Photo of the Day

#1's favorite part of our trip to Hershey Park? Zooamerica.

He was not a fan of the coasters.

But #2 was.

Can you believe a four year old rode this?

No crying, no puking, no begging to get off.

Just fun!

6 years in the Making

This weekend Hubby and I will celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary.

We don't have any special plans, but I don't think we need any.

We know why this day is special, so we don't really need a fancy dinner or a weekend away to celebrate (not that it wouldn't be nice).

But we are taking the dudes to Hershey Park today. Woohoo!

And, our marriage is a lot about our dudes (not entirely, but a lot).

#1 was actually at our wedding (not sure how I'm going to explain that).

He was looking all cute, and chubby, and baby like.


And, you know. The more I look at all of these wedding pictures, the less happy I am with my wedding photographer. Guess it's my more critical eye, because I recall being very pleased with his work when I first got these.

But, I did love my dress.

As a matter of fact, I still have that thing.

Very nicely preserved in a coffin box (sorry, but the box really does look like a coffin).

I didn't know what to do with it at the time, and silly me, I thought I'd have a daughter to pawn it off on one day. Not that I would have made her wear it, but I just had visions of her playing in it at least.

I guess it's just attic junk, now.

There's no way any of my sons will be wearing it (even if they want to, it's not an option), and I'd die before I would be one of those mother-in-laws-to-be that tried to force my old crap onto my daughter-in-law-to-be.

So, now it's just something I trip over a couple of times a year while moving the Cristmas stuff in and out of the attic.

But, it sure was cute.

Not that it prevented me from looking a bit like Miss Piggy on her wedding day.

But, you know, it did the trick:)

It's a soundtrack really

I can't commit to just one song.

My life has a pretty eclectic soundtrack that it bops along to.

I'm convinced that since turning 30, my taste in music has declined significantly. I just fall in love with these songs featuring ridiculous lyrics that I'm embarrassed to sing in front of my peers, and prohibited from singing in front my kids.

I call it my alone music, which basically means I listen to it for approximately 18 minutes per week.

Sadly, though, the song that comes to mind most frequently is Hip Hop Harry's I Love to Learn.



Nice beat, huh?

But, it pisses me off every time I'm minding my own business and this song creeps into my mind.

It just makes me think what has happened to my life?

When did I turn into a freakin' 4 year old (March 17, 2009, I believe)?

I remember the days when this was my mind song...



Because when I grew up I wanted to be Cyndi Lauper. Her teased hair and tube tops were to die for.

And then, I decided that I didn't want to be Dalvin DeGrate, but I definitely wanted to marry him. So, this song ruled. My. Life.


High School was probably scary for my parents because I got into this man pretty heavily...


It was a phase, you know.

These days I'm teetering precariously between Boom Boom Pow! and If you Seek Amy, neither of which are particularly appropriate for a 30-something mommy of 3, but you know, I'm inappropriate like that.

Actually, now that I think about it, Britney is an almost 30 something mom of two, so maybe she's perfect for a chick like me (So, SAHM to tween girls, get off her, she's a grown up!).

Awesome, because I totally rock her Circus about 18 minutes a week.

Wish I looked like that in a top hat;)

Kinda like a green thumb

But, mostly it's brown.

I'm not sure why I can't get into the gardening thing this year.

I usually love to garden.

It's rewarding, it's peaceful and relaxing, and it's a great work out all at once.

At least it used to be.

These days it's not proving to be so rewarding because everything keeps dying.

I've never been able to grow more than one pepper (and it wasn't even hot) in my garden.

Nor have I had success with anything else edible, so I've given up on that. Think it's something to do with the soil, but too lazy to really find out.

This was the first year I saw any action from the bulbs I planted two and a half years ago. It's been so long, I can't even remember what they are. Maybe you can help?


But, my flowering bushes, my lilacs, and my annuals, have always more than made up for the lackluster performance most of my other plantings have shown.

But, this year, even they have been giving me grief.

Partly, because I have been slow in planting them.

So, I decided to dedicate a morning to filling my flower boxes and maybe laying some down in the bed alongside the house. You know, 'cause I could use a little sense of accomplishment around here.

And, I thought that maybe #3 would like to help out. Well, his version of help which would be throwing dirt all over the porch.

Sounded kinda fun when I hatched this premature brain child.

Basically, he showed me that not only is gardening no longer rewarding, it is also not peaceful or relaxing.

He stomped on two of my marigolds.


He poured the watering can all over the porch (and, yes, I slipped in it).

He threw dirt all over the porch, and the table, and the chairs, and the walls, and me, and himself.


He tried to actually consume a mud pie. And when I tried to stop him, he did the stuff and run technique for which he is famous.


And, to top it all off. He decided to drop a dewey in the midst of it all so that I had to stop, track dirt into the house, and change his diaper.

But, on the bright side. He learned how to say flower (pronounced frower), he said "teese" (aka cheese) for every one of the pictures I shot, and I got an even better workout than I had initially anticipated.

Sadly, however, the day that started like this...


Ended like this...


Because mommy couldn't take it anymore and had to put him in the house to watch (and when I say watch I mean scream and kick the door) while I cleaned up.

Hopefully we have both learned a valuable lesson: Gardening is to be done during nap time.

A Holiday in Pictures

We had a very fun Memorial Day!

Hope you enjoy our photo story:)

The big boys (#1 & #2) were at Mimi's house for the entire weekend.

I was so happy to see their happy, little, smiling faces when we showed up at her house for her Memorial Day barbeque.




They had a very tiring day (and so did I, of course).

They got to go for a swim.

It was #3's first time as a real boy (last summer he was too little to even really notice).


He was swimming like a champ.



#1 & #2 had tons of fun in the pool, too.



We also enjoyed lots of yummy food.

Papa is the bestes bbqer in the world.

We LOVE his grilled corn on the cobb (and his ribs, and his chicken, and his everything!).

But the best part of our day was spending time with our family,



and our friends,



including our furry ones!



Hope you had an equally rewarding day!

Photo of the Day

Two posts in one day. Whew!

I was just processing photos from this weekend (before my kiddies were abducted by Mimi) and found this shot of #1 and #3 that I love.

#3 is always chasing after his brothers, trying to get in on the constantly moving action.

Watch out guys, I think our littlest hero is about to catch up:)

Facebook, Part Deux

Many of you commented on my previous Facebook post so you are familiar with some of the "issues" (or should I say issue) I have with this social networking giant.

Well, due to the fact that I have a very uneventful real time life, I have spent enough time on FB lately to develop another issue with it. Again, the issue is not FB, itself. It is the annoying FB junkies (not me, other people, of course) that I can't tolerate.

FB junkies are those people who are obsessed with updating FB. And, they are obviously delusional about the fact that any of their "friends" (who only friended them in the first place to gloat in their own awesomeness) even care that they are heading to the gym (skinny biotch), sitting in traffic (boring), or partying it up at happy hour "woot" (Really? Again? What is that, like your fifth happy hour this week? Excessive, don'tcha think? And, seriously, please stop saying woot. Five happy hours in five days is not a reason to woot, it's a reason to seek help. And, most importantly you are driving me effing bananas.).

It's not the existence of updates, I mean I love them because they eliminate the need to call that hey-girl-it's-been-awhile-lets-talk-about-me-for-the-next-two-hours friend who spends the first hour of the conversation talking about how the people she knows suck, and the next hour talking about how awesome she is.

It's the redundancy. If you spent Monday night, Tuesday night, and Thursday night at a bar, chances are (no, no, let me guess) you will spend Friday night at the bar, too.

And, if you are studying and napping every weekend for the past three months, I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and say we could do without the constant updates saying you are gonna be spending this weekend studying and napping as well. And, honestly telling me that you are napping is not only boring, I also get the impression you are trying to rub it in my face that I have not caught a midday nap for at least 8 years (maybe I'm just being sensitive, here).

Now, if I post on my wall that I'm going to be at the local watering hole getting a coupla drinks this Friday, you all should reply immediately for time and place, because it's a rare occurrence, and you might want to be there to experience the freak show that is me when I mix alcohol, with music and dancing.

But, imagine if I posted 4 to 6 times per day that I am changing a dirty diaper or doing laundry (actually, this is a rare occurrence so it might be interesting).

Might get a little ridiculous. Might you think, of course she's changing diapers and doing house work, she's a stay at home mom, that's what she does?

Then don't be surprised that I'm over here thinking, of course she's at the bar, she's a drunk, that's what she does.

Or, she's working out? No surprise there, she's an anorexic hussy, that's what she does.

Or, studying and sleeping? Again? She's a lazy idiot, and has to study to exhaustion to pull a C, duh (okay, she's not lazy).

So please, people, spare us the useless updates. I'm getting sick of seeing your face on my homepage. I can't even see what my more interesting connections are up to, because your useless updates totally Bogart the space so that when my update-a-reasonable-amount friends post something, it's gone before I even have a chance to log on and see it.

You over-updaters should really consider Twitter as an outlet for your obsessive compulsive need to share what you are doing every hour of the day.

Yeah, Twitter would be perfect for you. There are tons of others just like you. People like Ashton, who I am honestly about to de-friend because his updates are driving me nutty. I really thought someone with a more exciting life would have more to say than "I try not 2 consume 2 much processed/preserved stuff & avoid fast food" (REally? I love french fries. They make me happy. Way to make me feel like a fat loser) and "grabbing dinner at Geisha House Atlanta" (Wait, was that a shameless plug?), but whatever.

So, yeah, in case you don't know it's www.twitter.com.

Check it out some time.

It's the perfect solution, for all of us:)

More on Hate

Can you believe the oldest Internet user on the planet responded?

She informed me that my "sarcasm is indicative of my imaturity."

Actually, Madame. My sarcasm allows me to deal with d-bags like yourself without slitting my wrists and bleeding out all over my bathroom floor.

Not to mention, that it's funny.

You'd think that at her age, she'd have a pretty well developed sense of humor.

Go figure.

I was kind enough, however, to completely ignore her rude comments and share with her a tidbit about the Internet that she is honestly unaware of...

You can go to these really cool sites that help you spell check and proof what you write!

You know, 'cause having coherent writing gives you credibility, and prevents you from sounding like an idiot.

You'd think such a mental giant would already know about this sorta thing, but as I said before, go figure.

So, I set her straight.

Always trying to do my part to help the people.

Don't hate.

Congratulate.

Or would that be congradulate?

Photo of the Day

I know, right?

It's like the cutest frickin' shirt you've ever seen, right?

I got it from this sassy little company that I have fallen in love with, called Urban Baby Runway.

They are located in Baltimore and they sell the most adorable (#2's favorite new word) clothes for cool kids.

You should go check them out ASAP.

And, then you should come back to my page every day for the rest of your life, because I'm going to be hosting a giveaway or two featuring their goods in the very near future.

Hooray for me!

Hater!

I was going to post my Mama Kat assignment like I do every Thursday, but then something awesome happened, and I decided it was too perfect not to pay immediate attention to.

But, since I've always been an overachiever in the student department, I decided that I would attend to both.

I NEVER miss an assignment.

So, to answer your question, MK. What have I been too busy to pay attention to lately?

My kids, of course.


This was supposed to be a casual, pre-summer splash in the water table.


It quickly turned into a full blown "swim" in the water table.


I was actually doing something other than blogging when this went down.


At least, dinner got made and no one was crying, complaining, or begging to be held while it was happening.

Good times.

But, that was not even the most awesome part of yesterday afternoon.

On Wednesday, May 20, 2009, I received my first batch of blog hate!

And, here it is...

Courtesy of one terri_liebegott:

"Wow...do you have any idea how ovensive you sound to other people (like Myself) who have celebrated many more birthdays than you ( as you put it an old-give-it up lady)? As if you come to some kind of a relevation about becoming older and actually confident at 31.......wow ....you have a long long way to go. Have you heard the news, they actally let people in their 60s and 70s into bars? And I might add they have every right to be there. wow"

It's from another, local blog that I write for (gotta click link to read original post).

Now, if you clicked on the link, and read the original post, and then took the effort to attempt to muddle through this highly illogical, grammatically incorrect, commentary featuring enough spelling errors to make you wanna puke a little, then you have certainly ('cause my readers are frickin' smart) concluded that she is a little off base with her accusation that this post is ovensive (aka offensive).

My point was clearly that getting old does not happen at 30 (as I mistakenly assumed back when I was 21), it happens when you let it; when you feel it.

Additionally, I am much more confident than I was at 21, which was also a part of my original point.

And, finally, based on what I saw this past weekend, they certainly do let 60 & 70 year olds into bars, and they should totally stop (now, THAT was ovensive o-f-f-e-n-s-i-v-e).

Maybe I am overreacting to this whole incident (shoulda heard what Mimi had to say about my blogger hater).

I realize it comes with the territory (you know, of being awesome).

But, what chaps my hide about this whole deal is that my meaning was TOTALLY misconstrued.

I will agree that I am (at times) offensive.

For example, try reading this. Or this. Or, ooohh, this is a naughty one.

And, wait until you see what I have to say about a little imp on my son's bus.

But, this particular post was anything but offensive.

Enlightening, mature, sentimental, yes.

Offensive, come on lady.

Even my retort was more offensive than the original post...

"Awesome! I always love when people totally misconstrue my blog posts because they either have no sense of humor, or just don't take the time to fully read it. But, let me re-explain myself so that everyone can fully understand my point. The original point was that as I have come to be an older individual I am no longer the 21 yo know it all workin' the dance floor. Those comments were from my 21 yo perspective (preceded appropriately by the phrase, "I recall...). I was reflecting on my former self, not so much my current (still w/a lot to learn, I'll give you that) self. I was noting that at 21 I was incapable of seeing that the 31, & 41, & 51 year olds at the bar were not living their lives on the dance floor, as I was at the time. I could not appreciate their existence in my world then. Furthermore, I was seeking to focus on the fact that my confidence has greatly improved after having the many experiences that I have since my 21yo bar hopping days. I now am the 30ish woman who enters the bar and cares not what the younger, skinnier, chicks think. All I care about now is having fun. And, I am well aware that they let older people into the bar, I just haven't had many opportunities to experience them since I have grown up a bit as I spend little time at the bar and lots of time working, growing, and caring for my family. Your bad for misunderstanding. And, if you'd like to be further offended, please visit my other website: www.parentingbydummies.com, I even curse on it!"

So. All I can say is IN. YO. FACE!

movies BY dummies

And, for once, the dummy is not me!

The dummies are also not the movie writers, directors, or actors who make the movies that we flock to in record numbers every weekend.

The dummies, in this case, are the patrons.

Particularly, the lovely (and I use that term loosely), individuals who decided to partake in a sci-fi adventure this Sunday at precisely the same time that Hubby and I elected to make a foray to the local (sorta, we traveled to the distant land of Columbia, MD to enjoy the newer screens of the AMC theater) movie house.

And, while the film (Star Trek in case you forgot) was superb, the overall movie going experience (which is a large part of the fun), was less than satisfactory.

To prevent certain individuals from ever sullying my experience again, I decided to provide them (and you if you would ever be guilty of such monstrosities) with a guide of sorts.

Think of it as a gift (mostly for me, but also for you).

A gift that could perhaps change your life (and mine) for the better. Forever.

Tips for a Successful (and by successful, I mean bearable) Movie Going Experience

1. Wash Up. I'm highly concerned that I would even need to mention such a basic element of modern day human existence, but sadly, it is necessary. Here's my thing: movies (especially blockbusters like Star Trek) tend to get crowded, and if we are gonna be packed into a place like sardines, I really can't tolerate sitting next to someone who smells like one. In the name of all that is holy, I beg of you, please do a full body self check before leaving the house. You know, to sniff out all of the rank spots that others, in neighboring chairs who are minding their own business, might be offended by. The odor was so overpowering that I spent a good portion of the film dry heaving into my popcorn bucket. My eyes were watering, my ears were burning, and my nose hairs were on alert the entire showing. I'm not sure what the source of the smell even was. Could have been one of three things: the nether regions (YUCK!), the tongue (although I didn't realize people could get gangrene of the mouth), or the huge, battered, shonkey (sheep/donkey) skin coat that she was fanning around. Not that it even matters, but I'd kinda like to know exactly what is capable of causing someone to smell like they crawled out of a grave and decided to take in a show. It was like sitting next to a zombie for 2 straight hours.

2. Seating should be assigned. A novel (and seemingly unnecessary) idea. But, I can not, for the life of me, think of another solution to the I-got-here-5-minutes-before-the-show-and-want-you-to-move idiot. Honestly, people. I don't get to go to the cinema often. But, when I do, I mean business. I get to the theater at least 30-45 minutes pre show time so that I may acquire the appropriate snacks and select the perfect seat (dead center, of course). As a side note, I also need to make time for a pre-movie cat nap, because I can not be trusted to stay awake in a dark room. Never mind the booming DTS, exhaustion takes over. So, if I was able to plan ahead appropriately (again noting the potential crowd factor), and arrive at the showing in time to choose my seat, I find it highly inappropriate, inconsiderate, and ignorant for you to traipse in shortly before go time and ask me to slide to the left three seats so that you and your band of dummies can sit together in the best seats in the place. IF I WANTED TO SIT ON THE EDGE I WOULD HAVE. You know why? 'Cause, when I got here 45 minutes ago, those seat were open! What you should have done, was simply asked the people on the end if they wouldn't mind scooting in a bit. But, no, you arrived with barely enough time to squeeze into the chairs before the lights dimmed, and managed to usurp my expert chosen seats. I hope you enjoyed the film, jerky. Had I not been disoriented because you interrupted my cat nap (another faux pas) to ask me to relinquish my seat, I would have given you a kind, "No sir, I will not move," or a less kind "Hell, no," which ever came to mind.

3. Food, may be your friend, but it did not pay for a seat so it should not get one. Again, I shouldn't have to say that in a movie theater that is nearly sold out, patrons should be so kind as to hold whatever edible goodies they brought into the film IN THEIR LAPS. In all honesty, by the looks of things, you don't actually need a seat full of food, anyway do you?

4. Commentary is not allowed. I'd like to inform you that, "Oh yes he did!" And, I would greatly appreciate it if you could possibly accept that and stop with the, "Oh, no he didn'ts." 'Cause really, they paid JJ Abrams a good chunk of money to enjoy creative license with the Star Trek script, so get off his back with the rhetorical questioning.

5. Please be so kind as to leave when it's over, or at least suck it in a bit so that I can go past w/o making contact. The credits have rolled, the music has stopped, and most of the other patrons have already left. So, if you don't mind, please clear your food chair, move your feet, and LET ME OUT.

As long as everyone cooperates, no one will get hurt.

And, we will all be able to savor this exciting experience:)

And the winners are...

Kris from Stone Cafe Creations and Shannon at Espinoza's Love!

They have both won a 16x20 poster print from UPrinting.com that I am sure they will enjoy, as the both have such great photos on their blogs.

Feel free to pop on over and check both of those ladies out.

And, ladies, send me an email at parentingbydummies[at]gmail[dot]com, and we will hash out the details on how to claim your prize!

On to other things, then.

I just couldn't let this day go by without adding my two cents to the 66 year old pregnant chick story.

All I can say is WTH? As in, Why The Hell, would you even want to be pregnant at 66?

I know she feels young on the inside, and she is in great physical shape, yada, yada, yada.

Seriously, I was 22 when I got knocked up with #1, and I was tired, and surly, and hot, and fat the entire time.

And, now at the no-where-near-66-age-of-31, I am tired, and surly, and hot, and only slightly less fat.

And, while I may lament the fact that I am medically incapable of getting pregnant again because I desperately miss having (or the thought of having) a baby to hold, and nurse, and keep me up at night, I know that deep down, it was not meant to be.

I'm completely a to each her own type of gal, but I must admit, this dummy is baffled.

I just don't get it, but maybe that is because I've already been blessed with the "joy" of motherhood.

If nothing else, it's gotta be tougher to lose the baby weight, and get back in shape when everything is already starting to dip and scoot to new and exciting places.

Whatever.

In the words of a great Vulcan, live long and prosper.

She's a Brick Hoooouse

Only song I can recall from the birthday night extravaganza.

But, let me back up.

I'm sure you all have so been dying to hear about the big, Dummy-turns-31-weekend (or not, but whatever, I'm telling anyway).

Friday was almost the end of Hubby and me (and those blasted kids,too).

You know I provided the requisite amount of, oh-don't-worry-about-its, no-need-to-buy-a-gift (better get at least a card you ungrateful little turds) that I do every year.

And, when I skulked off to work Friday afternoon, I was certain they had obliged.

I was feeling pretty much like this...


But, upon returning home (after a long cell phone call with BFF in which I explained the reasons my family sucked), I was happily surprised with a lovely HP laptop computer! I basically felt like this...



It was served alongside a delicious, Oreo cookie laced, ice cream cake from Coldstone Creamery (a place every woman should have the opportunity to experience) to die for.

Thank. You. Very. Much.

Saturday, I had plans.

Big plans.

Big plans which involved a chick flick (Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, Mr. McConaughey is hotness), a nice friendly dinner, followed by a couple of hours of inebriated dancing.

Despite the fact that three of my "best" buds bailed (yes I am giving you ladies crap), BFF and I thoroughly enjoyed our evening.

The movie was cute and funny (I never agree w/those rotten tomato haters).

The food (especially the carbs) was delectable.



The drinks (except for the root beer float martini, GAG!) were well blended.




And, the music/dancing was (mostly) perfect (you know, perfect mix of me doing awesome, awe inspiring moves to music requested almost entirely by me, with an occasional sucky song contributed by the local drunk chicks so that they could hopelessly try to outshine me. Better luck next year, ladies!).

But the funnest, and most unexpected joy of the evening came in the form of shoes.

DSW, shoes.

BFF and I decided to work off some of the movie snackage by going on an impromptu footwear shopping spree! Hooray for me!!!

I rarely buy shoes, not because I don't love them, because like any warm blooded American girl, I totally do.

It's just that I rarely have the required free moments needed to truly "shop" for shoes.

'Cause shoe shopping, it's a science, and like any science, it requires accuracy and precision. Something I can not adhere to when the dudes are in tow.

Plus, I dream of shoes like these...



The expertly named, out of my price range, don't match with one thing in my closet gems that I fall in love with on sight, but rarely never have the cajones to purchase.

And, I wind up purchasing comfortable, functional, efficient numbers like these...


That are obviously cute, but fall extremely short of the sexy, daring, naughty monkey I used to be.

I know. I'm different now. I'm practical and punctual and cute(which is dramatically different from sexy).

But, guess what?

It was my birthday (and my single, sexy BFF was there to pump me up).

So, I went out on a limb and I got these, too (I know crazy, right? One day, two pairs of shoes?).



They may not be Manolo stilettos, but at least they aren't flat, and they don't lace. Which, to me, makes them very close to the same thing:).

Had to rush off and get some of these, though to kill the shoe shopping guilt...


Following film, shoes, and food, we went for a quick rump shake at a local watering hole.

We tired quite quickly of the oldies but goodies (and I'm referring to the clientele, not the music), and made it home by midnight.

Which was perfect because I needed to rest up for my Sunday afternoon date with Hubby.

And, come Sunday afternoon, right around nap time, our departure time arrived.

Once we settled Mimi (aka babysitter extraordinaire) with the dudes, Hubby whisked me off to the Cheesecake Factory, were I enjoyed a yummy shrimp sandwich.

We then followed our stuffed guts to the movie theater (yes, I really do love the movies) to enjoy Star Trek.

And, even though I am not anywhere close to being a Trekky, I totally loved it.

The film was AWESOME, but again I had significant issues with the clientele (future post alert!).

All in all, it was a marvelous 31st birthday weekend.

I encourage every mom to make an event of the birthday.

At least take a couple of days out of the year and focus on you.

It definitely softens the saggy-boobs-is-that-a-varicose-vein?-what-happened-to-jeans-with-odd-sizes(5-7-9)-I'm-getting-old blow.

I expect so little

I plan the meals, buy the ingredients, cook them, serve them, and watch you dine on them from across the counter where I stand while you eat because I don't even have a chair(basically, it's a situation where counter is too small for more chairs and the dining room is too far away). And, when you are done, I clean it all up.

I sit there and listen to you, and your band of brothers, critique (and sometimes ridicule), my culinary skills on your homemade Cook America show that you all play every night.

I've actually sunk so low, that I feel a little tinge of anxiety as I await the verdict from my personal Randy(#2), Paula(#3), Simon(#1), and the new judge (whatever her name is, no one want to be her so they make Hubby do it).

Most nights, thankfully, you send me to Hollywood (although, when I say I'm off to pack you insist it's only pretend and I'm not aloud to really go).

But, some nights.

Some nights are like last night, and instead of a glowing review, I get to catch puke in a saucepan.

I get to sit there and watch your cheeks bulge as they fill with the formerly delicious cuisine that I slaved over.

I get to watch in horror as you mouth-clamped-shut-scream, and bounce around in your seat, and hope that this is a joke.

A really sick joke.

A really sick joke, in which a little dribble of green tinted puke (we had green rice w/beans and meat, a lovely Mexican delight that was freakin' DELICIOUS, you bloody ingrate), seeps from your tightly pursed lips, and I realize that this, in fact, is not a joke.

This, in fact, is my life.

A life I generally love.

Except for on days like this. When I have to listen to you scream and accuse me of "forcing" you to puke (WTH would I do that? Because I like to wash puke down my kitchen sink?), and "trying to kill" you (you ain't seen nothing yet, Chief).

When I have to sit there and rub your back, and look into your watery eyes, and pretend that I am sorry for bringing you a taste of class, for allowing you to experience culinary excellence. These are the days I love a little less.

So, on my birthday (which is today if you somehow forgot to wish me Happy Birthday), we are going to have something you enjoy consistently ('cause, I coulda sworn you liked my Mexican food). I will forgo my rib eye salad, my vegetable lasagna, and my chicken and mushroom pasta, and instead we will have chicken nuggets and french fries.

Because, more than anything, I'd like a puke free meal to go along with the cake I picked, baked, and iced for myself (of course you get a slice, silly).

And, if that means chicken and fries, then so be it.

Remember?

Wow, Mama K. How did you know that a woman on the eve of her 31st birthday, would love nothing more than to reflect on her life in a way that would highlight exactly how old she really is? You naughty little minx:)

I remember when...

I could enjoy this without having to divvy it up amongst a small band of crumb snatchers.


And, if you're thinking that there are plenty to share, then you really don't know me at all.

Sleeping in meant I would miss all of Good Morning America. Now it means, that I am rolling out of bed about five minutes before it starts.

Music was actually good. You could enjoy good beats along with good lyrics, not one or the other, or quite possibly neither. For example, in 1989, Paula Abdul was so freakin' AWESOME! She had more than one song on the Billboard top ten. Nowadays, not so much.


I got my first email address which I only checked like twice a week. Now I have 5 and I check each of them hourly. I'm a little obsessed, I know.

Catching up with a friend meant you had to hear her voice and/or see her face. Now it means neither. You can text her, shoot her and email, and/or leave a comment on her blog. A little creepy, but so functional. Honestly, I have some friends that, were it not for these major technological advances, I would not know if they were even alive. Sad, but true.

Eating this

did not mean I'd have to spend an extra 2 hours doing this.


It simply meant I would be happy and sticky for a few glorious minutes.

My favorite thing to do after dinner was roller skate. Now my favorite thing to do after dinner is unbutton my pants (you know, for extra breathing room), and hurry to the bathroom to wash and rinse the dudes so that they can be in bed by the time Heroes starts.

I could pull off a body suit and stirrup leggings with ease. Now, please don't even consider asking me to imagine myself in a body suit and/or leggings; it is a scary, scary thought. Honestly, I don't even think I'd be able to bend over enough to buckle a body suit. I'd have to tuck it into the stirrup pants and hope for the best. Not a good look.

A fun night out meant going to the mall, dinner at Burger King, talking through a movie, and prank calling boys. A fun night out now means skipping the mall, dinner at Burger King, sleeping through a movie, and being home in time to tuck in the boys.

And, lastly, I'm going to leave you with somethings to look up.

I'm sure you remember when dances had names, and you could actually do them(or at least you knew what they were even if you weren't coordinated enough, brave enough, or cool enough to actually pull them off)? You know, the electric slide, the cabbage patch, the robot, that kinda thing.

But, how many of you can Walk it Out, Crank That, or do the Stanky Legg?

Feel free to join me in this feeling old thing.

The Thirties

So, this Friday is a big day @ Casa de Dummies.

The fearless leader (that would be me, people), is celebrating a birthday.

I'm turning the big 3-1.

Some people think that turning 30 is monumental, I'd like to posit that it's actually the thirty first year when all hell breaks loose.

'Cause at 30, I felt like I was still a lot closer to the twenties. You know, 'cause I just left them.

Now, I'm officially in my thirties. I'm not just 30; I'm in my thirties. Totally different.

Anyway, in an effort to shift the focus away from my oldness and onto my awesomeness, I'm having a giveaway. Make that giveaways!

That's right, I'm giving you gifts on precisely the day that I should be expecting them for myself!

Hold your applause, people.

The issue is, what to give?

Ok. I've decided.

Or, it's been decided for me.

I will be hosting my first ever sponsored giveaway!

It is with a fantastic company called UPrinting.


They do all kinds of awesome stuff like business cards, postcards, and poster printing.

Online poster printing? Awesome, right?

You know how I love pictures, so how awesome is this?!

So, I am offering a free 16x20 poster print to 2 lucky people!

That means you can take one of your awesome pics like this...



Or, this...


And blow it up big for your wall.

Please refrain from blowing up pics like this, though because that is just mean (for the record, he's not picking his nose)!



To enter, you must do at least 1 of these things (double chances for doing both):

1. Leave a comment here telling me how you would use your free print. A link to your photo of choice would be perfect.

and/or

2. Write a post on your blog linking back to moi and Uprinting.com

I know you are wondering why we are celebrating my birthday on the 13th, when it's not until the 15th.

Well, little miss nosy pants, we are not actually celebrating the day I was born, we are instead celebrating my mom's birth experience, because she had the unfortunate circumstance to be in labor with me for more than 40 hours (good things come to those who wait, while screaming in pain).

That deserves a little celebration (give it up for Mimi).

Contest starts now (day her water broke), and ends Monday, 5/18/09 (day she took home the awesome gift that was me).

Good luck!

P.S. Shipping is included if you live in USA or Canada, all other countries have to pay for it (sorry, they made me say that part).