Have a Jolly Holly Day

via design*sponge

My hubs and I were so thankful to make it home from the hospital last Friday just in time to light candles for the last night of Chanukah. Next year, we'll be lighting them as a family and my heart flutters at the very thought!

I will be laying here eating THE MOST DE-LISH-ISH CHOCOLATES EVER (sea salt!?) and blogging intermittently next week, but for updates on my pregnancy please visit our baby blog or click on the owl in the sidebar.

Have a wonderful holiday season my dear readers. I hope each of you are blessed with good health and cheer this weekend and always!

Prayer solicitation -it's what the internets are best used for

Me and baby are asking for your prayers - ten weeks of them to be exact.

Check out my baby blog (right sidebar) for the full story and even if you don't want to check it out because reading about pregnancy and babies bores you or makes your ovaries hurt or you don't really like me that much (WHY are you still reading)... can you AT LEAST do this:

Please ask God or Santa or whoever to grant me a healthy baby.

I've actually been pretty good this year. Cross my heart.

(also if you have a blog of your own, please post lots of mind numbing crap on it to keep me occupied while on bed rest over the next ten weeks. ktnxbai.)

I made out with your cheek because I can

I have been in a funk lately and yesterday when husband asked, “So has anything been good lately?” I couldn’t think of a single thing. I can ALWAYS think of things – but yesterday nothing came to mind. I was going to write a post about how hard I’m hating on job/skin/life/lemonbars right now – but is that what you really want to read about?

No

With misery, comes company

and that's not the type company you or I want to keep

You want to read about how much even though my husband has been fighting cold/flu symptoms for over a week now and has kept his slobbery lips at a distant so not to infect me – I still *adore* him and have snuggled into his cheek like a middle school crush.

I bet you’d want to know about how amazing my mom is for spending six weeks in Florida taking care of my grandparents. She gets up every 6 hours to give birthday grandpa his pain medicine and even though he sasses her about not being able to scoot sans walker – he needs her. We missed Mother's Day together but I sent her a ginormous box of goodies which she called to gush over in the most I'm-not-completely-exhausted voice she could find. I am so proud of her and I miss her.

You may like to know that, much to my delight, my good friends Heidi and Jennie! moved down the street last week. You can’t imagine just how long a 15 minute drive can be until you have a Victoria Secret free panty coupon burning a hole in your pocket and no one to shop it out with. Problem. Solved.

You will definitely want to celebrate a birthday with Three Nichols because their adorable little son turned ONE on Wednesday. I can’t believe a year ago husband and I sat in the hospital room with them through the labor induction process only to have Miss Kelly push effortlessly three times and fall madly in love with her strong little boy. I wish so much that they lived closer so I could revel in his milestones with her.

I'm sure you're as excited as I am that Jim and Pam are preggers!


And lastly, something you all know, it's Friday. And no matter how many batches of lemon bars I screwed up – the week is almost gone with nothing left to do but love on my husband. Tonight is date night and I just might talk him into splitting an order of fish and chips and an ice cold Hoegaarden on a patio just before sunset.

So that’s what’s good lately

It just took me a day to remember

Prayers and Wishes for Grandpa

My birthday grandpa is having a big surgery on Friday. I am traveling to be with him but I was hoping you all could *think.think.think* happy thoughts for us.

Jennie! got him some lingonberry jam [yay Ikea, yay Sweden!] She is a jam dealer, she deals jam, if you didn't already know.

I am also going to bring him a chocolate malt from Sonic.

My mom told me that lately his diet consists of cashews and left over Easter candy. I decided that seeing as though my pop-pop is 91 and about to go into the hospital for major surgery, if he wants to eat jam-covered-Sonic malt-chocolate bunny heads all day long - WHO CARES! I might even join him.

I think malts, jam and candy should fix my birthday grandpa right up. That and *lots* of hugs from his favorite red-headed granddaughter.

The last time everyone sent good wishes it worked beautifully. Please send more. I beg you.

Read more about my Pop-pop and his *sparkly* blue eyes

Here

and Here and HERE

and that one time when the nurse got him drunk... HERE!

Pop-Pop says a nurse got him drunk and I believe him

My birthday grandpa was able to come home from the hospital last night. I guess he’s a little cranky and has acquired a walker but for 90+ years old we're gonna give him some slack on irritability and a little assisted walking. I was able to talk to him this morning and this is how it went:

Me: Hi grandpa, you gave us quite a scare.

Gpa: You’re not kiddin’!

Me: I’m happy you are home now; we said lots of prayers for you. Are you glad to be home?

Gpa: You betcha, hospitals are boring. I have a walker, – can you believe it? I'm not gonna use it after tomorrow [so he thinks]. But I did have my very own room. Big huge one with a TV and my own bathroom and everything. Except for one night the nurse left the curtains open and the light shined in my eye. [Damn nurse!]

Me: Sounds like the Ritz Carlton! I bet they gave you all of that special treatment because you’re 90.

Gpa: I don’t know but they sure were nice. There were people way younger, worse off than me.

Me: Are you in any pain?

Gpa: No, no pain. Just feeling a little drunk.

Me: Well you're always drunk that shouldn't feel any different! [joking]

Gpa: [chuckling loudly] HA! I haven't had a drink in ages, but I did have a glass of wine last night you know.

Me: Well that sounds okay to me. Making it to 90 without a single hospital stay is a pretty big deal grandpa. Did you know our birthday is in about 80 days? So you need to get stronger so we can celebrate okay?

Gpa: 80 days! Wow, I’ve been trying to count on my fingers… February…March… and a few days in April. 80 days. I hope I make it to 91.

Me: Oh I think you’ll make it – just so long as you behave yourself and don’t go giving people any hassle when they’re trying to help you.

Gpa: Well I decided I need to live until the end of July… I’ll tell you a secret… there’s a party for my brother. He’s turning 80 and the party is a surprise so you can’t tell anyone.

Me: Okay I won’t. I love you very much grandpa and I can’t wait for our birthday. You need to stay around so we can keep celebrating together.

Gpa: Okay. I love you too, dear.

[hands the phone to my grandma]

Me: Well he said he’s going to live at least until July.

Gma: Why July?

Me: Apparently, he has a party to go to. So if we just keep having parties, he’ll stick around.

BAD.LUCK.FOR.GRANDPAS month

I hate this month right now. Heidi's grandpa got pneumonia and bad news about his cancer, husband's grandpa fell walking the dog and turned his face into hamburger, and yesterday my beloved *birthday* grandpa lost consciousness and is in the hospital (in Florida) with a blocked carotid artery. My grandpa's birthday is in 86 days (sound familiar?) and he will be 91, although for some reason he is lying and telling people he's 92!?

Apparently the hospital had to call my aunt to double check if he was really 90, since he's otherwise in really good shape and looks much younger. Did I mention on his 90th birthday he splashed around in the pool drinking tequila shots, ate pizza and then went bowling? Right. All 90 year-old men do that.

Husband and I have five VERY old grandparents (three over 90!) and it's so hard to see them get older. Husband's dad says we should be thankful for all the time we've had with them and be lucky we are not watching our grandparents lay lifeless in a bed drooling on themselves... thanks for that.

Please pray for my birthday grandpa. Pray even if you aren't the praying type. You can just say to yourself, "I hope Tam's grandpa makes it through." And if there really is a G-d he will hear you and think that although you didn't use all of the official prayer words, he'll try his best.

He is my most favorite grandpa and I am just not ready to let him go quite yet. Okay?

(My grandparents wedding picture. Circa: long long ago.)

Happy 90th Grandpa Peach

We're in Baltimore celebrating my husband's grandpa's 90th birthday!

Grandpa fell this week outside and was pretty banged up (Grandma says, "He has the biggest clown nose you've ever seen, bless his heart.") But he has 100 people coming to his party so it's gonna take a lot more than a dislocated shoulder, thumb and hamburger face to keep this guy from partying!

Can you guess what his favorite song to dance to is?

SEXY BACK.

AND AND since I'm officially a *Grandaughter* now...

here are a few candids of us getting our sexy back at the wedding.

Cheers to 90!

Did I ever show you how I danced with my dad?

My mom watching us.



And then there were three. My photographer calls this flair. I call it, magical.

I do it for the sweaters

and last year at husband's family Christmas...

There were sweaters (I shit you not).

My mother-in-law is behind me saying, "Come on you guys, just one picture that's all I ask. I'll even take them back to the store if you will just settle down for one picture."

(please note the necklaces, they're my favorite part)

Last year down Santa Clause lane...

A photo diary...

Rudolf was much smaller than we had anticipated

My husband wore snowman pants and two small children

We realized boxes are cheaper than actual presents

The children were dragged from the chimney with care

A Christmas fairy cast a spell on us

And my favorite Christmas memory...
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Pop-Pop played the Wii!

Merry Mazeltov and Happy Chrismakkah

This weekend we enjoyed the celebratory nature of the season with some of our friends and family. Friday night was girl’s night. Pizza, almond margaritas, cookie baking, Love Actually and a gift exchange. Pizza was gone in about a half hour and we discovered you can never have enough cranberry sugar on the rim of your margarita glass. I got exactly what I wanted: Love Actually movie, a mustard colored sweater (I’ve seen red-heads wearing this color a lot lately and I wanted to try it out!) and the pinnacle of scholarly literature, sTori Telling. Heidi gave me the book with the understanding that I would let her read it when I’m done. Fine. Fine. But I get to read the Jillian Michael's book I gave you when you’re done. I got Jennie a penguin and a Sonic gift card (with the understanding that she will take the penguin to Sonic for an icy milkshake AND give it a better name than the one it came with. Freeze is a stupid name for a penguin).

Yesterday we celebrated with my family. I think it was the coldest damn day of the year (Happy Solstice indeed!) and leave it to my car headlights to go out. Yes! Both! This left my dad and husband out in the cold with ice fingers trying to replace the frikin' headlights. They came inside every five minutes to thaw themselves.

Husband: I’m so cold I tried to put my hands down my pants to warm them up and even my butt is freezing!

They finally got the lights in and we ate dinner. My brother (age 22) was complaining the entire time that he wanted to open his gifts from Santa as my parents explained over and over that Santa doesn’t come until the 25th (duh). He had to settle for the cashmere sweater from us and two monogrammed towels as a hint for him to get a job and move out of the damn house. Husband and I hit the jackpot with cash and gift cards! My dad also made husband a display stand for his 4 wii guitars (patent pending) so we can clear out the pile of electronic gadgets in our living room. Mom packed us up some holiday cookies and matzo ball soup and sent us on our way. We lit the first lights of Chanukah before we went to bed. Overall it was a great weekend and the fact that I have a 1.5 day work week not to return until January 5th makes me even happier. Happy Mazel Christmakkah indeed!

My mom says god punishes bad people and I believe her

My mother is the queen of colloquialisms and although she left Long Island over 30 years ago her accent still shines through to give them a little northeastern punch. My mom’s endearing ability to makes up words is weaved throughout the memories of my childhood. I still laugh thinking about how I had no clue they were made up until much (much) later in life. When I was little my mother referred to all “private parts” as wiggies; girls had a wiggy and boys had a wiggy. This ambiguous term made it an easy point of reference when talking to my brothers or me, “Stop poking at your wiggie!” (That phrase was directed at my brothers, of course.) You can imagine my (public) embarrassment when I found out neither were refered to as such.(editor's note: spell check is freaking out about wiggies)

My pronounciations of the words pool, pole, and pull are almost indistinguishable and always a point of (hilarious) contention between my husband and I. The way my mom says sauce (sauhw-s) and coffee (cauhw-fee) makes me smile and the fact that my little brother didn’t like “goils” (girls) until middle school was not an accident. Thanks to my mom, in high school I earned local acclaim for my rendition of the sniffly Adelaide in “Guys and Dolls,” because after all, a poiy-son could develop a cold. My mom loves the word “discombobulated” and calls "half-time," intermission. These quirks and phrases have contributed to my own colorful vocabulary in so many ways. Here are a few of the phrases my mother uses to explain people, things and life in general. I think it sums it up quite nicely.

Uglier than a mud fence
Don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out
All dirty dogs get their day
Colder than a witch’s tit outside
Up shit’s creek without a paddle
Went over like a fart in church
A face only a mother could love
Doesn’t know his ass from his elbow
Bless her heart
A stick in the mud

I thought about this last week when husband and I were out to dinner with Heidi as she uttered the following:“That went over like a turd in a punch bowl!”

After years of my mother’s tutelage, I had yet to hear this one. I.love.it. AND the mental picture that follows! What types of endearing qualities has your mother instilled in you?

Dearest mom: Don't buy me anything at Odd Lots

I remember when I first met my husband I looked behind his couch (because you never really know a man until you've look behind his couch). I found ink pens, crumbs, dust, an empty Cheetos bag (of course!) and lots and lots of odd and sundry items still in tissue paper. The one that really struck me was a plaid farmer flannel. My husband, and at the time some guy from grad school that I was shagging on a regular basis, has never struck me as a flannel kind of guy and never.never. wears plaid (or paisley).

Me: What the hell is all this shit behind your couch? Are these presents for someone?
Him: No. They're random gifts from my family.
Me: for what?
Him: Christmas, Hanukkah, Easter.. I don't frickin' know.
Me: Are you ever going to wear any of this stuff?
Him: What do you think?
Me: Well you should at least give it to a gay and lesbian shelter or something.
Him: I wouldn't want to offend them.

Come to think of it, I have no idea what happened to those items but if you ever see a badly dressed gay man (or well dressed lesbian) in Columbus, they may be wearing his Hanukkah gift.
Now, my parents were also offenders up until about two years ago when I told them that husband doesn't have a job, we barely see each other, we're both exhausted all the time and if they want to spend money on us they may do it in two ways 1) cash. 2) gift cards. I actually said it more like this: "Mom quit getting us shit we don't need. We're on the balls of our ass here and could really just use a free night out." They actually listened although I did get a ceramic cat from my mom last year with a really long tail that is apparently used to store rings. Harleigh couldn't bear the competition so ring-tail cat had to go.

Husband isn't as rude blunt disrespectful forward as I am, so he has yet to tell people that our deepest desires are monetary in nature. I know (I know!) money/gift cards are impersonal and unfun, but it really is what we want most. (Case in point, last year a riot broke out at our work "holiday" gift exchange over a $5 Starbucks gift card. I'm bringing one this year just to see if my boss will slap the accounting lady for it.)

Fast forward to two days before Thanksgiving when we received a giant fruit cake in the mail with a note and directions: must be refrigerated.

Me: What is that huge tin in the fridge? I was keeping it cleared out for Thanksgiving.
Him: A fruitcake. Don't ask.

Don't get me wrong, my in-laws are totally sweet and thoughtful and I'm sure that was the most expensive lump of fruit filled cake that one could buy...BUT we were about to see them, spend a wonderful holiday together, and the last thing we needed was celebratory baked goods.

FIL: Did something come in the mail a few days ago?
Me: Yes, yes, thank you for the fruitcake. It's in the fridge.
FIL: I love that fruitcake. I even have some bourbon in the car to go with it.

[Now, please don't read into the last sentence and assume my dear Father-in-law is a flask-toting alchy, but he does love good bourbon...and apparently fruitcake.]

On the second day of their visit we had this conversation right after I finished telling my MIL how I hate those little bits of fruit that my mother bakes into her famous Swedish Christmas Bread (oops!).

MIL: Brutal honesty question.
Me: {crap!crap!} Yes?
MIL: Do you two even like fruit cake?
[in tandem] Husband: Suuuure. Me: No.
MIL: See David, I told you that was an antiquated gift and their generation doesn't like fruit cake.
FIL: Well I do! Can I have it?
Me: Yes! Of course you can have it. We were happy you thought of us.

Apparently fruit cake went out like 8-track tapes and is not a delicacy enjoyed by the X'ers or Y'ers or whatever alphabet generation we fall into. The bottom line is...we had a breakthrough. That, and the fruitcake is no longer in my fridge. Happy. Day.

If grandma says it's playgirl than it is.

True. Story. Something are so funny you just have to be there. Sunday brought one of those moments that comedians couldn’t think of in their wildest dreams, nor could they recreate.

They can’t recreate all of the instances husband and I have insinuated that my brother is gay.

They can’t recreate the innocence that is my grandmother.

They can’t recreate the atrocious sight of my brother’s bathroom littered with shower scum and trashy periodicals.

But I can try to recreate the laughter that came from the bottom of our bellies during dinner.

Party of Seven: Mom, Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Husband, brother and gorgeously attractive wife (me!). Proud family sits down to dinner at a round table in the back corner of Macaroni Grill. Brother opens graduation cards as we await our appetizer.

Brother: Thanks for the checks everyone, I needed the funds!
Grandma: Speaking of checks, you should keep better track of them, there is a check in the bathroom.
Brother: What?
Grandma: In your Playgirl magazines.
My mom: What Mom?
Grandma: Well I was thumbing through the magazines looking for something that I could read, and in between the Playgirl pages I saw a check for $122.00. You should take that out of there, if that stack of magazines goes in the garbage – you’ll be out a check.
[husband and I are practically on the floor dying]
Me: Grandma, don’t you mean PlayBOY?
Grandma: Oh no, I saw PlayGIRLS.
Husband: [tears streaming] Oh my god, this is funny for SO MANY reasons.
Brother: Grandma, there aren’t any PlayGIRLS in there – they are PlayBOY. Play...BOY! I forgot about that check though – I must have opened up my mail in there. Thanks for reminding me.
Grandma: Playboy, Playgirl whatever. Just don’t go losing a check!

{in Grams defense, I am sure because she saw naked girls she assumed the name was Play GIRL - IT IS confusing when you actually think about it}

Can you see my 85 year old grandma flipping through my brother’s nudie magazines while dropping the kids off at the pool?

Brother keeping stacks of porn in the bathroom of my parents house = classy
Vision of Grandma, knickers down, hoping for a Good Housekeeping amongst stacks of naked = hilarious
Grandma inadvertently implying that my brother looks at gay porn = PRICELESS

I want to marry you again every day

I have an awesome husband.
I suffered a brief nervous breakdown on Friday night when I came home to piles of cat puke on the bed room carpet, IN my new work boots and ON THE BED. So I added puke-cleaning and puke-laundry to the list of house-cleaning and food-prepping already filling my night. I rocked out to Christmas music like a good little Jew, and threw in my new Spring Awakening CD [This sound track is now filed under my modern musical ‘faves’ list, below Rent and Wicked but ahead of Avenue Q.] I went to bed wishing my husband wasn’t at the hospital and keeping one eye open to watch out for cat puke.

On Saturday morning I had to get up early to work at the gym and my grandparents and parents were coming over to eat dinner. Around noon, husband was coming off of a 30-hour call and really stepped it up. He came home and didn’t even take off his scrubs [which he looks totally HOT in] – just got straight to work chopping onions and prepping the meatloaf. I hate smelly-onion-fingers and I double hate playing pattie-cake with raw meat. He knows this all too well, and took two for the team. Not only did he helped me make [and clean up] the meal, but he gave me all of the credit for it. He schmoozed my grandparents, made my mom giggle and watched the OSU game without complaining a bit that my Dad talked through the entire game. After they left, and we were both totally exhausted, he romanced me to sleep.

On Sunday we woke up bright and early [at 11am] to get ready to go to my brother’s college graduation. We laughed that we were for once attending a graduation that wasn’t one of our own and made fun of what people were wearing. Husband gave my brother a high five as he walked in line to the ever-familiar graduation anthem. He also added a “woot woot” as we cheered when my brother’s name was called. Seeing as though our middle brother is estranged from us, I know it meant the world to my brother to have his new brother-in-law cheering him on. Afterwards we had a great dinner with the family, poking fun at each other and telling funny stories.

As we drove away, I was sad to leave my grandpa after watching him struggle over the last two days with small things like our front stoop and eating broccoli. I made sure to hug him and make a memory. I kissed him on his cheek and remembered his big blue eyes just before we got into the car. I began to cry as we drove off wondering if that would be my last time with him – my birthday twin grandpa. My husband immediately swerved the car and pulled up to the nearest Graeters Ice Cream where we shared a double cookie sundae. Husbands and sundaes always make things happier. We shared a glass of wine before bed and he drifted off to sleep on my arm within seconds of hitting the pillow. I laid there thinking about my sick cat, my sweet grandpa, how proud I was of my brother and what an amazing guy I married. He’s incredible… and I’ll show you on Thursday.
Excited Brother and Husband

The great pun-kin

Can you believe it’s almost Halloween? I think fall and Halloween are so much fun. I love everything about Halloween, except the scary. I love orange and black [my Alma mater colors], I love cats and pointed hats, I love dressing up and colored leaves, I love honey crisp apples and warm spiced cider. I love cool weather and hooded sweatshirts – I love comfort food and comfy socks. I love October.

Husband and I picked out our pumpkins [which somehow I manage to always pronounce pun-kin]. One big, round orange palate for each of us to carve into frowny or smiley illuminations. I even picked out an extra one that was grayish-green and technically a gourd not a pumpkin, and as we loaded our groceries and round fruit of an annual vine into the car, I began to get excited.

Me:I love fall and Halloween! When we have a kid I am going to dress them in cute orange and black jumpers that say things like “I love my mummy” every day of the month. We will go to the pumpkin patch and make costumes and decorate the house. I can’t wait!

Husband: You’re going to be bummed when our kids don’t like Halloween as much as you do.

Somehow I'm not worried. That’s thing about loving your kids, if you make something a memory - it will be special forever. When I was a little girl, my mom would stay up nights before Valentine’s Day making homemade chocolate hearts and lollipops . She would carefully wrap them in pink, red and silver foils and on Feb. 14th we each woke up to a basket of goodies, handmade with love. My dad would put a rose on my bed with a note written in his own scribbly font that said, “You’ll always be my little valentine." Those moments became memories and years later, I realized that my parents put Valentine's Day on the map for me, in a special way that no boy could ever match.

Last night, Husband and I picked out the pumpkins as part of our tradition. Building traditions, even just the two of us, gives me a glimpse of how amazing our life and family will be. Since we bought our house, Halloween has been a special time for us. We decorate our front porch into a scary, spooky wonderland that has left many a princess crying in the driveway. We think up silly costumes and hand out candy to every goblin on the block. Just before beggars night, we choose pumpkins and invite friends over. BYOP - Bring Your Own Pumpkin Party, as we like to call it. On pumpkin night, we simmer a big pot of cider spiked with dark rum and all of the best spices. We each carefully plan out our carving masterpiece and share knives around the plastic-covered table. We toast the pumpkin seeds with garlic salt and a hint of cayenne pepper and I can almost taste their zesty crunch. Afterwards, we light the pumpkins and sit by the fire pit pushing browned marshmellows between chocolate and graham crackers.

Husband and I are ready to embrace October sunsets with snuggles and smores. And our love story most definitely includes a few large-fruited autumn squashes. The smells and warmth of our fall evenings fill the night and I cannot think of a more comforting place to be. In that memory. In our tradition.

You should cry no more, God also loves our canine friends, he's installed a doggy door

Today my friend had to put down her dog, Razor. He was old and his hips were fragile, his body was full of bad cells and he stopped racing his sister to the food bowl long ago. But even though Razor wasn’t as sharp or a spunky as he used to be, through it all he still wagged his stumpy little boxer tail. That’s the thing about dogs, they never lose that kindred spirit. Now he is resting and my friend is missing him terribly. Like I’ve mentioned before, I believe that pets go to a special place when they die and they wait for you. Like the poem says, all the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. And besides, people in the afterlife need pets too.

Most people who know me, know my idea of the afterlife doesn’t coincide with any particular faith – it’s just a disconnected concept – mostly imagined ideas mushed together to help me rationalize the unknown. I believe that although it wasn’t fair that my grandmother succumbed to cancer in her early sixties, she reconnected with the love of her life and her soul watches over me in between playing the slot machines [she came to my wedding but had to leave early for a texas hold ‘em tournament]. My grandma died when I was 15 so my little brother was about 8. My mom went through a blue period where she cried a lot and looked at old pictures of my grandma every afternoon. One day my little brother came home from school and the conversation went something like this:

Second grade brother: Hey mom!
Mom: How was school today honey?
Second grade brother: It was good. Grandma came to visit me today.
Mom: [confused, maybe he forgot about the dying thing] Um, sweetie, how did she do that?
Second grade brother: Well, I was writing at my desk and all of a sudden my pencil flew out of my hand and onto the floor.
Mom: …
Second grade brother: You said grandma would be watching over me, so I just figured she wanted me to know she came to class today.
Mom: [smiling] well I am glad she was able to visit you, she loves you very much.
Second grade brother: yeah, I know. Can I have a fruit roll-up for snack?
Mom: Sure, just don’t ball up three of them in your mouth like you did yesterday.

I remember later when my Mom told me that story, she said she wished grandma would have stopped by the house too. I guess my mushy afterlife concept had *some* environmental influence, but I like it none the less.

My dog Bear had to be put down when I was in junior high. He was my best friend and my very first pet [besides the two hermit crabs that my mom killed.] I bet him and Razor are getting into lots of trouble somewhere today...I hope my grandma doesn't throw pencils at them.

When tomorrow starts without me.
Please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name
And petted me with her hand.
She said my place was ready,
Somewhere far above,
And that I'd have to leave behind
All those I dearly love.
- author unknown

It's a good thing the bus ran late. A damn good thing.

This morning I opened the window in the bathroom to let out some of my steamy shower steam [Yes, I remembered to close the window thank you]. But while it was open I smelled outside. Yes, you read me; I pressed my medium sized nose up against the dirty black screen and smelled the outside air. I also didn’t have a top on so the kids waiting across the street for the bus dropped their pop tarts. [P.S. There are NEVER kids waiting for the bus when I am trying to smell out the window in the morning so schools must still be delayed from the storm/wind/power outages.]

Anyway, today as I breathed in the September air and saw all of the dew drops on the grass I thought about my elementary school bus stop. The air smelled just like it did back then when I would put on my fall jacket, you know the one that your mom makes you wear because it’s chilly in the morning and then you crumple it up and shove it in your backpack with your popsicle-stick-art for the bus ride home because you are sweating your name tag off. So, I would have my jacket on, and my lunch box and … my brother. We’d walk down to the end of the street – just far enough so my mom couldn’t see us – and we’d stand for about ten minutes while the other kids taught us curse words. I’m pretty sure that’s where I learned the words Da*n, Bi&*%, C&nt, Di@$, A$$ hole, and S&*t face [but I already knew the words face and hole, so it was just the combinations thereof.] Sometimes there was this mean girl called Melissa, who would rough me up. Man was she trashy. Anyway, it was pretty clear that these were not words for civilized kids to use in every day conversation [my brother didn't get this memo and although he never used the words correctly in a sentence, he was usually grounded anyway] so I tucked them into my vocabulary brain bank for a rainy day or when I wanted to impress a boy on the playground [I didn't have breast buds yet.] I would even practice writing them. Sometimes, since my spelling was poor and asking was out of the question, I would practice the word dic in perfect D’nealian on a clean piece of lined paper. Once I filled the page, I'd then crumple it up and tuck it into my-little-pony backpack until I found a public trash can to throw it away in.


I guess this was kind of like that kid in the movie Super Bad who draws pictures of Di*&’s in class – which were actually quite good. When DH was a teacher, he had a kid in his class who also liked to draw the male genitals and DH said the kid wasn’t good at much else so he might as well encourage his artistic abilities. I learned there is a new term for this skill, coined from the movie and subsequent book. I hear it’s an up and cuming major.

phal*lo*graph*ics (fa'lo graf'iks), n. The pictorial representation of a phallus, or a depiction relating to or resembling a phallus.

Myspace or yours?

Sometimes when I am bored at night I do what my husband and I have coined as “dicking” [not to be confused with the other thing my husband and I do together.] So when I’m not looking at theknot, shopping online or checking my email, I “dick” around on myspace or facebook. I used to prefer myspace [mostly because I used it first and I’m abhorrent to change] but after a while I realized more of the people I like are on facebook and myspace is kind of, well, trashy. HOWEVER, my in-laws recently created facebook accounts [Oh no they dinnnn’t] and can see when I am online. They have actually started communicating with me solely through facebook wall posts – this is is a double edged sword in that it represents a cultural leap for their generation and an unacceptable way to ask your new daughter-in-law if she is free next Friday. So although I prefer facebook, my in-laws are stalking me there so I’ve been wasting my life away on myspace instead.

Last night my beloved was on call and Heidi was working so I had to hang out by myself. I decided to take a myspace survey. There are all kinds of surveys, most of them ask the same questions, “do you have a tattoo” “do you love someone” “have you ever been arrested” but I found one that actually had a few interesting questions on it and filled it out. Mind you, some of these surveys have upwards of 87 questions [random numbers mostly because I think people just add stupid questions when they think of them.] I found four or so questions that took some thought, well not as much thought as derivatives but I pondered them a bit.

1. What actress would you like to play you in a movie?
2. What would your life story be titled?
3. What song would be the theme song for your life?
4. What vehicle best represents you?

My answers were not nearly as thoughtful or creative as I wanted them to be but it was late and I gave in.

1. Rachel McAdams with red hair and freckles OR LiLo [in the parent-trap days before she become a hot mess and a lesbian]
2. It's one big adventure and so what if I planned it
3. Life is a Highway [by far my WORST answer]
4. A smart car ;)

What are your answers? Phone in!

Claire picked up junior and stuffed him into a bird house she made at summer camp. It took two monkey wrenches and prayers to get him out.

There are times that cynicism and wit seem like the dark side. Why are all of my ramblings edgy? If someone who didn’t know me read this blog, what on earth would they think of me? They perhaps might say, “Wow, she has a chip on her shoulder” or “Shit, she’s kinda funny” or “Oh no she dinnn’t!” But would they say "Wow, she has a genuine heart and amazing spirit"?? The answer is: Probably not. Don’t get me wrong, I love my blog and I love to randomly vent to the internets about my ear wax secretary and the stupidity of humankind – but I saw a blog yesterday that really made me think.

I was looking at one of my favorite blogs [that even though I am now married, I love to look at her daily inspiration board, you know, for next time around (j/k)] I saw a tribute to a blogger called Stephanie Neilson. She and her husband were recently in a plane crash and they were seriously burned. Support from the blogging community has been amazing and many bloggers have banned together for a blog auction for them and their four small children. Someone even designed some jewelry in her honor, one with a beautiful sparrow. I was sad to hear about such a tragedy, but even more so, curious as to what she could have written on a blog that could have touched so many… and then I went there. She uses pictures to highlight the life of her adorable family. THIS BLOG touched me.

Okay, so you really do need to go look at the pictures, but she had a party for her children who were preparing to go back to school. She made a gourmet dinner for them with their finest china and topped off with a decadent chocolate cake. She had little hand-made banners that said “be prepared” and crafty princess crowns for each of the girls to wear to the party. A small red-haired girl smiles wide in a photo, wearing her crown and a self-beaded necklace. Stephanie writes,

Toasts were made, stories told, goals planned and the girls walked the cat-walk showing off the new school duds in a family fashion show.

If I am blessed with children, this is the kind of mom I want to be. I sat there thinking,
“I’m creative and crafty, but am I THIS creative and THIS crafty?”
“Will I spend that kind of time on something special for my kids with the hustle and bustle of work, marriage, finances…life?”
“When her kids grow up, they will tell people about the parties their mom threw for their back to school.”
“I want my kids to feel that special.”

I even tried to justify, well – she probably doesn’t work and of course! she’s Mormon! [note JCLDS logo to the right of the page.] But then I thought about how a liberal Jew from Ohio was so proud of that Mormon mom from Arizona. To be able to post one blog and have someone across the country know that you are an amazing mom, that’s really something.

So, send your happy thoughts and prayers their way, hopefully her family will be up and playing again soon. And in the meantime, maybe we’ll be less cynical, maybe we’ll take a fresh look at how much life there really is to enjoy and how the people you surround yourself with make you a better person every day. Make it a NieNie Day.