Plastic Me

I've been thinking a lot about the fact that I am never going to bear a child again (at least, medical science says that I have less than a 1% chance of it happening, so I'm thinking that's a lot like never).

I always told myself that when my baby making years are over I was gonna start working on my body. Getting healthy, getting in shape, upping my sexy, all of that.

Now that I'm in the throws of a full body transformation by way of blood, sweat, and tears (in the form of counting points and working out), I am thinking that, although I have seen definitive progress, there are a few areas that, without medical intervention, will probably never reach a point at which I am happy.

I know many people are against plastic surgery for a number of reasons. But, I reject those reasons.

Even though I am proud of the fact that I have lost 30lbs and have gotten myself down to a healthier frame, I am still overweight (check my BMI, people), I am still unhappy with my appearance, and I am still suffering with one piece suit that features a full skirt and jacket (ok, no jacket, but close).

I don't want to obsess over this for the rest of my life, and barring a diet consisting solely of steamed cabbage and lukewarm water, I am never going to be able to accomplish what Dr. Nip Tuck can in just a few short hours (or less, not really sure how long these things take).

Call me conceited, call me vain, call me fickle, call me whatever you want. I'm sick of my fat stomach, my saggy tits, and my rotten butt cheese, and I'd like to do something about it, so here it is, my top five most coveted plastic surgery procedures (and yes, I would get more than five if I could).

1. Boob lift. They are chronically sagging around my midsection. Each morning, when I dress, I lift them up so that I may tuck my pants under them. And, for the record, I wear low waist jeans, so, yeah. I don't like that they look like a pair of panty hose with a lime in the bottom of each foot. I'm only 30, so there is no reason why I should look like this.

But I do. And, it's friggin' disgusting.

2. Implants. I want them to be a little rounder, firmer, and perkier. Refer to above photo for where I've been. And, below for where I'm going.



3. Back lipo. At present, I appear to have a pack of hot dogs stuck to my back, on each side. That is not natural. I'm interested in a smoother appearance as I'd like to be able to wear one of Old Navy's perfect fit shirts without showing off my bun length back weenies. I don't think that's too much to ask.

4. Tummy tuck. This is one of those things that no matter how much I work out or how much weight I lose, it's always gonna be there. The saggy, baggy, belly bag is not ever going to stop haunting me. I know that I can decrease it's size, but I can never fully rid myself of the thing, and no matter how small it gets, it will always be riddled with the most disgusting looking stretch marks. Please don't tell me it's a badge of honor from becoming a mother. It is not. It is a badge of ugly from becoming a fat mother, and I can do without it, thank you very much. Badges are dorky anyway.

5. Laser hair removal. I know, strange. But, let me just say that I am a hairy beast, no point in trying to deny it. The only non hairy places on me are the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet. So, I'd like to get some work done on my stache and my brows (I look an awful lot like Al B. Sure). And, if money, time, and pain tolerance were no option I'd like to get my bikini area, my under arms, and my legs done as well. Might even throw in my arms, because honestly, those things are scary. Ever since Marley Nelson teased me to shame in the fourth grade, and I went home and shaved the crap outta them, they have not been the same.

So, there you have it. My plastic surgery dream vacation schedule.

I'm currently accepting donations to assist in funding these procedures. If I get up the nerve to post an actual photo of my tummy, you people will be begging me to take your money and get that bad boy fixed:).

Diaper Guide

Effective Immediately!

I know we have discussed this issue in the past. However, due to recent developments and the inability of certain members to adhere to the originally stated diaper changing protocol, changes to the procedures are being made.

Please make note of the new standards regarding diaper changes. These will be implemented immediately. Your cooperation is expected and appreciated.

1. No shows of righteous indignation. I did not stink up your pants at the exact moment we put on your shoes and stepped into the yard for a play. You did. So the running, screaming, and kicking is completely unwarranted. These behaviors will only be expected and tolerated when I actually am guilty of dropping a mad dooce in your pamper and blaming you for it. Until then, I ask that you immediately cease and desist with the desperate shows of violence. The neighbors are staring, and you. Look. Ridiculous.

2. No physical intervention. During the changing of your doocies, you are no longer permitted to take that time to explore your nether regions. I find such behavior annoying, disgusting, and down right embarrassing. And, locating your man parts, giving them a jingle, and then laughing out loud is awkward for me, particularly when you engage in such behavior while lying spread eagle on the changing table at the mall. So, please, stop it.

3. Diaper must remain intact. As you are quite frequently in a hurry to return to whatever mischief you were involved in before I abducted you to perform some basic personal hygiene, I find it counterproductive that you consistently rip the tabs off of the pamper so that I can not attach it. This just causes me to spend additional time locating a replacement. Also, this is a recession, my friend, so I'd appreciate it if we could all be a little less wasteful. Two diapers per change is in no way cost effective. If such behavior continues I will be forced to attach the diaper to your heiney with duct tape, and I don't think that will be a hit with the 2 and under set.

4. Toy assault is prohibited. I give you the toy so that you may be entertained (and distracted) while I do my booty duty. I find it highly offensive that you feel the need throw it in my face, beat me with it, or use it as an assault weapon in any way. Additionally, it is inappropriate and unhygienic to use the toy in place of your hands as a pleasure item. Rubbing it around "down there" has got to stop. From this point forward, for health reasons, all inanimate objects that come into contact with your man pack during diaper changes will be immediately placed in the sink for sterilization.

5. No reintroduction. Soiled diapers are to remain in whatever waste receptacle I place them in. It is unacceptable to dig them out of the trash, open them, and explore their contents. Furthermore, hiding the contents in your closet so that they may be discovered at a later date is borderline criminal and will not be tolerated in the future.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation.

Currently, I am not at liberty to discuss the consequences for not abiding by these rules. But, let me tell you, Mister, I mean business.

WTH?!?!

The £100,000 (about $200,000) white wedding for the 16-year-old girl who lives in a caravan

I'm sure this is some cultural tradition that I am too ignorant to comprehend.

Or, maybe I am just an old, nerdy chick who is too outta the loop to know what is "cool" with teens of today.

Either way, I'm gonna show you an example of why I am glad that I have only sons (and why I am glad to not be a Traveller).

So, enjoy.

And, if any of you plan on giving your sixteen year old a wedding like this, please invite me because I am dying to be a guest at a whiskey tango affair of this magnitude.

So. Awesome.

And the Winner is...

So go on over and visit her and congratulate her on her victory.

Oh, and be sure to pester her about posting pictures of her little Bean in these once she gets them:)

Photo of the Day

I know, haven't done this for a while.

So much else to talk about lately:).

And, for those of you who are not feeling my new page header, negotiations have begun to update it (3 boys looking in same direction w/o crying, could be a while).

Enter now, before it's too late! *CLOSED*

Don't forget to enter my Crawler Covers giveaway by clicking here.

Today is your last chance!

Thanks so much to everyone who entered my giveaway and helped me celebrate my 100th post!

Obviously, people love free stuff since some of you racked up 15 entries.

I'm having #1 draw a winner from a hat later (when I finally get around to making 100s of little slips of paper).

I'll announce the winner on Monday!

The story you've all been waiting for...

is finally here.

I know I led you on, teased you about our exciting return trip from Atlanta.

So, here it is, the story you have all been waiting for.

The captain has turned on the fasten seat belts sign.

And, people, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!

Actually, for us, it wasn't all that bumpy.

The flight down was much more challenging because we were dealing with exhaustion, which causes crankiness, which causes widespread frustration. And, eventually leads people to feeling like this.

Our return flight didn't depart ATL until 11am so #3 was able to sleep until a reasonable hour, enjoy his breakfast at a table, and play outside while we packed the car.

He was in good spirits at the airport, and we boarded the plane with a relatively happy baby.

The only issue was that 11am in not nap time, it's his play time. And dog gone it, he was gonna have himself a play.

Not the easiest thing to accomplish on a jet manufactured circa 1978 featuring the narrowest aisles you can imagine. We made due by letting him walk himself up the aisle, and back down, and back up, and back down, and... you get the picture, which I'm sure pissed off the man and woman flirting across the aisle, the overweight businessman who died fell asleep with arms and legs strewn all about, and the ambiguously gay flight attendant who gave me three snaps up in zee formation when #3 bumped into his rear end.

My bad.

But, none of our shenanigans could compare to the freak show performed by the 4 seemingly normal, older people sitting directly across from us.

Just as #3 got settled into his seat and was showing signs that a nap might be on the horizon, Old Broad sitting in the aisle seat (directly across and one seat up from us; I know I need a diagram) decided she was also in the mood for a cat nap, and attempted to recline her chair.

No, biggy?

No. Biggy. Because, as previously mentioned, this jet was so old, and small, and cramped that the guy directly across from us (behind Old Broad) was a little on the tall side and was, therefore, forced to ride the entire flight with his knees firmly attached to the chair in front of him (Old Broad's chair).

His body provided resistance; she continued to push.

She pushed back; he pushed forward.

She turned around and said, through clenched teeth, "I would like to put my seat back."

He replied, "Sorry ma'am, but I've got no room back here."

She didn't care, and stated, "Well, that is not my problem. I'd like to put my seat back."

So she back (a little more determine this time); he pushed forward (a little more resistance).

This went on for, what seemed like forever but was probably only about a minute.

Then, Old Broad's obviously Frustrated Husband got involved.

"Hey, buddy, she wants to put her seat back. She's allowed to put her seat back!"

At this point, since he is virtually shouting, all passengers in the immediate area are alerted to begin silently watching the debacle take place. That would include one previously agitated one year old who also decided this show was much more important than anything else going down on the plane.

Old Broad persisted with her attempts to recline her chair. Tall Man continued to provided more than adequate resistance.

And then it happened.

Frustrated Husband took his magazine, all rolled up into a tubular shaped fighting machine, and whacked Tall Man a couple of times.

Screaming (mostly provided by Tall Man's Wife) ensued.

Laughing erupted (ok, that was me).

And the flight attendants finally showed up to provide an intervention.

The result: Old Broad got to put her chair back about a quarter of an inch, and I got to ride the rest of the trip in comfort, because while a baby is a pain to ride with on the plane, at least his behavior is understandable, expected. Not many people expect to see a group of 60 year old grown ups behave like they are on a preschool play yard.

Oh, and I got a lovely little edition to my daily blog:)

So, thank you Old Broad, Frustrated Husband, Tall Man, and Tall Man's Wife. Your performance was excellent. As thrilling as it was unexpected. As ridiculous as it was awesome.

You should be so proud.

What's for dinner, you ask?

dookies, dookies, dookies.

That's right, dookies.

I made a horrible mistake in a moment of weakness.

While on our trip down south I shared some dookies (aka cookies) with #3 and now he can not stop asking for the fattening, sugary, yummy, addictive snack.

His answer to pretty much everything is dookies (sadly, so it mine).

Now if I want a dookie I have to sneak into my kitchen, get into my pantry, close the door, and quietly munch in secret.

I guess that's what I've always done, but now I'm mad because I have to, and so does Hubby, and the older dudes.

I don't want #3 to become an outta control, maniacal baby, hopped up on dookies.

I've got to get the sugar monkey off his back before it's too late!

So, despite his request, we will NOT have dookies for dinner (at least he won't, I'm still deciding for myself).

We will have spaghetti, and Texas toast (Hubby put in a special request for this one), and a salad.

And then I will sneak into the pantry and have a dookie for dessert:)

Inspired by Mama Kat over at Mama's Losin' It.

Dummies Do Earth Day *Updated

I have to admit, I am only recently getting serious about changing my life to help the environment.

I used to think the fact that I don't litter proof that I was environmentally conscious.

Now, don't get crazy, I'm not sitting over here in an electric free home, wearing tires on my feet, and biking the kids to school.

I still leave my computer on all day (I know, bad, but at least I turn it off at night now), I still like to rock a good pair of Manolo's (ok, who am I kidding, I totally love my Sketchers and have never owned a pair of Manolo's; actually had to Google it to figure out how to spell it), and I drive an SUV (it's not a Suburban or anything, but it still seats 8).

But, I do try to make an effort to do what I can to leave less of a footprint on our environment. I have incorporated little things into our lives that allow us to use less and reuse more. I'm a going-green-should-be-easy kinda girl, and our family has made minor changes in order to live a more environmentally responsible lifestyle.

I'd call myself environmentally aware.

You'd better believe that before I chuck an aluminum can outta my car window, I'm gonna think about the impact it will have on the ozone.

Just kidding! Relax, I NEVER litter; NEVER.

I let #2 pee in the parking lot at Walmart, but I NEVER throw trash on the ground.

Anyway. In my effort to stop the cycle of dumbness, I am talking to the dudes about Earth Day (which is today for all of you oil guzzling, Aquanet wearing people who haven't heard).

The school did a pretty good job going over all of the finer points, and since we don't do crafts, we have decided that we are going to celebrate the Dummies way: by watching a movie (plus I'm gonna make them help me with planting our pesticide free garden this weekend).

So, here are the five environmentally inspiring films that I gave the dudes to chose from. They are all family friendly, and pretty freakin' good, too.

1. WALL-E. This one is great to celebrate Earth Day because it makes our additive consumerism, wastefulness, and environmental degradation look so obviously ridiculous and self destructive. But, it is also a touching story that makes you long for a true love like the one WALL-E found in EVE. The dudes love this one, and I was proud of their ability to see the significance in the message the movie was attempting to convey.

2. March of the Penguins. A touching story about love, penguin love. It discusses how Emperor Penguins meet, mate, and wait for the birth of their little chicks. I find this species pretty awesome for the fact that the fathers are forced to tend to the eggs before they hatch. They also spend a great deal of time shuttling back and forth with the moms to tend to the little buggers once they are born. If human dads worked this hard... Oh, and it's narrated by Morgan Freeman who adds a level of awesomeness to the film as a whole.

3. Happy Feet. The animated version of March of the Penguins. It's basically the same deal with a little soul (music) and a little funk (issue with the humans and global warming, and basically why we suck). It's a heart wrenching tale that really gets you thinking about the affect your choices have on all the creatures we share the planet with.

4. Planet Earth. Not sure what rock you are living under if you've never heard of this one. All I can say is A-W-E-S-O-M-E! If you don't know, you better ask somebody:)

5. Hoot. Story about a boy trying to save a family of burrow owls whose habitat is being threatened by developers who want to build a pancake house (yummm, pancakes) on the vacant lot the owls inhabit. Dudes didn't really appreciate this one, but that could be their age, or the fact that it took us four days to watch it because we had to go to soccer, and karate, and a birthday.

The dudes chose to watch WALL-E again because they love it.

Here are a few others that you might also want to try, all of which come highly recommended by two of the most indiscriminate viewers of all time.

Free Willie
Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron
Ferngully: The Last Rainforest
Jurassic Park (I know, some kids might find this a little scary, but the dudes have nerves of steel, and this didn't even make 'em flinch)

If going green is not really your thing, don't fret it wasn't really mine either, until recently. Please take a minute to visit my other site to get a few easy and pain free ideas even a dummy can do.

Thanks for looking and, happy EARTH DAY!



We also planted seeds to be transplanted to our garden later in the season, and we painted them pretty colors (just because).

Would this qualify as a "craft"? Shhhhh... Don't tell the dudes, they hate crafts.

100 baby-baby

This is my 100th post!!!!!

Can you freakin' beleive it?

Amazing. I guess I just have tons to say b/c I really only started this blog in December and have already cranked out 100 posts. That's what happens when the people you spend your day with only like to talk about one thing: themselves.

Anyway.

To celebrate I'm gonna have a big fat cupcake fruit smoothie with fat free frozen yougurt, strawberries, bananas, wheat germ, and orange juice.

You, my friends are going to do what you can to enter my very first contest featureing something I L-O-V-E.

Crawler Covers.

They are those cute little baby leg warmer/big kid arm warmer things that are so flippin' cute and functional I can't hardly stand it.



I love putting them on #3 just b/c he hates wearing pants and because he looks so cute in them.



And, I let #1 and #2 wear them too even though they think they are like ninja accesories or something.

Regardless, they are DOPE! And, since this awesome little Etsy seller (who is the longest running maker/seller of crawler covers) had a buy one get on free special (which is still going on) I decided to share the love and give away my free pair to you all (even though I really just want to keep them) since I love and appreciate all of your comments.

So, here it is.



And, the rules.

Keeping it simple for dumb moms like me:
1. Reply to this post (1 entry)
2. Follow my blog (2 entries)
3. Add me to your blogroll and post a link with your comment (3 entries)
4. Follow me on Twitter, and then Tweet about my contest (4 entries)
5. Blog about me the contest (5 entries)


Last day to enter will be Friday.

Good luck. May the force be with you.

I'm B-A-C-K!!!

I am so very happy, overjoyed even, to be sitting here in front of my very own personal computer, in my small, but cozy office, in my constantly freezing basement, listening to the annoying delightful sounds of dude #1 and dude #2 as they run, jump, and play on my couch.

I'm baaack!

And, I can now say with confidence, that I abhor air travel.

The funny thing is that pre-baby I used to love to travel to faraway lands to explore different cultures, and gain insight and appreciation for how others live.

However, at this point in my life, I could not care less (ok, I still care a little, but not as much).

Flying with a baby did teach me a few things about air travel, safety, and the human condition that I would like to share with you, so hold on to your floating seat cushions.

1. Air Travel. Basically, the entire industry has turned into somewhat of a racket. Why on earth is it that I have to pay to bring luggage? Is it even remotely feasible that I could possibly travel on a three day trip, with an infant, and not have any luggage? Is that not ridiculous? Technically, I guess having luggage is encouraged so that they can milk me for cash ($15 for first bag, $25 for each add'l piece). And, that includes baby items, or so I thought. When we departed BWI en route to ATL, we checked a suitcase and a Pack 'N Play (unquestionably a baby item). We paid for both. We decided to rent a car seat with the rental car, and purchase a $15 umbrella stroller to prevent incurring additional charges. When we arrived to ATL for or return trip, we were informed that baby items are free. WTF?! Why did no one (including Delta's website, b/c I checked!) inform me of that previously? I just left a brand new, perfectly good stroller in Atlanta for no good reason? I carried a 26lb one year old through countless terminals while dragging along a diaper bag, a purse, and a rolling suitcase b/c you failed to divulge the secret baby-items-free-rule? So POed.

2. Safety. This trip taught me that buckling up on an airplane is a useless waste of time. How did I come to this realization? First, the baby is not in a seat belt, so why am I? Second, should my plane, for some unknown reason, be so inclined to drop of the sky and burst into flames as it plummets to the ground, I'm probably not gonna make it anyway, right? Third, apparently, people have a tough time recalling how to actually undo their seat belts in the heat of the WE-ARE-ABOUT-TO-EFFING-DIE moment. I'm of the mind that, if I'm about to meet with a fiery death I'd like to spend the last moments of my life getting to know my fellow passengers as my body is propelled around the fuselage. Way to make a lasting first impression, I think.

3. The Human Condition. It only takes about 15 seconds for the skunk eye to make an appearance. Shortly after we board the plane, people begin to show signs of nervousness as we make our way down the aisle for our seats. Everyone is using their most desperate faces to plead with me to not select the seat next to, in front of, or behind them (because I actually have a choice, right?) with my slightly uncomfortable babe in arms. He was cute in the boarding area, but he has suddenly lost his appeal. While no one wants to be the heartless prick to actually select an alternate seat or comment on his presence, it is visually apparent that no one is happy about being seated next to the exhausted, slightly claustrophobic, understandably upset, toddler who is vocally protesting the hot, cramped, overly stimulating experience that his first airplane trip is providing. Can't say I blame them, but seriously. Have a little compassion a-hole, he's an effing B-A-B-Y. I'm sorry he's crying, I'm sorry he's kicking your seat, I'm sorry we bumped into your fat a** elbow when we got up to go to the bathroom. Suck it in and get over it. It's a two hour flight, so before he really shows you what he's made of, it will be over and you can go back to your perfect little, baby free life!

Another note, that is possibly in all of the above categories, is on a sensitive topic: the size of fellow travelers. I hate to sound callous or prejudice (at least in public), but what ever happened to that people of a certain size have to buy two seats rule? At the very least, the airline should make an effort to sit people hauling a baby away from people hauling a**, because that is really asking a lot of a regular human. I'm already sharing my seat with the baby so I see no reason why I should also have to share with Betty Big Booty. She was one of the nicest (and hugest) people I have ever met (meet for coffee, yes. sit next to on plane, hell to the no), but we rode the entire way with her left butt cheek literally on top of Mimi's thigh, which meant we were wedged against the window with barely room to breathe.

Aside from all of the above (oh, and me arriving to ATL sweating like a race horse, covered in those Biscoff cookies Delta gives out) the trip was only slightly horrific.

He cried bit, he fussed a lot, he got super hot and super angry, and right when I was about to commit hari kari by throwing myself from the plane, he fell asleep in my arms as I walked him up and down the aisle.

Hooray!

And, the pilot announced we were making our descent to ATL the very moment my sweaty butt hit the seat.

No rest for the weary.

At least the trip back was better since all of the focus was taken offa us by some random fellow travelers who got into a fight.

That's right people, a fight.

It was A-W-E-S-O-M-E!

P.S. click here to see a recap of our time in Atlanta

Wish me luck

I'm gonna need it.

I'm heading to Hotlanta (always wanted to say that) this weekend to visit my old granny.

She's starting to struggle a bit with dementia so I figured I'd better get a visit in before she can't tell me from a hole in the wall.

I'm going down, via airplane, with Mimi and #3, which is why I need luck. Not sure Mimi is gonna behave herself.

Just kidding.

It's #3 I'm worried about.

It's our own faults, really. We are unable to provide crowd control so we never take the dudes anywhere.

Actually, we do take them places that we can go by car, primarily because buying plane tickets for four people (#3 is still free) is just not in our budget. We are trying to pay for things like food, shelter, clothing, and chocolate; you know, the necessities.

Which means, this is the first time I've flown anywhere with a toddler.

I feel like he is a pretty typical specimen of the toddler community, but he has a few things working against him as far as this trip is concerned.

First, he likes his schedule. He is committed to it, he thrives with it, and neither he, nor I, are too interested in deviating from it. I've never been very spontaneous, chastise me if you want, but we are like clockwork, and it works for us. We are all happier if we get up, eat, crap, and sleep at the same time every day. Since we have to get up extremely early to make our flight, I anticipate that his mood is gonna be shot.

Which leads to my second concern, his mood. He doesn't perform well when he's tired. Like many other people he gets crabby and agitated and downright mean when he doesn't get to sleep properly. So, I'm apologizing in advance to all of our fellow passengers who are going to fall victim to his pissy mood this weekend. My bad.

Third, he has a serious case of mud butt right now. As many of you know, poo is a major part of our lives, and #3 seems to, quite frequently, be drowning in it (as am I). If my memory serves me right, airplane lavatories may not be the roomiest diaper changing stations. Plus, I can't even envision the number of people that will be giving us the evil eye when he drops his bombs at 30,000 feet. So, again, people, my apologies. Not much I can do to keep that stuff in. Just make sure you have those handy little barf bags at your fingertips 'cause chances are you're gonna be needing them. Again, my bad.

Fourth thing, he H-A-T-E-S, to be held. He doesn't mind riding in a car seat or a stroller too much, but he really doesn't do laps. It's like he understands the need for safety (car seat) or the desire to move at a faster pace (stroller), but from his perspective, if he can be held then he can walk (and touch stuff, and annoy people), and he's not interested in any perfectly reasonable arguments for why he should allow me to hold him. And, if I'm not willing to release him, he has a number of highly effective tactics that usually convince me that he is, in fact, not supposed to be held: dead body baby (I don't fully understand how he can actually make himself weigh more in a matter of seconds, but trying to lift him is like trying to lift a sandbag), crocodile spin baby, obnoxious, piercing scream baby, pimp slap Mommy baby, just to name a few. So, I fully expect to make at least 75 trips up and down the aisles of the plane during our 2 hour flight. So, watch your elbows people, we're coming through.

And, finally, everyone should be prepared to listen to him talk (aka scream) for the duration of the flight. He L-O-V-E-S to talk. Almost as much as he hates to be held. And, he'll strike up a conversation with a perfect stranger. Don't feel like you have to indulge him by pretending like you know what he's saying. He could care less if you respond, he just likes a smile and an occasional head bob; despite the inflections and hand gestures, he's speaking gibberish anyway. Also, as a by product of being the third child in a family of loud mouth boys, he has a rather loud speaking voice (plus he's probably a little deaf from all the ruckus). Don't be alarmed, he's not angry or upset, he's just making sure he's heard.

So, reader, wish us a fun, safe, relatively uneventful trip.

Actually, just wish for a post from me on Monday because that means that we weren't stoned and thrown from the plane for being unbearable.

Plus, I have a 100th post surprise for you all next week! So you want me to come back:)

Top Five

Thanks to Mama's Losin' It and the dudes I've been inspired.

Today's post will cover the Top Five Things the Dudes Talked About Today (in random order).

1. School. Today was the first day back from spring break, so they (and I) were all consumed with what they did there (#1 went to recess & #2 had snack), who they talked to (#1 talked to Jack & #2 talked to no one), what they learned (#1 forgot & #2 learned about birds and bees, actually I think the topic was spring but this is all he remembers), and if they had a good day (#1 yes & #2 would have if I would've come back faster). As for Mommy, I had a wonderful day. At least until the bus pulled up and the complaining ensued. Which leads me to the second hot topic of the day.

2. Dinner. I served them dinner at 4:30 today. It was early because #1 had karate and they couldn't wait until afterwards. I hate serving early dinner because then they want me to make them various snacks throughout the evening. Tonight's early dinner was even worse because all they could talk about was how much they hated it (teriyaki noodles with edamame and tofu) and they fought tooth and nail to avoid putting even one morsel of it down their skinny little throats (I won b/c they both ate at least half of it, but not without a fight). See, this is why I find it so frustrating to serve them healthy, home cooked meals, because the whole time all they do is b*tch and moan about how disgusting it is. I give up. They are getting chicken nuggets and mac and cheese tomorrow, for real.

3. Books. We finally got our library suspension lifted! $11.28. That's how much I paid in fines today. So I checked out some really fun, new books (one of which will be making it into the Books for Boys Club very soon) that they read together tonight. It was all good, no fighting, no whining, no tattling, until #3 ripped a page outta one of the books. Blast! This is why we don't have nuthin! Seriously, that librarian probably hates to see us coming. I bet she puts up all of the good stuff when she spots us on the floor. At least I was able to expertly reattach the missing page with a bit of twine and a very small needle. Actually, I just taped that bad boy back in and called it a day. Maybe they won't notice until after the next patron checks it out. I know, I'm bad.

4. Bo. Yep, the furry friend of our Commander in Chief was an exciting topic for the inmates at Casa de Dummies tonight. And, for the record, Mr. President, I really didn't need you to go and get your kids a dog right now as we are having an ongoing battle discussion about that very topic over here. When it was on the news #3 pointed at the screen and screamed, "DO! DO! DO!" about 1,000 times. And #1 expressed his moral outrage that, "Even Obama gets to have a dog?" while he is stuck with nothing but brothers. #2 suggested that we sell #3 or Dad and get a dog instead. Now, that kid might be on to something.

5. Nothing. After quite an exhausting day at school, a trip to the library, and the whole Kung Fu Panda routine, my little dudes were T-I-R-E-D. They were asleep before their smelly little heads even hit the pillows. This is why I love school:)

Wordless Wednesday

Never done this before.

So, here goes!

Socerr Field High

I love going to soccer practice.

Not only because I get to watch the dudes play. I consider that an added bonus.

What I love about spending time on the soccer field is that it distinctly reminds me of high school.

When I was actually a member of the student body, I found high school to be a major waste of time that was only mitigated by the fact that there were boys there. But, as of late, I have been inexplicably drawn to all things high school: 90210, doing the Stanky Legg, going outside in pajamas, chasing after boys (kinda different since one of these is in diapers).

Soccer practice is like high school for grown ups, which proves a point that I have been trying to make for years now. I don't think we ever fully outgrow the enjoyment of the social idiosyncrasies about high school that make it so sucky and so awesome at the same time. Everyone enjoys a little bit of drama (maybe not as much as high school), no one ever learns to enjoy deadlines imposed by "the man" or boring, mandated assignments, and there are always cooler (or less cool) people that we either want to hang out with, or spend a ridiculous amount of time talking crap about (at least now we can do it over wine in a public place).

As I scan the soccer pitch from my largely uninhabited section of grass where I repeatedly chase #3 back and forth across the field, I see many of the same groupings that are quite possibly alive and well at many high schools across the country. I am reminded why it is that I spend most practices with only my drooly one year old to keep me company.

I could spend weeks adding to this list, but the most evident are:

1. The Athletic Moms. These moms are the ones that are dressed in athletic attire because they are actually athletes. They are fit, trim, and firm. They know the rules of the game b/c they actually used to play the game, and some of them still do. This is definitely not the group for me. I spent the majority of my childhood trying to not play soccer (or any other organized sport). I was good with like, hide and seek, or freeze tag. I occasionally dabbled in a little four square, or got some tether ball action. I rarely ventured onto any teams unless it was for cheer leading (which at the time was not considered to be anything like a sport), or to save my GPA. My lack of coordination and virtually nonexistent competitive spirit made me more of a albatross than an asset.

2. The Hot Moms. You know, these are the ones that show up with their nails manicured, their Chloe sunglasses, and their trendy diaper bags. They have clean shirts, stylish shoes, and various accessories. As do their kids. Pink shin guards, David Beckham jerseys, and SIGG water bottles. Again, a group that my ketchup stained shirt and Old Navy cargo pants are just unfit for. It's not that I'm a complete slob, I'm just a little on the could-do-better-if-I-cared side.

3. The Foreign Moms. Members speak another language, drive Audi's, and dress their kids in soccer jerseys featuring countries in which you are born playing soccer. Obviously, not for me.

4. The Super Moms. Everyone knows one, is one, or wants to be one. Everyone except for me. I just can't see myself with eight clean, well behaved children who stand politely by while I manage registration, pass out shirts, update the email list, and provide each child with a healthy, organic, homemade post game snack. Way too much effort for someone who feels a distinct sense of accomplishment if I manage to chase #1 to the bus just before it pulls away. And, honestly, even if I could, I'm not sure I even would.

5. The Wannabes. This group wants to be super, or sexy, or foreign, or awesome. And they are so obvious about it as they stand around the groups they want to be a part of and try to look, act, or talk the same. It's funny b/c they are easy to spot since they are a little bit off in some way. Too fat to be athletic, too fat to be hot, too fat to be foreign, and too fat to be super. Uh oh, ladies, I think I just found my group! I spend a great deal of my time wearing workout clothes, buying cute clothes I don't wear, trying to teach my kids Spanish (their dad is Mexican, after all and I used to be fluent), and volunteering for committees I'd like to care about. But, some how I'm just off. I can't get myself or my kids together enough to actually be athletic, hot, bilingual, or super. And, like I said before even if I could, I'm not sure I would.

Oh well.

My dudes are awesome at soccer. Their skills more than make up for the fact that I am, contentedly, a social outcast. Now that I think about it, their skills are quite possibly partly to blame.

As I used to say in high school, what-ever.

I may be alone, but I am not lonely:)

Digest-it

#3 just sprouted two new teeth!

Hooray! He looks like a real boy now. No more baby face:(

But the good thing is that maybe we'll all get a break from the drooling for a couple of days at least. I seriously have to change his shirt like two or three times a day. That adds up to a lot of laundry.

I know what you're thinking. Why don't you just put a bib on the kid, dummy? And, I'll tell you why. Because when I put a bib on him he spends the entire time he is wearing it trying to pull it through his neck while screaming in pain and frustration. He hates wearing those things and he doesn't understand that they have to be unlatched or pulled over his head, not through his neck.

Ergo, the soaking wet shirts.

Not so good about his new grill is that he has added biting/gnawing power now.

I've previously marveled at the awesomeness of the human digestive system, and thanks to my little dudes new fronts, I've recently discovered further evidence to support my claim that it rocks.

While changing #3's stank pants this afternoon I noticed some brightly colored additions to the sewage. I immediately thought, OMG he has a GI bleed (my hospital job haunts me) as I searched frantically for the phone to call 911 (always my first instinct). However, upon closer inspection, I discovered that it was actually either an eraser or a crayon, nope, it's an eraser, dancing around in his foul smelling excrement.

Great.

It was largely intact and there was no pain or discomfort during the entire transmission from one hole to the other. I guess his body just knew what to do with it, and made it happen.

So thanks to his newly emerged chompers his small and large intestines got to take a little walk on the wild side. Gnarly!

I wonder if the foreign object was to blame for the hideous odor as well. I'm guessing it was his new affinity with KFC that was to blame, though.

Your Friend, EB

Dear #1, #2, & #3,

Happy Easter! It's me, your pal, the Easter Bunny (EB). I stopped by your house this morning, and just want to take a minute go over a couple of things regarding this year's EB visit preparations.

Basically, I have a few concerns about the eggs this year. For starters, there were only about eight of them available for hiding. Gonna be a pretty short egg hunt. Also, I'm pretty sure that they were raw. I generally require the eggs to be in their hard boiled state in order to be eligible for the EB Easter Egg Hiding Program. I went ahead and hid them anyway, just this once. And, just so you don't waste extra time looking for the last egg, there are seven.

Also, with regards to the eggs. Brown eggs don't generally count as being "colored". I realize that brown is a color, but as they came straight from the chicken that way, it really just doesn't qualify. I normally like to see white eggs turned into various bright colors, maybe with a smattering of stickers or other fancy decals. That's just what I'm used to. The brown eggs just don't do it for me.

Overall, from what I can tell, it seems that you may not have been expecting me this year. Not sure why, since I come every year at about the same time, but yeah, if you could do a little more to prepare for Easter 2010, that would be great.

As for your baskets, I hid them really, really well this year. Actually, so well that you may not even be able to find them until your mom comes back from work. Hint, hint.

Have a nice day.

Your (highly disappointed) Friend,
EB

P.S. There are six eggs.

Nutty

I live in a SAHM mecca.

Now, the following statistics are totally fabricated by me, based on my own observation and no empirical evidence, but I think they are probably pretty close to at least 50% accurate.

I'd say that I live in a neighborhood made up almost entirely of families with one or more children, let's say 90%. And of those families, I venture to guess that about 60% of the moms stay home during the day.

Point is, right here in my very own backyard there are a wealth of opinionated, highly informed, willing to judge share women from which to learn and grow as a mom.

For a dumb mom like myself, trips to the neighborhood park can be a mixture of fear and excitement. I've learned to leave the pop tarts and Doritos at the house for fear of being permanently ostracized. My dudes are also instructed on basic playground etiquette upon exiting the house (ie no calling each other idiot, no peeing by the slide, and no excessive video game references). They are expressly forbidden to act on any of their whims, ideas, or impulses and are required to refrain from any and all of the questionable behaviors that are sometimes overlooked at home.

But, the neighborhood park (and fellow mom blogs) can also be an opportunity for me to gather valuable tips and tricks from other moms who are obviously more on top of certain things than I am.

Like health, for example.

I have struggled to stay fit and healthy since the birth of #1. Let me rephrase that. Since having #1 I have been a wiggly, jiggly, mess of a woman who has been self diagnosed as a sweet food addict. I have tried numerous times to overhaul myself, and am currently in the midst of doing it again.

I am also attempting to go a step further than hiding all of the salty and sweetness I allow my dudes to indulge in by actually eliminating (or subbing) some of the more icky selections from their diet.

Apparently, peanut butter is one of the ickiest.

Who knew? I ate PB&J every single day of 1986. No big deal.

And, the dudes all love PB&J sandwiches. They are a lunchtime staple around here.

Word on the street, though, is that the hydrogenated oils and high fructose corn syrup (and maybe other crap I don't know about) that make the stuff so yummy, is also what makes the stuff so crummy, health wise.

Went to the store last night and the dudes will now be enjoying their favorite lunchtime entree with a smattering of Nature's Promise Cashew Butter.

I wanted to buy some other fancy kinda almond butter, but that crap was like $10! So, we went with the $5 cashew butter instead. And, it looks okay. It's probably got some hidden ingredients that will make them sprout wings and fly (which would be awesome), but my knowledge base is pretty small and I figure, it's a start, right? Maybe one day I will be one of those Jon&Kate types that buys all organic and lives a natural artificial flavor-free life. But, today is so not that day. Today, I am starting to make better choices for me and the dudes.

Really, I just hope no one gags 'cause if they do I may be featuring my first giveaway: newly opened and barely used cashew butter. Yum!

Facebook

I have an issue with Facebook.

I guess it's not Facebook, per se.

It's more the people that I have been in contact with recently via the social networking site.

Don't get me wrong. I (like everyone else) think Facebook is awesome. I have been able to connect with a number of old friends that I have not seen since the good old days in Deutschland (also where I met BFF since Papa was affiliated with the overseas military). I have interacted with long lost friends and classmates that I likely would have never seen or heard from were it not for my boy Mark Zuckerberg and his nerdy little homies.

That being said. Now that I am fully immersed in the Facebook culture, spending good chunks of time alternating between stalking old boyfriends (OK, not actual boy friends, more like dudes I liked who would not give me the time of day), and perusing pictures posted by the trampy popular girls who turned out exactly how I hoped they would (pregnant, fat, and strung out looking), I have encountered a strange situation that I like to refer to as a virtual diss.

The thing about the virtual diss is that there is little you can do about it. When you friend someone on Facebook (even if it was only to ensure that she wound up the trampy fat chick you always knew she'd be) and they ignore, or worse, deny your friendship, you have no recourse.

You can contemplate jumping in your SUV and driving to Iowa to find her sitting on her rickety lawn chair in front of her rusty trailer with her half naked, ethnically diverse babies running around in the dust so that you may slap her sunken, tired face, all you want. But, chances of that actually going down are slim.

You could also ask a friend of a friend who knows her friend to give you her number so that you may call her and demand to know her motivation for rejecting your virtual friendship so that if nothing else at least she'll be forced to say it to your face(or your ear). But, that's an unlikely scenario as well.

Instead, what you are most likely to do is obsess over it, talk to your hubby (who could not care less) about it, and log into BFF's Facebook account who she friended (WTF?!) so that you may view all of the trampily posed snapshots of her and her stupid, but strangely normal looking friends, and then log into your blog and tell the world that skinny-ditzy-boyfriend-stealing-hussy-from-high-school needs to GROW UP!

It was like 15 years ago and seriously, he chose you, even if it was only because you were givin' it up. Just friend me already so that I can look at your stupid, skanky pictures and you can look at mine and see how A-W-E-S-O-M-E I am right now.

Can We?

The dudes are currently obsessed with all members of the canine species.

Maybe it's because #3 spends part of each day barking like a dog.

Maybe it's because it's creeping (unbearably slowly) up on springtime, so all of the neighbors are out, with their 4 legged BFFs in tow.

Or, maybe it's just because they want one. Or at least they think they do.

#2 suggested that we give #3 away to another family so we can get a new dog instead.

I guess #2 has an issue with his short term memory because apparently he can't remember what happened to our first dog, Jaco (pronounced like Taco, but with a J).

About this time last year Jaco entered the canine relocation program and was subsequently placed with a new (better equipped to handle a psycho) family. Really, we just gave him to a friend of a friend.

We originally purchased Jaco from a Beagle breeder in the fall of 2006.

Right from the beginning we knew that Jaco had a couple of personality issues that we found to be a bit troubling.

The main issue was that he had a pretty severe case of food aggression. Never heard of it? Well, it freakin' sucks, because it involves you (or any one else who's around) to risk losing a limb if you are foolish enough to attempt to interact with the dog in any way while he is eating.

Basically, once we put his food down in front of him we had to stand back, way back and stay or he would growl and snap and basically go nutso on us.

Not a safe situation for small children (#1 was 5 and #2 was about 18 months).

We wanted to work with Jaco to help him become a successful member of the family, so we spoke to out vet extensively, signed Jaco up for obedience training, and consulted the Dog Whisper (via Internet of course).

The vet suggested we just separate him for all meals to prevent injury to the family and hope that he grow out of it. We did not find this practical for a long term solution. And, who wants to live with a dog who may bite you if you reach down to pick up a dropped morsel?

The obedience classes were a bust b/c the teacher was a psychotic control freak who I'm pretty sure had inappropriate, intimate relations with her canine assistant. Oh, and Jaco tried to bite like two other dogs so he was essentially expelled.

The best advice came from the website of Cesar Milan who suggested that we remove the dog's bowl and hand feed him all meals (or call in a pro which was so not in the budget).

Worked like a charm, for me anyway. I could feed that dog from my own tongue (not that I did) if I wanted to.

However, no one else could. The other members of the family could still not go any where near his bowl without risking amputation. Even Hubby was unable to calm the savage food beast.

He was the most aggressive towards #2. He would knock him down, bite him, scratch him, and hump him (and #1) relentlessly.

In Jaco's defense, #2 (as you all know) was a rough roommie. He spent a lot of time exploring each of Jaco's orifices, pretending Jaco was a horse (note that he was a 25lb Beagle), and trying to perfect his Guillotine Leg Drop from the couch onto his back.

When #3 arrived, we were all exhausted. A combination of Jaco's food paranoia, his loathing of #2, the new baby, and #2's habitual torture, led us to seek some new digs for our four legged frenemy.

After 3 months of no luck, just as we kinda, sorta decided that we might be able to spend the next 10-15 years as Jaco's fam, a nice old man, who lived alone with an older, calmer basset hound, contacted us through a friend of my father's. He seemed like the perfect match for Jaco, and despite the profuse tears shed by myself and #1, we thought it best to send Jaco to a happier place (which apparently it is b/c he updates us regularly on his progress).

So, as I sit here considering whether we should give the dog thing another go, I'm reminded of the things that I didn't like about having one.

Not to say that we'll never get another dog, because we will, I'm sure of it. I actually love dogs and would hate to have the dudes grow up without ever knowing the companionship and responsibility that comes with owning another mammal.

We will just be waiting until every member of the family is ready and willing to pitch in on every aspect of care. I don't see why I should be the only one administering enemas and hand feeding entire meals.

I told the dudes we would table this discussion until Michael Phelps races for Olympic Gold again (they were obsessed with the Olympics).

That was before the whole bong debacle.

Hopefully he will hit the pool again for 2012 and then we will be ready to erect the baby gates and get out the chew toys to bring home a new furry friend.

Come on, Jess

Do you really think that Deceptively Delicious business really works?

I'm not convinced.

I've recently had numerous experiences in which #1 has thrown up a little in his mouth.

Each of these experiences was preceded by the tasting of a healthy "treat", touted for its innocuous taste and hidden healthfulness.

I'd heard about Mrs. Seinfeld's attempt to share recipes designed to bamboozle unsuspecting little people into happily eating veggies, fruits, legumes, and tofu.

I'd caught wind of a delicious chocolate cake stuffed with beets.

I was appalled, astounded, and dumbstruck. Why would you want to screw up chocolate by adding beets to it? Sacrilege. That's what I call it. Sacrilege.

But anything in the name of health, right?

So I mentioned to BFF that I might like to try this evil little secret on my dudes, and when she spied the book on sale at Marshall's (love that place), she picked it up for me.

Hooray, BFF!

You kids are in for it now.

You are gonna be oozing beta keratin and antioxidants from your perfectly sized pores.

So I tried it.

Not the chocolate cake, but some dinner item packed with chickpeas.

And guess what happened...

#1 threw up a little in his mouth.

Go figure.

And, #3 ate his own as well as part of #1's and all of #2's who categorically refuses to try anything that #1 pukes over (smart dude, huh?).

But, in all fairness, #1 has quite the sensitive palate and I am not giving up hope.

While I am not prepared to spend all day slaving over a beet filled chocolate cake that I may or may not be able to stomach (I don't play around with chocolate), I am interested in trying the cauliflower laced banana bread, the broccoli infused rice balls, or the carrot dipped french toast.

Hopefully, at least one of the concoctions will be palatable for #1. I'll keep you posted.

If all else fails, at least I know that #3 is gonna be as fit as a fiddle, even if he is as big as a house.

Spooning

#3, I appreciate your effort to develop a new skill.

I am happy that you are beginning to assert your independence, become self reliant, and basically move toward full membership in the toddler community.

I know that you are eager to be like the brothers and I realize that being the master of your own utensils is evidence of that.

But, I must say that your technique is highly flawed and extremely inefficient.

I'm going to go ahead and point out a few of your shortcomings, and make suggestions for improvement in order to get you on a path toward success.

'Cause, guess what, buddy. What you're doin', ain't working.

Let's start with the basics.

First of all, you need to actually use the spoon.
This...


and, this...



don't really count.

And, this...



is not the correct way to hold the spoon, so it doesn't count either.

Also. Once you have the spoon in your hand, the food needs to be in one of two places: your bowl or your mouth.

It generally does not belong here...



or here...


Now that we've got those issues covered let me explain our next steps. Starting tomorrow we will be reverting to the old policy in which I control the spoon myself, and/or throw occasional non-messy finger foods across the counter to you.

We will no longer be participating in any of the following activities: you feeding yourself something wet and/or sticky, you having a spoon of your own which you use as a blocking/jousting tool against my more adept spoon, or you gaining control of the bowl and/or the spoon and then using them for purposes other than what they were initially intended.

We will embark upon the You Feed Yourself Campaign again once your hand eye coordination is more young human and less Young Frankenstein.

Thanks for the effort. Better luck next time.

Bed Buddy

Looks like I have a dilemma on my hands.

For some time now #2 has been lamenting over the fact that he has to sleep alone. The injustice of having to spend his entire boyhood as a bachelor is nearly unbearable.

The other night he had a nightmare that woke him up (involved a maniacal dinosaur who enjoyed snacks of small boys). He crept out of his room where his father found him sitting in the corner, unsure if he should come into our room or go back into his own.

We snuggled him into our warm bed and tried to squeak out the last few precious minutes before the alarm clock rang. But he wasn't interested in going straight back to sleep. Instead, he rubbed my face, he kissed my cheeks, he gave me the tightest hugs you can imagine. Then he began to whisper sweet nothings into my ear.

"Mommy I wuv you." (still workin' on those l words)

"Love you too, Monkey."

"Mommy you the best mommy in the world."

"Thanks, Monkey, now go back to sleep, kay?"

"Kay, Mommy... Mommy, you hair is pretty." (obviously blinded by sleep deprivation)

"Okay, Monkey. Do you want to go back to your bed?"

"No."

"Okay, then be quiet, Daddy has to get up soon."

"Kay... Mommy?"

"Shhhh."

"I wove you, Mommy."

This went on for about 30 minutes. And, while I thoroughly enjoyed all of the ego boosting show of affection, 4:15 in the morning is not the best time for it. And, of course, he drifted pleasantly off to sleep at the precise time that I had to get up to prepare breakfasts, lunches, and backpacks for the day.

Then, two nights ago, I found him snuggled into bed with #1 (who he refers to as Brother). And, last night, again he scurried into #1's bed, only this time Brother was not interested in playing host to his heartfelt shenanigans. He was yelling for him to get out of his bed immediately which led #2 to feel hurt, which led to #2 getting angry, which led to #1 getting punched.

Here is the dilemma: Do I make him stay in his own bed?

I love having him cuddle up with me, but I don't necessarily want to make it a habit, and I certainly do not want #1 to fall victim to his compulsive bed hustling. At the same time, isn't that what brotherhood is partially about? Sticking up for each other, being close to each other, letting your lil' bro climb into your bed and hold on to your hand when he's scared, even if it's a bit annoying (as long as there is no more punching)?

So, readers, this is my dumb mom SOS. Feel free to share your thoughts on this one.

Random Picture Challenge

Here's mine (February 2008).

#3 was only 3 weeks new.

He's showing off his nursing blister and his mohawk.

He was a sweet baby.

He's different now.

I love him anyway.

Fity

Just saw that I got my Fiftieth follower!

Hooray for me!

I'm so easy.

Not, like that, silly.

I'm easy to please. That's what I mean, easy to please. As in make happy.

Oh, well. Misunderstood again.

Point is I'm doin' my happy dance right now because ya'll like me. You really like me. And, what more could a girl ask for.

Except for maybe a mid afternoon nap. Or, an appletini. Or, oooo, how bout a trip to the spa. Or, maybe an island vacation. Yeah, an island vacation with TI, I mean hubby. Oh, never mind, so not gonna happen.

Good thing a small following of loyal, commenting (hint, hint) readers is all it takes to get me goin.

Thanks.

About Us

BFF, blogger stalker extraordinaire, has taught me a few things about blogging.

1. No matter what you look like, never post a picture of yourself b/c it totally opens you up to being hated on by various people.

2. Cussing is OK. Even if you wouldn't necessarily do it in person, knowing how to effectively drop an f-bomb goes a long way in blogger world.

3. It helps if you have a niche. You know, single dad, mom of multiples, some rare illness, genius kid, envied career. The kind of things I don't have that causes people to be interested in you.

4. And, lastly: background info. Apparently, career blogger stalkers like to know the who, what, where, how, and why behind you and your blog. They wanna know how you got to be who you are today. I guess it helps them obsess over you more because they either grow to love you and long to read more about you, or they grow to hate you and long to read more about you as they silently wait to read the post in which you finally get what you deserve.

So, BFF, although you know all of the boring and unspeical details, this one's for you:)

I ramble on endlessly about the dudes but I rarely touch on my partner in procreation, Hubby. So, I'll give you the boring sweet story about us. Please don't get too excited, there will be no steamy love scenes. There will be little romance. But, there is a happy ending.

Let's start with how we met. It was at an Orange County, Ca university when I was 18 and he was 20. We did not like each other. I was still dating my high school sweet heart(HS), and he was dating some totally uncool, fat, slut(UFS).

Hubby and I became friends through mutual friends and hung out for awhile before I caught HS cheating on me (bastard), and Hubby fell madly in love with me and dumped UFS.

Actually, not sure what happened to UFS, but I went away for the summer (to visit my parents who lived in Germany at the time), came back, realized hubby was kinda hot with his newly acquired shaved head and goatee, and the rest is history.

I'd say that Hubby and I have been together for 11 years. I'm pretty sure that he would say we have only been together for about 9; he's funny like that.

The strange thing about our early years together is that he always seemed to be uncertain about things. As in, not sure where he wanted it to go. But, I knew all along where we would end up. Not exactly where, because I never imagined that I would leave sunny California for the other side of the world. Let me just say that there is way more than a few great plains and a mile deep canyon separating Fredneck, Maryland from the City of Angels.

Anyway. I knew we'd wind up together in our own screwy version of happily ever after. Even though it maybe didn't seem like that when I was a knocked up, unwed, eighth grade teacher in the ghetto of Oakland, California (I fit right in!). Obviously he "did the right thing" and "made an honest woman outta me" even if I did have to plan the wedding and then invite him to it to get him to do it. And, yeah ladies, that crap does work.

Now, as we enter our sixth year of marriage, no one even knows the sordid details of our forbidden affair (which it wasn't, but that sounds really exciting). We look and act like every other family in our hood, well, sorta:).

Faces, Part deux

Now here is #1's take on the Faces project.

He is notorious for the serious, Zoolander-never-changing-but-I-think-it-is-face. Basically, every picture he takes looks the EXACT same: serious, no smile, gaze into the distance type shot.

So, I told him to have fun with it a bit, and he didn't. He was very perturbed that me and my filthy camera were harassing him while he was trying to read Star Wars, the Clone Series, but he cooperated anyway. He's easy like that.

Funny thing, though. I'm curious why his "Mommy Face" looks like some crotchety old biotch. I'd certainly argue that I'm a pretty easy going, even tempered, smiley chick (psycho mom remains successfully repressed). I'm totally being misrepresented here.

Faces

I can rarely get #2 to take photos with a normal smile or even a regular face. It's always angry face, or ugly face, or I'm such a freakin' brat face, or I'm trying to smile but it's so fake I look like I'm takin' a poo face.

So, tonight I asked him to make faces for my shots and this is what I got.

I think it's awesome (and quite accurate) that Daddy looks confused and Mommy looks amused. The confusion is probably here to stay; not sure how much longer all this crazy is going to be amusing, though.

Please try to ignore the fact that the photos are poor quality (focus, composition, etc), badly lit, and predominately unedited. I have no excuse for this other than that, sometimes I'm lazy which causes me to suck. Please forgive me, I'm perfect in so many other ways that hopefully this is not such a big deal (SIKE!).