I was about to say Eff You but then I accidentally cried instead

True story.  And I'd like to take a moment to point out that you all are kinda lucky I am sharing this little story because I can't stand cry babies, and I was one, so this is a tiny bit hard to share.  You're welcome.

So here's the thing, not only are insurance companies a bunch of effing racketeers, insurance companies suck ass.  Let me just tell you why I hate those jerks.

First, you pay for insurance for like, ever, and you pay a lot.  Then, you need one miserable procedure, and you jump through the hoops of fire that they make you jump through to be able to actually qualify for the procedure, then they deny you coverage anyway.

Second, you can't ever just talk to anybody.   Because nobody that matters ever takes your call.  I mean, the person you're allowed to call and talk to is like a 19 year old kid getting minimum wage to type out what you are saying.  And obviously they don't give a crap.  Then the information that the 19 year old kid just typed apparently gets shuffled along to someone else, then finally to the ass that sits somewhere at a desk and stamps DENY on your request, no matter what.  And then you appeal their decision in hopes that they will maker a smarter choice and that same ass stamps DENY on your appeal.  And that ass probably smiled and maybe even said haha while stamping it.

Because why do they care?

Jerks.

It's so frustrating.  Which is how come I accidentally cried.  Not a sad cry, a pissed cry.  There is a difference.  What I meant to do was say Eff You jerks, but then a tear came because well, damn, I'm mad.  And then I get doubly mad because I accidentally cried, which makes it worse.  Because I'm sure those jerks could hear it in my wobbly voice and I don't like to cry and look weak. 

I hate insurance companies.

It's a little too wormy out for me

If I don't walk at night, I walk on the track at the high school in the morning.  It's really nice because I am the only one out and I don't have to worry about accidentally singing along to whatever tune I am jamming to on my ipod/phone. 

Also, it's kind of cool to use the lap counter thing on the ipod/phone.  I like seeing how fast I can make it around the track and try to beat my time.  The counter only works though, if you don't get occasionally distracted looking around or changing songs or removing rocks from your sneakers.  That kind of thing.

Yesterday, I got distracted by dodging worms on the track.

They were everywhere.  Seriously unavoidable.

Yes, yes I did.  I think there was a worm migration going on because let me tell you, it was gross.  Besides, worms stink.  Literally.

Did you ever notice that?  After a good rain, you'll go outside and it stinks like worms?  I hate that.

So me and all of the worms enjoyed 8 laps around the track.  I couldn't wrap it up fast enough, let me tell you.  Because I am pretty sure all of the really big fat gross ugly worms were following me.  They may have been ganging up on me because I was crushing all of their worm friends.

And then I went home and washed the bottoms of my sneakers because all I could think about was slimy worm guts being tracked into my mudroom.

I don't even think that is the least bit weird.

Last but certainly least

OK, let's all thank Cod and Baby Jesus that this is the last Easter-ish post I am writing.  Yes, I do think it's appropriate to thank both of them, because it was Easter after all.

So, in my lengthy detailed yapping about my great Easter weekend, I left off with the coloring of the eggs.  Unfortunately, it was all down hill from there.


See, after we colored eggs, everyone was milling about, kids were playing miscellaneously in different areas of the house, adults were congregating in the family room, chatting and watching some game on TV simultaneously.  And then it happened.


THE UNTHINKABLE.


We lost Nanny.


Oh.  Em.  Gee.  We lost Nanny!


I'll just remind any new readers that Nanny isn't my cute little grandma.  Well wait, Nanny was my cute little grandma, and she still is, but that Nanny is up in Heaven.  So we did not lose that Nanny.  We lost the Nanny that is Brooke's blankie.


So here's the thing.  Brooke has had Nanny since she was a baby.  She is irreplaceable because (notice I called Nanny a she.  Apparently, she is a girl.  Ask Brooke.) a) over the years I have not been able to find a replacement to have just in case, and believe me I have tried, and b) after many years of love and washing and just being dragged around, she has been reduced to a jumble of strings, so there's no way to recreate her, and c) well maybe there is no real c, but, oh man, we lost Nanny!


And let me tell you, it's a pretty BFD.  (bfd= big effing deal)  Brooke carries Nanny with her everywhere. 

She rides to school in the van every day, and waits all day in the front seat til we go pick her up. 

She accompanies Brooke outside to play in the yard,

she joins us at the pool. 

She is always there for the little unplanned naps.



And of course, she sleeps in Brooke's bed, snugly wrapped up in her little fingers.  When Brooke needs a moment, to chill out or just to wind down, Nanny helps her do it.  She isn't allowed in the bathroom, or inside stores, but besides that, Nanny is always with us.


This is the last known picture of Nanny, which was taken the day before Easter by Brooke.   Because Nanny is really her BFF, and Brooke takes a lot of pictures of her.

Nanny has been reduced to a blue tangle of strings.  And that is exactly how Brooke likes her.  She likes the strings.  And she thinks that one of the snarls of string is her face.  Seriously.  Nanny also has arms.  Just saying.


In the chaos and craziness of the day, she got lost somewhere in this very house.  Which is the good news.  But let me tell you, we tore the place up and down.  We looked in all of the random spots something could get lost.  We scoured the playroom, bedrooms -- every room -- floor to ceiling.  She is nowhere to be found.  We have never lost her before.  That right there has to give you some indication of how important that tangle of blue strings is to Brooke.

Anyway, I was smart enough to cut a chunk off of Nanny a few years back, and we keep "Fake Nanny" as a back up.  The thing is, she isn't nearly as stringy as Real Nanny, so Brooke really barely accepts it.  She did sleep with Fake Nanny, and she has been playing with her, and she said Fake Nanny might have a face.

Even though Brooke has still been looking everywhere and saying she wants Real Nanny back, I snagged a picture of her yesterday, snuggling Fake Nanny on the front lawn.

I hope it will be good enough.

B is for Brooke's Blankie. =(

my apologies for the abrupt ending

We had a really great Easter weekend. 


Yesterday, I mentioned that my sisters Jen and Indi came in from CT with their families.  And I also mentioned that we went out to dinner and ate our faces off.  And of course had the slow clap incident.

My sister Ali, getting her egg coloring competitive-ness on.

My sister Jen, holding what may or may not be a little prescription of happy/calm/joy/love.

Saturday, all of us ended up at my house to color eggs.  I was rather shocked that my sister Ali didn't try to turn it into a competition of sorts.  She's very competitive.  I was also rather shocked that I didn't have a mini melt down.  One of my issues (did you notice I said one of my issues?) is that chaos sort of makes me have a mental freak out.  And a kitchen filled with 21 of my favorite people can get a little chaotic.  Especially when it's my kitchen.

It was actually great after I took eleven Xanax, we put paper all over the kitchen table, and spread out with a ton of dye and got to work.

I'm happy to report that nothing got jumped on, broken, spilled, stained or stolen during this event.

I like to consider myself a master at coloring eggs.

Come to think of it, I'd also like to consider myself a master blogger, but since I seem to be a master blog slacker as of late, I might have to wait til I get my mojo back to take that title and run with it.

And on that note, I have to go frost some cupcakes.  Yum.

Golf, dinner, the slow clap and one bad Catholic

So Friday (that would be Good Friday to all of you good Catholics), my husband took a half day off of work for his first golf of the season.  He was very excited.  Apparently, the first golf of the season is a pretty big deal.  Woo hoo!  Did I sound enthusiastic?

Alex was also excited because my BIL John was coming in for the golf outing (and also for Easter, obviously).  My sister dropped John and his clubs off at Alex's office and they were supposed to head out from there with a couple of guys from work.

After golfing, we all met up to go out to dinner, you know, just because we eat like we've never seen food before whenever we all get together.  The first thing John mentioned to me was that Alex's secretary was hot and the second thing was that he was getting prepared to torment Alex by giving his new friends (the guys from Alex's office) lots of good dirt on Alex.  Alex is the golden boy at work, and pretty much can do no wrong.  Dirt on the golden boy is hard to come by.  And coveted apparently.  The golden boy's buddies actually gave John their cell numbers, so it will be infinitely easier for him to pass on lots of damaging info.  Hopefully John doesn't forward them that picture of Alex passed out with his ass out.  That was a classic.  But probably not appropriate for work place fodder.  Certainly not appropriate for a golden boy.

So anyway, first, I determined that John is a big fat liar, because Alex's secretary was out on vacation last week.  Supposedly.

I've never actually met his secretary.  She could be hot.  I'm sure John was trying to irritate me, what with the disco stick email debacle and all.   But let's not go there.

So anyway, we're at this new restaurant.  It's a pretty nice place, great atmosphere, decent looking menu.  They put us in this side cubby area.  I'm assuming because we just give off this vibe of a loud obnoxious group, and in isolating us, they can keep us from disturbing the normal other people.  Funny that they got that impression of our crew. 

Because wouldn't you know the poor waitress dropped something loudly on the hardwood floor and John started the slow clap.  I was mortified.  Of course, if someone in my family starts the slow clap, everyone else tends to join in.  The slow clap consisting of most of the 12 people in our party was really loud. I semi-slid under the table.  And I did not join in.  Because I was too busy using my hands to cover my face.  In hopes that nobody could see me.

The slow clap happens a lot in our family, because that's how we roll.  You know, anything to embarrass someone who does something dumb.   I sometimes wonder if other families are like us.  But usually, the slow clap doesn't happen in real, live public.  And not so often in a fairly quiet, nice restaurant.  Everyone in the place looked at us.

They may or may not have been amused.


John and Alex having a Mike Tyson's Tiger/Hangover moment outside of the restaurant.  After lots of red wine.


I'd like to think that we gave the poor waitress a good tip.  Only I'm not sure because my dad bucked up and treated us to dinner, so I never even saw the bill.  Which was awesome.  A lot of good wine was flowing, lots of purple teeth, lots of happy chatter and laughter.  A good time was had by all.  We pretty much closed the place.

I love us.

Ugh, but I am pretty sure Jesus is mad at me because I sort of forgot that it was Good Friday and ordered Chicken.  Or at least that's what I am telling the good Catholics.  Damn that chicken.  And also, I sort of fell off the giving up the coffee for Lent thing.  I am such a bad Catholic.  I feel a lot of shame.  Sorry Jesus.

the baby book quandary

Is quandary even the right word?  Good question.  It sounds right, I think.


ANYWAY.  Do any of you mom's of more than one kid have like a massive baby book for kid #1, documenting everything from moment one of the birth (and before), then a pretty good sized baby book for kid #2, kind of making it up to about the third birthday, then poor little #3 has some stuff, misc birthday and holiday moments, and then there's #4.  The one with barely any documented cuteness outside of the birth and coming home.


Well, I feel guilty.  How do I fix this?  Just add random fake cute-isms so that #4 doesn't feel totally unimportant??

At least I took an obscene amount of pictures.

I am a peeper

I love walking at night.  I almost always walk alone, and even though it is a little scary, it's really peaceful.

I don't mind so much walking when it is cold anymore.  I used to hate it, but I think lately I have had a little change of heart.  It feels like you can take fuller breaths, and I like seeing the warm air that I am breathing out.  Is that weird?  I guess it makes me feel alive-ish.  I don't know.  When I get home my legs feel almost numb because they are so cold, but it feels kind of good anyway.

I also like walking at night because you can see inside other people's houses.  Not in a Peeping Tom sort of way.  But maybe.  Not the scary weirdo kind of peeper though.  More like the curious kind of peeper.

Like isn't it neat to just get a glimpse inside someone else's life for the few seconds that you are walking by?  Maybe you see someone bustling around cleaning up after dinner.  Or kids laying on the floor playing a game or something.  Or people just sitting there spacing out in front of the TV.

Once, I saw the side view of a guy with such a mad scowly face, it was like watching a silent movie.

Depending on what sort of music I am playing, I'll usually make up little stories about what I see inside other people's houses.  I get way too distracted if I am playing my "walking list" though,  which is way upbeat and pretty bouncy.  I don't get too far with those stories because after the first few thoughts, I am back to singing along to will i. am or something.

If I am listening to a more mellow list (which incidentally is not exactly conducive to walking at a great pace) I can get all into a 20 minute story about what is going on in there.  In their lives.  It makes the walking seem to fly by and before I know it my time is up and I am walking up the steps to my own house.  To my own story.  To real life.

Do I offend? sniff sniff

I just noticed that someone dropped me from their blog roll follower list thing.

Well that hurts my feelings.  I may have actually had a little tear in my eye about it.  No, that was just dirt.  Really, it was just a little dirt in my eye.  But I was really enjoying the number 76.  That was the number of followers I had.  It made me feel like a leader.  It made me feel like a hot shot.


Do people still even say hot shot?


Maybe that's why the follower decided not to follow me anymore.  Maybe I am too uncool because I say things like hot shot and rewind.  I mean, maybe a girl who says hot shot is just not worthy of that hip, fancy follower.


Maybe I am boring.  Maybe my posts are just too all over the place to hold that meanie follower's attention.  Maybe I need a niche.  Maybe it's because I say an occasional swear word!  Oh my Cod maybe it's because I said the V word yesterday!

 Do I offend?


Actually, I really don't mind being unfollowed.  For reals.  Because if someone isn't feeling my blog, I totally accept that.  I want the people who give me a second of their time to enjoy that second.  If they aren't digging it, it's no skin off my nose -- it just means we aren't similar enough in some way to have a connection  And I really think I prefer the number 75.  It's rounder, don't you think?

So all of you (three) remaining loyal readers, I think we have a connection.  I think it might even be a love connection.  Because I puffy heart all of you guys.  I might even be persuaded to marry you if my husband didn't care.  And if it was legal in this state of course.  Anyway, I know it's pathetic to beg, but please don't unfollow me.  I'll make an effort to be cooler!  I promise!

things that I can't say

I have nothing against really nice doctors.

I mean, really nice doctors are hard to come by it seems.

Our pediatrician is nice enough, I've kept her around for all four kids.  Part of her name has the word "potty" in it, so it's always entertaining to my kids to talk about her.  They seem to think it's hysterical.  

But anyway, my poor kiddo continues to have UTI-like symptoms, even after a good round of antibiotics.  So we ended up going to another doctor to have her checked out.  And the doctor, she was really nice to my kid.  But a little too nice.   It's hard to put my finger on it, but it was kind of disturbing.

Besides, she said the V word like, a lot.  I have trouble with the V word.  You know, v*gina.  Oh I can't even spell it without feeling uncomfortable.  See how I put a little star there?  To make it a little cuter.  You're welcome.  The word just doesn't come out of my mouth.  I blame my mother.  I grew up thinking it was called a front hiney.  As opposed to a back hiney.  Thanks Mom.  So the Doctor certainly seemed to need to say it like a hundred times.  And I had to sit there and pretend I wasn't feeling all skeevy.  Ugh and she said other things that were gross too, like other unneccessary anatomical words that I am not even going to put down.

Brooke certainly seemed to like her though.  She told me that she wanted to go back there.  She said the doctor was really nice.  I'm sure it's because she gave her doctor gloves and a purple balloon.  Well, who wouldn't like someone who gave them doctor gloves and a purple balloon? 

Chest bump! Is that inappropriate?

Did you ever wonder why basketball players smack each other on the butt when they make a good play?  I mean, is it in the basketball handbook?  Because it's pretty much as common as a layup.  (See that??  Did you see me make a basketball reference guys?  I'm so sporty.)

But really, back to the ass smacking.  Really?  Why is this necessary?  Like imagine if you did a good job on a presentation at work, and instead of shaking your hand or something, everyone smacked your ass on the way out the door of your office. 

Do you think it's like a camaraderie thing?  Like, "You're my boy BLUE." *ass smack*

Maybe it's a sports thing?  Except funny, it doesn't seem to happen in baseball.  Or football.  Does it?  Maybe it does and I just missed it.  Because I watch sports all of the time.  ::snort::

I also don't get the whole chest bump thing.  You jump up and simultaneously bump chests and that supposed to mean... what?  We're so cool?  I have to admit that it does take a little coordination to simultaneously jump and bump, you know, and get it right the first time.  Wouldn't it be funny if chest bumpers missed?  Like if one of you jumped a little before the other one and then instead of a chest bump, someone got a chest to chin bump?  That might be a little awkward.  And definitely wouldn't exactly scream, "We're so cool."  It might actually scream, "We're so lame."

I'm partial to the fist pump.  You know, in case you were wondering. 

There's no real point to this post, actually.  So I apologize if you were waiting for a point to appear at the end.  Just don't smack my butt if you think it's supreme quality writing.  K?  K.

Let's focus on me

Don't call me anti-social. 

Well, don't call me anti-social to my face.  I don't need reminding.  Apparently, being anti-social is a bad thing. 

Personally, I don't see anything wrong with being comfortable with just the friends that I have.  Which I admit are very few.  But that is by choice.  It's a comfort thing.  I am not very good at opening up, and I am not very good at putting myself out there.  I know why I am the way that I am. 

It's is not like to the point of holing up in the house and never leaving or anything.  I definitely am in social situations when it's necessary, and I can hold my own.  I will converse, I will participate kind of.  I'm not a jerk.  I don't stand plastered against the wall frozen in fear, or need to hold on to my husband's arm like he is my life line.  But I don't particularly seek out social situations where I need to talk to people that aren't in my tiny little circle of friends.  I don't necessarily feel like I need any more people in my circle.  I'm content with what I have.  I know what to expect from my friends, and they know what to expect from me.

This makes my husband crazy.  He is the exact opposite of me.  He can go anywhere, with anyone, and be completely at ease.  He can strike up a conversation and keep it going and come off as witty and intelligent.  Often times he doesn't shut his trap even.  But it seems to work for him, because really, he's very well liked.  For the life of me, I can't imagine why he didn't pick someone more like him.

If I am in a conversation with people that I am uncomfortable around, I am usually second guessing every word that comes out of my mouth.  I am constantly going over what I've said to make sure I don't come off as stupid or boring.  It's exhausting actually.

The thing is though, I am pretty happy being "anti-social."  I like where I am.  I have friends, family, very specific people that I like and feel comfortable with.  I don't need or want what comes with being super social.  I like my space.  I like my privacy.  I like not being an open book to everyone. 

The only thing that I don't like is the discomfort I feel when I have to be "on."  I admit that it must be easier not being like me.  But I'm good.  For now.

I know about Fletch, but I never did see it.

Want to hear a shameful flaw?


I never watched The Princess Bride.

I'll pause while you gasp and/or fall off of your chair.  Done?  OK then.


Oh, I attempted it back in the day.  I'm not sure exactly what threw me off.  My boyfriend at the time tried to get me to watch it, I'm sure I was too distracted with making out or something, now that I think about it.


But there are a bunch of apparently "must see" movies that I never did watch that I get crap for all of the time.  Like Ghostbusters.  I do however, know the theme song.  Another big one is Fletch.

Ah.  I'm ashamed and appalled too.  Trust me.  Fletch is like one of the best Chevy Chase movies ever apparently.  I'm pretty sure that I saw a scene here or there, but never sat down and watched the whole thing.  Speaking of Chevy Chase, I also never watched any of the Vacation movies, or Caddyshack.  Shocking and tragic, I know.

Every single Christmas, my husband acts as appalled as he did the first time he found out that I never saw any of the Christmas classics, like A Christmas Carol, or Miracle on whatever Street or It's a Wonderful Life.  Or Scrooge.  In my defense, I did watch all of the cartoon Christmas classics.  I mean Rudolph, Frosty, The Grinch, Charlie Brown... that definitely has to count for something.

One of these days I am going to rent a pile of those must haves and just watch until I get sick of watching.  That's going on my bucket list.

It's not me, it's you. Online dating shocker.

So about online dating.


I was talking with someone this weekend who is currently doing the online dating thing and has had the most hysterical, disgusting and scary stories about her experiences.  She typically goes on several dates a week, and so far so bad pretty much.


She has met some nice guys, no keepers, but it seems like the majority of them are players, looking for a quick hook up.  In fact, just last week she went on a lunch date with someone -- first date -- they had a nice lunch and good conversation. He was driving her back to work when all of a sudden, he unzipped his pants and sort of took out his business.  Right there, as he was driving.  First of all,  Who does that???!  And secondly, how did he manage to maneuver himself in such a way that it was even comfortably possible?  I mean, I know I have been out of the dating scene for like, fifteen years or so, but that can't be the norm these days.  I don't care how many dates we've been on, if you are going to expose yourself to me like a perv, it's pretty much a deal breaker.  Like immediately.


He seemed a little surprised when she asked him to put his business back where it belonged, and then even more shocked when she emphatically told him she was not even remotely interested in hooking up.  I'm kind of curious to know if that approach has ever worked for him before.  And when she told me this story, I was a little afraid for her life because that scene just reeks of serial killer.


I've suggested she write a blog detailing her crazy experiences.   And trust me, this story is just the tip of the iceberg.  

She's strong, funny, fun, sociable, attractive -- actually a great person all around.  She started the online dating stuff because after a divorce, she moved far from home to a town where she knew pretty much a tiny handful of people.  She is sociable, and having friends and hanging out is important to her.  It just seems so hard to meet nice, mature people in a "normal" environment these days.

So anyway, I think she should quit the online dating stuff.  It's definitely been great fodder - and great to laugh at her and also with her about the oh so awkward situations she has ended up in, but I have to admit I am a little scared for her life.

Not that he frequents nudie bars or anything

I am so not the kind of wife who tells her husband he can't do something.  I don't do the whole "rules" thing very well at all.

See, the thing is, I pretty much consider myself Alex's wife, not his mother.  He's a grown man, and the only thing that I am going to tell him he is allowed to do is make his own decisions.  If he wants to go grab a beer downstreet and watch a game at the bar, what do I care?  Actually, the only thing that I care about is him not driving after he's had a beer or two, but otherwise, what's the big deal?

Alex recently said to me, "Thanks for letting me go to the game."  I was like, "Don't ever say that to me again.  I didn't let you do anything!"  Here's how it works with us:  he asks me if I care if he does something, and I say yes I care or no I do not care.  And then he makes a decision.  Like a big boy. 

There have been plenty of times that I have cared - typically, I care if whatever it is that he wants to do majorly conflicts with something else, or if I am seriously wiped out and need a break.  But Alex ultimately makes his own decision (with my input) and I do the same.  I wholeheartedly believe that it's really really healthy for spouses to have things that they do with their friends, that they don't have to be chained to each other 24/7.  That it's OK to have outside interests. 

Like really,  I'm not too interested in going to see a football game and it's no skin off of my nose if he wants to go off and tailgate and hang with his friends.  Just like he could care less if I wanted to spend the day at an auction or wandering through book stores, or going out to dinner and drinks with my friends.  Obviosuly if I asked him to join me he would, but it doesn't threaten him to watch me walk out the door without him.

Once I remember having a conversation with this lady, and she proceeded to list all of the things her husband wasn't allowed to do.  I was appalled.  First I was thinking that I really felt sorry for her man because he had to put up with such a control freak, and then I was thinking, really lady?  Really?  Who are you?  Why would our husband's need rules?  They are not our children.

I mean, I don't exactly appreciate the thought of my husband going to a nudie bar or something, because I kind of think it's inappropriate for a married guy to be out ogling naked women, but I wouldn't ever tell him that I forbid it.  I would absolutely tell him that it makes me uncomfortable and that I wouldn't like it.  But from there it is entirely his decision.

Because he is a grown up.

One of the things that this lady's man wasn't allowed to do was speak to specific women.  Again, I was like omfg really?  In a million years, if my husband forbid me to do something, I would probably freaking do it and give him the finger while doing it just because I hate people telling me what to do.  I know for a fact that I would dig my heals in and be like, you can't tell me not to blahblahblah.

And seriously, if you have to forbid your partner from speaking to specific people, clearly there is a huge lack of trust there.  And the real question should be, why are you with someone that you can't trust?  And also, why is your partner such a wimp that they allow you to give them rules??  Honestly, I can't stand wimpy guys.  I would much rather a man who stands up for himself than lays down and meekly accepts that kind of thing.  Because nobody is the boss of me.  And the only people I am the boss of are my kids.  And that's only temporary.

To me, marriage = partners. 

Huh.  Go figure.  That turned into an unexpected rant.  Sorry guys.

Do not pee in my panic room

I am totally building a panic room.

And really, on a related note, I kind of need to start stockpiling for 2012.  Because Cod darn it we're all going to die.

But about the panic room, I really want one.  I think it's a very smart thing to have.  If a bad guy starts wiggling your door knob, you simply wrangle the kids up and run for the panic room.  My panic room will have a phone in it and also food and candy and comfy cushions with good seating and maybe a gun.  Definitely a gun.  And also probably it should have a potty.  Because I am definitely not going to let anyone pee on my panic room floor if we're in there a while.

Because eventually someone will have to pee.  Probably not me because I have a bladder that's the size of a small camper.  Not one of those really small campers though, more like a mid-sized camper, with sides that slide out.  That's about the size of my bladder.  Did I ever tell you about that time I drove all of the way to Florida without a bathroom break?  High five to my bladder.  Because from where I live, that a damn long drive.   Like 23 hours or so. 

So anyway, when we built our house, I freaking forgot to make a panic room.  I was so mad.  Then my sister Ali was building her house and she had the perfect spot for a panic room and even though she is way more of a scaredy cat chicken than I am, she didn't pull the trigger.  But she did get a home alarm system wired, so I guess she's a little less likely to need a panic room.  My sister Jenney has an unplanned panic room and an alarm system.  I can't tell you where the panic room is in the house though, you know just in case you are a bad guy and you are planning on using your secret sleuth-like skills to try to sneak into Jenney's house and rob her blind.  If you are a bad guy, I just should probably point out that they have guns and they know how to use them.  And they also have a mutant attack Pomeranian.  If I were you, I wouldn't chance it.  Because Pepe the Pomeranian will cut you.  Or at the very least, he will pee on your leg and smile while doing it.

Jenney took a gun safety course.  So she could learn how to safely use her gun, obviously.  I wish I took a gun safety course.  I wish I had a gun.  Kinda.  I do have a fear of having a gun in my house because my son is an idiot sometimes doesn't use his brain, and would more than likely touch it.  Also my husband doesn't like guns. 

Speaking of Alex, don't let me forget to put a few rescue inhalers in my panic room.  Because I think that he would panic in the panic room, and when he panics, his asthma comes out.

Wouldn't it be terrible if you were all safe in your panic room but your husband had a deadly asthma attack in there??  And then you'd have to make the choice, do I chance it and make a run for safety from the bad guys and potentially die from gunshots to the back of the head during the great escape, or do I let him wheeze and cough and slowly drown in his own mucous?

That would be a tough choice right there.  Death by gunshot, or death by mucous.  I guess I would go death by gunshot. 

What's that you say?  No, I most certainly do not have an overactive imagination.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz out of the comfort zone

Oh I have been sleeping!

I HAVE BEEN SLEEPING! (cue the Hallelujah Chorus)

Like a log even!  It is so great and I feel so well rested and ahhh.  Don't you just love when you sleep well?

I am pretty sure it's all because I got a bee in my bonnet.  Sometimes I get a bee in my bonnet.  Well doesn't everyone? 

So anyway, the "bee" was me deciding to rearrange my our bedroom for the first time in like, ever.  I went totally outside of my comfort zone and put my bed in the only other place it could fit -- in front of the window.  Woooo.  Alex was definitely not sure he was feeling it.  It was a tough call, but for some reason, since moving the furniture all around I have slept like a baby every. single. night.  And that right there is nothing short of awesome.

I was a little concerned that Brooke might be all disoriented in the middle of the night (because she comes and gets in my bed every. single. night), but she rolled with it.  To be perfectly honest with you, her climbing over me like she is scaling a mountain while clutching Elephantie, Bearie, Piggie, Nanny and Soft Blankie hasn't even woken me up.

So z is for me, honking some serious sheep.  zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz  I love sleep. :)

five

"Mom, close your eyes!"  says a muffled voice from the other room.

"Uh.  Why?"  I'm not great at surprises.

"Please!  Just close your eyes.  I have a surprise!"

"OK, they are closed."  I play along.

"Presenting.... "

"...my makeover!"

"Well look at that!  That's quite an ... interesting shade of blue!  And your lips.  They're so... glossy!  And your teeth... so pink..."

"Mom, don't I look beautiful?"  She's so proud of herself.

"Yes, you sure do Brookie."

"Now watch me twirl!"

Don't you sometimes wish you were five again?

24/48 and a 3 day weekend

So I can't remember who, but one of the bloggers I read recently posed this question:

"If you had 24 hours all to yourself, what would you do? Would you go away or stay home? What if it were 48 hours, then what? And if it were a whole three-day weekend?"

So I decided to answer it.  I like to answer questions.

If I had 24 hours all to myself, I think I would stay home.  I'd probably take a really long, hot bath and read til my eyes hurt.  When I'd get tired of reading, I'd catch up on all of the television lingering on my DVR, and watch a bunch of movies.  Of course I would have to get some take out, because movie marathons need food that someone else makes for you.  So to me, 24 hours alone = serious, hard core lazy time.

If I had 48 hours all to myself, I would definitely go off somewhere not too far, like NYC.  It would have to be in a 3 hour radius of home because I wouldn't want to waste too much of my 48 hours on travel.  I'd probably stay in a nice hotel in Times Square and walk and explore and shop, and see a show or two.  And get room service.  I love room service.  It would be great.

Oh, a three day weekend ALL ALONE??   Now that would be amazing.  And I would take advantage of every minute I think.  I am pretty sure I would fly out west - and gain 3 hours.  I'm sneaky like that.  I want to go to a million different cool places along the coast of California... but I would settle for one great spot, where I could walk and explore and people-watch.  And then sit somewhere peaceful and warm for as long as I wanted, just watching the ocean do it's thing.  Quiet and uninterrupted.  That might just be a little bit of heaven right there.

approximately 63,072,000 seconds. Or I could just say two years.

I just realized today marks my two year blogiversary.  

Woo hoo!

Two years ago, I got some strange notion that it would be a great idea to write about a bunch of the random things that frantically bounce around in my head.  And then I got the strange notion to publish what I wrote for all of the world to see.

It started out pretty lame and boring actually.  I was just feeling it out, figuring out what was right for me and testing the waters really tentatively.  I was not exactly sure how to approach blogging, what the rules were, how much to reveal... you know, the regular blog anxieties I guess.  But I knew that I liked to write, and I kept plodding along.  At an irregular pace.

Anyway, after a few false starts, I got myself into a routine, and eventually I think I sort of got it down.  I started to feel more comfortable with what I was putting out there.  It felt really nice when I got a few followers.  I guess it was validating in some way.  Like someone liked me, like someone was actually interested in something that I had to say.

So at the end of the day, I'm still digging this thing.  I'm still finding things to blog about and enjoying blogging about them with all of you (four) guys.

Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for sticking with me. Thank you for reading, for commenting, for making this thing worth doing.  I guess I'll keep coming around if you don't mind.  At least til we get sick of each other.

richard beheaded bob. no really.

So a funny thing happened the other day. 

My sister told me how she had been chatting with her friend (lets call her) Bob, and Bob told my sister that she went to facebook a mutual friend, (let's call her) Richard to see if Richard's kid could come over for a play date. 


You know, because really, what is a better way to communicate in this day and age than facebook?

Personally, I hate talking on the phone.  I am not a phone chatter, so the facebook and the texting helps make me a happier, more communicative person.  And less of a person who ignores responding to a back log of phone messages.

So back to Bob and Richard.  Bob and Richard have known each other for years, and their kids are in the same grade and are friends.  So Bob goes to facebook Richard, and realizes that she's been inexplicably defriended.  Richard defriended Bob for no apparent reason.  I mean, WTF Richard?  So needless to say, the playdate was a little more difficult to make happen.  And maybe a feeling or two ended up getting hurt there.

Hm.

So how do you decide if defriending someone is offensive or not?

I got defriended before.  I have to admit I was a little offended.  At first I couldn't decide if I was offended or relieved.  Then I was all, "That asshat that I haven't spoken with since 11th grade defriended me??  Who does he think he is??"  And now it's all awkward when I walk past him in the Grand Union.  But whatever, at least he has the balls that I don't.  I mean literally and figuratively, because you know, I don't really have balls.  And I also don't really have the balls to defriend people.  Mostly because I don't like to hurt people's feelings.  Who knew I was so nice?

Facebook is a tough thing.  You start up with it, you get excited to reconnect, you get all feeling like you're popular because you have 276 friends.  Woo hoo!  Then you realize that you kind of lost contact with most of those "friends" for a reason.  Like, maybe they weren't really your friends to begin with.  So initially you get caught up in the whole thing but then you find yourself stuck with friends who aren't your friends, and you really aren't sure if you want them looking at that adorable picture of your placenta.

FYI, I never posted an adorable picture of my placenta.  I may actually gag at the thought.  I've heard that people have posted pictures of their placentas and other miscellaneous disgusting things and I'm not really sure why.  I mean, I'm sure my placentas were as adorable as everyone else's placentas, but for the love of Cod, someone please tell me why we would post such things?

Anyway, I don't really think there is a delicate way to defriend someone. I've just really learned about the ways to make certain things private, and I use those features for people I don't feel close enough to share everything with.

Not that I'm hugely into facebook or anything.  But it really does make a playdate set-up happen effortlessly.

And I am all about effortlessly.  It is almost my favorite word.

** You know, blogger really needs to get with the times and make some updates.  The word defriend is a word of the times, right?  I mean, it's a facebook word.  It's got to be in the dictionary, and blogger spellcheck keeps giving me options to change it to befriend or behead.  Come to think of it, this post would have been a lot more interesting if I initially said that Richard beheaded Bob. Don't you think?