United States that were born on Leap Day? I think that out of the world population, there are only 4 million. Kind of interesting (yes, I'm a total geek).

Are you serious? There are still 26 minutes until 11:00? I am so doggone tired, people. Really. I have so much to do tomorrow regarding the festival that it's not even funny. Wash the sheets for company, vacuum, dust, clean the bathroom, put the festival gift bags together (oh yes, we have gift bags!). Oh yes, and I also have to manage to wrangle the kids, pack their bags for the weekend (they're going to Nana and Pa-Pa's country house), and get the boys to their swim lesson tomorrow afternoon. Yes, I am so very tired, and now I'm realizing that I'll have to get up early.