It's All I've Got

I'm just going to paint the picture so you know how dedicated I am.

Danyo is standing at my legs. He's been standing at my legs or screaming to stand at my legs for the last 263 hours. But who's counting? He has earaches and two front teeth coming in, so I can't blame him too much. Plus, I'm awesome. If I wasn't me, I'd stand at my legs all the time too.

Avee has one foot on my left shoulder blade and the other poised over the computer desk. She's not supposed to stand on the computer desk (my shoulder blades are however, fair game) so she's hovering. I see her right eye darting down every 1/2 a second to see if I notice the nearly 30 pound child on my back who's foot is 3 inches from the "Tab" key. She also has a really annoying adopt-a-dog thing that whines every times I hit the "R" key. I want to throw it. I'm excercising amazing self-restraint.

Bo is laying on the floor behind me telling me all the bad things that could happen to him if he makes that dangerous trek up the stairs into his room to get the toy he wants. If I go with him or do it for him, none of that will happen.

But you see? Instead I type. I'm that dedicated. After a week of nothing that is.

Part of the reason I haven't posted is because I have nothing to post. And you will see that ever so clearly by the end. You will think, "Wow. I just read for over 2 minutes and I possibly know less than when I started reading two minutes ago."

I have never had a clingy baby. Bo went through some sort of stage that is the complete opposite of clingy. He reached for strangers. He was particularly drawn to dark-haired men. He'd settle for a dark-haired girl though. Avee at this age was surrounded by adults willing to hold her all the time, so she didn't cling. She was happy to be held. Or to climb you.

Danyo's a clinger. I'm not built for it. I didn't marry a needy man. My children can change their own diapers and pour their own cereal by 19 months. I don't know how to handle his neediness. If he happens to be content on the floor and I make the very dumb mistake of passing by him, he spots my feet and goes crazy. He suddenly remembers how very complete he is when he's squirming and lunging around in my arms. So, I am like an escapee, I take whatever route, whatever measures I need to, to avoid going in his line of sight. Just now, that entailed walking across the couch after getting Avee some cereal. He didn't see me and I could come back to resume this fascinating post. If you could watch the silent .movie of my life, it would be very amusing, I'm sure.

In other news, I started working at the YMCA a few hours a night. It's boring, at best. But now I know I get to make myself miserable and sore for only $18 instead of $55. And I can also make J take me to get sushi and not worry about what it's doing to our budget. YEEHAW!

I learned some interesting things on my first night. A 16 year old girl I work with told me this about her boyfriend. As you can probably imagine, I was enthralled. "Well, I kinda cheated on heem because he was being a total jerk to me. I mean, I real a*#hole." This is the part of her story where I thought, "Oh cool that's how that works? Can't wait till the next time J has a bad day. And to think of all this time I've wasted being faithful..." And then I stopped thinking to myself because her story was way better than my own sarcastic thoughts.
"So, I felt rull bad and stuff and he was having a hard time coping with it, so I told'm he could cheat back. But, it had to be someone I didn't know or see every day. He had found this college girl who was all ready to cheat with him, but I guess she went back to her boyfriend."

The whole point of this story was to tell me about the co-worker, classmate he eventually did settle on. Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiice.

Is this really how the world works for people?

J says he's going to post an ad that says something like, "Need to get back at someone? Pass a blood test and I can help you!"

Then maybe I can go out for sushi even more!

How'dja Like To Be A Meme

I have a meme, but before I start, I have to share my favorite Bo moment of the day.
I just spent 4 hours running about 3 errands. Okay, it entailed 25 minutes of racquetball with Bo and a trip through the McDonald's drive thru, but STILL. Four hours? Give me a break! I even got to leave Avee with a friend (thanks Kim!) which was really wonderful because she'd been much like expired milk for me all morning. She was nice for Kim. She quickly resumed her pleasant disposition once she was back in my care. I had the nerve to try and put a coat on her and make her leave her friends house after THREE HOURS.

So, I spent a nice afternoon running errands with Bo. He's a delightful little boy. Not so great at focusing and hearing me when I say, "don't run into tha-DON'T RUN INTO THAT LADY!" But I definitely love him.

After getting Avery from her friend's house, she screamed us all the way home. I unbuckled her and she launched herself into the back of the van and sat on the Dora yogurts and fat free cottage cheese I had just bought. For some reason, she thought that would show me. It was her butt covered in dairy product, not mine.

When we got inside Bo asked if he could play a computer game. J just unearthed several boardgames that have been adapted for the computer. I found "Operation" and asked him if he'd like to play that. He wanted to know what "Operation" was. I said, "It's like a doctor doing surgery." He said, "Oh yeah, I know what that is, it's when they sneak up behind you and attack and try to knock you out."

I said, "Yep. And that's exactly how my gall bladder was removed."

Just the other day I was thinking to myself "I want to do a meme" but I had nothing.

The very next day I was tagged by my friend Sally from Down Under.

So thanks Sally!

Jobs I've had...
Pizza Hut Waitress, Daycare worker, Custodian (Student Center in college), Office Assistant (Scatterbrained Professor in College), Legal Assistant (My first real job, and best coworkers EVOH), Lactater, Butt-wiper Extraordinaire.

Movies I've watched over & over...(by choice)
The Wedding Singer, The Scarlet Pimpernel, Steel Magnolias, O Brother Where Art Thou, Office Space, The Incredibles

Places I've lived...
Missouri, Idaho, California, Salt Lake City Utah, Logan Utah, St. Louis Missouri, Provo Utah, Texas, and now rounding it off with an exciting stint in IOWA!

Places I want to visit...
Maine, Canada, Niagara Falls, Australia, Central America, Yo Mama's House

Places I have visited...
Egypt, Israel, Puerto Rico, New York, DC, OBGYN. I am so LAME, ENGLAND! I've visited England. And I loved every second of it because that's where my adorable nieces live.

TV Shows I watch...
The Office. I like Prison Break but I always end up watching it on the computer or Itunes, the timing is never right for me. But I love that show. I watch Without a Trace, Law and Order (selectively), Journeyman, The Medium (I've fallen in love with that show---I love the dynamic between Allison and Joe. Joe who? Joe Mama), and I've recently discovered the Real Housewives of Orange County. I can always gauge how bad a show is by how much "dialoguing" with the characters J does. Oh yeah, I also love Monk.

Websites I visit...
My blogroll blogs and Sketchy because her blog doesn't work on my blogroll, Shutterfly, Wantnot is on my blogroll, but I'm obsessed with that blog, Amazon, Youtube can suck me in if I'm not careful, my bank.

If you want to do this, DO EET! And let me know you DONE EET.

Television Habits of The Not So Rich or Famous

The other day back ago Bo came downstairs for some water when he was supposed to be in bed. As a result, he was briefly exposed to the smut I watch on tv. The smut I save specifically for after bedtime so that the only person I have to look bad in front of, is J. J doesn't let me off the hook either. He has his own running dialogue with whoever is talking on my smut episode of choice. "Tyra, I haven't heard a word you've said since the '97 Sport's Illustrated cover" or other such nonsense. I try to ignore him cuz mama needs her trash tv, but sometimes I have to tell him I'd like to have a relationship inventory and talk about our feelings so that he'll get back to his political blogs and leave me alone.

Well, as Bo was walking through the living room, he of course stared at the tv the entire time because if he's staring at the tv, I won't notice he isn't in bed or isn't getting a drink and I will get so absorbed I will let him stand there for hours. But, I am no ordinary mother. I am extraordinary. I reminded him nonstop that he was getting water and getting back in bed. During my nonstop reminding however, someone on tv said a bad word. Of the female dog variety. Bo burst out laughing and immediately went to repeat it. I cringed. For all my monitoring in the daytime, for all the banning of cartoon network, for all the talk about "stupid" being "the s word", I sure was careless. Only, he said, "You just shut yo mouth you FISH! HAHAHAHAHA!" He didn't even hear it, but he thought it was funny. I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Sunday morning however...

He came into the bathroom where I was matting down styling my hair and started giving me a play by play of some cartoon he saw several days ago. If we don't take control of conversation, Bo will talk nonstop for 10 days straight about crap fascinating things he sees on tv. Very annoying.

I tune out most of it because the only thing more annoying in this world than a kid's cartoon, is a the said kid recounting it. Every. Single. Detail. But at the end of this particular monologue he recounted, "And then he said, 'that will give you g-a-s! Ahahahaha isn't that so funny mom!? G-A-S!!! HAHAHAHAHA!"

I was surprised he'd learned to spell on a dumb cartoon. My interest was piqued. I asked him, "What cartoon did you see that on?"

He answered, "My Damn Partner Is A Monkey".*

I'm so glad I bother.

*For those who don't have cable, are better parents than me, or just don't realize the mistake he's made, the actual show is "My GYM partner is a Monkey".

UPDATED TO ADD: After reading this post, J reminded me of our longstanding battle between my love of trash and his complete intolerance. At least he has a sense of humor about it. He wrote this well over a year ago.

I ♥ JBJ

I'm not a fanatical type. I could never pull off being a groupie. I find flaws in the flawless way too easily. I see girls in the audience of concerts screaming, shaking, sobbing even, and I do not get that. At. All.

I don't know if it's a personality type or if it I just haven't met that which I could become fanatical about. Last night on tv I saw people at a rally getting Rudy Giuliani's autograph. I said to J, "uh, what are they going to do with that?" I really don't understand the fascination with one's signature. Unless you could make money off of it. Then I totally get it.

With that being said, Bon Jovi makes me all a twitter. I can't explain it. I don't even understand it myself. And you must know, this isn't an easy confession for me to make. I'd be perfectly happy to keep my infatuation with JBJ mostly to myself.

I could go into more detail about my love for him, but really there isn't much more. I don't have a lot of his paraphernalia, I only have one of his Cds, I don't even know his birthday. I just know that when I see his face I instinctively say something like, "Man, he's hot" or "Ohhh, look at that face!" or "mmmmm" and that is REALLY not like me. And I really like his music too. That might just be a happy coincidence.

When I was 12 I was in the 7th grade and the most painfully awkward tween known to man. My parents were pretty strict about music and I can't remember specifically, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't allowed to listen to rock music. It's made for some difficult times in my adult life and marriage. J will be rocking out to some song and say, "remember this song?" all ready to share some great moment with me and I have never even heard of it. And then for a few minutes, we'll have nothing in common.

Well, in 7th grade a cover band came to my junior high and performed. They were called "The Edge" I remember about 3 things from my 7th grade year. One was Steve B., one was a zit, and the other was The Edge. They played "Living on a Prayer". You wouldn't believe how hard and fast I fell for that song. I remember walking home from school that day, having just heard the song for the first time, belting out, "Whoooooooooaaaa-ohhhhhh we're HAFF WAY THERE, WHOOOOOOOO-OHHHH livin' on a prayer..." I had seen a lot of the hardships of union strikes and working for tips at a diner in my whitebread world. Or something.

Since then, pretty much any song Bon Jovi has released, I've loved. I can't say I love all his music because, as I said, I have only one of his cds. My brother got it for me at an outlet store.

Which leads me to my point: (you can search high and low in this post up to this sentence, and you wouldn't even come remotely close to my point). Today I was doing dishes and to drown out the sound of kids asking for food or diapers changed, I put on my ipod. And soon I was jamming to a slamming mixture of The Police, Shakira, and of course, my luvah--Bon Jovi.

Bed of Roses was from my high school days, working at Pizza Hut. This song was on the jukebox and I played it almost every night when the restaurant was closed and I could blast the jukebox. Listening to this song as it drowns out the sounds of needy children, it takes me back to a younger, free-er, thinner age, and I love it.

Only, now I'm 32. I'm responsible. I've graduated from college. I have three children. I balance a checkbook. I've lived a lot since those days of jukebox blasting. One thing remains, Bon Jovi is still sexy and I still love his voice on this song.

However.

I can no longer ignore something.

It is this:
"With an ironclad fist I wake up and french kiss the morning..."

What the?

What does that even mean? I know there are a lot of literary references out there that I just don't get. I know when I hear one. I think to myself, "Wow, that's deep. I have no idea what it means, but I can tell it means something." I'm okay with accepting deep, meaningful things I don't get. I am not okay with accepting random, weird things that can't possibly mean something else.

Do you know what it means? Is it some reference to Proust and I'm really that dense? For the sake of mine and Jon's relationship, I hope. I'm getting to the point in my life where I really can't take unexplained weirdness or stupidity. Life's too short.

We All Have Good Reasons

In true Bo fashion, this conversation came from out of nowhere.

Bo: Why do you even want to vote for Mitt Rawma-nee mom?
Me: Well, I think he is the best choice to be our next president.
Bo: Why do you think that?
Me: (filter, filter, filter, mind scrambling for topic appropriate to discuss with 4 year old) One reason is, I think he will be the best person to help us get out of debt.
Bo: Oh awesome! ME TOO!!! I'm totally voting for Mitt Rawma-nee too!
Me: Oh really?
Bo: Yeah! "Debt" means "church", right?

Her Own Style of Princess

Not a princess, but a picture taken by the princess. She swipes the camera and then takes as many pictures as she can before she gets caught. Some of the vantage points are very cute. But still naughty. I'm entirely certain that I cannot get enough of this sweet little face.

Planning Planners

I should have learned when I got pregnant two months after I got married and 12 months before I had ever hoped to, to stop trying to plan. I can't plan anything without it getting sabotaged by...life. Speaking of sabotage, Bo uses that word now. It's pretty funny. He uses these random big words, accurately, but still often has no idea what's he just said. Like today's, "This is getting so complicated! What does complicated mean?" I explained to him that complicated means something that can be difficult to figure out. He offered, "Oh, so when you get lost, it's complicated for you to find your way back home. Even though our van tells you when you are going East oh' South?" This just might be the most accurate use of the word complicated--ever given. And also not very nice of him to bring up.

I was geared up for today to be a busy day. I had plans to watch my friend's two children for a few hours in the morning. Then I had a dentist's appointment at 3 and then at 6:30 an enrichment thingymabob. That's a full day for me. I mean, that doesn't really sound like a lot, but the unwritten, underlying difficulty is in the little details-- like trying to go 6 straight hours without getting snot smears and cracker sludge on my shirt.

Weeeeeeeeellllllllllllllll. Yesterday Bo kept complaining that his leg hurt. Actually, he complained that it was broken. I curtly replied, "It's NOT broken" every single time. He limped a little, but he still managed to put in a full day of play with his friends and toys.

Then last night he kept waking up yelling, and doing what I suspect is a 4-year-old version of cussing out....his lungs. He had a cough, and somehow, that was making his leg hurt. He woke up yelling/crying/screaming several times in the night.

For the past week, nighttime has been a particularly frustrating time for me. I don't get nearly enough sleep and my kids manage to be just as annoying precious and demanding as they are in the day time. The main difference being the interrupted-sleep hangover, and no Dr. Phil giving verbal smackdowns to idiots guests, to get me through.

So, last night wasn't too different. Avee kept incessantly trying to get in to our bed, Danyo had hunger issues, and Bo was, well, see above. Only this time, I got J to help with the midnight mayhem. I can't say I didn't get a little satisfaction out of seeing him sit on the bed in what looked like a drunken stupor, trying to figure out which screeching fire to put out first.

This morning when Bo refused to walk, I knew he probably needed to go to the doctor. I always have a raging internal battle about taking my kids to the doctor. Unless something is oozing. It's two very extreme thoughts vying for first place in my ever-so-rational mind. Those two thoughts are generally, "He's fine, just give it time, he'll be okay, take one of those chill pills you are frequently offering your children or your mother when she reads articles about soy or Childrens Tylenol" and "He's dying, can't you see it! See that freckle, it's tripled in size since you last looked at him. Woman, what are you waiting for, if you don't race him to the ER now you will be on Oprah in 6 months crying about how you 'just didn't think it could happen to me'. Don't be a statistic Nobody, don't be a hero."

I bailed on my friend who's children I was going to watch, and within seconds of bailing, asked if she could watch my kids instead.

I spent three hours doing doctor-office-like-things. Those things entailed, waiting, lugging a 42 pound kid, waiting, sharing my ipod, explaining multiple times that there was no known incident causing the pain, yes hypochondria is hereditary, yes he inherited that gene, yes I'm the donor, no he won't walk, yes, he did in fact yell out "this stupid cough is stupid!" at 3:42 am, holding/restraining a crazy mad 4-year-old while he had to have blood drawn TWICE, counting to 10 so one of us could learn how to breathe again, and laughing out loud when Bo yelled, "That was NOT a good choice to take my blood the FOHST time OH the second time and the whole thing was STUPID!" Saying stupid is his drug of choice. It's forbidden around here, but I have to say, having to get his blood taken twice because they didn't get enough the first time, warranted it.

The doctor's office called, his blood work looks fine, except for an elevated sed rate. It's not a real dramatic elevation, but they want to test his blood again on Thursday to make sure it hasn't gone up. I'm dreading the prospect of taking him to get his blood taken again. So in an effort to convince myself that it's necessary, I do what any intelligent, sane, and responsible mother does. I google "elevated sedimentary rate". Here's what I've learned about my boy's future: Sedimentation rate (sed rate) measures the speed at which red blood cells settle to the bottom of a test tube. The presence of certain abnormal proteins in the blood can cause red blood cells to stick together and sink to the bottom more quickly.
Sed rate is a screening test for many different diseases. A high sed rate is not specific to any one disease. Possible causes include:
Infection
Inflammatory diseases, such as rheumatoid arthritis and lupus
Blood cancers, such as leukemia and lymphoma
Cancers that have spread (metastasized)
An elevated sed rate may indicate an underlying problem. But further testing is needed to identify the cause of the problem.

Yeah Google, you give me peace of mind my friend.

I got home in time for my dentist appointment, but my babysitter* fell through. Guess that's what I get for sleeping with the help.

*I am however exploiting enjoying the extra-helpful, sweet, attentive, nature of one who should be in the doghouse but isn't because his wife is patient, kind, virtuous, and forgiving, all rolled into one big, puffy ball of hotness.

I Have No Title

So, I'm feeling all sorts of new pressure to be interesting and clever. I feel no such pressure in real life. Ever. I'm perfectly content to be the person other's say, "What was that?" when they walk away from me. But for some reason, since I've started airing my laundry on the internet, I'm all nervous about what people think.

It might be because Anchored Nomad linked to me recently and referred to me as funny, and that's a lot of pressure because she is probably the funniest blogger I've ever read. I mean, she can have me laughing about something she writes for days (it's not just the stories, it's her delivery) and that's a talent. So, people who are used to her effortless hilarity, come here and I'm sure it's like biting into a potato you think is an apple.

And then last night, I went to a glorified Tupperware party and after the sales spiel, a girl leaned over and said, "We haven't met, I'm _____. I read your blog." How's that for pressure? Hi ______. She was nice and said nice things, but really, my palms are all sweaty now!

It has ever been my goal to keep it real here. And it's hard when there are contests and awards and who knew comments would be like blog-crack for some and there's pressure in some places not to be a mommy blogger, etc. Believe me, I'd rather be a supermodel blogger, but these are the cards I was dealt.

Of course I feel proud of posts where I can elicit thoughts or stories from others. Or ones where I can make someone laugh out loud. But the single most gratifying result from this blog, is the journaling of my children. I love looking back and reading the things they have said and done that would otherwise be forgotten or just become a blur in the past. I LOVE that I have chronicled, Bo's adorable little speech impediment. It was less than a year ago he was saying "Fpidoman" and now there's hardly a trace of that. However, last night, I realized he says words that end in double L's really funny. When he's at a stage where he's such a know-it-all, I love hearing him say all expertly, "It's not a bahw, it's a roh".

Yeah buddy, like that makes any sense.

I started this blog for family. I've made some great friends through it, and that has been a definite bonus. People who's paths wouldn't ordinarily cross mine, have become people who matter a lot to me.

And now to steal a line from my subtle friend NCS,

SEGWAY

Lately my kids seem intent on being attached to my hip. And while there is plenty of room for all three of them, it's still a little annoying. And oft times, weird. Like when I go to the bathroom and they try to follow me with their breakfasts in hand. For Bo it's a story he absolutely needs to get out in the next 30 seconds or his head will blow up. For Avee, it's like she can't exist without being by my side. She sits on the floor in the bathroom when I shower. She lies in bed with me when I nurse Danyo first thing in the morning. She squeezes in between my back and the computer chair when I'm at the computer. I am that awesome. She can't get enough of me. You know you wish you could squeeze into the computer chair behind me.

I often tell myself, "This won't last, they'll be teenagers who think I'm stupid before I know it, live this and love it." And I do that pretty well, most of the time. But I think there might need to be some changes. Soon.

Last night I went to bed at midnight. 1 hour later Bo was next to me. It felt like he was interlaced through my ribs. I don't know how he does that, but he always has. Danyo woke up at 2 and wanted to eat. I made J take Bo back to bed and got Danyo. 3 am Avee was on top of me. On top of me. She isn't satisfied with in my bed, or snuggled against me, she, like always, takes it to the next level. I have no idea how long she was there, I was so tired. But at some point I took her back to bed. She was back again. I took her back to bed. Danyo woke up to eat, and there was Avee again. I left her alone. After an hour, I got her back to sleep, Danyo back to sleep and 15 minutes later there was Bo, grabbing my face with both hands to plant a kiss squarely on my mouth. Someone needs to tell him about morning breath fatalities. I'm sure there are some and he's careless. I groggily told him to go play on the computer and I slept with my two appendages for another 45 minutes. And where is J in all this? Obliviously asleep. He has it so good.

I have decided that if my winning personality in the daylight hours makes me so popular with these kids, that they can't stand to be away with me in night hours, I probably need to make some administrative changes. I just don't know what yet.

So, I told Bo to take off his pajamas and I intended to run upstairs and grab him some clothes. Only, he must have heard me say, "Take off your clothes and then run up the stairs in your underwear wailing at me for leaving the room while you are telling me about your favorite Ben 10 episode". Upstairs though, I got this pearl of wisdom from my genius 4-year-old.

"You know why they call these boxers?" he asks as he sweeps his hands around the top and sides of his spidey undies. "They are called boxes because they are shaped like a box" and he shows me again the square shape of his body.

Oh no sweetie, that's called genetics. And you are welcome.

Time Heals All Wounds They Say

And I should know, cuz it feels like forever, but I'm letting you go....

Name that tune. Except Epsi. You are disqualified by association. Close association when we used to belt this song out ad nauseum. Is it ad nauseum? Oh darn, I've gone and shot myself in the typing hand, posting that preachy tyrade about grammar.

This is a random, "just gotta write it" post, so if you are looking for a good time, move along. :)

My cousin Josie died almost 3 and a half years ago. I posted about her a long time ago, back in aught six when she would have been turning 27.

Today I was putting dishes away and I just suddenly felt overwhelmed with sadness. This isn't the first time. I doubt it will be the last. I miss her so much at times, I can't help but feel anger that she's not still alive.

I'm pretty well-versed on the stages of grief, and I've probably been through them all several times, but I find myself coming back to denial and anger more than anything. Sometimes I really truly can't wrap my brain around the fact that she's gone.

Other times I want to punch something because I'm so mad that she didn't get to stick around and finish her PhD, get married, have kids, name one after me.

It breaks my heart when my kids see a picture of her and ask who it is. And every thing I could ever say to describe her or relate how very amazing she was, would never do her justice.

I don't really think time heals all wounds. I think for some wounds, time just makes it so you have to move on.

PSA

Okay guys, it's gotta be did.

In general I like to keep my blog more about me and my kids. Sort of like a journal.

For the entire world to see.

But, I can't go on anymore pretending I don't see it. Pretending it doesn't shake me to the very core when I see it.

So, for the very first of it's kind from this blog, A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:

First: Alls. aka All's (only because I actually saw it written that way once. Some astute person tried to make the word make sense with an apostrophe) The word does not exist. There is NO SUCH WORD. There is no word that could possibly be the plural of a word that means, the whole of, everything, entirely, completely. It's just not possible. Please stop trying to make it happen. It's uglier than me in my pre-children low-rise jeans.

Really that's my biggest concern with this great nation.

But lately, I've been reading a lot of political blogs. Generally I don't, but I've become fascinated. And maybe it's not an accurate stereotype, but I tend to think that people who can pontificate lengthily on political-like things, are usually fairly intelligent people. So, I've been alarmed to see the following errors even in these kinds of blogs. I hope this public service announcement helps. Because I really can't bear it any longer.

Lose
Loose
Loser
Looser

They are all four different words that mean 4 different things.

Lose--to come to be without, to no longer have. "I don't want to lose the race"

Loose--there are lots of different meanings for this word, but not a one of them is "to come to be without or to no longer have". One can have loose change and one can lose change, but they are two very different things. You cannot LOOSE a race. Ever.
I don't even know what that means.

Loser--it's become a popular adjective in today's vocabulary. It's because there are a lot of losers in the world. It can't be helped. However, there is no such thing as a LOOSER. We all know what a loser is. They aren't loosers. You can be loose, and you can be a loser, but you can't be a looser.

I like to misspeak. I like to say ax. And tor-tiLLA. And Juh-law-pen-oh.
I like to say "Something needs to be did" because someone once said it to me and I thought it was the funniest thing I had heard in a long time. I start sentences with "but" and "and" all the time. I write run-ons longer than some people's published short stories. I sometimes make grammar mistakes unwittingly, but more frequently on purpose. I overuse commas religiously. Obviously I am not an expert on anything. Except my blog. I am an expert about everything in Nobody Called Today Land.

If you read this blog and you make any of the aforementioned errors, I didn't write this post because I'm too chicken to tell you directly. I would absolutely tell you directly. Just ax anyone who's said "alls" in front of me. It's an offense to my delicate senses, I have to say something. But now that I'm seeing the whole loose, loser, lose thing widespread through out the world wide internets, I feel it my duty.

I hope we can still be friends. Especially if you are a looser who says alls.

Hey Y'all

A blogger I read religiously recently posted this. CLICK HERE

I'm linking to it because I know most of us like to help others but often don't have a way that is trusted or a way where just a small amount will make a difference.

She has a donate button on her blog if you feel so inclined.

That is all.

I Know I'm A Grown Woman

But there are just some things my mama never warned me about and I'm still not quite prepared for.

Today I encountered one of these things. Er, rather, people.

The Locker Room Nude Talker.

I met her today. Maybe there's more. Maybe there's a colony.

I have always been insanely modest. Modest is a nice way of saying I have never wanted anyone to see what I cover with clothes. When I was 8 years old I earned a reward to spend the night at my 3rd grade teacher's house. It was my one and only childhood overnight. There were about 6 other girls who also won. When it was time to get into our pajamas, I remember just being shocked when all these little girls, all these nice, normal girls I spent my days with, just started flinging off their clothes left and right. None of them cared who saw their skivvies. I on the other hand, crouched down in a little space by the bed and bedstand and worked myself up into a frenzy and a sweat trying maneuver my arms, legs, body, and pajamas in a space and a manner just isn't really human possible, except for by Houdini.
And maybe Michael Scott.

It could be because I have six brothers. But I think some people are just born like that. Avee seems to be set on the entire free world seeing what she was born with, all before noon. And although Bo constantly has his little crack showing, when he's aware he is very modest.

High school locker rooms--nightmare. Same in college. I either stalled or got dressed balancing myself over disgusting toilets. That was always more appealing. Sometimes I would just do mind over matter, or mind over white granny panties, and just get dressed like everyone else after swim class. It was never easy.

Now, I go to the Y. I get dressed in the shower. If you ever pass by the showers, you can see me hiding behind the curtain, never more than a stark white arm streaking out to grab my next article of clothing. That's as risque as it gets with me.

So, today after Bootcamp (uh yes Kim, I'm going, where ARE YOU!?) I thought I'd hit the sauna for a brief sweat. I went into the locker room, plunked my exhausted hind end down on a bench and proceeded with the difficult task of removing my tennis shoes and socks.

Enter Nude Talker. She looked innocent enough in her gym clothes. So when she struck up conversation with me, I innocently and willingly responded. Bootcamp this, Bootcamp that--she tried it, it's too hard on her most days. Yoga, weight lifting, swimming, etc. It was all good. I was continuing with concerted effort on my laces, and she was quickly stripping down. I did my normal, "Boy my shoes are sure fascinating, I've never really studied the stitching on them, wait, what's that...is that a purple thread going around the "N" of my New Balance shoes..." that I do every time someone within proximity has removed that which keeps us from ever having to use our imaginations.

I figured I could pull off the astute studying of my shoes and leg hairs for the minute or two it would take her to put on her suit. Or do whatever it is she was stripping down for.

The problem: Every time she spoke, after she was nekkid, she stopped dressing. She'd just stand there talking, in all her glory. At first I thought it was accidental. And then it started to look an awful lot like she really liked being nekkid. I kept looking down, but a normal person can only do that so much in a conversation. And I'm nothing if I'm not normal. Then when I realized the pattern of stalled dressing in relation to her talking, I started talking nonstop. I'm not really a nonstop kind of talker, I'm more of a "you know what I mean" "what do you think" kind of talker, with strangers at least. So it wasn't easy. THEN she stopped trying to cover herself to show me how intently she was listening to my nonstop talking. It was all going so wrong, so fast.

Finally I found an ever so slight pause in the "conversation" and I quickly made my exit.

My mom was a good mom. She really prepared me for a lot in life. But, she really dropped the ball with this one. You can be sure, I will warn my children of these types. I can't send them out into the world, or into locker rooms, unawares. And I guess I should cover this topic just to make sure none of them ever become the nude talker.

You know, more power to those who are that comfortable in their own skin. In nothing more than their skin... but really, they need to have compassion on the Me's of the world. The woman who never outgrew being a modest-chicken 7 year old at a slumber party.

The Real Boss

Mom: Turn off the tv please
Avee: No! I watch SpushBOB!
Mom: Nope, you may not watch Spongebob, turn it off.
Avee: (turning off tv, but coming into the kitchen to continue the fight) You NOT the boss Mom!
Mom: Nope, I am the boss. I waited a long time to grow up and be the boss. I'm the boss now.
Avee: You! Not! THABoss!
Mom: If I'm not the boss, then who is?
Avee: Avee's the boss. Me. My am.
Mom: Ohhh. I don't think so. Bosses have to be able to go potty in the toilet. Bosses don't wear diapers, only babies do.
Avee: Oh! Das right, my aaaaaaaam a baby!

15 minutes later...

Avee: (sweetly) You being nice mom?
Mom: Yes Avee, I'm always nice. Are you being nice?
Avee: Yes, my nice too. You are being nice?
Mom: (oblivious) Yep!
Avee: Okay! I go turn on Spushbob now!


Sneaky little...

Reason #43 Why

I could probably never be a real Iowan:

They chose this dude.

I'm not bitter, I'm not a sore loser, but I am kind of embarrassed to be living in the state that did this.

Is our future president really supposed to be picked because he's quick-witted, tells a good joke that keeps him from answering the real question, plays a guitar, and wears a bible strapped to him like a bullet-proof vest? Does the "aw shucks ma'am, tweren't nothin'" campaigning REALLY work? I'm embarrassed that it did here.

I'd like to know of someone who voted for Huckabee voted for any real reason besides his self-espoused humility or great moral fiber. Or because he's not mormon. Are we so dang backwards that we'll choose an ignorant and consistently dishonest "nice guy" because at least he's not a religion we don't believe in?

Something that rankles me about Huckaboo's dishonesty is, he delivers it in such an innocent, "I'm just doing the best I can here" way. The dude was a keynote speaker at anti-mormon conference in LDS headquarters, and says, "I don't know much about the mormon religion, but...." Why lie? Is it shameful to him that he knows a LOT (inaccurate as it may be) and actively worked to convert mormons (unsuccessfully, by the way) back in 1998? I'm not sure why he'd tell such a stupid lie, unless he's really banking on coming across as the poor little bible totin' preacher just doing the best he can against the great evil empire of money and success. And education. But that's another rant.

Did anyone vote for him because they believe in his foreign policy? Did anyone vote for him because he knows where Pakistan is? Did anyone vote for him because they believe convicted murderers and rapists should be released, despite pleas from victims, so that they can go on to rape and kill more? That fact alone makes me sick. Too bad the family and friends of the two women killed in Missouri can't let the Hucksters of Iowa know about every moment of every day that their hearts ache with their loss, which was entirely preventable. By Governor Huckabee.

Obviously, I'm a Romney supporter. But I would vote for any other candidate, Democrat, Republican, Independent, Martian, before I would ever vote for this dude. I'd really like to meet someone who has even one leg to stand on about why they'd vote for this dude. Last night's spiel from his supporters was, "He's a moral man, we need that in our country." Puhlease. Rhetoric is rhetoric. It ain't gonna run this country.

What I'm really ticked off about is that my house is a wreck and I need to be working on it and instead I have to be writing this post about Iowa's pathetic selection. Thanks a lot Iowa.

p.s. I apologize for the excessive use of the word "dude" in this post. There are other options, but this is a family friendly blog.

Back On the Wagon, In the Saddle, and Whatnot

Sooooo I haven't done bootcamp since Thanksgiving. I've thought about it a lot. And I've said I was going a lot. And I've even dreamt about it. But I haven't been.

Since 2008 is going to unveil the new line of Nobody, I knew I had to get my butt back to the Y. I have been there a few times to work out and swim, but I haven't done bootcamp. So, I started getting the kids ready, fed, nagged, threatened, and clothed at 8 and made it to the Y (which is 30 seconds away, in case you missed that the 327 other times I've mentioned it) by 9:15. SUPERSTAR! I was all geared up to haul my fat butt into bootcamp late, but when I got there, it was totally packed and people were doing push ups on the hard floor because there weren't even mats for everyone. I can't do push ups on the hard floor. Oh wait, I can't do push ups at all. Like a mat can fix that!

I walked in, turned around, and walked out. But I didn't leave. I took my new best friend:

I can't even begin to tell you how much I love this little device. Jay has a list of favorites on it, so I don't have to listen to his crap selections if I don't want to. I even made a playlist for the kids, if we are ever stuck in a waiting room somewhere. But, the be all end all, why this little silver thing is my new best friends, it because currently, it holds 10 episodes of The Office on it. 10 episodes I didn't get to watch last Winter/Spring when life was a little too hectic. It's beautiful. I watched Phyllis' Wedding today. I was the sweaty nutjob on the treadmill who kept laughing out loud.

I can't believe something so tiny can do so much.
I'm like, it's antithesis.

So, after a few rounds with the treadmill (rounds because any combination of me with an exercise machine is a fight) I headed off to the sauna to de-tox and de-stress. At the drinking fountain I bumped into a fellow bootcamper. A nice Lutheran minister that I've chatted with a few different times. So, by gym standards, we're pretty tight.

He said, "Hey there! Where have you BEEN!?" He seemed to genuinely care. I wished so desperately I had a good reason. Deployed. Disabled. Dead. I had nothing. But I said, "Aw man, I just fell off the wagon." Now, anyone who has known me in real life for more than maybe, oh, two minutes, would know that's just how I talk. I often misuse phrases, cliches, and whatnot. I also like to throw in unnecessary words. Like whatnot. Heretofore. Etc, etc, etc.

Well, since gym friendships aren't really real life, I did not have that safe place to be myself. He stared at me. Concern crossed his face. Then confusion. Then I think he started to pray silently to himself. Either for me and my drinking problem with 3 impressionable children in the home, or for himself that he could think of something tactful to say to end our conversation fast.

As I watched the progression of expressions cross his face, "Public, PC, Non-Nutty Nobody" kicked in inside my head. And I quickly said, "Oh, I just mean life got so hectic. My daughter broke her leg and hauling her and a baby through the ice and snow most days was just more than I was willing to deal with. Plus, you know, the Vodka."

That was so much easier for him to process and we're totally still friends. Probably best gym friends forever. Until the next time I fall off the wagon. ANY wagon.

Since I had a different blog address this time last year, I'm going to be importing some old posts into this blog so I can do a review of 2007. I love to read other's reviews, and I love myself, so I think this works out to be a perfect combination.

But for now, there's a little 7 month old (TODAY!) crawling through my kitchen looking for something, anything, even an old chicken bone would do, to eat.

He's so cute when he's not needy.