Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Children boost your self-esteem (but not really.)


When I was little I thought my mom looked exactly like Linda Carter. 



And this is what my daughter thinks I look like. 



So I'm watching Gilmore Girls the other day (is there really any better way to spend one's time?) and little Sully looks up at the screen, points to the two main characters, and says "Mommy! Daddy!"  My thoughts were something along the lines of "Why, yes, dear...those two beautiful actors do look remarkably like your parents. How clever of you to point that out." 

Of course, we do not look like Lauren Graham (that hair!) or Scott Patterson (that jaw line!) but you know, if the kid thinks we do, then that is perfectly fine by me. Then we watched Tangled the next weekend and Sully points to Rapunzel and says "Mommy!" and points to Flynn Rider and says "Daddy!" Well, of course I'm flattered to be compared to a blonde cartoon character (at my age, I'll take what I can get) but I'm starting to wonder what my child REALLY thinks I look like since it's obvious that the raven-haired real life Lauren Graham and the animated blonde (and very very tiny) Rapunzel are about as different as you can get when it comes to representations of the female species. 
BUT, you know, who am I to point out that mommy isn't a svelte blonde? 

Then that night, while getting ready for bed, we start reading 'The Napping House'. For those of you who have read 'The Napping House' you can imagine where this is going. In 'The Napping House' there is a Granny (a snoring Granny). And Sully's little face lights up and she points to the old woman (who is, by the way, very old looking, she has huge feet and is wearing a frilled night cap circa 1892) and shouts "MOMMY!" Um, no. No. No. No. No. "That is not Mommy." I say. I then try to explain the difference between mothers and grandmothers and very old women in picture books that look 150 years old. No luck. Every time I turn the page that old woman appears and every time Sully shouts "MOMMY!" My husband, of course, thinks this is hilarious. 

I realized that my daughter assumes that anyone over the age of 12 must be a 'mommy' and the male version is 'daddy' and anyone else is 'baby'. She isn't pointing out these people because they look like me, she is pointing them out because she is learning to sort out people and their various labels. At least, that's what the child development books say,  but for all I know she REALLY does think I'm a skinny blonde. I mean for years I thought my mom looked like Linda Carter. Now, of course, my mom actually does look like Linda Carter, but that, my friends, is entirely beside the point. 


P.S. No offense to Maggie Smith (pictured as the Dowager Countess from Downton Abbey). She is absolutely one of my favorite actresses of all time. But as the Dowager Countess she does rather perfectly represent what an old woman in the late 19th/early 20th century would have looked like. I'm pretty sure the Dowager wore a night cap too. Not that she'd let anybody see it. 

Monday, October 13, 2014

Emily

Emily's Thankful List

My friend Emily did a 'Thankful Challenge' on Facebook.
Her resulting posts were so funny, that I spewed a mouthful of water.  
My personal favorite is #4. And #17. 


1. I'm thankful my dog can't talk because I'm convinced he's a male chauvinist pig
    and I ain't 'bout that life.

2. I'm thankful for when my parents pick up the tab for dinner. I don't think this happens with
    everyone's parents but when I eat with my parents I don't think I've ever had to pay....EVER.  
    Thanks Mom and Dad! 

3. I'm thankful that according to Vogue, we're officially in the "Era of the Big Booty."
    My time has arrived people.

4. I'm thankful for the Cookie Monster. His message really resonated with me at
 a very young age. I like him.

5.  I'm thankful for my mini-van. (My 19 year-old-self just glared at me and
     called me a loser.) 

6. I'm thankful for eyebrows. They make a difference.

7. I'm thankful my kids haven't figured out how weird I am. (But I think they're catching on.)

8. I'm thankful for my nose. I really like to smell everything and I'm impressed
    by it's ability to know right from wrong. 

9.I’m thankful for really old doctors. It's my opinion that doctors only get better with age. 
  (Unless you're a brain surgeon. I don't want an old shaky man operating on my brain.)

10. I'm thankful for the electric blanket on my bed. Nothing says high living quite like falling   asleep each night encased in electricity.

11. I'm thankful I haven't been sent to jail yet. It's one of my life goals to never 
      be held captive.

12. I'm thankful for milk and quite frankly blown away that I can buy it at any grocery store BY THE GALLON FOR 3 BUCKS!! I milked myself one time, using one of those human milking machines. It took me half an hour to produce 3 tablespoons to feed to my hungry crying baby. Spilling that milk would've been a fate worse than death. That day changed the way I look at milk forever. It's liquid gold people! Liquid gold. And if you happen to be a nursing mama out there who's reading this, I would like to congratulate you and tell you what an awesome job you're doing. Really, I mean it. You deserve a gold medal. Feeding another human with your own body numerous times a day, everyday, is hard work. Really hard work. Good on you!

13. #13 is having technical difficulties, sincerely Laughing Mamma. 

14. I'm thankful they don't put Box Tops for Education on cases of beer and  
    cartons of cigarettes. That wouldn't make much sense at all.

15. I'm thankful for Google and it's ability to help me win arguments I have with my husband. Take last night for example. I walk into the living room to find Chadwick watching ANOTHER Robin Hood movie. I began my rant.


"Seriously Chad! How many times are you going to watch Robin Hood? Haven't you seen this before?"
"No, this is a new one."
"A new one? How many Robin Hood movies are there?"
"There's only 5 that I can think of."
"Five! Yeah right. You've watched at least 15 since I've known you. I'm gonna Google it. Oh my goodness there's 53 Robin Hood movies and that doesn't even include television series. I told you so!"
"Fifty three huh? Looks like I've got some catching up to do.”

16. I'm thankful for the "Church Ladies". I don't know if a more caring group of individuals exists. I spent several hours last night watching a movie with the "Church Ladies" and I haven't felt that peaceful in a long time. They totally made me feel taken care of. They always do.

17. I'm thankful for "natural flavor". I don't know what natural flavor looks like, smells like, feels like 
     or where it comes from, but it's in just about everything I eat. I was eating some Wheat Thins today, 
     and on the front of the box, in bright orange letters it actually says, "Natural flavor with other natural
     flavor." Maybe later tonight I'll Google natural flavor to see what I come up with. I'm fearful of what
     I might find. 

18. I'm thankful I've completed one week of thankful posts, and now I can stop being so thankful.Tonight I am finished. The thankful ship has sailed and now I'm going to turn my focus to all the things I'm bitter about. Good night!
            
      










            


Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Shawshank



Shawshank Baby



This morning when I went to change my daughter's diaper I found something. 

No, not that something. 

I had to unzip her footy pajamas, and as I unzipped them - a comb fell out. 

Not a little kid comb or a baby comb, but a full adult-size comb. 

She had stuffed the whole thing down one of the pant legs of her pajamas.
I don't know if she slept with it all night, or stuffed it in there this morning, or if she is planning to use it to dig her way out of here (like in Shawshank Redemption), but this morning I learned that my little girl is totally capable of squirreling away contraband in her clothing. 

I don't think this bodes well for the future. 


Tuesday, October 7, 2014

In The Check Out Lane


IT'S REWIND WEDNESDAY! 
In Honor of Rewind Wednesday Here Is A Post From The Archive. 





IN THE CHECK OUT LANE

Check out lane manager: "Please come down to our express lane, it's much faster."

Me ( in my head) : " Yes, I realize that, I've been standing in check out lanes for more than two decades, I actually chose this one because the lady in front of me just bought enough food for a small country which means I can stand here for at least five minutes; that's five uninterrupted minutes of relative silence where I get to read a magazine that I won't buy but that provides me with important information like the fact that J.Lo really does have butt insurance, someone gave Katie her brain back and she is leaving Tom and wearing normal clothes again, and that I apparently need to be on Team Edward or Team Jacob. I was actually most of the way through an article about Will and Kate, so please leave me aloneyou are messing with the delicate balance of my day."

What I actually said to the clerk: "Oh, of course, thank you!"



Monday, October 6, 2014

Foodie

Foodie




I had to create a Google Plus account. Mostly because this blog is powered by Blogger which is a Google thing, and since it's a Google thing I have been sucked into their universe and now must do everything they tell me. That, and it's just a good way to be able to share blog posts. Anyway, when you create a Google Plus account you have to create a little description of yourself. It's kind of like a class in Marketing 101, except you don't have to pay for it. Sum yourself up in seven words or less! Um, okay, that's easy.  So I summed up myself by using two things I am, one thing I do, and one thing I love. My description reads: "Mom, wife, blogger, lover of bacon." My husband read it. "I don't think you are being very authentic,"  he says to me. Um, what? "You love toast more than you love bacon." Okay, well, he's got me there. I do really love toast. I think bread and jam should be a food group. I also really love pie. I actually really might love pie more than I love toast or bacon. So maybe my description should simply be "Lover of Pie." Or we can kick it up a notch and make it "Pie Aficionado." Seriously, I ate a piece of pumpkin pie every single day for the last three months of my pregnancy. It's not my fault the end of my pregnancy also coincided with pie season. It was a fluke, but a really really great one. I told the doctors that if our little girl came out all orange that they shouldn't worry, it wasn't jaundice, it was just all the pie I ate. (For the record, she didn't come out orange. She does love pumpkin though.) 

 Then it occurred to me that I also really love coffee. So much so that I put a picture of a latte on my Google Plus account. Do you know what goes really well with coffee? Chocolate. I really love chocolate too. So my description should really be "Lover of chocolate, bacon, pie, toast, and coffee, in no particular order." But that's a few too many things for a personal description. Maybe I'll just start calling myself a foodie. Come to think of it, why isn't this blog about food? 

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Sousa

How Sousa Changed My Life (But Not Really). 





So I'm typing a text to my friend and trying to type the word 'sounds', except I miss the 'd' and so it ends up being 'souns'. So then autocorrect takes over (because autocorrect is a control freak) and turns 'souns' into 'Sousa'. Sounds being a word that is used roughly 5 million times more often than Sousa (I didn't Google it or anything, just a guess). I mean, when was the last time you heard a really good Sousa reference? Are you constantly talking about Sousa marches, and how John Phillip Sousa changed your life, and how they really ought to make a movie with music only by Sousa? Um, no. So apparently autocorrect is a control freak that is really into high school band music. I think autocorrect really needs a better hobby. Or a job. 

P.S. That's John Phillip Sousa up there. I'm going to frame the picture and send it to autocorrect as a Christmas present. 

Overheard

Dad With Stroller

Today at the zoo I overheard a dad talking to one of his buddies. They both had strollers with them, but no kids. I imagine the kids were off with their moms going to the bathroom or staring at zebras or some other appropriate activity kids do at the zoo. At any rate, this dad starts zooming down the pathway and I hear him tell the other dad "EXTREME STROLLERING: ZOO STYLE!" I'm pretty sure that strollering is not a word, but this guy managed to turn it into a sport. I love dads for this reason - when they get bored, they turn life into a sporting event.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Google

Are you there Google? It's me, Hannah. 

The other day I needed to send an e-mail. I was in the drive thru line at Starbucks (don't judge, or do, just do it silently) and I needed to let my preschool know I was going to be late (I was trying to figure out a better excuse than "I'm in line at Starbucks"). I belong to one of those hippie style cooperative schools (that has only one real hippie I can think of) so all of the parents teach and when you send an e-mail you send it to the whole group (we're very democratic that way). So since I had just gotten gmail on my phone I didn't really know what I was doing. I didn't know, for instance, that you should not try to send your first e-mail from your phone while waiting in line at Starbucks (someone might die). Seriously. First, I tried to sign in. Actually, no, I did sign in. To my own e-mail account. Mine. Google did not accept this. Since I had a new device I needed to verify my account. Okay, fine. We all know what happened to poor Jennifer Lawrence this month. Hackers are everywhere, and if Google wants to make sure no one is trying to get a hold of my preschool schedule to splash all over the internet, then who am I to stop them? So I had three options. I chose the first, which involves Google sending me a code to my phone that I then enter into the appropriate box. Then TA-DA! (as my toddler likes to say) I'm in like Flynn (or Finn. Whatever.) 









Only, not so much. I read the code, I copied the code. I pasted the code. And. Google. Didn't. Like. It. They rejected me. Or the code. But it felt like a very personal rejection. How could you do this to me Google? It's ME!! At this point I realized that trying to hold your phone and your coffee and your croissant at the same time (again, silent judging only) is really difficult. So I threw my phone in my bag and just forgot about it. Until, in the middle of class, my phone starts dinging. I read the text. It is a mix between an announcement of the apocalypse and a letter from a superhero. Basically Google wanted to save me from the evil hackers that would completely undo my life if they were allowed to break in to my account. I sighed. I couldn't respond to the text and say "IT'S ME GOOGLE! Really! For the love of God!" Then my husband called me. Panicked. "Did you know someone is trying to hack your account? I just got a text from Google." So, Google can text my husband??? Google is a drama queen.  "It's just me, I just suck at technology," I told him. I know he agrees with this assessment of my technological skill (I still use a paper calendar), but he was nice enough not to say anything. 

When I got home I had a warning from Google. It alerted me that some evil minion was trying to break into my account. And then, right at the top there was a box you could check. It asked "IS THIS YOU?" Um, jeez Google, yes it's me, I've been trying to tell you that ALL DAY, you just don't listen very well. Seriously, having an account with Google is like having a junior high school boyfriend. Do you like me Google? Check yes or no. Or just let me check my freaking e-mail. 

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Charm School

I'm starting Rewind Wednesday. Because I can. 
In honor of Rewind Wednesday this is one of my favorite posts from the archive. 



CHARM SCHOOL

I have come to realize that at 30 I still don't really know how to dress myself, wear heels, sit up straight, dance the tango, or properly put on eye liner. While none of these things exactly falls into the 'valuable life skills' category, can I just ask what the heck happened to charm school? Where did it go, and can we bring it back? Seriously, I paid thousands of dollars for an education at a university that promised to educate 'the whole person'. My hair and nails do not feel educated. 

P.S. That woman in the picture clearly went to a very nice charm school. Her nails look educated. 

Menace

AWESOME BLOG

This is maybe one of the funniest blog posts I've ever read. There were actual tears.

Hyperbole and a Half: Menace

Sleeves


SLEEVES OF APPROPRIATE LENGTH



I love Fall. If for no other reason than the fact that I can now go back to wearing shirts that have sleeves. I once had a friend tell me I have too many cardigans. Blasphemy! You can never have too many cardigans. Ever. 

First of all, I have terrible looking arms. I'm not saying that so that you can then tell me I actually have pretty arms (really). I am also not terribly concerned about it and/or looking for free dermatological advice or skin care. I just think we all have things about ourselves we think are mediocre or just not great. My arms are not great. So summer is a little unbearable for me. I apply the lotions with bronzer. I exfoliate. I attempt push-ups. Still, somehow, the results are not good. I look like a woman in her 60's with a skin rash. 

I once worked at a place that was constantly 85 degrees. I complained to the management. The manager looked at me and said "Just wear a tank top!" All bright and cheery like that would just solve the problem. I told her that, first of all, that's a mean thing to do to the other employees, they shouldn't have to look at these ghastly pale arms of mine.  And secondly, this is America, the land of proper ventilation and air conditioning. Is proper ventilation really just too much to ask for? She did not seem impressed with what was obviously a very logical argument on my part. (I'll never know if it was revenge or not, but she proceeded to buy us a fan that was meant for industrial warehouses. You turned it on and were knocked to the floor by the gust. We used it once, then gave up.)  I wound up wearing very odd shirts in an effort to both have sleeves and not appear sweaty. It was not exactly a good phase in my life style wise. It's a good thing I was already engaged at that point. Husband hunting in those outfits would not have worked out well. 

The thing is, not only am I not a tank top person, I'm not really a summer person either. Summer just feels wrong to me. I'm bookish, and bookish people like the cold. It's in our nature. We want to be bundled up with a book, in a chair, with a blanket, wearing a sweater with sleeves that are of an appropriate length. 

So thank you, Fall, for showing up with your lovely leaves and mild temperatures. My arms and I really appreciate it. 


Grace Weston

I love Grace Weston's photography. It completely cracks me up. Some of it is a little weird, but it's also all completely brilliant. If you get a chance, glance through her portfolio.



Grace Weston: House of Atlas - miniature staged photography

Tired

TIRED





I'm tired. I know, I know, you are all tired too. We can all be tired together. Tired seems to be this inevitable part about parenting. This sort of club forms around being a tired parent. It's different than the I'm-in-college-and-stayed-up-all-night-reading-and/or-partying-and/or-making-out-with-my-boyfriend tired. It's a tired that's wrapped in sacrifice and filled with love. Or resentment. Whatever. Anyway, I'm tired and on days I'm tired I find that it is truly difficult to be funny. Or to find the funny in any given situation. Everything just turns into this giant gray ball of unfunny. The checkout guy at the store is not entertaining in his hipster snobbishness. He's just a jerk. My child is not adorably clamoring for my attention. She's just the kid that is in between me and my coffee. My shoes don't fit. The car won't start. All of these things seem to happen when I'm tired and my response is to want to crawl back into bed and fall into a deep and lovely sleep that no one dare wake me from. (In this story I'm sleeping beauty, but I'm also the dragon if you attempt to wake me up.) However, I don't get to sleep. In all likelihood neither do you. Do you know who gets to sleep? Our kids. And Daniel Tiger's Mom. Yup, Mrs. Tiger is never, ever, out of energy. She's like June Cleaver on steroids. This woman just had a baby (for those of you that are watching the saga unfold) and she is still humming sweet little songs, making equal amounts of time for each child, and she always, always, has what I like to call P.P.R. That's Perfect Parenting Response. She is always kind, always calm, and always knows just what to say. If you really want to feel bad about your parenting skills, just watch one episode, and you'll be ready to throw in the towel. I try to take comfort in the fact that cartoon characters don't actually need sleep, and therefore, I'm comparing myself to a fictional tiger that will never have bags under her eyes or unfolded laundry. But today the only thing I've got going is my ability to mock Mrs. Tiger and the hope that you will join me in deeply resenting perfectly nice cartoon characters simply because it makes me feel better.

Friday, September 26, 2014

Speaking 'Toddler'


SPEAKING 'TODDLER' 

Today at preschool I was talking to two little friends who couldn't come to an agreement. We have those little cars the kids can ride in and one of them has a trailer on it. Sometimes one kid will hitch a ride in the trailer. Today there was a little girl in the trailer and the little boy was trying to tell her that he didn't want to pull her and she needed to get out. The little girl reeeaaalllyyy did not want to move. So finally, after much deliberation, I said "Well, guys, this is what is called an impasse." And the little boy looks at me, points to the car, and says "No Hannah, this is called a car!" 

Thursday, September 25, 2014

Facebook


FACEBOOK OVERLOAD

Sometimes Facebook is just like a really overwhelming coffee date. It's like having coffee with 25 people and they are all talking to you at the same time. Maybe it's just my spastic ADD brain, but Facebook just seems like a giant, ongoing simultaneous conversation; it looks something like this: "I hate Obama! I love Jesus! I have a funny cat! My kid is funny! World War 3 is imminent, arm yourselves! I am on a diet! I am on a better diet! This is a picture of my dinner! I did laundry! Go Ducks! I hate the Ducks! I hate my spouse! I mean, I love my spouse, I just hate doing his laundry! Inspiring Quote! Squirrel! It's my kid's birthday! Baby picture! Quinoa can kill you! Game request! Does your kid do this weird thing too?" None of which are bad topics in and of themselves, but you meld them all together into a distracting mass of words and you get "Obama, arm yourself with ducks on a diet, this is a picture of squirrels that love Jesus eating quinoa with a baby doing laundry and other weird things while inspiring others day by day."  I mean, sometimes I wonder why I can't concentrate and why the world seems so confusing, and then I remember that I keep checking Facebook, and you just can't do that without getting a little distracted and thinking squirrels eat quinoa. 

Monday, September 22, 2014

Bad Day


Ice Cream Cone Day




So far it's just been a ridiculous, awful day.  It started going south last night, when my daughter woke up with a soaking wet diaper and wouldn't go back to sleep (except, of course, in mom and dad's bed). It continued this morning when she woke at 5:30 a.m. (why don't children have snooze buttons?) Then she wet the bed again at nap time, and my house now looks likes 20 college freshmen and a team of toddlers stormed through and forgot to clean up. In my zombie state of mind I have accomplished nothing I set out to do today. So at this point, the only redeeming factor is that it's National Ice Cream Cone Day. I mean, the fact that ice cream cones somehow managed to make it onto the national calendar tells me that at least one bureaucrat out there knows what's up. So there's that. 

Saturday, September 20, 2014

Stickers



STICKERS OF OURSELVES 


So I am all for putting cute stuff on your car, and those little stickers of each individual family member (mom, dad, and their 2 -9 children) fall into that category of cute, but have you noticed that no one has these stickers except people with children? It's like it's some kind of reproduction club...as in "Yay, we reproduced!" What I would love to see is some little old lady driving a car with a sticker of herself and her 47 cats...create some diversity in the stickers-of-ourselves community.

Glow

PREGNANCY COMPLIMENTS


Woman at party: "Oh, you have that pregnancy glow!!" 

Me: "Oh, no, this is entirely artificial, I just use a really good bronzer !" 

Fixing Things

FIXING THINGS 

I am a fixer. I did not warn my husband about this before we were married. So imagine his surprise when I tried to fix the sink and broke a pipe (which he then had to fix), or when I tried to fix the rearview mirror the other day and decided to cut a series of wires that apparently had a purpose and corresponded to a series of sensors that, well, no longer sense things. Lucky for me I married a man that finds all of this terribly amusing (to his credit he actually laughed when he realized what I had done to the car). Although I am pretty sure he will never let me near electrical wiring again. 

Accident Prone

ACCIDENT PRONE 

The new “International Delight Iced Coffee” commercial insinuates that klutzy people should stay home and have iced coffee rather than go out to get it because they may do something stupid like run into a glass door. Let me tell you, klutzes take this insult seriously. We demand the same right to public spaces as everyone else. Our numbers are large, and we are thinking of unionizing. We already have support groups, and have considered lobbying congress for rights to equal treatment. If you are a klutz (or just accident prone) you are not alone! You don’t have to stay home! Go out to buy your coffee! Go to dinner! Go to the movies! Just try not to sprain an ankle.

Stick Figure


STICK FIGURE FAMILY OF ONE 

Yesterday I saw a man driving a car with a stick-figure-family of one!! 

Finally diversity has reached the stick-figure-family market! 

And you know what? No longer do the lovely ladies of The Portland Metro area need wonder if this guy is available. He is single and likes to kayak!

That's the thing, no longer do you need the internet to find a date! Simply post your marital status on your back window! 

And with today's bumper sticker selection you can advertise all of your interests: whether you want to hug a tree, hug Jesus, or hug a pug; whether you belong to the Save A Squirrel Foundation, the Arbor Day Foundation, or the Star Trek Federation; all of this can be posted for free on your vehicle! 

Now, of course there is no telling what kind of dates you will get, but I think we can all agree that just because that guy on Match.com told you he was a Swiss model that surfs in Australia doesn't mean he isn't actually a bouncer at a strip club with a drug problem. 

At least this way you save a lot money finding out. 

Check Out

IN THE CHECK OUT LANE







Check out lane manager: "Please come down to our express lane, it's much faster."

Me ( in my head) : " Yes, I realize that, I've been standing in check out lanes for more than two decades, I actually chose this one because the lady in front of me just bought enough food for a small country which means I can stand here for at least five minutes; that's five uninterrupted minutes of relative silence where I get to read a magazine that I won't buy but that provides me with important information like the fact that J.Lo really does have butt insurance, someone gave Katie her brain back and she is leaving Tom and wearing normal clothes again, and that I apparently need to be on Team Edward or Team Jacob. I was actually most of the way through an article about Will and Kate, so please leave me alone, you are messing with the delicate balance of my day."

What I actually said to the clerk: "Oh, of course, thank you!"

Injury Free



In Pursuit of a Mostly Injury Free Lifestyle 


According to a Consumer Reports poll the rate of accidents caused by simultaneously walking and texting has gone up significantly. 

Of course, the klutziest of us have been aware of this issue for some time, we have advocated for klutzes everywhere by suggesting pedestrians 'pull over' and stop walking while they text. 

Constant vigilance people! Constant vigilance! 

One lady fell right into a fountain while texting, which is hilarious, but bad for our cause as it only reiterates stereotypes against our growing klutz demographic. 

Represent klutzy constituents everywhere, show that klutzes can be responsible! 

Accident prone, yes we are, but we are capable, aware, and vigilant in our pursuit of a normal, mostly injury free lifestyle.


Klutzes Unite!

 Don't text and walk!

Save a life!

 (Or at least spare yourself public humiliation.)

Charm School

Charm School

I have come to realize that at 30 I still don't really know how to dress myself, wear heels, sit up straight, dance the tango, or properly put on eye liner. While none of these things exactly falls into the 'valuable life skills' category, can I just ask what the heck happened to charm school? Where did it go, and can we bring it back? Seriously, I paid thousands of dollars for an education at a university that promised to educate 'the whole person'. My hair and nails do not feel educated. 

Pioneer

Pioneer Women Annoy Me

There are days you feel like superwoman because you vacuumed the floor; then you watch a documentary about the Oregon Trail and it features all of these women with their seven children in covered wagons digging irrigation ditches and eaking it out in harsh winters. Damn pioneers and their perseverance and hard work! This is why people watch the Kardashians! Pretty easy to feel like loading the dishwasher is hard work when you're watching someone do nothing but apply lip gloss. 

Shopping


Shopping 

I went clothes shopping and got fed up, so I bought pots and pans instead.

 I think from now on I'm just going to buy household items. 

 You can't ask your husband "Do I look fat in this strainer?"

Grown Up


Grown Up 

I am not exactly sure at what point one officially becomes an adult, but I just woke up at 6 a.m. on a Sunday so I could have some 'me' time...considering the fact that waking up this early on a weekend for any reason whatsoever is a completely unprecedented event in my life tells me that, in all likelihood, I am now officially a grown up....I feel like there should be cake, or glitter, or something...

Sick


Apocalypse Now! 





For years I have watched as countless parents have posted on Facebook that their babies/kids were sick. 

I always thought something along the lines of  'That sounds moderately inconvenient.' 


Little did I know!!



 Taking care of a sick baby is akin to running a decathlon during the apocalypse! 
(And if you were to run a decathlon during the apocalypse it would involve burning buildings, terrorists, firearms, and zombies...

I mean, hello parents, where was the warning? 

I didn't expect parenting to be all gumdrops and rainbows, but I could have gotten a heads up about the doomsday scenario that is caring for a sick child. 

And no, I do not think I'm being overly dramatic about this.


Good Choices


Good Choices 

Yesterday there was a woman featured on a show that had a very strange eating habit (where do they find these people?!) This woman ate 3300 calories worth of corn starch every day. Corn starch. Now honey, if you are going to add 3300 calories to your diet it better be 3300 calories worth of pie. I mean let's try and make good choices here!

Nursery Rhymes


NURSERY RHYMES

So I was given this book of old Spanish nursery rhymes and the other night decided to read some of them to Sullivan. They all seemed like pretty typical little kid poems until I got to this one " I am pretty, I am my mother's pearl, if I soil my dress she will beat me." I would like to note that the introduction of this book says that these poems will bring comfort to children. Apparently comfort used to come with a whack to the head.

The End

THE END OF THE WORLD

Given that there have been multiple security breeches of major companies lately I have to say that I have become convinced that the end of the world is not going to happen like it does in the movies. We've all been expecting a big dramatic ending with zombies and genetic mutations, epidemic breakouts of disease and a nuclear holocaust. Well, my friends, I'm pretty sure it's just going to be billions of people endlessly standing in line at banks and credit card companies trying to convince some guy named Joe that their birth certificate is real and that no, they didn't spend $900 on gummy bears and used stereo equipment. Kind of a let down really.

Potato Head


My living room is the scene of The Great Potato Head Massacre of 2014

Arms and eyes and giant blue shoes everywhere. 

I feel like I should document this very serious moment in history. 

Tears

Questionable Products

So one of my recent baby product experiences brings up the question 'Who is vetting these products?' Because I put that tear-free baby shampoo in my own eye, and guess what? It stings like a b$&@. I mean, you might as well just use Pantene on your kid, because this was high end, organic, granola-head-approved, tear-free baby shampoo, and I thought I was going to go blind from pain! (I do these things because I believe parenting is 3 parts love and 1 part voluntary torture.) So, all I'm saying is, I want to know who they are trying these products on, because as far as I can tell it's babies with self cleaning teeth and nerves of steel.

Baby

Baby Toothpaste

This morning I used 'My Little Pony' toothpaste. Not by choice, but because Josh went on a business trip and took the last tube of regular toothpaste, thus forcing me to use our daughter's baby toothpaste. I'm pretty sure baby toothpaste is about as effective as rubbing frosting on your teeth. I might as well as have just eaten a cupcake.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Oprah

It's Called An 'Oprah Fail' 

That moment when Oprah announces you should NOT be looking for happiness - you should be looking for JOY - and you realize you've been looking for happiness for several decades and have thus inadvertently messed up your entire life. 

This is an Oprah fail. 

They should start a club or something. Actually, I'm just going to write a book about all of my Oprah failures. And my Martha Stewart failures while I'm at it. 

I'm going to call it 

"How To Fail At Divine Enlightenment and Cake Baking Without Even Trying.


Move over Liz Gilbert, there's a new messy woman in town and she can't meditate or bake!