Reese's Reign of Terror Would be an Awesome Wrestling Name

Sometimes you're a baby and your family takes you camping. Also, sometimes you are awesome, but you already knew that. Sometimes, in the middle of camping and being awesome, your dad wants to steal a little smooch. He's alright, so you let him.



But sometimes, as alright as he is, he invades your personal space. This is totally unacceptable.



And you're all, Nuh-uh. Step off, old man. Why you gotta steal my flava?



Being a baby and as awesome as you totally are, you look him straight in the eye (while pulling his hair) and tell him who's boss.



Just then, you hear cackles of laughter from behind you. You quickly turn and focus your attention on the wise-acre hecklers behind you.

Who's there? Is that you, internets? Are you talking to me?

I said, ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?



Yeah, you don't want to mess with our Reesie. There's a whole lotta awesome and feisty packed into those size four pampers. She'll get ya. She'll get ya every time.



Internets, you've been warned.

P.S.: No dads were harmed in the making of this post.
P.P.S: Did you all see my awesome pedicure? It's so not that way anymore.
P.P.P.S: If you scrolled back to see my toes, please don't judge the messy camper. I was busy documenting the domestic violence you just witnessed. There was no time to tidy up.

The Five Spot (Formerly The Friday Five)

More than a week ago, I thought I'd post a little list about my mother. Blogger had different plans for me. It was all, "Oh no you don't, girlfriend." *snap, snap* (insert neck roll here)

Long story short, Blogger took my precious post away. I then posted this mini rant on my experience. Shortly there after I received several emails titled YOUR MOM. All I could think was ARE YOU PEOPLE REALLY THROWING 'YO MOMMA' JOKES AT ME AT A TIME LIKE THIS? (That totally would have been cool with me and sooo funny.) But no. You were all very nice and supportive. A few of you even got to read it before it vanished.

Then out of nowhere, Christina over at The Bigger They Get sent a kind email with a copy of my missing post in the body of her message. I'd never met Christina, so for someone to be that completely kind to another stranger just floored me. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm offering you, here and now, free babysitting for an entire year. Just fly me out to your home (your expense of course), put me, my husband and kids up at your house (again, on your dime), cover other incidentals and I'll totally do it.

Also, my dear friend at Us and Them could hear my sobs all the way up there in the frozen tundra they call Canada and took mercy upon my sorry soul. He sent my mom this beautiful flower to console her. What a nice guesture. My mom is sure to love this.

But, dude, you have so never met me in person. After you do, you will know that my mom needs more than one flower (allbeit, huge as it is) to console her for the thirty-sithurmth years I've tortured her.

I am amazed at the kindess of you folks out there. Thank you for giving me back the ability to embarass my mom as she reads this tomorrow morning with her co-workers. Here's original her five courtesy of Saint Christina.

----------

Oh Internets, I couldn't stay away for long. While I sat under my heap of unwashed laundry I heard you calling me. Actually, I think it was my mom. I heard her voice on my answering machine saying, "Jennifer? Your blob says you'll be gone for a while. I just saw you last week. You didn't tell me you were going anywhere."

Yes, my mom calls steenky bee a "blob". I try not give her a hard time about it because she pimps it out to everyone. When she retires, I'm thinking of asking her to approach strangers in the store to ask them if they wouldn't mind giving steenky bee a read. If I gave her a shopping allowance, she'd totally do it.

This week's Five Spot will be dedicated to my mom. I shall share five trivial, yet lovable, things about my mom with total strangers.

1. She gets excited over just about anything. My mom is a bubbly person and just about anything will make her happy. She called me at work a few years ago to tell me how excited she was about KFC's new chicken bowls. Yes, the lady was stoked about potatoes, gravy, corn and chicken mixed together in a plastic bowl. I'm telling you, she's not high maintenance in the entertainment department.

Just last week she and I had a girl date filled with shopping, lunching and movie watching. You'd think the movie or time spent with me would be the highlight for her. But no, when she picked me up the first thing she said to me was, "If we hurry with all our errands then we can even go to the POST OFFICE!" I've never seen anyone so eager to get to the post office. All she had to do was mail two bills, but still, she did it with such enthusiasm.

2. My mom loves anything with a leopard print pattern. Seriously. Name it and she's got it. I've exhausted my search for all thing leopard for her. She has every shoe, every scarf, bag, skirt, picture frame, notebook, pencil, glove, everything. She doesn't wear all these things together, but her collection of feline accessories is so deep, any major league baseball team would be jealous of her rotation.

3. My mom loves a good perfume. She has the largest collection of perfume I've ever seen. I'm. Not. Kidding. Christmas time is a a big holiday for her perfume-wise. Toward the end of the unwrapping of presents, the rest of the family sits by at watches her unwrap bottle after bottle of the smelly stuff. She gets equally excited about each bottle too. With every new fragrance she opens, she must take the perfume out of the box, remove the lid and sniff. Each time she'll slowly say the name of the fragrance out loud, "Beautiful, by Estee Lauder!" Then, after she smells it, she says, "Mmm. It smells so good!" Every bottle. Every time. I never get tired of it.

4. She is a shoe and hand bag hoarder. Imedla Marcos would be jealous of her collection. About six months ago my parents heard a loud crash come from their bedroom. They rushed in but couldn't see anything the matter. But upon closer inspection, of one of my dear mother's four closets (yes, count 'em, four!) had collapsed due to the weight of her collection of shoes and hand bags. Needless to say, my mom spent days reorganizing and cleaning up that mess. In the end, her assessment was that she had a few too many red hand bags, but she had let her black hand bag collection lapse.

Internets, you should know that when I turned 18, I left for a college six hours away. My dad was distraught and sad to see me go. I thought my mom felt the same. She kept coming into my room, sometimes when I'd be sleeping, and just look around. At the time I thought it was sweet. She was going to miss me. She would stand in my room and just take a mental note of all my belongings trying to keep the memory of me with her always. At least that's what I assumed at the time.

However, when I returned home in the fall for a visit I was surprised to see that my mom had overtaken my room and turned it into a staging place for her collection of pant suits and dressers full of jewelry. She hadn't been stalking my room back then in an effort to keep me close to her. She had been sneaking in to prepare for her fourth closet. I always wondered why she had that tape measure with her.*

(*The last two paragraphs may not be entirely true. My room was, in fact, only her third closet and she waited until Christmas break to take over my room.)

5. My mom is an incredibly good sport. Really she is. I've teased her mercilessly in person for years and she always managed to laugh along. Now, I'm teasing her openly on the interweb and I expect she's sitting there laughing along like always. I love you, Mom.

A T-Rex and Toilet Paper

I heard a ruckus in Henry's bathroom this morning. I knew it wasn't him because he was sitting beside me, well actually he was standing beside me singing the Scooby-Doo Where Are You? theme song. I went upstairs to investigate the noise. I wasn't prepared for what I saw next. Dinosaurs. With a plan.

This particular bunch seems highly organized and up to no good. I'm missing six rolls of toilet paper and the one they call 'Spiney' hasn't been seen for hours. You've been warned.

Hooked on a Feeling...And Several Blogs

Okay everyone, it’s time to slap on your Spanx, head on down for a spray tan and whiten those teeth. It’s award time at the Steenky Bee.

The lovely Stephanie at Mama Still Wears Gucci! notified me that I was the recipient of the Hooked on Your Blog Award this week. I was sort of stunned. This was so unexpected so I didn’t have a speech planned or anything.

I have to say, receiving this award is much better than the Stop Calling Me Award that my college boyfriend bestowed upon me when he found someone else. A week later he gave me the I Want You Back Award, but by that time I was working hard on his I’m Totally Over You And Your Narcissistic Ways And Your Band Isn’t Really That Good Anyway Award. (It's very prestigious. I've only given that one out once.)

So, naturally after Stephanie so kindly presented me with this award, my life became a whirlwind of one press junket after another. The paparazzi were relentless. They snapped this photo while I was trying to escape one of their agressive mobs in my car. I didn’t ask for this celebrity.

Now that my reign as being a Hooked Blog is nearing its end, and I’ve fulfilled almost all my duties (parades, ribbon cutting ceremonies, diaper changing ceremonies), I only have one more thing thing left to do. I need to pass this awesome honor on to you folks out there. I have assembled a list of categories for the award winners. When you accept your award, please do so in an orderly fashion.

These are in no particular order and there's a ton of them. Drum roll please…

The BBFF (Best Bloggy Friend Forever) Award goes to none other than Captain Dumbass over at Us and Them. At first, I worried that he wouldn’t accept something so pink, but then I just laughed because HE TOTALLY WOULD. For those of you with a touch of OCD, you’ll love him. He posts like 20 times a day. He is clever with the comments and the most wicked sense of humor. Like ever.

The Most Graceful Entrance Award goes to my best gal The Stiletto Mom. She’s snarky, she’s feisty and she may be a closet fan of Clay Aiken. I just don’t know. I would stalk her more regularly if I could, but her lawyer’s all, "Cease and desist…blah blah blah…not within 500 feet." Some people are so sensitive about personal space.

The Thanks Changing My Perspective on Things Award goes to Heather at Riding The Shortbus. She reached out to me when I cried to her for help. She keeps me in stitches, has issues with dressing herself and support undergarments.

The Most Inappropriate Handling of Macaroni and Cheese Award goes to Jen at Blissfully Caffeinated for her use (abuse?) of an innocent bunny on a box of pasta. She attacked the thing with such force that I can’t help but be in awe of her. If she comes at you with her thumb, I suggest you move out of her way. Quickly.

The Best Multi-Tasking in The Shower Award goes to Mommypie. She offered up unique tips and tricks that will take minutes off of that pesky morning routine.

The Person I Never Want to be Behind in Traffic Award goes to Jen over at Sprite's Keeper. She'll have you on the edge of your mini-van seat with her story of road rage with a clever twist that you'll never see coming. She is the hostess with the mostess and a personal assistant to one adorable Sprite.

The Most Consecutive Posts with Photos Award goes to Sherendipity. Her birthday is coming up like, soon, so give her a shout out.

The Best Seven Part Mini-Series About Hurricane Katrina Award goes to Mama Dawg over at Two Dogs Running. You should read her story. That fish had me in tears. On a lighter note, she loves squirrels. Not to eat. At least I don’t think so. Although, where has Jessie been?

The Best Dream Sequence in A Major Chain Department Store Award goes to For A Different Kind of Girl for her arousing tale of passion and birth control theft at Target. (I hear she's shopping around the movie rights.) She’s smart and sassy, yet she won’t tweet. She claims it's a "gateway" medium to more dangerous forms of communication.

The Thanks For Reminding Me What It's Really About Award goes to the lovely Margie at Puddinglegs And Other Childhood Ailments. She spins a mean story and she inspired me to always have candy handy. I'm so glad I found her.

The Cool Chick I Would Totally Hang With to Watch Television Award goes to Tuesday's Girl over at A Girl And Her Life. People find her site in the strangest ways. She often tweets about what she’s having for dinner which makes me hungry and less fulfilled with my bowl of cold cereal.

The Most Erotic Vegetable Award goes to Bee over at Bee’s Musings. Holy crap. Please don’t eat that thing. It will poke your eye out. Bee is hilarious and irreverent. Everything I aspire to be.

The I Like You, But Not In A Weird Way Award goes to Jenny the Bloggess. She is like sooo over me stalking her by now that she has her husband, Victor, bring me a sandwich while I sit waiting outside her house. Oddly enough, she and The Stiletto Mom have the same attorney. Yes, Jenny, I've been receiving those notices. I've used them to make you a beautiful bouquet of origami flowers.

The Out of Nowhere Award goes to Jenni over at Oscarelli. I just found her and she’s got the funny down. I struggled with this one because she almost received The Crushing Your Reality Award with her reveal to me that Viggo Mortenson of my five celebrity list has a vestigial tail. World. Tumbling. Down.

The Heart Bigger Than Texas Award goes to none other than Rhea of Texas Word Tangle. She’s super cool, has a pink cowboy hat that I totally covet and say’s clever things like “I wear worry like pantyhose.” If The Bloggess ever gets sick of me sleeping in my car outside her subdivision, I'm heading over to Rhea's. Also, I won Rhea's book drawing! I am thrilled and ready to read.

The What I Imagine is a Cool British Accent Award goes to Chris Wood. He’s British, ladies! He also says the word "flummoxed" a lot.

The Soon To Have The Coolest British Accent Award goes to Kat over at 3 Bedroom Bungalow. She’s moving to England. Maybe she could look Chris up and they could be flummoxed together? Wait. That doesn’t sound right.

The Thanks But You're Never Painting My House Award goes to Carolyn Online. She, uh....well, she should never be left alone with a can of paint. Never, ever.

The You Can Dance if You Want To Award goes to Ali over at Cheaper Than Therapy. She's got her finger on the pulse of all things pop culture, great shoes and she can dance. Yeah, white girl sho can dance.

The I Envy Your Hair and Fabulous Cheekbones Award goes to Maggie over at Okay, Fine Dammit! I'm pretty sure she has every blogging award out there so I'm giving her one for her looks. Her writing is beautiful and comforting to me.

The Girl I See Eye To Eye With Award goes to the beautiful Monkey of My Life As I See It. I read her because she's not afraid to speak her mind. She also is extremely creative and makes these rad baby onsies.

The Time Wasters at Work Award goes to Heinous. He took his readers on a riveting tour of his many work spaces at his job. He also thinks Pennsylvania has things called mountains. Shh. Don’t tell him that they're only hills.

The I'm Sorry Your Pants Split Open That One Time Award belongs to Beth over at Emtnester. Check her out. In her profile image she's sitting in a giant nest!

The Buyer Beware Award has to go to Sleep Deprivation Ninja for his expose on the follies of online shopping and the struggles of one ninja trying to expand his wardrobe just a little bit. You all know by now it's hard out there for a pimp, but you have no idea what it's like to be a ninja.

The Most Disgusting Picture I’ve Ever Seen Until I Realized What It Was Award definitely goes to The Dayton Time. She did some laundry with these nuts and…well, you should check it out for yourself.

The You Know Too Much About Grease II Award belongs to Ann over at Transition. She's awesome and I totally know what her front door looks like.

And last, but not least, The I Love Your Cookies Award goes to DeeMarie over at My Life in a Nutshell. Her avatar is a little cookie in heels. She is dang funny and the center of her mother’s universe, if only in her own mind.

It is your turn, folks, to pass out this award. The deal is that you need to pass it on to five other bloggers on which you are hooked. I kind of overstepped my bounds a little bit by passing out so many, but I love so many out there. Feel free to clip and paste the pink button to your blog or you can print it out and laminate it like I'm doing with mine.

The Spin Cycle: My Truth Bombs and a Weekend With Sylvester Stallone

Today I’m participating in the Spin Cycle hosted by the divine Sprite’s Keeper. I’ve been lurking these group blogging topics on her site for a while and decided that it was getting a little creepy to just keep stalking her. The topic this week is Confessions. Could I have picked a better week to join? I don't think so.

I’m not going to unload some deep, dark secret on you. There will be no truth bombs here today. I think I’m only up for a truth grenade or two. Wait. Is that worse? I don’t know. Either way, someone’s losing a limb.

But first, allow me to ramble slightly-off topic.

If anyone knows what it’s like to be unsettled by an unsuspected truth bomb, it’s me. A few months ago, Jeremy turns to me and starts telling me how much he likes Sylvester Stallone movies. What? He waits eight years into our marriage to lay that nugget on me? You should have seen how excited he was. I was stunned. I could see his lips moving but the shock of his love for all things Sly Stallone forced me into some slow motion tunnel moment where I could no longer hear the words coming from his mouth. I was snapped back into reality when I heard him quoting the Italian Stallion. He was all, “Adrianne! Adrianne!”

I looked at Jeremy and calmly told him I needed a moment. I excused myself and retreated to the bedroom where I huddled in the corner and just sort of rocked back and forth. After I regained composure, I went to our local Blockbuster and rented Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot and Over The Top. I swear to you, these were the only Stallone films they had in stock. (And by “only” I mean, the two worst picks I could find.)

Together we watched those movies that night in an effort to cure his case of Stalloneitis. It backfired on me, big time. For the next week, Jeremy walked around the house wearing his baseball cap turned backwards and challenging me to arm wrestling matches.

But this post is about MY truth bomb, or truth grenade, not my husband's. And since I’m not giving you anything too scandalous, I’m offering you a short list of my harmless confessions.

Jen’s Truth Grenades:
1. I have a woobie. It’s a blanket that I love. I wrap it around my waist when I get home from work and wear it around the house. I’ve been known to wear it outside in our yard and even to a few family functions.
2. I acquired this woobie less than a year ago.
3. I purposely watch some television programs on our wide screen television so that the actresses look wider than they actually are. This makes me feel better about myself. I am not alone in this. Mydogumentary does this too.
4. I know way too much about everything Spongebob. I completely identify with Plankton.
5. It takes me two hours to get ready in the morning. I’ve tried to work on my shower, hair and make up routine to see what I can omit or refine. I just can’t seem to shave off any time.
6. I don’t think I’m pretty.
7. I didn’t write that last one just so you would tell me that I’m pretty.
8. I often feel insignificant around my best friends. I just look at them and think how smart, beautiful, kind, generous and funny they are. I wonder what Sara, Julee and Roslin see in me.
9. I really want The Simpson's DVD collection for Christmas. This isn't so much as a confession as it is a hint. My family reads this.
10. I don’t like seeing a stranger’s feet. Especially if you’re a man who also happens to be a stranger.
11. I talk to myself. All the time.
12. I don’t hold grudges. I forgive and forget. But if you hurt me bad enough, you'll never get a piece of me back. I save that piece for myself.
13. The most comforting sound to me is my dad’s voice on the phone.
14. I saw a therapist for the first time this week.
15. I felt invigorated when I left his office.
16. This list isn’t very interesting.
17. I may have forgotten some of my times tables.
18. I am not anal about anything. For realsies. I’m embarrassed about this. I’m not complacent or careless. I’m just not anal.
19. I have two stray hairs on my chin.
20. I don't dislike Sylvester Stallone as much as I claim to.

When a Problem Comes Along, You Must Whip It

Don't fret, dear friends, there really isn't a problem here. I just wanted to get your attention. I think Steenky Bee may undergo a new fall lineup. I just wanted to let the tens of you know so you're not confused when you stop by.

A few times a week I shall post pictures and stories of Henry and Reese. Our children, especially Henry, have seen their pictures on Steenky Bee and they really like it. Henry thinks he's a pretty big deal. He's charging us royalties on the use of his likeness. Reese is starting diva behavior as well. She'll only take her pink bottle now. Celebrities.

Jeremy's antics seem to get warm responses from friends of The Bee. I shall try to work his words of wisdom and hairbrained schemes into at least one post a week. I would be remiss if I didn't point out that Jeremy is also exhibiting diva-like tendencies. He fights Reese for the pink bottle.

The Friday Five will be undergoing a little bit of an overhaul. From hence forth it shall be known simply as The Five Spot and it won't be posted on Friday anymore. It will appear either Saturday or Sunday. I'm going to keep you guessing, that's my strategy. Well, it's not so much a strategy as it is the fact that I don't know what we'll be doing during the weekends. It's not always dinner and dancing over here. Sometimes it's disinfectant and diarrhea.

(Have you all noticed the "hence" and "shalls" in this post? This is not part of the new fall lineup, I'm just feeling fancy today. But then I just wrote the word "diarrhea" didn't I? That sucked all the highbrow out of this place.)

On Fridays I will be trying my hand at participating in The Spin Cycle over at Sprite's Keeper's place. Basically, Sprite's Keeper throws a topic out there and the participants write a post putting their own spin on it. Sprite's Keeper posts all the links on her page for everyone to see. For more details go here.

Well, that's it. There's nothing more to see here. I don't really know how to gracefully end this post. It's kind of like it's the end of a long phone conversation and I don't really know how to get off the line. So, I guess I'll see you around. I'll call you tomorrow. Bye!

A Life Lesson For Henry

Sometimes you're three years old. And sometimes your dad is an architect and you think he is the coolest guy in the world. You want to be just like him. You decide that you will build tall buildings just like your dad does.

But first you need a backer with some financial resources.



Enter your little sister. She's sunk everything she has into Cheerios. Fortunately for you and your project, Cheerios is the only market not affected by the recent "adjustment" on Wall Street. Your financier seems eager to get the project rolling.



So you start to design and build...



...and build some more.



Excellent work. You are within your budget. The design is breathtaking.

Oh no! Structurally unsound! Your building comes tumbling down.

Your client is not pleased.


You are distraught. This will definitely cost you some serious change orders.

But you're only three. You don't know what change orders are. So you throw caution (and a few jam packets) to the wind. You start rebuilding.

The client keeps a close eye on you.

Frank Lloyd Wright would be so proud.

You get side tracked. Just for a minute.

Your client is not amused.



But you soon regain your momentum. You finish your work. You take a moment of pause to reflect on your masterpiece.

It's not only visually stunning, but it's functional as well.

The client is very pleased.

But, her financial backing has fallen through because her money is all tied up in a legal trust. Also, she never obtained to proper permits for the site. Besides the zoning ordinance states that you can't build a structure over three stories tall on this property. Your design clearly does not meet this criteria. You put a lien on the property and you're now held up in a legal battle that wages on for years. Your practice is suffering and your business partner ran off with the secretary. Things just aren't panning out. You're left in shambles with only the memories of your jelly-filled skyscraper.

My Stalker Sense May Have Stopped Working

One of my favorite bloggers, The Stiletto Mom, was featured on Good Mom/Bad Mom this past Sunday. She was highlighted for her hilarious take on peeing yourself when you sneeze. Come on, we've all been there. Ladies, can I get a witness? Fellas? Maybe not so much.

Anyway, Stiletto Mom was so excited. I wrote to congratulate her and tell her that her life would never be the same. After all, she had been touched by The Bloggess. For it was Jenny who had hand-picked her to be featured. Once you're touched by Jenny, there's no turning back. She's all kinds of awesome. Remember how I stalk her?

Well, it turns out, I've lost my stalking edge. The Stiletto Mom wrote me back and congratulated me on also being featured on Good mom/Bad Mom. Surely she was still hung over from the weekend. I wasn't featured. Or was I? Don't answer that. It's a rhetorical question. I SO was featured!

If it weren't for the kindness of the Stiletto Mom I would have never known about this honor. Jenny, The Bloggess has touched me too. Here's the link to my most recent touching. (Ew. That just sounded gross, even for me)

If you read The Bee (That's insider lingo for Steenkybee. Actually, I just made that up. Maybe I should call it 'The Stank' instead)...where was I? Anyway, if you read me, then you know that I love all things The Bloggess. I heart her. I stalk her online. She knows this and she tells me she's totally okay with it. Usually my stalker sense tingles whenever she posts or whenever she comments on me. But for some reason, maybe it's because she's been a little soggy lately, my keen sense of Jenny did not tingle.

I'm sorry, Jenny. I will avenge you! Wait. No, that's not right. That's the intro to my "somebody's done you wrong" speech.

I'm sorry, Jenny. I will always continue to stalk you!

Also, Keen Sense of Jenny would make an awesome band name. Don't you think? Call me.

It Took Ten Years, But I Finally Managed To Gross Out My Husband

Sunday we dropped in on my parents for a few hours. Jeremy and I had spent most of Saturday cleaning our house so we thought we'd let Henry and Reese run wild at the Grandparents for a few hours. You know, let the kids mess up their house.

As is typical fashion, our kids can do anything at Grandma Jo's and Grandpa Brent's house. Chocolate milk? You got it. Cookies? Well, we don't have any, but let me drop what I'm doing and run to the store right this very minute to pick some up for you. What? You don't want them now? After I've just returned from the store fetching the very cookies you wanted just minutes ago? No problem.

Seriously, it's like a spa for the kids. A Disney DVD, macaroni and cheese with a Twinkie chaser spa at their house. But it's not all about the food. There's also the activities. Guests who stay at Brent and Jo's Bed & Breakfast also have ample opportunity play kick ball, T-ball and an odd hybrid form of tennis-bowling INSIDE their house. As I watched Henry lob ball after ball into grandma's many house plants I thought back to the many times I was scolded for just walking past them too closely. My mom was afraid that somehow I would kill her plants if I even got close enough to breathe on them, let alone touch them. In her defense, she did have a point. To this day I kill any green thing I come in contact with.

But my lack of a green thumb is not the story here. I know. Just when you thought you were about to read an exciting tale of Botany, I pull the rug out from underneath you. No, I had every intention of stopping by the topic of my son's athletic prowess and eventually zipping on over to how immature I am. Keep reading. This post has nowhere else to go but up.

So, after watching Henry kick and throw balls in every corner of my parent's house, Jeremy decided it would be a good idea to get the little guy a T-ball set. I agreed, but added that we ought to start scouting for agents too. You can never start too early. Well, actually you can. I think age three is a little too early. I'm totally waiting until he's five.

Jeremy: Yeah, I think a T-ball set would be a good idea. He's already got a glove.
Me: The blue one?
Jeremy: Yeah, that's the one!
Me: It's a little stiff isn't it?
Jeremy: Bu....
Me: That's what she said!
Jeremy: (disgusted look) But we can fix that.
Me: That's what she said!
Jeremy: (ignoring me) All we need to do is oil it and break it in a bit.
Me: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!
Jeremy: (now glaring at me) I just threw up in my mouth.

The Friday Five

So, I'm still kind of not speaking to Blogger. After a much needed rest, I decided to post this afternoon. I wrote a witty, funny Friday Five list about my mother, whom I love. Blogger decided to take my post, gnaw on a portion of it then spit it back at me. This was about my mother. She is a saint. The saint of all things leopard print, but still a saint, nonetheless.

So instead of reconstructing my words, I've decided to do a new quick and dirty Friday Five. I'm not even going to spell check it. Here goes....

So every couple has had the talk about "the list" haven't they? You know, the one where you each reveal the five celebrities that you would like your spouse to give you permission to sleep with in the event that you ever ran into them? Jeremy and I had this talk a few months back and we just couldn't come to an agreement on our lists. After you read below, I think you'll understand why.

I took the assignment of coming up with a list very seriously. I did research. I collected data. I even calculated the odds of actually running into these celebrities. I asked Jeremy for an extension on turning my list over to him because I wanted it to be perfect. Here's what I eventually settled on after weeks of inner contemplation and internet research:

1. Gary Oldman. I heart him. He's not the most attractive celebrity, but there is something about him I dig. Also, Uma Thurman dug him once enough to marry him so he can't be all that bad.
2. James Gandolfini. Okay, so he isn't even remotely hot. I definitely don't want to sleep with him. But I would like to just sit in a diner, while he's in the Tony Soprano character, and just breath really heavily and talk all nasally to me. It's something about his power. I just want to have lunch with the guy.
3. David Duchovny. Well, at least until a few weeks ago. Now snagging him just seems like it wouldn't even be a challenge. So, my new #3 is Luke Wilson. Only, I really don't want to sleep with him either. I just want to go bowling with him. He seems really laid back and the lesser of a gamble as far as the Wilson brothers go.
4. Viggo Mortenson. But only when he's dirty like in Hidalgo. When he cleans up and gets himself into a suit he just loses all appeal to me. Maybe he could just come over and do yard work or something for me.
5. James Hetfield. So I know the lead singer of Metallica isn't a dream boat or anything, but still, he's got something that I want. It's not his body, his face or anything like that. I just want to hear him growl at me. It sounds weird, but if you've ever heard a Metallica song, you'd totally get it.

So that's my list. I deliberated over it for weeks. I proudly turned it over to Jeremy and asked him if he'd been working on his. He smiled and said that, indeed, he had. He then grabbed a pen and paper and began writing furiously. I waited anxiously for his list.

Within seconds he was finished. He scooped up his paper, walked over to the refrigerator and stuck his list proudly on the door for me to see. I ran over and pushed him out of the way to get a better look. Here is what Jeremy's list looked like:

1. Susie from down the street.
2. ----
3. ----
4. ----
5. ----

Burn. On me.

Also, there is no Susie from down the street. That I know of.

What Happened?

I'm not sure what happened to my last post. It was about my mom. First, Blogger ate it, then posted a draft that I had done a few days ago. Please forgive the mess. I'm worried that a jumbled, incoherent post is lurking out there. Sorry!

Our Weekend and Laundry I Just Don't Want to Do

First, here's our weekend recap in a flash.

On Friday, Reese had pigtails.

She rocked them. She rocked them good.

On Saturday, she had post-pigtails or as we liked to call them, Ewok ears.

Still harnessing The Force or whatever. (Ewoks had The Force, right?) Reesie has The Fierce.

Sunday, Henry and I went to see a movie. Jeremy stayed home to tend Reese's hair.

But half-way through he wanted to bail and insisted we go home. Once we walked through our front door he announced that he wanted to go swimming. Um, I don't think so. This is as close to a dip in the pool as he got.

That's right. My three (soon to be four year old) lounged for the remainder of the evening on a blow up float mat.

Also, for some odd reason, Jeremy went target shooting with a giant.

Seriously, folks. My husband (the smaller one on the left) is just over 6 feet tall. Would you look at the size of his gun toting friend, Pedro? How big is he?! Pedro once brought us bagels of love.

**********

This is probably all I will post until the end of the week. I'm falling behind on the other part of my life and my entire house. Remember that laundry pile? Yeah, it's still there. I've resorted to using my "chairdrobe" to get myself dressed every morning. I will still visit all of you this week and comment religiously on your blogs. (I didn't mean to imply that I'll be spewing religious thoughts in your comment sections. My words will remain solely secular.) However, if something crizazy happens before this week is up, don't think I won't immediately extricate myself from my chores and share it with the internets. Peace out.

The Friday Five (Belated and with Interest)

I don't normally post on Saturday. I slacked a little bit yesterday and I didn't get my Friday Five together in time. I have excuses. I totally do.

1. I was carbo-loading. On Tuesday I ate three and a half bagels. In four hours. No kidding. I never eat bagels. I went to work at 5:00 am to help finish up a deadline and in my tired and delirious condition I accidentally downed roughly a million carbs and so much cream cheese. Oh, the cream cheese! It was a lot of effort and so not worth it.

2. I caught Sarah Palin Fever. Don't worry, I don't think it's contagious. I went to the doctor and as it turns out, it's not really even a fever, it just thinks it is. Symptoms include sudden bangs, a penchant for hair clips and the urge to declare war on Russia. My physician has put me on a high dose of antibiotics that were pre-screened to be favorable and not at all hostile to the Sarah Palin Fever. My family has been very supportive and we expect this condition to disappear shortly.

3. To be fair, I also caught Joe Biden Pox. But you know, they aren't so bad. They just itch. But all the sudden I have foreign policy experience. Weird.

4. I had unclean thoughts. Seriously, I did. I have a pile of laundry sitting in the corner of the master bedroom that needs to be done. I know everyone has a pile of laundry somewhere, but I promise you, my pile is of epic proportion. I won't show you a picture of it to prove it because you and my mother will judge me. I thought about doing laundry, I just had no follow through.

5. Jeremy and I were setting goals. At the end of every summer Jeremy and I set aside roughly an hour to take a look at our plans for the upcoming year. We sit down together, consult the experts to make a list, weigh the pros and cons and decide which new television programs on the fall schedule will make our Tivo list. Television is a priority, people. Well, not really, but our precious DVR space is. One foolish program selection now can have negative social, emotional and economic ramifications down the road. Don't even get me started about our decision last year to bypass Madmen for Jeremy's Elk Chronicles. I was left out of so many water cooler conversations about the Madmen's groundbreaking take on office politics (social), I felt regret for not watching it (emotional) and I ended up having to rent season 1 at my local video store (economic).

6. I had to explain the facts of life to my son. Although he's only three, going on four, it was high time Henry and I had the talk. It went a little something like this: "In life, you don't always get what you want, especially during one of our many trips to Walmart. You don't need those Cheetos, that gum, a pair of women's sweat pants or that bucket." And that is a fact. What the little guy needed the women's sweat pants for I'll never know.

7. I became a spotter. Reesie is trying her hand, or foot, at walking these days. She's still a little wobbly and does her best work along the edge of furniture. Still, she's daring and adventurous and has a convenient memory so she thinks she can take off across the room without any help. I'm a little concerned that folks will begin to talk when they see the bruises she's acquiring from some of the falls. So for now, I have the privilege of holding her tiny hand every step of the way.

Sweet Pee (Not Sweet Pea)

Yesterday, my son, Henry, did the sweetest thing ever. It was with urine. That's right. (Notice how I didn't put "sweet" and "urine" together in the same sentence? I don't think you're supposed to do that.) (Also, how many people will stumble across this post by Googling "sweet urine"?) (Another also, why so many parenthesis so early in this post?)

Anyway, back to the urine. If I had a dime for every time I've said that before...

Henry, like many males, enjoys peeing outdoors. More importantly, he likes to pee outdoors ON objects. His favorites right now are tires, rocks, off bridges and into a big flower pot in our yard. His peeing on the stray shrub or tree phase passed so quickly.

Those few moments right before Henry has to pee are the wildest. He'll stop whatever he's doing and exclaim, "I have to pee in the pot!" From then, it's a dash out the door, into the yard so he can relieve himself. At first, he was a straight shooter. He'd just aim for the center of the pot and go. Lately, this doesn't give him much satisfaction. He's had to change it up.

Yesterday morning, he grabbed me with excitement and yelped that he had to pee in the pot. We did our thing, running outside, finding his favorite mark. As I stood behind him and watched him go, I noticed his little hips had kind of a swing to them. He was moving back and forth and kind of talking to himself. When he was all finished, Henry called me in closer. "Look, Mommy, I made an 'H' for you."

Although there wasn't a definite "H" scrawled in the dirt, I give the kid props for trying. I teared up a little as I looked at that pot full of pee. I give him high artistic marks, but he still needs work on the execution. I'm so proud of my little man. Him and and his peeing prowess.

P.S. Peeing Prowess would be an awesome album name.

P.P.S. Yes, I took a picture of pee. If Captain Dumbass can snap a picture of a guy riding a toilet, I see no problem with urine.

P.P.P.S. Blissfully Caffeinated has peeing on her agenda lately too.

Because Sometimes You Just Need A Warning

Have you seen hideousness?

It's called Hole In The Wall and it's on Fox. If you watched any football over the past few weeks, then surely you caught the previews for it. Well, two nights ago, Jeremy and I accidentally watched this train wreck. And when I say accidentally, I mean, we saw that it was coming up next after football, we both looked at each other excitedly and said, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

It turns out Jeremy wasn't thinking what I was thinking which made it all that more awkward when I had to put all my clothes back on. He was under the impression that we'd be watching Hole In The Wall. And I'm glad we did.

I don't think I can accurately describe the 30 minutes that we spent viewing this spectacle of a show. Jeremy and I sat there, fully clothed, in stunned silence watching six adults in silver space suits and helmets jump up and down and make complete asshats of themselves. It was amazing.

If you aren't familiar with the concepts of this game show, let me walk you through it. There's a giant wall. There's a hole in that wall. You must jump through the hole. If you miss, you fall into what, as best as I can tell, is a giant vat of lemon-lime Gatorade. And let me just tell you, (spoiler alert), they ALL fall into the Gatorade.

But if you take away only one thing from this post, let it be this. Throughout the entire game, in the moments just before the wall with the hole starts moving closer to the contestant, the announcer says in the most serious and dramatic voice he can muster, "Get ready for the HOLE!" This had me and Jeremy in stitches all night. I mean, where would you EVER hear that phrase? Well, other than at the end of a really, really good blind date.

Photo courtesy of TVweek and the poor souls who thought it would be a good idea to go on this show.

Saturday MeMe

I wasn't planning on posting today, but the lovely Kat tagged me in a MeMe. I through this together quickly, so it's nothing groundbreaking. Here are the rules to the MeMe:

1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules on your blog.
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quicks of yours.
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged bloggers letting them know they've been tagged.

1. I am an only child. I always wished I had a brother or a sister. Because of this, I am extremely intriqued by the family dynamics of others. I also wanted to make sure that my children would have siblings to play and share their life with each other.

2. I dress in sort of a uniform fashion. I don't particularly care for shirts with a lot of prints or patterns. I think they look perfectly wonderful on others, but I feel like they just sort of wash me out. I normally wear black, shades of blue, white, brown or gray. Boring, I know. But what I lack in excitement in the wardrobe department, I fully make up for with funky accessories.

3. I don’t like talking on the phone. It’s just unnecessary. Most of my phone conversations are under four minutes. Anything longer than that, I start to lose concentration. Also, if I call you, unsolicited just to chat, know that I really, really, REALLY like you. I have close, dear friends that I don’t talk to on the phone, ever. I’ve gotten better about my phone phobia recently.
I have worked diligently over the past year to call the people I love/like more frequently.

4. I am nervous to meet you. Let me clarify. I’m nervous to meet up at a pre-arranged location where we both drive separate cars. Will you be waiting for me in the parking lot? Will you be inside? What if you come in a different door? Will we miss each other? What if you’ve drastically changed your hair and I don’t recognize you? Will parking be a hassle? What if I’m late? What if you’re late? Those are only the questions rolling around in my head while you and I are talking, making arrangements to meet. Can you image what’s going though my head on the drive over? Know that the huge smile I give you when we finally DO meet up at the pre-arranged location is one part ‘I’m so glad to see you’ and one part ‘Thank-goodness-that-mini-panic-attack-I-just-had-getting-here is now OVER!’

5. I like to go to movies alone. Don’t get me wrong, I really WOULD like to go to the movies with you, but sometimes I just like to go alone. When Jeremy gives me some time off from my motherly duties, I will usually nap or try to figure out how to squeeze a movie in alone.

6. I don't like chicken. Who doesn't like chicken? Me, that's who. I've had a few bad experiences with undercooked or really fatty chicken, so I'm off it now for the most part. I will eat it if I cook it at home, but it is so overdone that it resembles jerky.

Who shall I tag? I choose Mama Dawg, Sherindipidy, Papa TV, Blissfully Caffeinated, Heather, and Monkey.

The Friday Five

Depression makes you see the world differently. It makes you think differently. Recently, I’ve been in a little funk. Nothing serious and certainly nothing that some comfortable sweats and some ice cream couldn't take care of. Only, I don’t eat ice cream. So I’m just down to the sweat pants.

I've noticed my patterns have been off lately due to said funk. Normally, I’ve got some scheme to get out of the house. But the past weekend I behaved a little differently. Below is a list of five things that were out of the ordinary for me.

1. I watched a Dane Cook comedy special…willingly. I actually researched it out, planned ahead of time and revolved my schedule around watching it on Saturday night. What? I have been actively avoiding all things Dane Cook for almost 18 months. To tell you the truth, it hasn’t been that hard. For a while there, he was all over the map. He was in the tabloids, in movies, on Major League Baseball Commercials!(?) But as of late, The Cook has been laying low, under the radar. But for some reason, this weekend, I felt compelled to plop down on the sofa and watch his stand-up. And I laughed.

2. I agree with Lindsay Lohan. Not so much about her well documented additiction to leggings or the aggressive use of self tanner, but on politics. I KNOW. Who saw that one coming? Lindsay, or her publisist wrote the following on her blog about all the uproar regarding her personal family life:

“I think the real problem comes from the fact that we are taking the focus off of getting to know Sarah Palin and her political views, and what she can do to make our country a less destructive place. Its distracting from the real issues, the real everyday problems that this country experiences.”

Not that I'm all for the chick with all the hair clips as Vice President or anything, but I think La Lohan has a point.

3. Vegetables lost their humor. Our kind neighbors brought over a bunch of tomatoes, zucchini and banana squash from their garden this weekend. My husband immediately ran up stairs to show me the impressive array of colors and textures and shapes. Jeremy knows that I love an odd shaped zucchini. Who doesn’t? It’s mother nature’s way of saying ’That’s what she said’. And let me tell you, there were some doozies in there. There were more phallic shaped zucchinis than you could shake a phallic shaped squash at. I found no joy in this what so ever.

4. Vampire Novels. Yes, those books. I’m in the middle of the second one, New Moon, as I’m writing this. By the time I hit the publish button, (in about 20 minutes) I will have completed the final two books of the series. They are that addicting and that fast of a read. I have been riveted by tales of vampires, werewolves and twinkling skin. But I swear, if I have to hear about what a God-like creature Edward is, I’m going to cut Bella. Actually, this wouldn’t be good for her since she’s human and runs around with vampires. Did I mention they were vegetarian vampires? The ladies out there need no explanation. The men folk, however, are rolling their eyes.

Also, I wonder how many fights these novels have caused between husbands and wives? Every female I know that has read one of these books has basically cut herself off from the rest of her life to finish the series. That includes neglecting the housework, dinner and their spouse. I bet somewhere out there is a He-man Woman Haters Club, only it’s a Vampire Haters Club. Google it. I bet it’s out there.

5. Penchant for Musicals. This isn’t so much ‘funk’ driven as it is the time of year thing for me. It’s usually in the fall that all I want to do is rent Grease, Grease II (only to complain about how inferior the sequel is) and West Side Story. I can’t explain it. I won’t even try. Jeremy wishes I would. Actually, he’s usually hunting in September and October so he misses my fun. For all I know, he might even enjoy the outdoors anymore. He may just keep the ruse up to get out of watching all the singing and the dancing. And oh, the dancing!

The only reason I bring the musicals up is that High School Musical 3 is hitting theaters soon. In my weakened condition, if left alone, I’m afraid I might slip out so see this thing. Last time I checked I wasn’t seven. But why does it keep tempting me? I didn’t even like the first High School Musical. I remember watching it one night and Jeremy walking into the room to see my shocked expression. I was babbling something about having to ‘get in the game’ or something. I eventually snapped out of it., but both Jeremy and I agree that I am now dumber for having seen High School Musical. So then why, oh, why would I even be tempted to see the third installment of that mess. Why do I keep typing the title? High School Musical 3. Stop it!

Someone has to do something to snap me out of this funk of bad taste I’m in. Dane Cook? Lindsay Lohan? High School Musical 3? I did it again.

Friends Don't Let Friends Dance and Drive. At Least My Family Doesn't

Sometimes when your driving, you decide it might be a good idea to turn up the "wattage in your cottage" and get funky fresh with that beat. **



But your peeps rolling in your ride try to be haters all up in there.*


So, you get all, "Why you tryin' to waste my flava?"*



Even the little man ridin' solo doesn't feel your flow.*


* May not be an actual language or even slang lingo.
** My family gets really embarrased when I dance and drive.

Because Sometimes Girls Have Cooties...Real Or Imagined

Henry loves his little sister. Sometimes he even dotes on her. When people try to approach her, his first reaction is to stand in front of her and tell the person (often his own grandparents or a neighbor) "She is MY Reesie. Not yours." Yes, most of the time, this is what the interaction looks like between the two of them.

But other times, this is what the end result of an interaction between the two of them looks like.


Yes. Tears. On my kitchen floor.


For some reason, lately, Henry has mandated a three feet dining distance between him and his baby sister while he eats. The rules, according to him, are quite simple. Keep Reesie away from him and the wailing and gnashing of teeth (by him) will be kept at a minimum. Notice how he keeps a watchful eye on his sister as he eats his ham.


He's obviously afraid that his sister is the carrier of cooties. We've tried to talk with him, reason with him about it. He's hearing none of it. To him, girl cooties are a real and viable threat.

Here, Henry contemplates all the horrible things Reese could do to him and his food should she breach the three foot parameter.


Here Reese struggles with mixed emotions such as, "Why does my brother reject me so?" Also, "What is up with my hair?"


Henry is determined to not make eye contact in any way.


Very determined.


Okay, okay. We get it. You don't want her looking at you.


Reese just looks innocently at her older brother. See that look of adoration? Let's see that from another angle.

Oh my. It seems that Reesie DOES have some sort of a cootie. She directing those cootie beams right in Henry's direction.


See how she stares him down even more? Notice the firm grip on her eating apparatus. She's going in for the "cootie kill". (Seriously. What is up with her hair?)

Oh, Henry. You gave it a good fight.

But your sister has cooties, and hair gel on her side.