a - HA!

Why are you here?

Don't you know I've moved?

This was a test to see if you'd updated your Bloglines.

If you are here...you FAILED!

FYI

I've MOVED!

For now.

I guess.

I could change my mind.

Update your bloglines, people.

Ch-ch-chaaannggge...

I'm considering making a change, and I'd love to get your input.

Are We There Yet?

King of the Mountain

What does a boy do when he has 15 loads of dirt dumped in his back yard?

He jumps from it...


...he climbs on it...


...and then he jumps from it again.


What does a mother do when 15 loads of dirt are dumped in her back yard?

She bathes one child...

...and then another...

...and then another...

It wasn't like I was trying to WORK or anything!

Are We Dry Yet?

Look where I found Funny Girl yesterday as I was TRYING TO GET SOME WORK DONE!!!



I really need a vacation.

P.S. This is my 200th post. Just in case you wanted to know.

And the Correct Answer Is...

...spaghetti sauce!

I'm sure you were hoping for something a little more interesting or grotesque, so I'm sorry if you're disappointed. I just wish I had captured a photo of her inhaling the spaghetti! If you can picture a little piggy at it's trough, you will have an accurate image of how much Funny Girl likes to eat her spaghetti.

Julie gets the grand prize for the first person to answer correctly. By the way, the grand prize is...well...nothing. Or, better yet, I'll link to your blog! That's a good prize...right?

A few comments gave me a great big ol' laugh. For example:

Heather - That looks like a good coating of ketchup (or catsup if you prefer). Either way, you could always claim she is Ronald McDonald's love child. ;o)

Bethany - Something is seriously wrong with me. My first thought was "Look she ate Golden Boy." Send help.

Willowtree - I say she just bit the head off a chicken. I would have gone with 'auditioning for Ronald the Movie' but someone beat me to it.

You guys are a RIOT!

What Happened to Funny Girl?

I had so much fun reading your guesses about what Golden Boy was holding yesterday, I thought it would be fun to make you guess again today! (By the way, he was holding one of those popping firecracker thingys.)

So, what on earth do you think happened to Funny Girl? She's gotten into her fair share of messes before....but this one....was...well, you decide:





YUCK!

Happy Birthday Golden Boy!

To my precious, sweet, angelic second born child:

HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY!!!



Can you guess what he's holding? No prizes. Just the satisfaction of being RIGHT! That would be enough for me.

Susan's Playlist

Desert Songbird tagged me earlier this week to list "what songs I'm into right now." Unfortunately, I find very little time to actually listen to music, so I had to tweak this Meme just a little bit. So I asked myself, If I were to turn on the radio right now, what songs would I like to hear most? Here's what I came up with:

1. Against All Odds, Phil Collins
This is one of my favorite songs of all time. I like it so much, that I went to the trouble to link to a video:


2. Love Shack, B52s
What's not to like about this one? TIN ROOF!.....rusted.

3. Black Horse and the Cherry Tree, K.T. Tunstall
Even Funny Girl loves this one. I said noooo, no...no, no, no, no...I said noooo, no...you're not the one for me....

4. Separate Ways, Journey
I could have included several more Journey tunes, but this one is my favorite.

5. I Want To Know What Love Is, Foreigner
Like Journey, I could have included several Foreigner songs here, but this one tops my list.

6. The Joker, Steve Miller Band
Please don't judge me. Some people call me Maurrrrrrice.... 'Nuff said.

7. Jesus Take the Wheel, Carrie Underwood
I cry every time I hear it.

While I'm crying, I might as well listen to this one:

8. In My Daughter's Eyes, Martina McBride
I can hold it together until the last verse: When I'm gone I hope you'll see how happy she made me.....Cause I'll be there....in my daughter's eyes...

And now on to something more upbeat:

9. The Reflex, Duran-Duran
This band defined my childhood. My walls were covered with their posters, I knew the words to EVERY.SINGLE.SONG (and still do).

and no list would be complete without...

10. Shot Through the Heart, Bon Jovi
....and you're to blame
You give love
a BAD NAME!

This was fun! So who's going to put together a CD for me? Anyone?

The Debate Update

First of all, thanks to each one of you who left such insightful comments on yesterday's post. I was encouraged that many of you sympathized with me - I knew I wasn't alone. But the comment that struck me the most was Pamela's:

It's tough Susan... because I had my grandaughter who was 8, in the communal shower area in the womens part and a woman had her same age son who went to the same school with her.

It was very very awkward for my grandaughter

It wasn't until reading what Pamela had to say that I finally quit thinking about myself and how I was feeling, and started looking at the situation through the eyes of the young children. I was so worried about what the other mothers were thinking, that I never considered how it was making the young girls feel. I suddenly understood what I had to do.

I spoke with the director of the swimming program today and asked if there were any restrooms OUTSIDE of the aquatics area that I could take my sons to change or to use the bathroom. I was immediately offered a wonderful alternative.

For the record, I will continue to take my sons to the women's restroom as long as I feel that I need to. I will, however, be careful not to make any other children uncomforted by our presence. I will stop feeling sorry for myself about the fact that the world around won't always offer me ideal situations, and I will start accepting the fact that life is going to continue to throw at me new obstacles and challenges with each passing year.

I am MOTHER!

Hear me ROAR!

P.S. A special thanks to Willowtree and Thomas for giving me much needed MALE perspective on this issue. You confirmed to me - beyond a shadow of a doubt - that a mother can never be too protective. Thank you.

The Public Restroom Debate

As a mother of two young boys, who are growing up much faster than I anticipated, the issue of where to take them to the bathroom is becoming quite a conundrum. To be honest, there really is no issue for me; I have no intention of sending them alone to a men's restroom at this age. My problem is in the form of disapproving glances from mothers of young daughters in the women's restroom, or more recently, in the "Family" locker room at the local university.

As I was perusing online this morning, I found an interesting post written a couple of years ago by a mother of young boys. She captured my feelings far more eloquently than I ever could have. Here is what she wrote:

At what age to you allow your child to use a public restroom alone? This is the source of much bickering at my house. My children are not allowed to use public restrooms alone, period, end of the story. This includes the restroom at the baseball field, which is far away from the actual fields and in the parking lot. I don't care what other kids are allowed to do, and from my experience it seems that all the other kids from age five up are allowed to go in the restroom alone.

In some ways I feel like I may have lost all perspective, but these children are my treasures. And even the thought of something happening to them is more than I can bear. Especially if it is something that I could have prevented by being a bit more vigilant. These pre-teen years are tough, tougher than I ever imagined as we engage in a manic dance of push and pull, give and take, freedom and handcuffing them to my body.

If only a package of plastic outlet covers would work now. Or maybe I could construct a huge cage made out of baby gates to put them inside. I don't think they would mind, would they?

So, what is a mother to do? For the past several months, I have forgone showers after swimming for my sons due to the awkward glances from mothers and girls in the supposed "Family Locker Room" at the university where my boys swim. (It's a "Women's Faculty" locker room converted into a "Family Locker Room" during certain hours of the day.) Instead of insisting that I have every right to use this locker room, I tuck my tail between my legs and scamper away. But now I find myself frustrated and angry over this entire situation.

Advice? Anyone?

It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's a...

I was just over at Karmyn's reading about how much she and her mother, Pamela, enjoy watching birds. And, guess what? It reminded me of a funny conversation that I had with Golden Boy and the Inquisitor this week:

GB: Mommy, what are those big, pink birds with the really long necks called?
Me: Flamingos?
GB: Yeah! Flamingos. I just saw one go straight across our back yard!
Me: You saw a flamingo in our back yard?
GB: I did! Except it was a big, brown bird with a long pink neck.
Me: Oh! You just saw a wild turkey! Was there just one?
GB: Yeah. Only one.
Inquisitor: Hey, Mommy, remember that one Christmas morning when we saw a herd of turkeys in Grandma and Grandpas back yard?
Me: A herd?
Inquisitor: Yeah! A whole herd!
Me: I think you mean a "flock."
Inquisitor: A flock of what?
Me: Turkeys. Turkeys gather in "flocks" not "herds."
Inquisitor: Oh.

At that moment, I looked at the Inquisitor and saw an ever-so-familiar expression on his face. You know the one I'm talking about - it's the "can't you ever just listen to a story without correcting me?" expression.

I've really got to try to do better.

***UPDATE: TO MY COMPLETE HORROR AND EMBARRASSMENT, I HAVE BEEN CORRECTED BY MY GOOD FRIEND, ROBIN. THE CORRECT TERM IS A "RAFTER" OF TURKEYS, NOT A "FLOCK" OF TURKEYS.***

RAFTERS AND GAGGLES AND FLOCKS...OH MY...

Urine Trouble

It's been a blissfully beautiful week here in Virginia - the birds are singing, the cherry trees are budding, and the sap is.....skipping. Yes, I said skipping. And the sap is ME.

Golden Boy: Hey, Mommy - do you want to have a running race?
Me: Mommy doesn't really like to run. How about we have a skipping race instead?
GB: Sure!
Me: Okay. Get ready when I say "GO!" On your mark...get set...GO!!!

And we were off. Skipping our way down the newly concreted driveway. Wow! He's pretty fast! I thought. I'd better pick up the pace.

Uh-oh.

GB: Mommy, why are you stopping?
Me: I started losing bladder control.
GB: You what?
Me: I was skipping so fast I started peeing on myself!
GB: Oh! What's a bladder? Is it that thing that hangs down in the back of your throat?
Me: No, son. That's a uvula. But Mommy likes to call it a patella.
GB: Oh. I like to call it a little punching bag.

He's a regular drip off the ol' sap, isn't he?

I Smell a Rat!

Yesterday, as I emerged from a fog of taxes, exemptions, credits and deductions, I entered the kitchen with the intention of getting a little afternoon snack. To my surprise, I saw a chair strategically poised at the pantry opening. How did it get there? I asked myself. Who could have done this?



Surely it wasn't the Inquisitor, my sweet eldest child, who is TALL enough to reach most of the goodies in the pantry, yet STRONG enough to move the chair to it's misplaced destination.

Et tu, Golden Boy? You with the sweet tooth the size of Oklahoma but the intelligence to know that one must ASK before invading the candy shelf? Surely it wasn't you!

And my precious, angelic Funny Girl - you who light up my day and keep me up at night...it couldn't be you, could it? You couldn't possibly have the strength to push that big ol' chair all the way from the kitchen table to the pantry.....could you?



She really needs to get better at covering up her crimes.

And no lecturing me about the passy.

GARBAGE BAGS!!!!

My mind is going. I've known this for quite a while, but lately, things just seem to be going downhill in the brain capacity department. And now my husband is beginning to show signs of cognitive deterioration. I'm worried that I've somehow infected him.

Saturday afternoon, in the midst of 10 piles of dirty laundry, a knee-deep stack of tax returns, and a garage full of garbage, I called my darling husband on his cell phone. Here's how the conversation went:

Me: Would you have time to stop by the store?
DH: Sure, honey. What do you need?
Me: Garbage bags.
DH: Just garbage bags? If you need anything else, tell me now. I might as well get it while I'm out.
Me: No. We don't need anything else.
DH: What about milk?
Me: Hold on. I'll check.
(*run downstairs.open fridge.check milk*)
Me: Whoa! Yeah, we need milk.
DH: Anything else?
Me: Oh yeah, I need Pledge.
DH: Any particular kind?
Me: Just whatever. Actually, if you can find the extra moisturizing kind, get that.
DH: Alright. Milk and Pledge. Was there anything else?
Me: Nope. Milk and Pledge. That's it.
DH: Are you sure? I thought there were three things.
Me: Nope. Just milk and Pledge.

Fast forward three hours. Doug goes to the pantry to get a garbage bag.

DH: GARBAGE BAGS!
Me: What?
DH: That was the third thing! Garbage bags!
Me: Oh, yeah!! You're right!

So, I went to the store today after church.
Guess what?
I forgot the garbage bags.

And the List Goes On.....

I'm still here...trying to work...as frustrated as ever.

Funny Girl has been on a roll this week. Here are some of her more interesting exploits:

1. She colored all over her arms with a black ball point pen...while I was TRYING to work.

2. She dumped a container of 176 letter tiles under my computer chair...while I was REALLY TRYING to work.

3. My neighbor called to inform me that she was running around outside my house without a shirt or shoes...it was 50 degrees...I was TRYING TO WORK!

I'm sure there will be more. After all...it's only Wednesday. (*sigh*)

Top 5 Reasons....

...that it is a bad idea to work from your home.

The items contained in this list are true. Not an ounce is embellished. Really...who could make this stuff up?

1. Your 2 year old daughter decides that the PRINTER is a good place to store the pretty button she has found. You discover it when the tax return you are trying to print gets jammed in the printer.

2. While you are trying to work, your 2 year old daughter is hanging on your back singing B-I-N-G-O into your ear making it extraordinarily difficult to concentrate.

3. Your 5 year old son rubs his Cheeto coated fingers into his 7 year old brother's hair. Fighting ensues...right next to you...while you are trying to work.

4. Your 7 year old son screams that your 2 year old daughter just ran out the back door without shoes on and is running toward the road...while you are trying to work.

Finally, the fifth and final item on my list was contributed by my good buddy, Old Dominion Heather, who has also been known to work from her home from time to time.

5. Your 4 and 7 year old sons are fighting over Legos. It turns physical. You go to intervene. While you are up from the computer, you 18 month old dumps a cup of coffee on your laptop.

I'll bet this is making your nice, cushy office sound pretty good right about now.

Hello

I'm still alive. I haven't fallen off the face of the earth...yet. I appreciated all of the nice comments on my last post.

This time of year has a different meaning for me. From February until April, I have to put on another hat. I already wear a "mother" hat, a "teacher" hat (I teach my kids at home), an "after-school babysitter" hat (I keep my nieces four afternoons a week), a "swim mom" hat (as opposed to "soccer mom"), and now I have to put on my "CPA" hat.

It's tax season. I operate a small business from my home preparing tax returns. Unfortunately, this meant that blogging had to take a back seat.

So...there you have it. The real reason I needed a break. I will stop by every now and then to read about what's going on in your lives, and I'll try to post when I can.

Until next time.

A Break

I've decided to take a little break from blogging. It is taking up A LOT of my time - and I seem to have LESS and LESS of it lately.

And now my kids need me.

Here, Kitty Kitty!

As I was tucking Funny Girl into bed last night, this was our conversation:

Funny Girl: Mommy, I need to get my kitties.
Me: Where did you put them?
FG: I put them on your bed.
(*exit room to get kitties*)
Me: The kitties weren't on my bed, honey.
FG: No. Not ON you bed, UNDER you bed!
Me: (*thinking to myself, "Did she just say that?"*)
(*exit room again to look for kitties*)
(*Yep. They were UNDER my bed.*)
Me: (*Hand kitties to FG*) Why did you put the kitties UNDER my bed?
FG: Well, there was this monster with BIG, BLACK eyes and he was going to take the kitties!
Me: (*wrapping mind around this story*) REALLY?
FG: Yes.

Any child who can come up with a story like that should be able to go potty all by herself, don't you think? And she certainly doesn't need a bottle anymore. Or a pacifier.