Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Back to Boring We Go

I always have mixed feelings about putting away all the Christmas decorations. On one hand, my postage stamp sized living room feels downright spacious after taking out 6 feet of Christmas tree. For a few weeks, the husband and I will marvel at all this new found space and how big the living room looks! Until we remember that it's always been this size and it's not that big of a deal.

The problem is, the magic is gone. The Christmas season brings fun and joy and wonder. And if you have kids, it doubles the sense of wonder because you get to see the world through new eyes again. There's Christmas movies, Christmas music, Christmas shopping, and Christmas cookies. There's parties and presents and the smell of fresh cut Christmas trees. There's snowmen decorations and Santa decorations and stockings hung by the chimney with care. (Or in our case, on the wall with those little 3M hook thingies.)

Once Christmas is over we just start looking forward to summer.....in six months.

We do get a small transitional moment in the form of New Year's Eve. A party, one last food free for all before you start your diet (like you do every year) and a celebration with family and friends. My in laws always make a big to do and have a game filled food fest and it's pretty spectacular. I figure if you're going to celebrate how fricken quickly time has gone by that year (and the older you get, the faster it goes) this is the way to do it. Food, booze, and (drunken?) pictionary. (That would explain some of the attempted drawings we've seen over the last few years!)

Unfortunately, the next day brings with it New Year's resolutions that we all know we're probably ditching by February 1st, more than likely a diet (ugh) to get those stubborn holiday pounds back off, and the frustration of writing the wrong year on everything for a month. Plus, possibly a hang over if you were playing drunken pictionary the night before.

So yes, I do miss the magic of Christmas. Until I remember that the new year brings new possibilities. New chances for friendships and gatherings and special moments with my children. (Not to mention a new child altogether! One I haven't screwed up yet! A blank slate, baby!) And if we're honest, it's really only January and February that we mope through. By the time March comes around we're already feverishly looking for signs of spring. We're in the home stretch. Spring, in all its muddy glory, is almost here!

So for all my fellow Moms (and Dads too!) who don't know how they're going to make it another 3 months with cooped up heathens who desperately need the chance to gallop in fields of wheat (or even just the back yard) and give them a much deserved breather, I say hang in there. Once the weather finally hits above the freezing point you can always send them out bundled up like a winter burrito and earn back a few precious minutes of sanity.

All That Crap and More!

So, I've been looking online at baby crap recently. No, not actual crap, that's nasty. I mean all the things that are designed to care for and carry your baby and some things that I've found are just a savings to my sanity. By baby number four, you know what products you need and what are just designed to suck those first time parents into flushing money down the drain on something that they are convinced they absolutely need.

I start with the baby bath tubs. Now, this is a particularly sore subject for me right now because of the toddler bath seat. I had a bath seat that I used for the younger two that I loved, loved, loved. Literally, I had just gotten rid of it 3 months before finding out I was pregnant. Of course, I can't find another one like it since it was an archaic piece of plastic equipment that was 12 years old. But I digress. I'm looking online at bath seats and I come across this little gem:

I might have bought it if it had jets and a head rest.

This is the Aqua Scale 3-in-1 Infant Bathtub. Yes folks, for a low $69.99 (SEVENTY DOLLARS!) you could have a combination bath tub, water thermometer, and scale. Forget just bathing your baby, now you can make sure that they maintain a constant weight through out the entire bath! Make sure that you aren't boiling baby's precious skin with the built in water thermometer. Never again will you have to make the water "tepid" and rely on using your boring old hand to gauge if your baby will scream bloody murder from the scalding water of if they're screaming bloody murder from being cold, naked, and wet!

I just want a plain old bathtub. Now they are inflatable or have slings or are combination bath tub-infant barcalounger-highchairs. They fold up or are designed specifically for sink bathing. When did a bath for my itty, bitty baby become such a huge task? Give me some water, a washcloth, some Johnson's and Johnson's baby bath, and a naked baby. Sure, having something to hold that naked butt is handy, but where are the cheap $15 tubs with the foam back rest and the "bump" that qualifies as a seat? The closest thing I could find was $30 and it's "The First Years Ultimate Comfort Musical Tub". For Lord's sake, we really need a musical bathtub? Does having music for those 9.5 minutes make it that much less traumatic for my baby who's only thoughts are "Waaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!" Also, isn't anything electronic meeting water a bad, bad thing?

The other part of me though, does realize that some things have been made better in the years between children. One thing I think is really cool is something called a "Sleeper". This is basically a fancy way of saying portable bassinet. You can get them for about $40 and they are angled, which is great for babies with acid reflux or new moms who need to check if their baby is still breathing every 37 seconds. (You don't have to bend so far since the baby's elevated.) The best part? It folds and goes easily. It's like a pack and play without all the heavy lifting and confusing set up/dismantling. The only downside I can see is that you'd still end up having to get a pack and play since the Sleeper is only designed to hold your baby up to six months. (I'm definitely thinking I could get $40 use in by the time six months are up though.)

I guess what it all boils down to is that everything they make for baby is now the Cadillac of baby gear. You can't even buy the Ford or Chevy versions anymore. And they know you'll do it too. Because who wants to be the parent who cares less about their baby's safety and comfort? (But that still doesn't mean I'm buying the BMW of bathtubs.)

It's Beginning to Rush a Lot Like Christmas!

Every year I tell myself that I will not be as disorganized and unprepared as I have been this year. And every year, not only is that NOT true, but the amount of chaotic disorganization that I have in my life grows. It's like bacteria that expands and takes over when you're not looking.

So true to course, this year I'm left scrambling to get everything on my list because the idiot in me put everything off just one more day, until I realized "Holy crap! Christmas is in ONE week!" The sad thing is, Christmas is the same day every year. It doesn't change. It's constant and faithful with it's December 25th arrival. But somehow I think it's gaining days on the calendar. At least, that's what it seems like.

Sure, it says the 25th, but I think it's coming early this year.

The only problem with last minute scrambling is that there are a crap ton of other people also trying to cram in last minute shopping. I think, "Okay, I just need 2 gift cards, some wrapping paper, and hand lotion for Grandma. That's like 25 minutes tops." Until you get to the store and have to park in Timbuktu because the lot is full. Then you get to trudge the half mile to the store, dodge and weave around the other frantic shoppers, and then stand in line half a lifetime to check out. Then the cashier informs you that, not only do the gift cards have to be done separately from your other stuff, but they can't even be combined with each other. One checkout becomes three and you furiously begin apologizing to the sour faced woman in line behind you for taking even longer. You just turned your 25 minute store run into an hour and a half.

The worst part? There are people out there who leave their shopping this late on purpose. (Ninety five percent of these people are husbands, mine included.) I will repeat it for you if you didn't catch that. They wait until the very last minute to do their Christmas shopping. Willingly. Knowingly. Happily. I can't imagine knowing I have 364 days to shop for one special day and then leave it until 3 days before the actual event. (That's the best case scenario since my husband tends to leave it until the 24th.) So you have the people who, like me, planned but need last minute whats-its and the people who waited until T minus 24 hours, all in a mad dash to grab whatever is left. And you thought Black Friday was bad!

So if you see me out this weekend doing another run to the store for butter to make cookies or more tape because "Not Me" is being a klepto, please smile and offer a kind word. I had really good intentions on January 1st, but apparently February was hungry and ate all the months between it and November.

Next Stop, The North Pole!

When I was a kid, we believed in the magic of youth a lot longer than today's generation. What were we, 12 or 13 before we gave up that ghost? (Personally, I choose to still believe because my happy little world has a purple sky, endless rainbows, and a side of Chardonnay.) Of my three children, I have a firm realist (the 16 year old), an on-the-fencer (the 13 year old), and the "Well duh, he's totally real don't be stupid" (the 6 year old).

The on-the-fencer is a wily one though. I can't imagine that she's retained that youthful innocence. Especially not after riding the bus, not to mention going to middle school. At 13, there HAS to have been some bubble bursting by now. Yet there hasn't been once single indication that she's too old to believe and in fact, seems reluctant to even hear any blasphemy that points to the contrary. It's all true and you can't convince me otherwise, that's basically her motto.

Now, while I'm a big fan of kids not growing up too fast in our over sexed, over exposed, too adult world, it's frustrating that I can't just induct her into the "secret club" like I did with her older brother. I have pulled out the old speech (Everyone has the right to believe in magic for as long as they want to without other people deciding that for them and P.S. please do not spoil it for your younger brother.) and polished it up every year for the last 3 years now. While a large part of me thinks she's savvy to the ways of the elves and the big guy, part of me truly worries that she does believe and I'll have to do some bubble bursting of my own before she reaches high school and gets laughed out of freshman year. (Kids can be so cruel.)

The youngest, on the other hand, is surely destined to get off the Santa train effective this year. I've seen his Christmas list and it just ain't happening. He's listed half the stock of Best Buy. Among his top four choices are: iPhone 4, iPhone 5, a Nook (basically a tablet), and a Nintendo 3DS. (Keep in mind none of those are under $129.00.) He's too young for tablets and iPhones (or even cell phones in general) and he doesn't need a 3DS. So he's going to debunk the Claus clause because he's going to think, "Well that fat bastard didn't even get me anything on my list." Ok, so he wouldn't swear. But he might start contemplating why the old guy didn't cough up what he asked for. We told him to ask Santa for what he wanted and the geezer couldn't even produce something lame like the iPhone 3GS! OMG!

The best part of his list is that he asks for half an electronics store worth of plastic gadgets and ends the list with erasers. Like pencil erasers. So maybe I do have a shot of redeeming the old guy in his eyes. Surely good ol' boy Nick can swing that one, right? Especially if we explain that even the North Pole was hit by the economic downturn and had to downsize their electronics manufacturing division.....

Bad Santa! Wasting resources!

Waking Up in a Winter Wonderland

Well, winter has officially slapped our asses with a heaping amount of snow. These are the things you deal with when living in Upstate New York. Secretly, I'm thrilled to have a white Christmas (or at least a grayish, dirty snow white Christmas, but it beats the brown, dead grass Christmas we could have had) since there are only 10 days til we wake to our bounty from jolly ol' St. Nick. Having lived in New York my whole life, however, I've observed the following things about snow storms:

1. If you are over the "Yay it's a snow day and there's no school" age, it's NOT acceptable to be happy about snow. In fact, it must be the worst news you've heard all week. Constant bitching and complaining must follow in the form of such comments as: "Look at all this white crap!" or "Great, now I have to leave 10 minutes early so I can brush the car off!" or better yet "I can't believe the god damned plow came right after I finished snow blowing the driveway!"

2. At the first prediction of a snow storm you must immediately rush to the nearest store and purchase copious amounts of milk, bread, toilet paper, water, and batteries. It does not matter if you already have a six month supply of any of these items. BUY MORE! It doesn't matter that you could technically walk to Walmart in 10 minutes if absolutely necessary or that we live in 2013 and have handy things like plow trucks, rock salt, or generators. It common storm preparation etiquette numb nuts!

3. A storm will only come on the one day a week that you pray it doesn't. You could have a completely clear schedule and have an engagement on one single day. One slice of a day. Four measly hours of a day. And that is when it'll start snowing. Don't utter any sentences that contain the words, "As long as it doesn't snow on _____." In fact, don't even think it.

4. No matter how long people live in snowy climates, they always forget how to drive in the snow after a 6 month hiatus. It doesn't matter if they've lived through 5 New York winters or 50. It doesn't matter that they've had the same vehicle for 7 years. Somehow, they forget how to drive in snow without being a complete and utter moron. This happens in one of two ways: They freak out at the first snowflake and drive 14 miles per hour to their destination or they think they're invincible and drive 14 miles faster than the actual speed limit. On the highway. Without clearing their car off first so that all the snow comes flying off and hitting your windshield. By the way, thank you very much for that!

5. Adults will be happier with storms that occur on any non-working days. (For the most part, the weekends.) Kids will complain about wasting snow on weekends because it deprives them of a snow day at school. It doesn't matter if the little turds have 5 piddly days of school left before leaving for a 16 day Christmas vacation. It's the snow day that got away.

6. If your husband or wife is the one who does the snow clearing at your house, you are most definitely not allowed to be happy about snow until a minimum of 12 hours after the official ending of the storm have passed.  You must sympathize and be prepared to offer inane comments like "I'm sorry honey, snow sucks!" or "Would you like a cup of hot cocoa/coffee/tea?" Under no circumstances should you make a positive remark about being lucky to have it on a weekend instead of a workday or that we could have gotten much more snow. (Refer back to number 1.)

And last but not least:

7. Make a huge deal out of the fact that you are "stuck at home" because of the "stupid storm". Even if your pre-snow plans included sitting in your pajamas all weekend reading the newspaper and watching the Classic Movie Channel on tv. Act as of this storm is the biggest inconvenience you have ever had to deal with and you aren't sure how you'll cope until the 12 hours have passed when life returns to normal again. When you'll still be in your pajamas reading the newspaper. But this time with clear roads.

What The? A Two Month Vacation?!?!

Apparently, these days, working in television is the gig you want to have. Work for two and a half months, take two months off, work three months, and be off the rest of the season until new episodes come back in September.Thank God for my DVR because I can never tell when the show is going to be on half the time.

Now, I understand how shows take time off in December. I will admit that is really a smart idea. People have holiday parties (and Christmas movies to watch) and shopping, (Christmas movies) and all the other joyous tasks like baking and wrapping and tagging and shipping. Oh, and did I mention watching Christmas movies? Not being a slave to my television schedule for the month of December so I can concentrate on my kid's holiday concerts, making ornaments, and party hopping is a nice little break. Or it should be. Little that is.

Unfortunately, that's just how it started. Now they morph that break into 4, or 5, or sometimes as much as 8 (EIGHT!) weeks off. The best part? The last episode before break is called "The Mid-Season Finale". When did this become a thing? Because now almost all of my shows are advertising the exciting "Mid-Season Finale" that's airing. (Or well, maybe they were, I live in DVR-land where everything is new, even when it's been there for a week or two.)

Do you know, after eight weeks, it's going to take me half the episode the remember what went on in the mid-season finale? That's 30 minutes of confusion while my addled brain plays catch up and 30 minutes of relief that I DO (finally) remember and the brain's not completely gone yet. For what? Why torture us television junkies who need our "fix" of new episodes and fresh scenes with our "people"? What did we do to deserve sitting through dreary January, twiddling our thumbs, looking for old Friends or Seinfeld re-runs to keep us busy? It's not as if they do it to extend the season. Nope, they still start in September and end in May. And they've even played around with those dates, stretching the premiere to the very end of September, or maybe the beginning of October, and ending the first week of May, maybe second if you're lucky.

The Walking Dead fans are not so lucky because those bastards end in March and make us salivate six months until new shows start again all the way until October!! (The horror!)

SO, yes, it's a trivial and superficial gripe that I have. (And believe me, I know how lucky I am to have such petty things to complain about. Thank you Lord Jesus. Amen.) But it's a legit gripe dangit. And once my sugar high of Christmas movies ends, I'll be jonesing for a new tv fix like the addict I am. I wonder if I can DVR enough movies to get me through January? Hmmmm......

The Pee Pee Perils of Pregnancy

You know how some pregnancy symptoms are grossly over exaggerated? Like the whole pickles and ice cream thing? I know some gestating female, at some point in history, had to have had this combination for it to be linked to a pregnancy craving. Personally, the thought of combining those two things just makes me want to revert back to the morning sickness phase. Unless they meant that women crave some weird things during pregnancy like ice cream comma pickles. (Not ice cream with pickles on top with some chocolate sauce.)

Then there are the things that aren't exaggerated. Like the part where your bladder must have gone through a shrinking process because you pee so much. (Yes, I could have said "urinate" and been all fancy and all that, but it's pee. I'm just calling it like I sees it.)

When you're freshly pregnant, your body is working overtime to flush the toxins out and you spend a lot of your new found pregnancy joy in the bathroom. (If you have morning sickness to boot, you're probably spending  more than half!) Then, you have a bouncing bundle of baby bouncing on your bladder. (Phew! That was some serious tongue twisting alliteration there! Say that one 10 times fast!) I think your sweet fetus thinks that your internal organs are there for their amusement with the bladder, of course, being the trampoline.

So, when you're about halfway through your second trimester and you get to combine phrases that should never be in the same paragraph, let alone the same sentence (like uterus size and soccer ball), you start to become intimately acquainted with every toilet in a 20 mile radius. You know where they are at work,  stores, school, church, and family abodes. You probably even have a rating system for the public restrooms you've gotten up close and personal with recently. (Target scores an A- by the way, although they always smell like fruity pebbles and give me the strongest craving for Flintstones inspired cereal.)

So pregnancy is probably not a good time for one conveniently located bathroom at work, where I am spending 40 hours of my weeks, to go on the fritz, right? Yeah, it's awesome. Instead of waddling 10 feet from my office to the toilet, I get to waddle down a few hallways with the boy playing, "Let's see how hard I have to kick Mommy before she's stricken with sudden incontinence." Yay me! Because it doesn't matter if you peed 20 minutes ago or 2 hours ago; as soon as you stand up and that baby ping pongs down onto the organ o'pee, you're in desperate need of a bathroom break. STAT! (The real irony is that I've worked in this office for almost 9 years and there hasn't been a single out of order sign utilized.....until this year.)

Luckily, I work with a bunch of nurses so if they keep up the crap (pun intended) with the out of order toilet, I'm just going to ask for a catheter. Or a chux pad. Maybe both. Hey, it's my potty and I'll cath(eterize) if I want to.

White Dream Versus White Nightmare

Remember being a kid and all the simple things that came with the youth and innocence? Wouldn't it be nice if we could keep that joyful bliss in all things small? Instead we get old and curmudgeonly and cynical. If you've ever seen the movie "Grumpy Old Men", well, that's where we're heading folks. (Scary, huh?)

Yesterday morning there was a small coating of snow on the ground. Not much, maybe half an inch (if that). My youngest is now ecstatic. Literally jumping for joy. Why? To wear his snow boots, duh! And what do I do? I instantly pop his bubble, even if ever so gently, by pointing out that he doesn't really need to wear his boots for that itty, bitty amount of snow. I continue on that it's going to be a pain to change shoes at school and he should wait until he really needs it when we have A LOT of snow. Meanwhile, I'm mentally praying this goes over well and he doesn't choose now to be stubborn because we really need to get out the door so we aren't late.

It wasn't until later that the dreaded mom guilt set in. Now I'm thinking, "That poor child just wanted to wear his snow boots. Imagine getting so much pleasure out of a pair of boots and I callously squelched his happiness by talking him out of wearing his boots. What kind of mother does that?" (Seem overly dramatic? Remember the pregnancy hormones that make me weepier than a pubescent teenage girl after her first breakup? Yeah, tons of fun.)

The thing is, we DO lose that innocence. We see snow out the window and our thought process immediately turns to, "Ugh, now I have to let the car warm up even longer or go out there and scrape everything off. I better get the snow brush out of the trunk now. Where are the spare gloves?" Meanwhile, our children's thoughts are more along the lines of, "SNOW!!!! I can't wait to play outside. I wish I didn't have to go to school. I would play in the snow right now! I know, I'll wear my boots to school! It snowed and I'll need boots, not sneakers. My teacher said I could bring my sneakers and change when I get there so it's okay if I wear boots. I love snow!" (Some children may not be that ramble-y, but sadly, none of them belong to me.)

An inch of snow? It looks a lot like this in a kid's mind.

So, the moral of the story is this: Let the kid wear his (or her) damn snow boots! You're not the one who has to deal with hot, sweaty feet or dragging a heavy back pack that has your lunch box, homework folder, and sneakers all jammed into it. Nope, you get to be Super Mom, the one who let your child wear his boots so that the dusting of snow on the ground has zero chance of making his socks damp. Because honestly, wet socks just suck.

Overachievers Hit A New High

Okay, so you all know I hate those overachieving Moms who make us normal (tired and barely functioning) Moms look bad, right? Well, I've found a whole new branch of over achieving mom-ness this week: The expecting over achieving Mom.

Now, if you've ever been pregnant (especially in the last few years), you know that there are lots of things you can make a fuss over. From conception, to outing your pregnancy to baby gear and shower dates. Apparently, the OAM's in the world got together, had some hand made scones and fresh brewed chamomile tea, and decided to micromanage these womanly functions as well. Now there are picture cards to announce your pregnancy, gender reveal parties to announce your baby's penis or lack of a penis, (Okay, totally guilty of that one. But in my defense it was an excellent excuse to have a party, eat a lot of food, and get together with friends and family.) and themed baby showers.

Let me repeat that. THEMED baby showers. Apparently having a party for your unborn lovely in order to score free baby swag from your friends and family wasn't enough, now it has to have meaning. There has to be a theme of some sort and apparently it has to involve crafts, backyard barbecues, or onesie decorating.

Now, the original article that set me off on this tangent popped up in my Facebook feed from a site I follow called "What To Expect". I went online to their site to try and find THAT original article to post a link for all my disbelieving readers, or maybe the ones who are slightly amused on my behalf, and alas, could not find it. I did, however, find a plethora (I love that word, don't you?) of other related articles. Now I'm even more incredulous.

Not only are there themes for showers but there are ideas for cookie decorations (Sugar spindles? I tried to follow this description but without a picture my pregnancy brain just couldn't follow.) and even what to do for a boy shower when you don't want that old over used blue theme. (Try a celestial theme....really? Because stars and planets make me think of newborn babies? Um, ok.)

Probably the best article I found was "10 Budget Baby Shower Ideas For Girls". Now, I have no problem with the theme at all. I love budget friendly anything. But then this was the picture shown along side the article:

Budget friendly cupcakes? Mmm hmm.

Yeah, those look budget friendly, not to mention super easy making what looks like a perfect fondant flower to decorate each one. Aside from that, a few ideas were really cute. Using baby blankets for table cloths, using Mom advice for an ice breaker, and making it dessert themed. (Heck, you could make anything dessert themed and I'd be thrilled.)

Some things though, just struck me as less budget friendly. Like this one: Use your own cups and dishes instead of buying paper products. Okay, good, yup. Then it proceeds with: "One idea is to serve punch, champagne or cocktails in your stem ware. Then, tie a pretty pink ribbon around the base of each glass. Any ribbon will do from light pink to gingham and they don't all have to match." Okay, first of all, I can get behind using my own Corelle plates and cups, but busting out my special, potentially breakable stem ware? I'd rather splurge on the paper products. Not to mention that I have big issues with alcohol being served at a baby shower for cripes sake. Is the idea of my gestating so appalling that you can't get through two hours with me without some sort of libation? Also, isn't alcohol expensive? (Unless you're serving Gennessee beer in a punch bowl?) And who happens to have ribbons just lying around? So, isn't this really just another expense? Here's an idea. Go to the dollar store, buy pink paper products and then go to Walmart and buy a five or six 2 liters of their awesome Dr. Thunder or Lemon Lime drink or whatever the Sam's club generic is. It's all soda and it's under $1. Bam!

Another one I had a problem with, and this very well could just be a "me" thing, was the substitution of a baby sitting certificate for a baby gift. Now, don't get me wrong, the idea is fabulous. New parents need some time to recoup with a nap or some adult conversation now and again. But honestly, I'm less inclined to hand my baby over to anyone outside my trusted three: Husband, parents, and best friend (and even then I might have to screen you before I feel comfortable leaving my progeny with you). I know you're my sister/aunt/cousin/brother/uncle twice removed, but I'm worried about your capability to handle my fussy newborn when you have a "Let them cry for 10 minutes before picking them up policy". Or when you think that kissing brand new babies on their mouths, possibly transferring germs they haven't had an opportunity to build immunity to yet, is an acceptable practice. And if the baby is breast fed and Mom doesn't want to have to pump for three days just to have an hour's supply of milk to go out and make sure there's still a world beyond her home, it's definitely not looking worth the effort. 

I'm not saying you have to get a gift. Come, eat, laugh at how fat I am or how I'm resembling a penguin because I waddle. If you want cheap gift ideas, get a $3 package of baby wipes. Or go to the dollar store and buy hand towels we can use as burp cloths. We will be eternally grateful that we have either thing at 3 AM when we're bleary eyed and trying to calm a crying newborn.

All The Crap I'm Thankful For This Year

Since today is the official day of giving thanks, I thought I'd take the time and reflect on the things that I'm thankful for this year. Her is my list, in no particular order, except that the most important ones are the top four. Oh, so, kind of an order but then no order, got it?

1. My kids....even when they're being annoying pains in the ass I love them to pieces.

1. My husband...I don't even have enough time today to list all the reasons why.

1. My health.....because raising the husband and children takes A LOT of energy.

1. My family, even if most of them ARE as crazy as I am.

Okay, now that we've established the important ones, here are other (mostly trivial) things that make me stupid happy but I'm also really thankful for.

2. My DVR, which so happily accepts that I don't always have time to spend with it and will just fill up with the shows I've set to record for future DVR date nights. Oh, and for being so easy to use that my six year old (or a half awake mom of three-almost-four) can use it.

3. My "besties", for being there when I need to vent about how under appreciated I am, or how the kids are driving me crazy, or how the husband just doesn't get it. And for sharing your similar stories so I know I'm not alone.

4. My kindle, which can be read with one hand so I can squeeze five minutes of reading in while I eat lunch, cook dinner, or do other Mom-ly multitasking tasks. Also, thank you kindle for being able to fit like a gazillion books on you and not taking up ANY space in my teeny tiny house. Well other than the space of a kindle. Which isn't big at all.

5. My teeny tiny house....because even though I lament the lack of two crappers and breathing room (Hopefully not breathing room IN the crapper!), I know we're lucky to have a roof over our head. Especially if the alternative is a cardboard box. Or a van down by the river.

6. Christmas movies for their ability to offer me a drug free instant pick me up.

7. Pregnancy boobs (and post pregnancy milk boobs) for making me feel Boobalicious. (Until I stop nursing and they go back to their normal size.) And thanks to my husband for telling me that more than a handful is a waste anyway. And not having Shaquille O'Neal sized hands.

8. The internet for giving me multiple means of time wasting opportunities AND a way to get Christmas shopping done without having to put a bra on and leave the house. I love you online shopping. And free shipping. And "Biggest Sales Of The Season!".

9. Netflix for making sure I see a current movie at least three times a year, which is about how often I remember there's a disc on the dresser waiting to be watched. And for having all the kids movies available for the rest of the times so I can occupy my kids for 90 minutes and escape to a corner of the house to read/breathe/stop pulling my hair out.

10. Baking, for giving me an outlet so I'm only mildly crazy and not straight out psycho. A special shout out to scratch made cakes for being so darn delicious and therapeutic. And cookies for always having my back and creating sweet (ha!) memories for my kids and how the cookie jar was always full.

11. Sweaters, fuzzy socks, and gloves. Because I HATE being cold.

12. Gestational gymnastics. Even when I'm pretty sure he's bruising several internal organs with his kick boxing, at least I know he's thriving and living the good life.

13. Pictures, even if I only remember to take them 3 times a year. At least I can document the kids growing up and give them tangible evidence that their parents were NOT boring and we DID do fun things and yes, we WERE cool parents (in our own minds at least).

14. Chocolate. Enough said.

15. Music, for keeping me sane when I couldn't bake. And for just being awesome.

16. Coffee, for getting me through the day without slapping, maiming, or murdering all the idiots I may come into contact with. And for helping me stay awake during 9 AM meetings. (Or after all nighters in my "youth".)

17. Co-workers, for making my non-lotto life of having to be a working woman not suck as much as it could. (Like say if I was a rectal thermometer tester or a podiatrist.) And for being my "second family" who I probably see more than my real family now that I think about it.

If I've forgotten anything, I apologize. There are probably many things I'm thankful for that I don't even know. (Like clothes, for not making me have to walk around in a post-child bearing body naked. Thank you VERY much for that. Or a husband who actually still gets excited to see this post-child bearing body naked. Thank you VERY, VERY much for that!) I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving. May your turkey be tender and juicy and your cranberry sauce be can shaped with lines!

I Don't Mean to Rush You But....

Thanksgiving is probably my most favorite holiday of the year. There is just something about the smell of turkey cooking in my house, the parade on television in the background, and the excuse to be a gluttonous, tryptophan filled hog for a few hours that makes me deliriously happy. But honestly, this year I'm a little eager to start the next chapter.....Christmas movie season!

There's just something about a Christmas movie that lifts the spirits. (Well, unless you're watching those sad, I-need-a-miracle-but-don't-get-one-to-teach-a-miser-the-spirit-of-Christmas type of  movie. I tend to stay away from those.) Holiday hi-jinx, cuddly Santas with jolly laughter, couples finding love on Christmas Eve, and families being brought together by some miraculous, um, miracle. All wrapped in a neat, two hour package. In 120 minutes there are no more problems, everyone loves each other, and they even get presents.

The best Christmas movies are the "It's a Wonderful Life" type where the ungrateful jerk gets plucked from their life that they loathe/are miserable in/take for granted and plopped down in an alternate reality where they weren't born/didn't meet their spouse/chose a different career. After a miserable trip through the "new and improved" life, they wish they could go back to the old life but there's always some sort of glitch that makes it seem like it's impossible. Then, just in the St. Nick of time, (see what I did there?) they get back to their old life where they shower love, money and/or appreciation on everyone they come into contact with for the final 10 minutes of the movie. You know how it ends up, but you want to see it anyway.

C'mon, it's a classic! How can you not love it?

I also enjoy the Scrooge type movies where the Super Rich Mega Jerk gets taken through their Christmas past, present, and future and they finally realize the error of their ways and spend the last ten minutes of the movie showering love, money, and/or appreciation on everyone they come into contact with. Who doesn't love to see a jerk repent and turn into Mr. Nice Guy again? (Or Ms. Nice Gal if you will.)

But it's not only the Christmas movies that I love. It's the whole season that seems to make everyone be a little bit nicer, a little bit happier, and a little less douche-y. Kids are sucking up for Santa to bring them something super awesome, adults are planning secret Santa gifts, and holiday parties are in full effect. Eleven months of the year people can pretty much suck, but that one month, we can come together and kick ass as a species. Not to mention the Christmas cookies, the wrapping paper, the smell of Scotch Satin Finish Gifting Tape, the lights, and the sight of the huge tree that you haul into your house for 4 weeks every year. If we could bottle that bubbly happiness that wells inside us at the joy of our 6 year old opening a gift that they "always wanted" or hearing the laughter of our families as we gather and celebrate, we could have the cure for world peace.

So this season, make it a point to find a sappy, funny, or heart warming Christmas movie. Make some cocoa or wrap some presents and feel the cheesy, celluloid love. After all, it's only a few short weeks before they yank them back out of our reach and leave us with regular, non Christmas movies. Unless you have a really big DVR. Then those big idiots who think they're pulling all the strings will see who's laughing now, won't they? (Insert evil Christmas laugh here.)

The Blackest Day of the Year

Well folks, it's almost that time again. When people put the turkey in the fridge and get ready to do the marathon of spending. Yep, Black Friday is upon us. 10 days til the consumerism smacks us right in the face with its "Best Deals of the Season" and "Lowest Prices Since the Nixon Administration". (Okay, I exaggerated that last one but you get my point.) All the retailers strive to out do the others with fantastic prices and gobs of people trampling each other to get them. (Sadly, that's not even an exaggeration anymore after the Wal-mart stampede a few years ago.)

The thing is, I hate shopping on a good day. Black Friday just takes everything that I hate (massive amounts of shoppers, crowded aisles, and slow customer service) and jams it into one handy package. The problem is, I like the deals they roll out to entice us poor schmucks into shopping at their stores. (Face it, who doesn't love a good deal?) Sometimes I don't even need to be shopping, I just want to see what sales they're having so I can say to myself, "Wow, that's a really good price." Only to pay $20 more 2 weeks later when the crowds aren't claustrophobic anymore and I can handle being in the store.

And being America, we HAVE to hype something 3 months before the actual occasion arrives. Remember when Black Friday was the official start of the Christmas season? I was in a store a few days before Halloween and they were already playing Christmas carols. (Tell me those employees won't be stark raving mad by December 25th!) Halloween isn't even over yet not to mention they're breezing right over one of my personal faves, Thanksgiving, to skip straight to Christmas.

Just a quick digression into a personal rant: I'm pretty ticked now that they aren't even giving T-day its due because all the hype is on the day after. A perfectly nice, plump 24 pound turkey died just to make my family gluttonously happy and dammit, we're going to enjoy every single gravy soaked second!

They do the same thing to Black Friday now too. It used to be all the stores opened at the ass crack of dawn and people lined up around 2 in the morning, freezing their asses off for a $200 flat screen. Now stores are opening on Thanksgiving Day itself, hurrying people through their pumpkin pie so that they can gorge on Christmas spending for their families. Then the whole "Cyber Monday" came into play for the hermits like me who can't stand braving weather, traffic, or crowds but still love a good deal. I have found that some of the online deals are way better than trying to shop in actual stores. (Plus, it comes right to my door where I open the box, wrap it up, and stick it under my tree. How is this not a win win situation?) Yet even this has gotten out of hand as my email inbox fills up with "Pre-black Friday deals" and "Early Cyber Monday" crap weeks before the events occur.

Just for the fun of it, I'm going to spout some "Black Friday is the anti-Christmas" conspiracy crap to get everyone riled and arguing amongst themselves. Then when they're not looking I'm going to snatch that last $15 blender right from under their noses. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm probably not leaving the comfort of cyber space for my holiday shopping. You can't beat shopping in your pajamas at 9:30 at night while watching the latest crime show and planning your Thanksgiving extravaganza. That's the life!

Guys And Their Junk

Why is it that guys always have to have their hands on their "junk"? Is it reassuring to know that it's still there? Is it habit? Are they aware that they have  a deep, psychological need to touch the twig and berries every 75 seconds?

You don't see women doing this. Maybe the difference is that our junk is an "innie" and guys is an "outie"? Although, women still have breasts and you don't see us adjusting our bra cups every half hour or pulling on our nipples. We're okay with our boobs just being, am I right? We know that we put 'em on every morning because they never go anywhere. Sure, they might shift the direction of their gaze from "straight ahead Captain" to "I'm making sure your path on the floor is illuminated my friend". But they're always there.

So, is it a reassurance thing for guys? That they just have to know nothing has fallen off and dropped out the bottom of their pants leg when no one was looking? Because this leads me to ask: Has this been a problem from previous generations that was passed down the line? "Well son, you have to make sure that your wrench and sockets are still where they need to be every so often because Uncle Johnny's fell right off and he lost it! Didn't even know til he went to take a leak two hours later. Tragic."

My second question would be: When exactly is this training taking place? I have yet to see my husband have the Uncle Johhny talk with my baby boy and yet even he occasionally has to check that things are still there. And he's only six!

So maybe it's a caveman response? "Uh, feel good to touch small stick between walking sticks?" Ugh, I can't even go there. That means there are millions of cavemen like men out there playing with the pretzel and peanuts just for the hell of it. (Everyone knows cavemen sell car insurance!) I'm going to choose to think it's a matter of comforting oneself to know that they aren't missing any vital parts.

I asked an expert on the situation: My husband. (I figure heaving the equipment in question makes him more of an expert than I can be without it at least. Besides, he gets to be an expert without years of training and studying so it's a bonus for him too.) He says guys are "adjusting" themselves. Um, ok. I guess since I don't have floppy bits in my drawers, I can't comprehend the need to rearrange things in there. Even if I could comprehend it, why is there a need for so much rearranging? You'd think that this universal problem would be addressed and corrected by the United Council of All Things Guy Related. (They have that, right?) Perhaps some under garments that are comfortable and leave you confident enough not to have to move things around every so often. That could even be their slogan. "Underwear that leave men confident enough that he doesn't have to touch his Johnson every 30 seconds!" I think it's a wiener. I mean winner.

So ladies, if you're married to an Al Bundy and worry that your man loves his recliner and having his hand down his pants just a little too much, don't despair. There's a meeting of The Council next week to discuss the issue. I'm sure we're just one catchy slogan away from the problem being solved.

Zi-can't Take It Anymore!

Have you seen the Zicam commercial with the big, mucous-y goobery monster chasing a sniffling woman through the city streets? Apparently it's to illustrate that the "pre-cold" that's chasing you can be "shortened" by taking their product. (Although the goober gets run over by a Zicam bus at the end so I kind of feel like that sends a message that the product kills the pre-cold and contradicts their words. But I digress.) I feel like I'm the woman in that commercial. Yes, I have a pre, well, something coming on.

Yeah Zicam, that's a pretty picture. Thanks for this.

I don't know why I don't see it coming. The two boys have taken turns the last few weeks to see whose cough can last the longest. Since it just seems annoying at this point without any other symptoms to point to an actual illness, I figured allergies or perhaps a small cold. They've still been acting normally, eating and drinking and being the fart-tastic knuckle heads that they usually are.

But it's November. And we've made it this far without any serious health issues (knock on wood) so I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone came up gunky in my house. I just didn't think it was going to be me. I'm taking prenatal vitamins for cripes sake! Aren't they some sort of cure all or something? They should be. I shouldn't have to have a sore throat or a headache dammit. And I hate sore throats. They are one of the worst ailments because they're so difficult to relieve. (Do they still make Sucrets throat drops? Those things were like sucking on a cherry flavored battery but they did seem to work.)

Well, whoever's in charge needs to realize that I don't have time for this! There's only 16 days until Thanksgiving. Believe you me, T-Day is a major BFD in my household. It's like the world series of dinners with a parade and football. I want to stay hale and hearty for the big occasion. Not to mention that we have a girls night out next week and the first grade parent teacher conference where I'll find out how awesome my 6 year old has been.

So take notes people, I ain't got no time for being sick! November is too busy. Then there's December and Christmas and I don't have time between shopping, wrapping, baking, and family parties. January might be the first possible time I can be sick. Why don't you have your people call my people and we'll see if we can't schedule something for mid-January, okay cupcake? I appreciate it.

The Big To Do Over The Big Reveal

If you want to piss people off, tell them you're pregnant and opting to wait until the birth to find out the gender. I'm not sure why this is a hot button issue. I'm not saying YOU can't find out the gender of YOUR baby. Conversely, they also get accusatory if you plan on waiting and then change your mind. "I thought you weren't going to find out?" Apparently fetus gender is an extremely sensitive subject.

Originally hubby and I were going to wait for the sweet surprise at delivery, but the more we thought on it we decided we did want to find out. Since this is absolutely, most definitely the final child that will ever be housed inside my uterine walls, we figured we'd go all out and have one of them there fancy gender reveal parties that are all the rage nowadays. So we had the ultrasound technician seal the verdict in an envelope that we gave to a friend of ours who colored the inside of the cake either pink or blue.

For the entire time that lead up to the party I was so excited I'm surprised the baby didn't send an S.O.S. telling me to calm myself down. I was utterly convinced that this baby was a girl and it was another shot at frilly dresses, hair bows, and braiding her hair. (Those days are long past with my 13 year old daughter.) Besides, it would even the score in my house to 3 boys and 3 girls. Having a boy was so far from my mind that when we cut the cake and it WAS blue, I was devastated. Now, you're never supposed to admit that you want a specific gender. You can only demurely smile and say, "As long as it's healthy, we don't care what we have." Well, I call bullshit. I wanted a girl. There's enough testosterone in my house already. I need a reprieve. Not another person on Team "I just farted" tee hee hee.

Mothers, however, aren't supposed to feel this heartbroken over something as trivial as gender. We are supposed to be truly appreciative of this miracle we are carrying. Mothers are supposed to be perfect and never express disappointment. We are supposed to radiate hope and love and enfold our children in our warm embrace. So now I'm crushed AND guilty for having these thoughts. Before you put on your hate hat, please realize that I adore my two boys. Scraped knees and fart smells and all. But this unexpected baby was surely meant to be another little princess for Mommy and Daddy to coo over and the baby sister my daughter wanted our youngest to be all those years ago.

I'm positive that when this baby does come, I'll love it as much as the other three. But I deserve to have a chance to mourn the child that isn't going to be before I can celebrate the child that will be. I don't see the shame in that. I don't think mothers (or even fathers) should be made to feel like a social pariah for having emotions and hopes for their unborn child and being upset when they don't come to fruition. Yes, the baby is healthy and that's the ultimate goal, right? I'm sure I'll get used to the fact that (sigh) this one has a penis too, even if I cope by hiding pink onesies under his clothes for the first few months.*

*I would never do this to my sweet, baby boy. (and if I did, I wouldn't announce it to on my blog!)

If You Want Me To Glow, Give Me a Damn Glow Stick

Don't you love how people say that pregnant women "glow"? I think it ended up being something nice that people could say that wouldn't make the hormonally challenged gestating woman cry or punch you in the face. (Hey, YOU try having a surplus of chemicals swirling in your body for nine months and not turn into The Hulk.)

Honestly, I just want to know how they managed to come up with that specific term. If you want me to glow during pregnancy, give me one of those glow stick necklaces or dip me in a vat of radioactive goo. Because if there is one thing I am not managing to do during pregnancy, it's glowing. Bloating? Sure. Floating in urine, or so it feels like at least. Absolutely. But glowing? Not so much.

In fact, I am probably the antithesis of glowing right now. I feel so un-glowy that I should get automatic rights to hate any pregnant woman who does fit the description. Just on principle. Any woman who's barely making it through the procreation process should be able to hate the women who float through 40 weeks of pregnancy with barely a hiccup and can wear their pre-preggers jeans home from the hospital deserve the derision of us poor, pathetic women whose fetuses drain every iota of beauty and humanity from us.

Now, before you think I'm cruel for hating on the Disney princess type women who sail through the miracle creating process, let me explain something. All my pregnancies came with super fun things like: bloating, , nausea, morning sickness, gassiness, fetus feet jammed in ribs, morning sickness, some more nausea, indigestion, headaches, tums by the gallon, swollen everything, water retention, and oh, some nausea and morning sickness. I think that qualifies me to lament the total lack of Stepford-ness in my pregnancies.

If, however, you do meet one of these wrung out, strung out, exhausted gestating creatures, do not, under any circumstances mention her limp hair, ruddy skin, or circles under her eyes. Don't ask if she's obviously exhausted from making midnight (and 3 am and 6 am) bathroom trips or give tips to help with her oily/dry/blemished skin. Do not say stupid, insensitive things like, "Wow! You got huge!" or "You look really tired today." or "Are you sure you're not having twins?" Don't mention the machine gun walking farts coming from her maternity tent pants because she can't help that pregnancy brings some super tooting abilities. Don't ask if she showered today because her hair looks like it was in a fight with a 90 degree humid day and lost.

With all the don'ts, you might wonder what IS safe to say to someone who is hormonally challenged. Say lovely things like, 'Wow, you're pregnant? I didn't even know!" or "You make pregnancy look good!" or "Those maternity jeans make your ass look fantastic!" Yes, we give you permission to lie. Anything to boost our self esteem. Believe me, the next person who would have been blubbered on/yelled at/punched in the forehead will definitely thank you for your consideration.

Mrs. Judge, Jury, and Complete Asshat

So apparently there's a lady in South Dakota with a soapbox and a giant stick up her ass handing out judgement letters. Oh, if only I were making this up. This woman has decided to give children she deems "moderately obese" a letter condemning the slacking parents instead of the expected candy for their Halloween trick or...no, wait, that's just a trick, no treat.

I'm not sure exactly what qualifies this woman to judge other children who she probably doesn't even know (I don't know how small of a town she lives in) but she must feel that she is indeed qualified to lay down the law for these tubby toddlers and chubby children. She must have gotten her degree in Child Dream Ruining to want to traumatize these kids who only want to get candy on Halloween. That's all they want. To  play dress up, run up and ring people's doorbells, say "Trick or Treat", and be rewarded with a bounty of candy bars, skittles, and gum. It's pretty simple to them. Are they gluttonous heathens who will hoard their stash of candy and lie to their parents about brushing their teeth "extra specially good"? Of course. It's what generations of children have done before them and will probably continue for many more generations.

What's next? Teeth inspection? "Ok you little punk, you're not overweight but let's see how well you've been taking care of those teeth! I want a no cavity certificate from your dentist before I'll part with this miniature milky way." Or perhaps growth charts? "Well, you seem a little on the small side for 7. Better not risk any extra caffeinated chocolate products to stunt your growth further." Got braces? "Well, your parents are spending an awful lot of money on your teeth. I'm not going to rot them by giving you candy. Your parents shouldn't even be letting you have candy considering the mint they're paying to straighten your teeth."

I know, as a parent, I'm supposed to teach my kids to better than this type of person. Since they aren't here, however, let me say that I hope this woman's house got egged, TP'ed, AND slathered in a dozen cans of shaving cream on cabbage night. I hope she sits in her self righteous stew of indignation, bemoaning her fate "just because she was honest." When are people going to learn that there's being honest and then there's just plain being spiteful? Because let's face it, if she was truly concerned about obesity in America, ALL the kids knocking on her door would be getting the same treatment. Instead, she's singled out the ones she thinks are overweight and is making them feel like crap. Which is probably completely new to them. I'm sure they aren't picked on at school, or maybe even home. They aren't self conscious and will eventually grow up to have body image issues. No, I'm sure this will all roll off their tiny, child sized backs and they'll learn a valuable lesson from this "honest" letter and it will make them change their entire way of life.

I wish I lived in that South Dakota town because even though my children wouldn't qualify for one of her "special letters", I would leave this asshat woman a letter of my own. This is how it would read:

Dear Overly Judgmental Zealot,

Thank you so much for the inspiring words that you have decided to impart to the children of our town. I'm sure that your hurtful words haven't scarred them in the least bit. Especially Johnny Jones who has a thyroid condition, or Amy Smith who is eating her way through her hurt feelings over her parents divorce. I know that these children are thrilled to find an adult who will be "honest" with them and completely crap all over the one good holiday they've had since Easter.

I think it is fair that you get to ruin their childhood with memories of hurtful words concerning their appearance. Because it's what's on the outside that counts, right? Not how good of a person you are, how much charity you might do, or how much money you donate to good causes. No, it's completely how you look that matters in this world. Personally, I just want to thank you for teaching my child this valuable lesson.

Oh, and I'm sorry to hear that your house was egged tomorrow night. Such a shame that people can be so juvenile, don't you think?

Signed,
A Grateful Parent

Thanks for your totally unsolicited opinion! Really appreciate it!

The Sitters Versus The Standers

The girls are outnumbered in my house. Yes, there are more peen-eyes in my house than vajayjays. Even the dog is a boy. All these boys and then there's little ol' me and my daughter. We can't counteract all the farts and manly alphabet burping with our loofahs and glitter nail polish. It's like bringing a knife to a sword fight.

This is most noticeably apparent than in the bathroom. Every time I go to the bathroom I have to do the "seat inspection". You know, when you check the seat to make sure there aren't any pee droplets. Yep, it's super awesome to think that someone in your family can't seem to pee without getting urine on the seat. Sadly, I'm not even sure that it's solely the six year old. (He's the obvious choice of culprit due to his age. Unfair, yes, but technically he doesn't have as much aiming experience as his brother and father.)

I need to have this sign in my bathroom.

I wonder if this is only my house that has the dreaded curse of the drip drops or if there are households all over America with mothers wringing their hands over constant pee wiping? Is it only mothers with boys? Or is it kids in general? Is my husband thinking about the football game and not shaking it an extra time or what? (And who is the one responsible for teaching boys that "handy" little trick? Pun intended.)

It's even worse when it's one of those midnight pee runs. The ones that you're only half awake, stumbling through the halls, and don't bother to turn a light on and risk ruining your chances of making it back to sleep instead of staring at the clock and swearing. ("Jesus, just go the $%#@ to sleep already! You've got to go to work in 2 hours!") You never know what you might be sitting on because you'r not fully functioning enough to think about it. (Until you write a blog about wiping pee off toilet seats and give yourself the skeeves thinking about it.)

So needless to say, we're hoping that Team Sitter gets another player. It's the bottom of the ninth and the last batter is up and Team Stander is kicking our butts. So if you're there God, it's me, Margaret. I know I'm not dying because I had the whole menstruation thing explained to me, but I was hoping to get another one of those types. You know, the squatters, not the shakers. Thanks God, I appreciate it.

More Mom Mayhem and Maternal Paranoia

Okay, we've established that (most of the time) my life is utter chaos with 3 kids, a husband, a dog that sheds just to irritate me I think, and a house that refuses to be self cleaning to save me some time. Some days I'm not even sure which way I'm going and could use one of those "This End Up" stickers just to get my bearings. So it stands to reason that when I think I'm getting closer to the end of the tunnel with one child, I find out there's another one on the way, right?

Yup, you heard right my little dumplings, there's going to be another little munchkin in our household. Just because I was apparently teetering on the edge of insanity, but not quite there yet. Apparently, three children didn't teach me quite enough, however, because this baby came as a complete surprise. (Yes, I DO know the birds and the bees story but I thought the birds were hibernating and the bees were busy making honey.)

Pregnancy comes with it's own special brand of paranoia. It's like Pre-Mom Paranoia. Or Practice Paranoia. Getting some skills in before the need for the real deal. It starts with announcing your pregnancy. Even a woman who has never had the heartbreak of a miscarriage has it in the back of her mind. I think some women would  wait until their third trimester if the bump wouldn't already spill the beans. Why? Because we don't know what's going on in there and every stretching muscle or cramp or twinge can cause panic that something's not right. Maternal stress and worry before the baby is even born.

However, most people don't wait until they're in labor to announce the joyous news. (Or in our case "I can't believe we're crazy enough to do this again and how many people will tell us that?" The answer is 6 by the way.) The younger generation is much braver and announces as soon as the cells have divided twice. "Folks, we're 37 and a half seconds pregnant!" We waited until 10 weeks, just under the first trimester mark, and the last possible moment before my proud papa hubby took out an ad because he needed to tell someone the news. I waited another 10 weeks to announce it to my Mayhem readers so they could pop some popcorn and settle in to enjoy the carnival that my life is about to become.

Also, I needed to pre-apologize for the number of pregnancy related posts that are about to ensue. The wealth of topics that gestation brings is bountiful. Not to mention uncomfortable, hilarious and reminiscent of a comedic sitcom sometimes. So come along and be my laugh track, because I'll probably need some good chuckles to remind me I'm not really insane. Am I? Um, no, on second thought, don't answer that.

Call Me Princess Violet McCoffeebeans

Have you heard this ridiculousness about "Snoop Dogg" changing his name? I'm not sure I understand his justification. Was Snoop Dogg just not unique enough anymore? Did it just not spell out who he was as a person? Or hmm, maybe it was a career boost. Let's face it Snoopizzle, you're probably 30 seconds away from a "Where Are They Now" VH1 special.

So what's he changing his name to? Well, duh, Snoop LION. Rawr! Yes, apparently dog wasn't even manly enough by adding that second g to it. Lion is much more appropriate for the 2010 decade, don't you think? Or maybe it's a much more appropriate animal since the Snoopster hit his forties two years ago. Maybe this was his version of a midlife crisis? Most men buy sports cars, he just changes his name to a new animal.

Yeah, I can totally see the lion resemblance.

What? That's so 2012 now? He's changed his name AGAIN? Yes, apparently he stopped smoking so much ganja and realized that Snoop Lion sounds like something a washed up has been might re-brand himself and ditched the new moniker in favor of something else. (And quick side bar, does anyone else think he looks like "Urkel: All Grown Up" in this picture?)

The brand spanking new name? Snoopzilla. Oh, yes, I can definitely see the appeal. So much more manly to be an extinct species that only exists in Jurassic Park movies and animated cartoons. Yep, I can see how this name might seem more fitting with your hipper, fresher vibe. Ok, no, I can't really see it at all. When did making up asinine names for yourself become a "thing"? Do we regular people get to do this or is this something reserved only for people with enough money to bribe bored officials to process the paper work with a straight face?

So thusly, I've decided that henceforth you shall all address me as Princess Violet McCoffeebeans. It is a name much more befitting of my station. Which is of course a woman who likes to drink coffee and whose favorite color is purple.

Captain Clutter: The Sequel (Dun Dun DUN!)

This past summer left me overly proud of accomplishing some clutter clean up that had been driving me crazy for some time. (And when I say overly proud, I mean just-had-my-first-child-and-convinced-he's-the- smartest-and-cutest-baby-in-the-entire-history-of-all-babies-born-ever proud.)

Unfortunately, Captain Clutter and his mischievous men took advantage of my distracted soccer mom mentality these last two months to stealthy sneak back into my house. What kind of sick bastards take advantage of a woman juggling three kids and their school activities, a full time job, and a house, and a dog that sheds so much hair he should be bald by now? The kind that leave behind stacks of paper that "can't be thrown out yet", junk mail hidden under magazines, and clothes that are two sizes too small from my kids. All my beloved progress...poof!

This time, however, I've made a realization about my clutter-ific tendencies. I can't say no, or, well, not without some serious guilt accompanying it. If someone is trying to foist off their belongings and ask me if I want it, I really feel awful if I say no, no matter how politely I can think of phrasing it. I don't know why I feel this way. Clearly they've already been motivated to de-clutter and are looking for victims, I mean recipients, of all the extremely useful and obviously unnecessary items in their own house. So why should I have guilt for rejecting their cast offs? Why shouldn't they say, "I don't want this crap in my house anymore." and I respond with, "Sure, I'd love more crap in my house even though your house is twice the size of mine and this was clearly too big for that much space but it won't at all be noticed in my much smaller house!"

For example: My mother-in-law has recently retired and has found all this extra time in which she can scour the corners of her house for things that have been there so long they've probably been overlooked as part of the scenery. She asked if I wanted a brand new, never even been taken out of the box, waffle iron. Immediately I think, "Hmmm, I don't have a waffle iron. I could make waffles if I had a waffle iron. The kids would love waffles for "breakfast as dinner" night. I could be a Mom super hero if only I had a waffle maker!" So I say sure. Then I realize, where am I going to put this waffle iron? There was probably a good reason I didn't have one and that reason was more than likely capacity related. As in: This house is already at max capacity! (Although I'm totally keeping the waffle iron and its Super Mom powers.)

I also realized why exactly my bedroom always look like Captain Clutter and his Messy Menagerie hit it the hardest: That's the room where things go to die. Or be sold on eBay. Or stored until I can find my own unsuspecting victims. Basically, it is the house closet. All the crap is taken from the main living areas and the kids rooms and shoved out of sight into the master bedroom. I guess one crappily cloistered room is better than six, right?

So continues the battle between good and evil. And by good I mean me. Evil is, of course, that cleverly foul fiend Captain Clutter. Victory shall be mine El Capitan! Just wait! Muah ha ha ha ha!

The Review You've Been Waiting For

Remember when I said that I had a ton of shows coming up that I was trying (and failing) not to be interested in? I know you've all been waiting with baited breath to find out the verdict of what I thought about them, right? Well, I shan't disappoint you any longer!

The Crazy Ones- This is the new Robin Williams show. Week one's pilot was extremely disappointing. I spent the entire 22 minutes of show wondering how a comedic great like Robin Williams could have produced a sitcom so dreadfully boring and lackluster. I was willing to give it another week and I am glad I did. The second show produced great big laughs from the non-stop barrage of banter and quips that Robin Williams is so well known for. Since I have a mixed reaction so far, I've decided to give it another week to completely win me over. Or not. Verdict: On the fence.

The Michael J. Fox Show- This one premiered the same night as Robin's show and was just as much of a stinker. I was extremely dismayed to see that they couldn't live up to Michael J. Fox's reputation. Or maybe it was just the reputation I think he should have? While it was genius to incorporate the Parkinson's as a story line, some of the characters fell flat for me. (The oldest son and the aunt) I was willing to give it another go and the next week, while better, was not as much as a laugh fest as I was hoping for. Since I'm a glutton for punishment, I'll try another week. Verdict: On the fence, but tilting towards the ground at an alarming angle.

Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.- Oh boy, a spin off from The Avengers movie. (Which I loved by the way.) Do I wish it had hunky Thor or any of the crime fighting team we all know and love? Yes. Am I enough of a comic turned movie nerd to love this show despite its lack of green meanies or hunky hotties like Captain America? Absolutely. Besides, after all the Dancing with the Stars and CSI's, it's just different enough to be refreshing to my television viewing palate. Verdict: Definitely a keeper. As long as it doesn't get canceled.

Sean Saves The World- I was intrigued by Sean Hayes' return to network television. Who didn't love him as Jack in Will & Grace? (Personally I think the show should have been called Jack & Karen since they made the show.) I was a little skeptical by the premise of a single Dad but, hey, it's Sean Freaking Hayes! After last week's premiere, which was luke warm at best, I'm hoping this means there is only room for improvement. Considering I'm not in love with about half the characters though, this is one sitcom that's probably heading for a heart break. Verdict: Fell off the fence and it's going to take a miracle to get me back up there.

The Blacklist- This was the show that managed to entice me during previews with the sinister and creepy James Spader and the fresh off the farm FBI agent who's his puppet. Unfortunately, that's currently as far as it's enticed me since I have all 3 episodes chillaxing on my DVR list. The problem is, once I have 3 accumulated of any show (unless I'm trying to savor them), I'm usually starting to talk myself out of watching them. After all, how excited am I to watch this show if they're piling up week after week? Verdict: If it survives the DVR purge, it might be worth considering. Otherwise it might join Sean at the Heartbreak Hotel.

And based on the recommendation of a few of my co-workers, Back in the Game (With James Caan) is apparently chuckle worthy with a chance of a few good LOL's. Personally, I'm still trying to work up the enthusiasm to watch the 2 hour premiere of Grey's Anatomy so you can say I'm running a little behind.

T.G.I.O. (Thank God It's October)

Well, I can officially breathe a sigh of relief that I survived yet another September. Yes, I made it through 3 sets of school pictures, 3 fundraisers, 2 cases of sticker shock over the cost of the older two kid's yearbooks, a soccer schedule, 3 open houses, one grueling search for a calculator that is so expensive it can almost qualify as a piece of NASA equipment, and a partridge in a pear tree. Now that it's over, I can finally enjoy October.

I always have this picturesque scene of how October should be in my mind. There will be colorful foliage and crunchy leaves on sidewalks. The air will be crisp but there will still be plenty of blue skies and good weather for weekend outings like football games and apple picking. I'll start baking again since the weather is cooler and we can once again start to enjoy the heartier meals like casseroles, pastas, and stews. Life will basically be a Norman Rockwell picture (or a Hallmark commercial).

Ah, the simple life in October.

Until reality sets in. Reality is this: Weeknights are still as hectic as they were in September because there's still homework and after school sports and activities. I still have to schlep kids somewhere and we have the middle child's birthday party (which is a sleepover with a giggling gaggle of girls). I'm over worked, underpaid, and losing a great deal of my sanity. I barely make it outside on the weekends because when I'm not catching up the large piles of laundry, I'm sprawled in a chair, thanking my lucky stars I'm not shlepping myself to work or hauling children around. Nice weather, I should be outside, blah blah blah. This soccer mom is sucked dry of her energy, and quite possibly, my will to ever move from this couch again. Until Monday morning.

The only thing I might be even close to doing from my Rockwell scene is baking. Probably because for something I got suckered into volunteering for or maybe even to say "Thank you for buying this crap from my kids' fundraisers" to my co-workers. (True story.)

I'll probably even forget that October is just as chaotic as September and even do something crazy like offer to make a robot costume for the youngest boy for Halloween because I've made one before for the middle child. Of course I'll forget that the arms for the robot were a colossal fail and the girl complained the whole time we were trick or treating or that gluing the aluminum foil to the box was a pain in the a$$.

As much as I'd love to keep venting about how October and I are at odds, I have to finish making brownies for the last day of soccer tomorrow. I'll just do some meditation breathing and comfort myself with the thought that November will be better. What? The kids have a 5 day holiday in November? I need a nap.

Save The Drama For Your Mama!

Have you heard about the lottery winner who wants his life to go back to normal? "Wild Willie" Seeley and 15 of his co-workers split a $450 million jackpot. He wants to go back to being paid every other week and has even gone so far to call his winnings a curse. Here are some reasons I'd like this problem, or if you will, curse:

Hello new closet! And new bedroom and new bathrooms and new backyard. Yes, I'd upgrade this old house  to OurHouse 2.0: A sleeker, more spacious version of our current house. Nothing that looks like I need to start having a chauffeur or start eating Grey Poupon or anything. But I could probably be talked into 2,800 square feet. At almost 3 times the size of OurHouse 1.0, it would be an extreme upgrade!

Being able to stop being "the cheap old broad". Have you heard the saying "I pinch pennies so hard I make Lincoln scream"? We didn't coin the phrase, we just live it. I'm one of the few people I know who actually writes down their budget every month. Just once I'd like to be able to fly by the seat of my pants and walk into Target and buy something unplanned. That's right, living on the edge! Just pay the bills willy nilly, not when I have them penciled in according to my bi-weekly paychecks. I'd like to stop "cooking the books" in my house.

Hello cook, what's for dinner? Ah, yes, remember my lotto fantasy that involves dumping the stress of menu planning and cooking and having someone to do it for me? It's still on my list. In fact, it might have moved up higher than number 1. I don't know what number that is, but that's how much I wish I could have a personal chef.

Actually, I changed my mind about the chauffeur. Oh, not for me of course. For the kids. And their 20 different activities and clubs and events that they have to be carted to, dropped off at, or picked up from. Can you imagine the stress free life of having someone drop you off at the school band concert, no fighting for parking, no getting there 35 minutes early just to grab a parking spot that doesn't make you walk a half mile to the school entrance? Doesn't that sound lovely?

Two words: new furniture. Without dog hair, sippy cup spills, sweat stains, or kid grunge. Yes, I know that I'd have to get new furniture again once the children are grown and gone, but it would be worth it to have 3 whole weeks of clean furniture. (Let's be realistic, that's probably as long as it would stay clean.)

A big ass garage. Yes, I want one of those ridiculously hideous 3 car garages. I want me and the hubby to be able to park the cars in the winter so we can be lazy and not have to shovel it all off PLUS have an extra bay to store the crap that seems to live in garages. With a one car garage, accumulating that crap means you're probably scraping ice off the windshield in zero degree weather. (This probably involves some swearing too.)

Are there downsides to coming into a large sum of money? Hell yes! Would I like the chance to prove that I'm up to the challenge? Most definitely. So if you're listening Lotto Fairy, I could really use your help.

This is how most of my lotto tickets look.

The Veruca Salt Syndrome

Have you ever noticed that when you have a specific diet restriction it becomes the only food that you really want? Or is it just me? There is something about taking a food away from me that makes it that much more appealing. It could be considered "forbidden fruit" but I like to call it the Veruca Salt Syndrome.

Do you remember Veruca Salt from the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory movie? (Not the creepy one with Johnny Depp, but the original feel good movie with Gene Wilder.) She was the spoiled brat who sang the song about wanting what she wants and wanting it NOW. That's how I feel when I'm told I can't have something to eat/drink. I revert to a 4 year old.

Remember this charming little lady?

Fasting blood work and can't have coffee? Well, first of all, separating me from my coffee is always a dangerous situation. Above and beyond that though, now I can only think about getting to my coffee. It's an obsession. I have to have that sweet, dark nectar of life affirming caffeine. I'm planning the earliest morning blood draw so that I can pour the coffee into a to go mug to keep it hot so that I can have it the second that needle leaves my arm. I actually debate asking if they can hook me up with a coffee IV (well, while you have that needle stabbed into me anyway...) so I can get my fix that much quicker.

Pregnant and can't have deli meat? How badly do I want a sandwich? Is it in my thoughts every day? Am I dreaming of Subway and Panera and running through my supermarket deli section grabbing hunks of deli meat like a cave woman? You betcha! Most women mark X's through the calendar until delivery. Mine was until I could have a turkey sandwich again.

If they ever told me that I couldn't have salt because of high blood pressure, I'm sure that I'd want potato chips, ham, and a salt lick. Just bring me the salt shaker and I'll be happy. Diabetic and can't have sweets? Well, this one might just kill me. I love me some baked goodies and treats. Plus, to be a baker and then not be able to sample those delectable desserts still warm from the oven? Torture.

Now that I think about it, I should have my doctor to tell me that I absolutely, positively can NOT eat green vegetables and whole grains.

Dear Tooth Fairy, Please Go The Hell Away

Two weeks ago, baby boy lost his first tooth, a momentous occasion in any child's life. I was actually the one to tell him he had a loose tooth when he smiled and his tooth looked like it was laying sideways. Once he knew, however, he wouldn't leave that sucker alone (typical boy!) until one day he came home from school with a plastic tooth shaped necklace. I said, "Oh, it finally fell out at school?" He replied, "No, I twisted it."

Oh, he's one of those kids then. My daughter was the type of child that would wiggle it unless there was any sort of pain involved and there was no way she was yanking it out until it plopped out all by itself. I was always afraid she was going to end up eating it with her dinner one night. Of course, she would also whine if she bit into dinner and it hurt, but she was absolutely leaving it in her gums until it finally cried uncle and gave up and jumped out.

If you're like me, you're probably wondering what the tooth fairy's going rate is these days. I've read stories about kids getting 20, 50, or 100 bucks for a tooth. Uh, no, not in this house. The tooth fairy respects our middle class budget. She leaves $5 for the first tooth (that one is special to her for some reason) and 2 or 3 dollars for any successive teeth. The amount varies because in this digital age, the tooth fairy uses her debit card for everything and hardly carries cash except when she needs it. (You'd think, with her profession, she's have an emergency stash for tooth collection!) Sometimes that $2.00 is made up from couch coins, lone singles found in a back pocket, and dryer lint but she always gets the job done.

Two days after losing his first tooth, baby boy informs me that the one right next to it is loose too! Awesome! A two-fer in one week! He's thrilled to finally have a steady source of income all by giving up his old teeth which, face it, aren't much use to him once they fall out anyway. (Since this is the kid who loves to buy things, hubby and I hid all the pliers just in case he gets any bright ideas.) Now that he's an old pro, this one didn't even last half the time the first one did and he came home with another tooth necklace from school.

He looks adorable with his bottom two front teeth missing though. It's too bad it wasn't a few more months away and we could teach him the song, "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth". Until he tells me that the one next to that one is now loose too. (I admit, it gave me a mental image of him doing daily teeth checks for any sort of give among his firmly planted teeth. And maybe wiggling until there is some.)

Now all I have to say is, "WTF tooth fairy?" (And if you don't know what WTF stands for, it's: What the fudgecicles?!) Don't you have a kid in Argentina or Texas or Beijing who's awaiting a visit from you? You're starting to become such a frequent visitor that we've debated setting a place at the table for you. There are other children in the world, so go harass their parents, I mean, those children.

He needs some teeth to be able to eat. I hear pureed lasagna doesn't taste that good.

The Jerkwads in Charge at Our School

So, remember when I was lamenting the inevitable dreaded fundraising that was coming to a house near me? Well, it did in fact come to pass. Not once. Not twice. But THREE times. That's right, the third fundraiser came home today. THIRD. FUNDRAISER. In less than 2 weeks.

I don't know who had the bright idea to have every school in our district do a fundraiser this year (I thought they alternated) but they are complete d-bags. That's right, I said it. Do you know why? Because that third kid who brings home a fundraiser might as well just bring it back to school right now. We've already tapped our potential suckers, I mean buyers, in friends, coworkers and family twice already. This third kid gets screwed out of a potentially okay prize (let's face it, they were probably never going to get the iPad mini from selling 125 items even if they were the only fundraiser in the house) and has to settle for the lame pencil or googly eyed eraser. The prize that says, "Yes, you're not even mediocre in your selling efforts."

Which lovely child of mine earned the poor, pitiful third place in the fundraising wars? My daughter. Yes, the one who's chock full of girly hormones and sensitivity is the one who loses this race. Not the 16 year old who probably has to be reminded 12 times that he has a fundraiser. Or the 6 year old who would be entertained with a googly eyed eraser for hours. It has to be the volcanic mass of estrogen just waiting to explode.

Ultimately, the parents have to be the biggest supporter of their kids. I have no problem with this. Until the third fundraiser comes home. Because what happens is the parents get to buy the same over priced junk that they are making their little angels hawk to others. We get to drop a crap ton of cash on doo dads that we really don't need, magazines we don't have time to read (because that gem was the oldest kid's fundraiser), and candy that costs $9.00 for 7 pieces in a box. I can make candy cheaper than that for cripes sake.

So to all my friends and family who are starting to screen their calls and avoid eye contact when they see me booking in their direction with an order form, I'm sorry. I don't want to harass you as much as you don't want to be harassed. But here's the thing: If I don't get other people to buy this stuff, that means I'm stuck buying it. And we haven't finished paying off the loan we took out for last year's fundraisers.

I Want To Be President of Magazine Menu-ing

Have you ever read one of those magazines that offers some sort of helpful menu planning? "1 Meal, 5 Ways to Use the Leftovers", "10 Recipes Under $10", "How To Get Your Picky Ass Family To Eat What You Put on the Table Without %*^%$@* Complaining For Once". (Ok, they don't have that one, I just wish they did.)

This magazine that I get, and occasionally even read, had one of these articles. It was "1 Week, 5 Easy Meals". Alright, so far I'm liking the sound of this. With 3 kids and their crazy schedules, we could use some more easy in our lives. So, what delicious things are on this list? Let me tell you.

Meal 1: Chicken and Cabbage Fried Rice. Yup, let me repeat that more slowly for you. Chicken. And. CABBAGE. Fried. Rice. What the hell magazine? Do you think that my six year old is going to calmly sit and eat cabbage? The kid who boycotted grilled cheese sandwiches one day, even though he totally ate them for the 3 years prior? Yeah, I'm not seeing that happen. Even if that miracle somehow occurred, I don't think I can coerce the husband into willingly eating cabbage OR fried rice (he's only an occasional Chinese food fan) and the older two might, maybe in an alternate universe, eat this but not without a healthy dose of face making, gagging, and grumbling.

Meal 2: Pork Cutlets with Apricot-Mustard Sauce. Yes, they actually said apricot mustard sauce. Um, I'm not sure I could eat this, let alone sell it to the rest of the fam. Plus, I don't see how this qualifies for a meal as the recipe is just the meat. Well, duh, any meal is easy when you're only making one thing! The hard part comes when you're trying to cook everything  so it's all ready and hot at the same time. Its a culinary ballet if you will. If I just fed my family pork chops, they better be huge or there better be 20 of them to fill my brood and their hollow legs.

Meal 3: White Bean, Kale, and Sausage Stew. Admittedly, I'm not even sure I could find white beans or kale in my grocery store. Are they special items? Are they in that section of the store that I consider off limits because it has all the 'exotic" foods and I'm just a regular, 'ol cooking cooker? This recipe calls for 8 cups of kale. Eight. Cups. Seriously? I couldn't even fool my kids into thinking "it's just oregano honey!" with 8 cups worth. Not to mention the turkey sausage might get a raised eyebrow or two.

Meal 4: Twice Baked Sweet Potatoes with Cheddar and Bacon. This is the closest to normal recipe I've seen in this list. Except....yeah, I'm not a big fan of sweet potatoes. I want to like them because they're supposed to be healthier or some crap like that, but I just can't. I don't want my potatoes to be sweet. I want them savory. But you can keep the cheese and bacon. Although, again, if the only thing  served my family was baked potatoes for dinner, they better be BIG. Or have half a pig worth of bacon on them.

Meal 5: Cajun Blackened Tilapia. I have a hard time getting worked up over anything that has blackened in its title. Call me old school, but when your meat is black, it's usually time to throw it out or hand it off to the dog under the table. Also, I'm not a big Cajun fan either, so already this dish has two big black marks in my book. I'm not sure I could convince my kids and husband that I didn't accidentally leave the fish on the stove too long. They'd be nodding with their, "Yeah, sure Mom" looks on their faces as I earnestly exclaim, "It's supposed to be blackened, it says it in the name!"

After they give you the recipes, they have a shopping list for you to use when you shop for these "easy meals". They break it down into sections and the top says "Meat, fish, and poultry" (because just meat wasn't accurate enough I guess). The first item is 4 slices of bacon. Yeah, how do I do this? Do I have to go to the magic meat counter to buy 4 slices of bacon? Because I'm lazy and usually just buy the all ready to go packaged bacon. Under dairy they have 13 Tbsp. unsalted butter. Not 14, not 12, but 13 people. Get it right.

I've decided I want to be the president of the menu committee. I would only approve helpful menus for the magazines geared towards real people. (I will let the frou frou culinary magazines keep their feta and tofu encrusted veal chops.) I would offer such helpful menu tips as: "5 Meals to Make With Kraft Macaroni and Cheese" and "How To Make Yourself Eat Hot Dogs...Again". My menu plans would never include feta cheese, goat's milk, or flax seeds.But they might include a preparatory glass of wine for the chef.

The Great Houdini Garage Experiment

Since we lack storage space in our house, our garage becomes the catch all for the crap that we can't cram into the house. (What? Put our car in there? Who uses a garage for that?) Every once in awhile it starts getting to "Hoarders" level of mess and needs to be cleaned out so this was the weekend the hubby and I decided to make it disappear. Not the whole garage, just the mess that had become the garage.

For some reason, I didn't anticipate this project being as big as it was.

The biggest problem is that the garage not only holds all the stuff we know we want to keep, it also holds the maybes. As in we know we aren't using this item now, but we don't want to get rid of it just in case we might need it again. This leads us to hold onto a bunch of crap that we are probably going to end up throwing out another two garage cleanings from now because no one has, in fact, used it since it left the house and entered garage land.

The second biggest problem is that it also holds the stuff that we aren't keeping. Throwing out that broken fan? Chuck it in the garage until the husband takes a run to the dump to get rid of it. (It beats leaving it in the yard and making our yard the dump, right?) The only problem with that is eventually stuff is buried by other stuff and then it take 3 months for that fan to make it to the dump because, hey, out of sight, out of mind, right?

This is usually what my garage looks like. Pictures have been copied from anonymous garages to protect the innocent.

We started "The Big Garage Showdown" after lunch. I figured by 4 I'd be back in the house working on our mountainous piles of laundry. WRONG! At four I'm still sorting through clutter asking, "Are we saving this?" "What is that?" and "Why do we need this again?" The driveway, where we have been moving the stuff we are "definitely getting rid of this time", is really starting to look like a junkyard now. If we heap it any higher, I might lose sight of my car parked at the end.

Finally I had to leave to start a load of laundry lest my Sunday be turned into "The Day That I Was a Slave to My Washing Machine". I'm dirty, tired, and my feet hurt because I'm not usually on them for 3 hours in a row. (I blame my cushy desk job.) And worst of all, the mental image of how the garage would look in the short two hours it took to clean it out resembles in no way what it actually looks like four hours later.

See, this is why people take Prozac. To soften reality's harsh edges. Maybe I should sign myself up.

What I imagined my fabulously organized garage would look like.