Thank Goodness My Husband Doesn't Read My Blog. . .

You know, it used to kind of offend me that my husband wasn't all that interested in reading my blog.  I'd be all like, "WHY doesn't he take an interest in this?  I LIKE this, and it's about ME, and shouldn't he be INTERESTED in ME and WHAT I LIKE?!?!?!?"

But. . .

1.  He is interested and reads it whenever he can.  However, he is usually tied up in actually working crazy amounts to try and provide for us so that I can stay home and be here for our son.  And that means much more to me than him reading my blog.  Plus, it's really me.  I can't help it if I find it offensive that he his not hitting his refresh button every 30 seconds to see if I've written anything else.  Also -

2.  Now I realize that I can totally confess stuff on here and he'll never know!  Unless one of my followers who know both of us told him about the stuff I confess.  But you wouldn't do that to me.  Right?  (I so hope all of you are nodding in agreement right now, cos here goes. . .)

I took our dishwasher apart today.

Uh-huh.  I surely did. 

So we moved into this house almost 4 years ago (sidebar - WOW!  Time flies!)  And the dishwasher has never really washed dishes all that well.  And it just got worse the longer we lived here.  Occasionally, I'd ask my very handy husband if he could take a look at it. 

OK, hold on a second.

Disclaimer time - Lest you all think what he's about to respond with is mean and how he must be a real jerk, I must say, that he's totally not.  He's a pretty great guy.  I would also bet that almost every husband who has a wife and a dishwasher would say the same thing. 

OK, back to the story.

So my handy husband would respond, "Well I'll make a deal with you.  You stop putting the dishes in without rinsing them, and I'll look at the dishwasher."  At which point I'd get irritated because I DO rinse the dishes if they are gross.  I don't put them on with lots of food on them.  But yes, occasionally, they might not be totally rinsed off.  However, what person cleans their dishes to put them in the dishwasher?  (If you do, please refrain from commenting on this blog post.  Because, 1.  You will totally throw me under the bus with my husband.  And 2.  There is something completely wrong with you and I will call the police and have you arrested for stalking.  Or OCD behavior.  Or something. . .)

So this same conversation would take place every couple of months. 

And yesterday was my breaking point.

Because I could see the gunk all built up in the bottom of the dishwasher.  In the part that you have to take apart to get to.  And I knew that was abnormal.  It looked totally gross.  I would have taken a picture for all of you to see, but I didn't want you to be disgusted by the picture and never visit my blog again.

So this morning, shortly after my lovely husband left for work, I tried running a short cycle with vinegar and baking soda to get it all cleaned out.  No dice.  Nope.  It was going to have to come apart.

So I went online and found a wonderful website that showed me how to take it apart.  I would tell you what it was, but I've already deleted it out of history so Jamey won't know what I was up to while he was at work.  Oopsie.  Did I just admit that?

Yep, so anyway, I proceeded to dismantle my entire dishwasher.  And when I got the last screw off that held the filter top thingie in place. . .well let's just say I didn't feel so good.  It was so gross.  And I started cleaning it out and that's when I knew that the people who lived here before me?  They NEVER scraped their dishes.  Not ONCE.  And in fact, they liked to just put EVERYTHING in the dishwasher.  Because I found glass.  I found stickers.  I found pins.  And the "piece de resistance" (please say that with a French accent)?  CHICKEN BONES.  WHOLE CHICKEN BONES.  And THAT, my friends,  is NOT normal.

So I got it allllllll, cleaned out, including sucking out the water that stayed standing in the bottom of it because it was so clogged up with CRAP.  I had to get that out with a turkey baster.  Uh huh.  It took forEVER.

But I just ran another cycle of dishes through and guess what?  MUCH better.

I'm so proud of myself! 

Unless it breaks.  And then, I don't know how that happened.  And if Jamey finds this post and it breaks?  Then someone hacked my blog and wrote this. 

And again - I have an AWESOME husband.  (That part, I TOTALLY wrote.)

Happy Day folks!

PS - I suppose it also doesn't help that I talked about this on Facebook. 

PPS - What if those weren't chicken bones after all? 

Well Holy Crap. . .I Actually Made - A CRAFT!

Every year Joshua wants me to re-create the same construction paper/cotton ball Santa's beard advent calendar that he had when he was in the one-year old class at his preschool.  Yes.  You heard me correctly.  The ONE-YEAR OLD CLASS (How does he remember this stuff?!?!?!  Seriously!!!)

And every year I remake it as best I can.  And it's kind of a pain, really, but he so looks forward to having it that I can't say no.  I'm such a sucker. 

So as he reminded me the other day, it's getting close time to make the calendar.  And I got to thinking, wouldn't it be nice if I could make just ONE more, and then use it year after year?  (Except that now that I've actually made one that will be reusable year after year, he's going to say he's too big for it.  And then I will ask Santa to put coal and switches in his stocking cry a lot and tell him how I sustained third degree burns from using the hot glue gun and we are putting it up anyway, and by gosh he WILL like it smile serenely and put it in my bedroom and do it myself.)

Wow.  OK, so back to my spectacular craftiness.  Which isn't really all that spectacular, but it was the best I could do.  If someone actually thinks it's a good idea, I'm sure they'll copycat it, make it totally super cute, post a picture somewhere and then theirs instead of mine will be pinned like 90 million times.  And I'll only be completely a little bitter.

So I headed to the craft store and looked around.  I used felt, but now I wonder if that foamy board stuff might have worked a bit better.  Take that for what it's worth.  I took pictures of how I basically made it, but since I don't normally "craft", I am missing a bunch of steps and I left all kinds of stuff out.  But it's not rocket science, folks.  I made it.

So the first thing you want to do is buy your supplies.  Here's my picture:

The supply list is:

Felt -

1 Red
1 White
1 Pink
2 Green - One of these was a "stiffer" felt.

Some sort of "wire"ribbon
Hot glue gun
Puffy Paint in black and red
Those little puff thingies  (100 count white ones - not too big, not too little.)
Velcro - (I bought squares of them and cut them to the size I needed.)
Stapler
Hole Punch
Black fine tip magic marker

I think that's it.  As you can tell by my descriptions of things, I definitely lack a craft gene.  It really is a miracle I made this at all.

OK.  So I used the "stiff" green felt for the backing.  Then I cut out a piece of red felt and glued it to the backing like this:

Then I cut out a pink piece shaped like this for the face and glued it on:

Then I cut out a white piece for his beard and glued it on top of the pink:

Then I cut out a little red mouth and a hat shape, as well as a pink nose and glued those on:

After that, I started gluing on the white puffy things.  I glued on enough for his hat trim, his hair, his mustache and the start of the beard:

Then I took the Velcro and trimmed them into small pieces.  Twenty-four to be exact.  I took the rough piece and stuck it to 24 of the puffy things:

Then I placed them on the rest of the beard and spaced them so I'd have the placement nice for the rest of the beard.  I'd pick one up and stick the soft side of the Velcro to the white felt:

After that was done, I took my fine tip magic marker and wrote out all the numbers:

I took my second piece of felt and cut a strip about 3 inches wide and stapled it to the top, leaving a gap so that it made a sleeve where I could slide a dowel rod (or something else) through.    I hot glued the top pieces together.  I made little ribbons out of the wire ribbon and glued them on top of the staples.  I'd have taken pictures of all this part, but I got too lazy I forgot.

Then I decided I needed a pocket to hold all the little puffy things till we were ready to use them.  I took the rest of the felt and folded it in half and stapled the sides shut.  And then I hot glued puffy things along the sides to hide the staples:

I made black puffy paint eyes, and I puffy painted "Christmas Countdown!" on the pocket.

I then slid the dowel through and wrapped it with the wire ribbon to make the hanger.

Then, with my hole punch I punched holes in the top sides of the pockets and at the bottom of the calendar.  I took my wire ribbon and strung it through so that the pocket is now hanging down from the bottom of the calendar.  And here is the finished product!

The one thing I regret is not having Joshua help me.  I wished I had, because it would have made it more special.  But frankly, I had no idea what I was doing.  'Nuff said on that.

Also, if you are someone reading this who has a craft product and you want me to test it out, I will forwarn you.  I am NOT crafty.  And you may regret asking me to try your product.  Just sayin'.

And one more thing.  I know I did not do a great job at explaining the steps here, and I more than likely (well no.  I'm sure I did) left a bunch of steps out.  So if you have questions, feel free to ask.  Unless you think it's ugly, in which case you are not nice to make fun of craft challenged people like me and you should really kiss my ass be ashamed of yourself for making fun of a normally uncrafty gal who's trying to make her little boy happy.

Happy Day, folks!

MARATHON! I DID IT! And. . .Dear God, Please Don't Let Me Look Like An Idiot In My Race Picutres (like I usually do). Thx.

Well if you have been wondering where I've been the last month. . .


I have been running (sorry mom) my ass off.  Seriously.  It's not there anymore.  OK, well it is, but it is smaller than it was.


If you remember, back in June, I told you all I had signed up for the marathon.  And I've been training.  And training.  And the miles have been getting longer.  And longer.  Our longest run was a 20 mile run.  That's far. 


But not 26.2 miles.  Which is what we all did Saturday.  And let me tell you.  Your race doesn't even begin until you finish that first 20.  The last 6.2?  That's where the race starts.

Oh yes, my friends.  THAT is where it starts.


So Saturday November 12, I woke up at o'dark thirty.  I had been downing Vitamin C like it was crack candy since I had to substitute teach a bunch of germy darling preschoolers.  (I do really love them all.  They are great kids.  But let's face it.  Preschoolers at this time of year?  Germfest.)  But I digress. . .I got up with Jamey and we left the house at about 5:45am.  For a race that started at - 8am.  Why you ask?  I'll tell you.  Whether you wanted to know or not.  It was because, I being the paranoid freak that I am, was afraid we wouldn't get a parking spot. 

So we got downtown and Jamey drove past all the shmucks who were paying for parking and drove right underneath his building where parking was free and no one knew about it.  It was awesome.  We had decided to use his office as a warm and cozy place to hang out until race time.  And I must say, it was quite lovely!  My friends, Kara and Polly, got there shortly after, and we all hung out.  I ate my ritual of a toasted peanut butter pita pocket, got to use a real bathroom instead of a port a potty, and before I knew it, it was time to go up to the start.

My friends and I all walked up and stood around in the cold for about 5 minutes and then we were off and running!  I have to say, for the first 7-8 miles, I thought if I could stay feeling the way I was feeling then, I'd have a stellar day.


And I must remind you that I had a few goals for this marathon.


1.  I did not want to stop and walk.  I wanted to run the whole way and not bonk.
2.  I wanted to get anything under a 4:45.  If I could get under 4:30, I'd go crazy at the finish.
3.  I did not want to look like a raving lunatic in my race photos this time.


Rule three was pretty much broken right away, unfortunately.  See we were rounding a corner, and there was a band playing, and it was early on, and I was all hyped up.  And so unfortunately, I believe a photographer caught me in my "old form".  You know.  The one where I'm not running with a super cute pony tail and smiling serenely for the camera?  Right.  The other one is how he caught me.  Where I'm waving my hands all around and screaming and looking at the camera with a crazed look on my face.  Sigh.  I will post my pictures when they come out to show you.


And so my second rule - I had amended it during training.  See if you remember, Jamey ran the marathon last year.  And he didn't have his very best day, truth be told.  I'm still totally proud of him, but he made a fatal mistake.  Because my pace has been very consistent through all my training.  And it put me within striking distance of his time from last year, which was a 4:13:35.  So I had made it my extra super secret goal - to beat him. 


I knew it would only be possible if 1.  I were having a stellar day, and 2. if someone ran me in.  And who better to run me in than the person I was trying to beat, right?  Uh-huh.  And he didn't know about my goal.


So I was running.  Felt great, and ended up losing my lovely friends I had trained with around mile 7.5.  We knew it was a possibility and had made the deal that we would all run our own race.  And I knew if I waited for them, I wouldn't make my goal.  So when one of them stepped to the side to go to the bathroom, I kept going. 


And I still felt great.  I ran along and grabbed a handful of pretzels that someone was handing out (THANK YOU, to whoever you are - they were delicious!), and kept on and kept on.  And then somewhere around mile 15 or so, I started feeling. . .not as great.


If you are a marathoner, then you know (and some of you who aren't may still know) that this is not good.  Because "the wall", the point you hit and start to get tired and worn out, isn't until mile 20.  They literally call that "the wall".  Yep.  And I hit it at 15.  But I kept running.  Because I knew in about 3 more miles, I'd meet up with Jamey.  And maybe he could help me out.


I actually sped up and ran to find him.  And when I did, I was worn out.  I was hurting.  He asked how I was.  I said I was doing crappy or something like that.  And he asked what he could do.  So I said, "Talk.  Just talk.  I might not say anything back, but I just need you to talk to me."  You know.  To get my mind off the fact that I wanted to lay down on the lovely black asphalt and die.  Quickly.


And so he talked.  I would like to tell you a lot of what he said, but honestly?  I am not even sure.  I know I listened.  I remember nodding a lot.  And saying "yes".  And not much else.  The sad part for him is, he could have asked me if he could buy a brand new Porsche that day, and I'd have said "yes".  So actually, I guess I better not be surprised if one shows up in my driveway.


I was tired.  My legs were cramping.  I wanted to stop so very badly at mile 25.  And at that point, I knew that whether Jamey was there or not, I had to keep going, because I would never forgive myself for being so close and stopping.  So I slowed down.  WAY down.  It was the only mile I went out of the 9's and I clocked a 10:17 mile.  And finally at one point, I looked over at Jamey, my wonderful, gorgeous husband, and said, "STOP TALKING."  He was like "Got it."  And he did stop talking.  Which was good because otherwise I might have upchucked on him and then killed him with my bare hands been very angry. 


But then God smiled down on me.  Because shortly after that, we turned a corner.  And I could see it.  The FINISH LINE.


And Jamey started screaming at me, "RUN!  RUN CAROLYN!!!!"  And I screamed back, "I love you!"  And I took off!  And I ran for all it was worth and crossed the line!  I looked down at my watch, and I had. . .


DONE IT!!!  I BEAT JAMEY'S TIME!!!!  My watch said 4:12:48.  Later the chip time - which is the "official" time, said I completed the race in 4:12:35.  I had beaten my lovely husband by exactly one minute.


He's super proud of me too.


I must say a special thanks to a nameless medic who helped me out after I stopped.  Because after I stopped, I was very woozy.  He came right up to me and asked if I needed assistance.  And I couldn't even talk.  I just nodded, and he grabbed me firmly by the shoulders as I wavered around a little bit.  He put one of those lovely foil blankets around me and then I put the death grips on his hands because I was afraid he was going to let go of me and I would keel right over in the finish area. 


Then he said, "Let's go get you a medal."  And I nodded and he walked me over (still holding on to me), and as the other man put that beautiful medal around my neck, I leaned against both of them.  And sobbed.

I was in a lot of pain.  But it was totally worth it.  Happy Day, my friends. 


PS - Brightroom just posted their pictures.  In a word?  Sigh.  But I did promise to post them.  They even have a video of my finish.  See them here.


PPS - Someone else took a picture of me where I actually kind of look like a badass.  I like it much better. 

Well CRAP. My Son Now Knows Chuck E. Cheese Is NOT a "Grown Up Restaurant".

Thanks to my neighbor, Angela, who's son had his birthday party there.

And yes.  I totally lied to Joshua about it.  He asked me once when we were driving by what Chuck E. Cheese was.  And I was all, like, "Oh that?  It's a restaurant.  For grownups."  And he was all like, "Oh."  End of story.  So I thought.

A few months ago, he asked me why PBS was sponsored by Chuck E. Cheese.  And why it always said, "Where a kid can be a kid."  It caught me off guard.  So I said it was a really lame advertising campaign.  Then I told him to go play.  And since Joshua doesn't even know what an advertising campaign is, he did, in fact, go play and dropped it.  Safe again.

Then we get the invitation to the party.

And I'm all like, "WHAT?  That's odd.  I guess I was wrong.  I guess kids can go there."  And Joshua asks, "Can I go?"  I am thinking as fast as I can, but since the invitation caught me off guard, I can't come up with anything.  So I'm all like, "Uh, yeah.  Sure."  Then I walk into the kitchen to beat my head against the wall and sob make myself a cup of coffee.

The day comes and we go, and of course he loves it.  And I'm commiserating with other moms about being there when another friend, Brenna tells me my next wonderful excuse not to frequent Chuck E. Cheese every single weekend.  She tells her own son that Chuck E. Cheese is only open for birthday parties.  Perfect.  Thank you Brenna - problem solved! 

And so guess where Joshua wants his next birthday party?

I leave you with the following - I posted it on Facebook.  Along with an update a couple of hours later:

Police are looking for two suspects who are currently driving a mini car containing thousands of coins and tickets. The worth of the coins and tickets are estimated to be a whopping $2.24, and redeemable only in one place, so motive is quite unclear. . .

The update: 

Suspects still being sought after. Owners of coins and tickets said to be, "very perplexed" over theft. Owners indicated that original amount of worth was exaggerated and that said coins and tickets are only worth about 62 cents. Police are truly stumped at motive behind the theft...

I Have NO WillPower. Please Help Me!

So if you remember, I have been training for a marathon, right?  Training has gone really well, and I'm on the cusp of my last super long run before the actual race.  It's a 20 miler on Saturday.
In light of training for a marathon, I decided it was also time to shed a few pounds.  I'd gotten away with eating what I wanted for a long time without worrying about it, but when we got back from Disney World and I looked at the pictures of myself, I just thought. . .well, frankly I just thought.  EW.  That's gross.  And doughy looking. 

So I started watching what I ate and stuff and I'm excited because I have managed to lose a bit of weight.  Cool, right?  It is really cool.  I've been feeling much better.

And then, with one little Facebook post, my entire world changed.  And I'm in danger.  SERIOUS danger.

Because of THESE:

Yes, these naughty LIMITED EDITION PUMPKIN PIE POPTARTS. 

I first heard of them last year.  However, I thought they were a myth.  I never saw them in the grocery store.  So I figured I had heard wrong, and went about my happy life. 

Then this year, I heard about them again.  From a post on Facebook.  Surely that was still just a myth, right?  A fable?  And all of a sudden, I was scared.  I had to go to the grocery store the very next day.  So I said a little prayer to God asking him to not have them in my store.  And bless me he did, for when I went the next day, they were not there!  I was SAVED!  And I said as much on Facebook.

And then my "friend", Jana, had to go and tell me that if I had, in fact, TURNED AROUND and looked across from where the regular poptart selection is, they had a WHOLE SECTION DEDICATED TO LIMITED EDITION HOLIDAY POPTARTS.

OH.  MY.  GOD.

It is unfair.

I tried to resist.  I didn't go back to the store.

Until today.  And I had to do it.  I couldn't help it.  I walked down the aisle where the poptarts were, and I swear I tried to avoid making eye contact.  I really did.  I looked to my left the whole time where the regular poptarts resided.  But then it happened.  I turned to my right.  AND THERE THEY WERE. 

I tried to justify it, and say they were for my little boy.  But I am not fooling anyone.  And now they are at home.  And we are locked in a brutal, take no prisoner style staring contest.  Me and the Poptart box.  And I think I'm losing.

See?

I swear I don't know how the box got open.  I think maybe Quincy developed opposable thumbs while I wasn't looking.  And somehow, a package of the poptarts fell out onto the table.  And now they are playing the staring game with me. . .

Uh oh.  Losing again.

Oh gosh.  Did that bag just open by itself?  I think the box of poptarts is haunted.

I'm just going to smell one.

Yep.  Smells good.  Had to bite my lip to try not to take a bite.

No.  I'm not going to do this.

See?  I'm keeping my lips shut tight!  NO WAY.  I'M NOT CAVING.

OK.  Maybe a teeeeeeeny bite. 

See how little a bite that is?

Setting it down.  Let the staredown begin again.  I'm TOTALLY going to win this.

Sigh.  It won. 

Happy Doughy Day, Folks!

PS - In case you were wondering, from the moment the box came into the house to that last picture was a duration of 37.2 seconds.  Yup.  37.2 seconds. . .

PPS - In order to protect the guilty innocent, I will not be posting a picture of how many packages are left in the poptart box after 37.2 seconds.

This is How I Amuse Myself

So I have an eye appointment today. And I had to fill out my paperwork online. The following are some of the questions and my actual answers. It just lets me know if they are really reading the information that we provide them. Plus, I just like to amuse myself, because filling out forms can be excrutiatingly boring. . .

********

Requested: Routine Exam, 09/16/2011

For: To help Roxann make some money. And to get my eyes checked.
Comments: Roxann, you better not be late, because I have to be home to get my little boy off the school bus. If I'm late, I'm bringing him straight to your house and you can deal with the stress and anxiety while I go to Starbucks. Or a bar. And I don't know when I'll be back. Maybe by Tuesday.

Date Sent: 09/15/2011 1:08:41pm

Name: Mrs. Carolyn Y. Davidson

Nickname: "HRH Princess Carolyn"

Occupation/Grade: Domestic Goddess and Honest to Gosh Princess

Employer: Joshua

How did you find us? Friend or Relative, Referred by: My crazy father and mom Don and Louise Y. (need I say more?)

Last Eye Exam:  Look at my chart and it will tell you.

Do you have any allergies to medications?  Yes.  Allergic to:  SEVERE CT Dye allergy.  Don't ever give me that or I'll die.  Then I will proceed to haunt you forever for doing that.

Further explanation or more conditions: Itching and if I don't stay on allergy medicine, my eyes swell up, sometimes particularly after I eat. They look TERRIBLE.

I also have exercise induced asthma, so my parents don't think I should ever exercise again. I'm ignoring this bit of advice from them. Otherwise, I'd be as big as a house. . .

I didn't put any pyschiatric problems,although I think others would say that's debatable. Especially all the other voices in my head right now.

********

See?  Makes for much more interesting reading for my health care team.

Happy Day folks!

I do! I don't! I do! I don't!

So, I have been avoiding writing this post.  Because if I avoid it, maybe it won't happen.

But I do want it to happen. 

Don't I?

No.  No I don't. 

No wait.  Yes I do.

OK, here's the deal -

Joshua is starting Kindergarten in less than two weeks.

Oh gosh.  When I say it like that, I get all weirded out.  My insides feel funny.

This is a much bigger adjustment than I thought.

I keep writing very, very short paragraphs.  But maybe that's all I can manage now. . .

(Deep Breathing)

OK.  I'm sobbing like an idiot better now.  See, I never thought I'd be like this.  This is probably a terrible thing to admit to.  And I may have admitted this on my blog before, but if I haven't, and this is the first time you're hearing this, I just want to say one thing:  DON'T. JUDGE. ME.

My admission is, after we first had Joshua, I wasn't all that enthused about being a mom.  Please don't ask me to say that any louder.  But - I had no idea what I was doing.  I didn't think Joshua liked me very much, and to be honest, I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about him.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd have laid my life down for him in a heartbeat, but those day to day feelings?  When all he can do is sleep, eat, poop, or cry?  And I felt like the sleep portion was really lacking on his (and therefore my) part and I'm still bitter about that?  Yeah.  Like I said, I wasn't entirely sure how I felt about him.  And I can remember, particularly in those early days, specifically thinking that went along these lines, "Oh dear God, what in heaven's name am I going to do with this thing until he can go to school?"

Like I said.  DON'T.  JUDGE.  ME.

I really thought that.  With the "thing" in it and everything.  And then, thank goodness, I felt things start to change around 6-7 months or so.  And things were a bit better.  And then at 10 1/2 months, shortly after he started walking, I remember it hit me like a lightning bolt.  I remember it all VERY clearly.  And I was like, "OH MY GOD I WAS MADE TO BE A MOMMY!  I LOVE THIS!!!  I WANT TWELVE MORE!!!"  And thank goodness I didn't tell Jamey, because I can assure you, his head would have popped right off his body the second that came out of my mouth.  And in the end, we only had the one.

But he is a gorgeous little one.  He is my shadow.  I spend a LOT of time with him.  And I enjoy it.  He is funny, and cute, and sometimes a pain, but overall, I really enjoy my son.  And for that, I am blessed.

That said, although I especially love the beginning of every summer and all the fun stuff we do together, around mid-August, I get a bit antsy.  And cranky.  And I actually have looked a little bit forward to preschool starting up again.  So I sort of assumed that I would feel the same when it came time to send him to Kindergarten.

And am I antsy?  Yes.

Am I cranky?  Yes.  (Though Jamey probably doesn't feel like that is different from any other day.)

But the truth is, I am not sure I am ready for Joshua to start Kindergarten.  I am now wondering if I should have held him back.  For me.  Because let's be really clear here.  He is totally ready.  So ready, in fact, that when we went for his conference last fall with his preschool teacher, Mrs. Jackson, the first words out of her mouth were, "Please tell me you aren't holding him back."  And she just verbalized what I already knew.  He was ready.  Don't hold him back.  We would be doing him a disservice if we did.

It really didn't hit me until the last week or two about how the school years are going to play out.  He is going to be gone for a very LARGE portion of my day.  Really.  I am going to be by myself.  I do have a couple of small jobs lined up, but they are only a couple of days a month.  If I can't find any other work, what am I going to DO with myself all day long every day?  It feels very real, and looming over my head.  And I feel my anxiety starting to rise.  Is the anxiety for him?  Or for me?  Or is it the four other personalities I also have in this body arguing with each other again?

He is starting to say he doesn't want to go to school.  I don't want him to go either.  But I do.  But I don't.  But I do.  But I don't.  But I do want him to go.  He is ready, and I know he'll be great.  I just hope mommy will be too.

Happy day folks. . .

Let's Face It - The Following Website is *Brilliant*...

Why, you ask?


Let me show you some of their products.


I need one of these:


Totally Awesome Water Bottle


I need one because it is absolutely the truth.

I also want one of these:


Even Better Coffee Mug


Or seven.  Because there are seven days in a week, after all. . .


And then I noticed they were having a sale on these:

These are really lovely mugs

You get six of these.  So I don't know what I'd do on the seventh day.  Maybe drink from this:

Truth Mug

Because we all know it's the truth.

I would get this one, but I have a five year old getting ready to start Kindergarten and he will be learning how to read. 

"Why Does He Have to be Learning to Read?" Mug


If he were younger, I'd totally have it.  Then I'd put it away till he became a teenager, because then I know he'll be using the word himself.  But not around me, because I'll be royally peeved if he says it around me.


And in case you wonder, no, I am not getting paid to advertise for these guys.  Though I wish I could get paid for it.

I loved the mugs so much, that I then went to look at their t-shirts and hoodies.  I was afraid they would disappoint me.  They did not.


I TOTALLY want one of these:


BEST. T-shirt.


And love this one too:


So True T-shirt

And this is a must have, even though it is a men's shirt:


My "I can't wait for the new muppet movie coming out" T-shirt


My grandmother should have had this T-shirt:


Sorry mom, for the language, but you know it's true T-shirt

I could go on and on.  But I won't.  I will say, I laughed harder at this site than I have in a long time.  I don't even know what "The Onion Store" is all about.  But they are just plain funny to me.


Enjoy shopping.  I know I will!


Happy day folks!


PS - My birthday is mid-September.  So if you are looking for gift ideas, look no further.

Oopsie - It's Been a While. And Have You Ever Heard of an Exploding Turkey Burger?

Sorry that I deserted you all.  This summer has been particularly busy for some reason.  Either that or I've been exceptionally lazy.  That is probably the more likely answer.

And so since it's been very busy (because of course that option sounds much better), you'd think I have a lot to write about, right?

Not really.

But something did happen last night.  My husband's turkey burger exploded.

Let me explain.

I decided to try a new recipe last night.  It was called Mozzarella-Stuffed Italian Turkey Burgers.  Essentially, you take some ground turkey, add stuff to it, and then form 8 very thin patties.  Then you take four of the patties and lay a slice of mozzarella cheese on it.  Then you take the other patty and "seal" it so that the mozzarella cheese doesn't leak out.  Broil or grill them and enjoy, right?

So I follow the directions and make the burgers, and I must say, by the time they were broiling in the oven, I was quite pleased with myself.  Because they were smelling pretty darn tasty.  And Jamey gets home from work and, as he's changing, he asks what is for dinner.  I tell him, and then have to explain why it's not ready because these burgers take a little longer to prepare and blah blah blah.

I finally finish up the rest of dinner, and I get his burger onto a bun (I ate mine sans bun), and set it on the table.

I turn to finish getting my plate together and I hear. . .

Well I won't say what I heard.  Because let's face it.  It wasn't very pretty.

And I turn around, and Jamey is wiping at his face and his arm and his shirt, and I was like "What's WRONG?"

And I look on his plate, and it looked like the burger had an accident of some sort.

And so he's all yelling, like, "THE BURGER EXPLODED!"

And I don't want to be outdone in the yelling department, so I'm all like, "WHAT?!?!?!"

And he yells louder, "THE BURGER EXPLODED AND I GOT TURKEY JUICE ALL OVER ME AND IT'S HOT AS (you know what) AND IT HURT!!!!!"

(I decide at this point that it would be in my best interest not to yell back anymore.) I put on my sweet, concerned voice and say, "Are you OK?"

And he looks at me, and says, "This meal is NOT off to a good start."

Like it's my fault.  Really?

How the heck was I supposed to know that a turkey burger stuffed with cheese would explode when you took the first bite?  Besides, mine didn't.  Of course, that's because I was eating it with no bun, and cut into it VERY carefully after seeing the carnage on Jamey's plate.

So your lesson of the day is:  If someone else made you a burger, always ask if the burgers are stuffed with cheese.  Because if they are, they might explode.

Aren't you glad you know that now?

Happy day folks!

Old Rags and Tailors - Normal or Not Normal? THAT is the Question...

So a few days ago, I was texting back and forth with my friend Brenna.  Which is sort of funny, because she lives right down the street from me and we were both home, but I suppose it seemed like too much trouble to pick up the phone and call each other.  And why is that?  Why do people prefer texting now?  I don't get it, really, but I do the same thing as everybody else, and I don't really have a good answer for why I text over phoning.  But - I digress. 

I don't remember what the actual conversation was about.  I meant to save it, but I don't like having a bunch of extra junk on my phone, and I deleted it by accident.  And besides, you don't really have to know the whole gist of the conversation to get what it is I'm going to talk about.  Eventually.  When I get around to talking about it.  Jeez, I'm long winded today.

ANYWAY.

At the end of the conversation, Brenna mentioned something about ignoring the piles of laundry she had in her house.  (Which, of course, I think is quite smart, because who likes to do laundry when you can sit around watching movies with your kids and eat snacks all afternoon because it's a million degrees outside?  In JUNE.  The BEGINNING of JUNE.  Does not bode well.)  So she's saying she's going to ignore her laundry, and I texted her back something along the lines of this:

I don't blame you.  I am pretending my laundry is just a pile of old rags.  Because who folds up old rags anyway?

*******

I hit the send button.  And I got nothing back from her. 

And then it happened.  I had one of those thoughts.  You know the ones.

Oh my lord.  What if everybody else folds up their rags?  What if I'm not normal?  What if she's sitting down at her house thinking to herself, "I cannot believe she doesn't fold up her old rags?  I bet her linen closet is a mess!  She probably doesn't even have a label maker."  (No.  I still don't have one.  But I still have half a year.  If you remember, it was one of my resolutions.  If you are wondering, I have broken a lot of these already.  I'm going to do a mid-year update on July 1.)

I am sure everybody has feelings like this from time to time.  Or even realizations that something they do in their own home is not the "norm" to others.  (And for goodness sake, if you do not have feelings like this, please do not tell me, because it will just further the evidence that Jamey will need to put me in one of those special hospitals.  And I'll only be able to come home on occasional weekends and holidays.)

It reminds me of a Friends episode I saw.  Let's see if I can find a clip.  Be back in a few minutes. . .

I'm back!  And oh yes.  I found it.  I LOVE this.  You must watch this.  (Click on the video right now.  You will not be disappointed.)

See?  But I suppose the moral to this is that I would rather be thought of as odd for not folding up old rags than for going to a tailor like Joey's.

One more thing before I go.  I will be out of pocket the next few days, because I am going to go seeeeeeeee, my BFF!!!  I leave tomorrow to go see Yvette!  I may do another interview with her, like we did when she was here last.  Because that was fun and entertaining.  For us.  I had to clarify that in case you didn't think it was fun and entertaining. 

Happy day folks!

It's Official - I'm Out of My Mind

Yep.  Sure am.

As of this morning, I am officially signed up to run the 2011 SunTrust Richmond Marathon on November 12. 

Wait, let me check again.

Yep.  Completely out of my mind.

If some of you recall one of my earlier posts (Carolyn, the Racing Lunatic), it looks as though I have some work to do.  If you don't remember what I'm talking about, then you must read the post I've linked to.

I don't know what has possessed me to train for another marathon.  I guess part of it is the fact that I haven't done one in quite some time.  Since Joshua was born, I really haven't participated in many races.  I used to do several races each year before he came along.  I have done two marathons.  I guess I am possibly trying to rediscover that part of me again.  This, however, is partially how I know I'm crazy.  Because seriously, do I really have to do an entire marathon?  What's wrong with a 10k?  Or a half marathon if I really want to push myself?  I'm not sure.

I think another part of it is that my lovely, husband, Jamey ran one last year.  And he has given me two reasons to try it again.  Number one, he ran one.  Therefore, I am jealous.  (Hey, at least I'm honest!)  And so now I want to do one.  And number two, he ran it with a training team.  OK OK, some of you know that the first marathon I ever ran was through a training team.   But there's a difference.  The difference is that, that training team sucked.

OK.  It didn't really suck.  It served its purpose.  It was a Jeff Galloway training program.  But the program directors were not the best at helping us train.  Basically, they showed up, set up aid stations, handed out maps, and said good luck.  We were lucky (those of us in the slow groups) if we saw them when we got back from our runs.  But I want more out of a training program.  And Jamey promises me that this group is different.

Plus, my first two marathons were done using the run/walk technique.  I had a watch with dual timers on it.  I'd run 10 minutes.  Then I'd walk for two.  Over and over again.  And eventually I'd peter out in the final six miles somewhere and walk for a while and run at the end.  So this time, I have a goal.  I truly hope to run the whole race.  I don't want to walk. 

sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhh. . .I also have a super secret goal to run it in 4:45 or less.  If I run it in 4:30 or less, I will no longer stick to my promise not to look like a lunatic at the finish line and will post the picture on my blog.  But ssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

My first training run is Saturday morning at 7am.  And we go for 5 miles.  WOOT WOOT!  Wish me luck in my training!

Happy day folks!

I Beg For an Explanation to These Two Questions

Why in the world do they have scented dishwasher detergent?

Seriously.  I want to know. 

Because it makes no sense. 

Have you ever once been running your dishwasher and thought to yourself, "My how I love the lemon scent emenating from my dishwasher?"  Or better yet, have you ever pulled out a newly cleaned dish and put it up to your nose, inhaling deeply, and said, "Aaaahhh, so lovely.  My dishes smell like they've just been plucked out of an orange grove!"

If you said yes to either of these, I'm sorry, but I think you are totally lying.  And I must (sorry mom) call bullshit.

I also beg for an explanation for this statement:

One word. . .

HUH?

Happy day folks!

The Dog is Still Alive - Barely

For those of you who are not sure what I am talking about, you must go see my previous post, which is entitled: My Dog Needs to Enter the Canine Protection Program - IMMEDIATELY.  If you look at this post, you will certainly understand why I felt he needed to enter this program.

You will all be glad to know, that as of right now, Quincy is still alive.  But it was really touch and go there when my husband got home the other day. 

So just a quick post today to show why he still may need to enter this program. 

Jamey was cleaning out our black hole of a garage yesterday.  Qfus the doofus decided it would be fun to explore.  Under Jamey's bike.  A lot.  This is the result of his exploring:

Uh-huh.  That's grease.  It 's not coming out.  Sigh.  You now see why I make no promises for his future.



The one bright side is that my toes look really cute in this picture. 

Happy Memorial Day folks!

My Dog Needs to Enter the Canine Protection Program - IMMEDIATELY

It's totally true.  Would you like to know why?


Let me paint you a picture.  No better yet, let me post you a picture:

Oh, yes he did.  For whatever reason, Qfus the doofus decided it would be really fun to dig a new hole in the yard.  Right smack in the middle of the newly sprouted grass that Jamey planted a couple of weeks ago.

I didn't notice it at first.  That's because I saw this first:

(Disclaimer:  This scene has been recreated to look like it did this morning.  He actually had dragged it into the driveway, so I put it back how I first found it this morning.)

That, my friends, is a substantial piece of an azalea bush from the front yard.  If you remember correctly, last summer, Quincy had a habit of uprooting entire azalea bushes and bringing them to the front door.  Like a cat.  At least this time it wasn't the entire azalea.

So I was right in the middle of scolding him for the azalea mauling when I looked up to the top part of our yard and saw a suspicious looking spot where there should have been green grass.  I walked up further, and then my fear was confirmed.  The poor dog is not going to see it coming tonight when Jamey gets home.  That's because he's too doofussy to know when he should be scared for his life.  Maybe since he thinks he's a cat, he's got several lives left.  And who am I to break it to him that he's a dog?  If he realized that his time is running very short, he'd probably pee on the floor.  I'm just lazy and don't want to have to clean that up.

I am so entirely sure that his life is going to end in the very near future that I gave him a last meal.  A chewie and a fresh bowl of water.  Though I'm not sure he deserved it.

This is not the first time he's done something that caused us to consider ending his life.  There's this one:

This was taken during the time where I was supposed to be on bed rest, because my bronchitis was on the verge of turning into the "in the hospital" style pneumonia.  And I was in my nightclothes and it had been raining, and so Quincy thought it would be fun to dig in the mud.  I had to give him a bath.  He weighs well over 80 pounds.  I don't think the doctor would have approved this activity for me at the time, and I'm actually quite surprised I didn't end up in the hospital after this was over.  And on a side note, how is it that this dog loves to go in a completely stinky, algae filled, muddy, disgusting creek or river, but he doesn't want to go in a lovely nice, warm lovely bathtub?

Oh and there was also this one:

Not to mention this was the THIRD bed he had destroyed.  I guess the third time's the charm for us getting that he doesn't deserve a bed.  Now he sleeps on the cold tile floor.  I don't feel a lick bad for it either.

I have a few other lovely "landscaping" pictures.  Don't forget:  like a cat:

I love the way in this one, he is laying right beside the azalea, and he looks either 1.  totally proud of himself, 2. acting totally innocent, or 3. completely stupid.  Which do you think it is?  Because I really wonder, myself.

The fabric you see was dug up from underneath the mulch on the side of our house.  And he brought all the lumber from over there too.

It happened so frequently last summer that we just started leaving it like this for weeks at a time.  I'm sure our neighbors loved us for that.  No wonder no one talks to me.

And this just shows how dumb he really is.  Sorry, but he is.  You'd think I'd be all, "No no, Quincy, don't bring that in here."  I could have held the door open all day and he'd have never gotten it inside because he couldn't figure out how to get it through the door.  Sigh.

Happy day folks!