Happy New Year Everyone!

New Year's Eve, definitely gets the props for being the biggest let down holiday of them all. What I mean by this is, the expectation is always too high. I mean everyone always expects some sort of epiphany that never occurs. So if there is such a thing as a New Year's Eve Scrooge... that's what I am.

For years I worked on New Year's Eve, either bartending or waiting tables at the Speedway. We always tried to meet in the side hall or the back with a stolen bottle of champagne and some plastic champagne glasses. In retrospect, it was probably less of a let down and thus a better night, because at least you knew what to expect. It was always possible that you might end up pouring decaf for "Princess Valium at table #4" right as the New Year rolled in.

Tonight, we are of course hanging out at home. We'd like to blame this on our child, but the truth is, the first New Year's Eve that Jorma and I spent together, I ended up falling asleep on the sofa, Jorma waking me up at midnight for the kiss.

Last New Year's Eve we arrived in Charlotte with our 6 week old child and a cat in a bag, after a week of living in a hotel and a month of packing. My nerves were so shot that it's amazing the champagne I drank didn't cause some chemical reaction in my brain, resulting in permanent psychosis.

So this year we've decided to take in a movie, drink some beer and force ourselves to stay awake until the New Year rolls in. Jorma has a plan. He made a grocery run and came back with some red flavored, Power Surge Ultra Mega Energy Drink. It tasted disgusting to him but I thought it was ok and said that it tasted better than Scotch, which must have given him the idea to add some Scotch to it, which made it ok to him, and disgusting to me. I'm naming his new creation Loss Ness Monster.

Happy New Year Everyone!

Oh the aftermath.

Oh the aftermath. If you've been wondering where I've been, I've been trapped in a den filled with new toys and presents, being held hostage by a over-stimulated 14 month old, who managed to roll the new Little Tykes car, brought by Santa, (with him in it) after only three days. The Little Tykes car is a red plastic thing, that he can move Fred Flintstone like, by just kicking with his feet. It's not motorized. But when you kneel in the seat grab the roof and throw your body weight forward... well, I guess the folks at Little Tykes never did any testing with our child.
It took a good two days to get everything put away, since our house is almost completely full and bringing in anything new requires a Tetris-like procedure. "Let's see. If we move the china cabinet over two feet to the right and take down the Christmas tree, we can move the DVD rack back to where it was and then move the chair from the corner of the bedroom to the DVD rack location and then move our new nifty table that we got for Christmas to the corner where the chair was. Voila~ But it's still a process. Can you imagine how our house would look if I hadn't thrown out two truckloads of stuff before moving to California and then thrown out boxes and boxes of stuff before we moved back?
You see, the truth is... I'm a reformed pack rat. I try to clean out on a regular basis and I think that throwing stuff away is healthy. We haven't really accumulated that much stuff, it's just that all of the stuff that was living in the great room, has been moved to other areas of the house, so that Connor doesn't try to climb the side of it, or shake it until all of the stuff falls off of the top. ok, that and we have accumulated some stuff. A little stuff. You know like a years worth of baby clothes and extra strollers and other necessary baby items. Yeah, I know, most of the stuff isn't crucial, but it makes my life easier... and that's necessity enough for me.

Who needs presents?

Who needs Santa?

This morning, Dad arrived with the swing set that he built for Connor. We expected a little A-frame with a swing attached, but Dad doesn't do anything half-assed, as the picture below shows. Connor loved swinging, crying when we tried to take him out and almost falling asleep once the rocking slowed to a gentle rhythm.
I'm almost glad that Connor won't remember receiving it. I think that unless PawPaw bought him a pony he'd never be able to top it... and ponies don't litter train very well, so we're vetoing that. When you have a GrandDad that makes such great toys, who needs Santa?
Merry Christmas everyone.

Happiness is a new swing set

As long as it works

Today the Everdream Christmas party was held at Sir Edmund Hailey’s. A place almost impossible to find unless you are drunk and being dragged there by your two roommates who insist we can just walk home, 2 blocks away, what’s the shame in another beer. Has that happened to you? Yeah, me either. ahem.

Connor stayed with Robyn so I was child free for an entire three hours.

Sir Edmund’s serves a mean cheeseburger. So that’s what I ordered. But I can’t enjoy a 2 inch thick burger. I just can’t. I take off the lid to my bun and flay my burger horizontally, removing the bottom portion and laying it on my plate because the bottom portion has the least amount of cheese. And then I see it. The exterior cavity once removed allows me to see portions of medium rare meat lacing the edges of my well done burger. This will not do. I try to covertly remove the raw edge pieces with my knife, but this does not work for me.

Ok before you start gasping at my lack of table manners, I would like to say in my own defense that, yes I know better, but damnit it’s been 6 months since I sat down in a restaurant to eat a cheeseburger and I had been fantasizing about this one for an entire week.

I begin tearing it away with my fingers. Pulling them away and wiping them off with my napkin just before Gordon, fellow Everdreamer and Salesperson comes over to say goodbye. My burger is at this point mangled- laying open and vulnerable, awaiting the remainder of its nuclear stress testing.

I could see Gordon eyeing my burger as he was talking. I could see his mind working… it was saying to him, “This lady is scaring me”.

I explain to him the purpose of the burger surgery. He probably thinks this is a bit strange as I am not able to explain that I am desperately trying to create a cheeseburger of fantasy because in another two hours I will be returned to my own world. A world where cold broccoli casserole from the fridge is a well balanced breakfast at 2pm in the afternoon. A world where I have to stand drinking coffee or abandon it in the kitchen to keep it from little hands. A world where restaurant cheeseburgers, sadly, do not live.

He teases me briefly and goes on about his way, leaving me to reassemble my burger and enjoy, while everyone else at the table watches me with humorous, dismay.

That’s right. I’m a problem solver. That cheeseburger was a problem and I was going to fix it. It doesn’t matter what the workaround is… as long as it works.

The end is near

Major League Baseball : News : Major League Baseball News

The end is near. Jonny Damon of the Boston Red Sox and World Series fame has signed a four year contract with the New York Yankees. I am a Red Sox fan, by marriage, but it still irritates me. I hope he gets crabs.

Psychotic Baking Episode

Jorma and I discussing the cookies that he took to work this morning:

"Everyone at work loved the cookies. They were gone by the end of the day. They said you were a SuperBaker"

"Really?! Did you tell them that I threw away about 36 drop cookies?"

"No, but I believe I used the words 'Psychotic Baking Episode' at one point during the day"

I hate baking

Every year around Christmas for some reason, I fancy myself a baker. I'm just not. That doesn't stop the visions of sugar plums and nestle toll house cookies from dancing in my head though. I imagine myself, listening to christmas carols while baking perfect ginger bread cookies in my cozy warm kitchen with snowy window panes. But the fact is, I hate baking.

This morning, armed with more ambition than Martha Stewart I set out to do my Christmas baking. I have a kitchen aid standing mixer, new baking sheets, parchment paper, cooling racks and even stainless steel cookie droppers. I decide to start out with the easiest quickest thing... the pull apart Pillsbury sugar cookies. Simple, right? Not so much. The bottoms of the cookies began spreading immediately, leaving an uncooked lump in the middle. The cookies were almost burned before the lump settled down into a crater, making the cookies look more like large belly buttons.

Then I moved on to the oatmeal drop cookies which are also extremely simple. I didn't cook them long enough, so instead of turning into chewy fudgey oatmeal goodness, they kept their mashed potato consistency. Despite the encouraging, "Just shake it off" from the Hubby, I became more and more irritated. I was mad at the cookies. I was mad at the pot I cooked them in, I was mad at the Irish Oatmeal I used instead of Quaker.

Jorma retreated to the living room, trying to stay under the radar, finally determining that there was no where in the house that was under the radar, swept up our child and went off into the world of maddened Christmas shoppers. Even the maddened Christmas shoppers are better company that a wrathful wife that has just thrown out about 3 dozen lumps of gooey chocolate drop cookies.

I moved on to the banana bread. Three loafs. Trusting the internet for the recipes. Stupid. But came out ok. Three batches of Chocolate Chip cookies later I was consoled that something was turning out ok, only managing to burn one batch of peanut butter cookies in the process.

Baking used to be so much easier when Darlene and I would get liquiored up in the process. At least then I had an excuse for poor turn out. Next year I hope I remember to read this years blog before baking. I'll still bake my little heart out... but at least I'll have been warned.

The Colvin Christmas Spectacular

Last night we went attended the Colvin Christmas Spectacular, a Christmas party thrown by one of Jorma's co-workers and his wife. They have a two year old, so we arrived baby in tow, with high hopes that our coach would not become a pumpkin too early.
Connor was shy around the new people, terrified by the dog and fascinated by the two year old little boy running loose in the house. It took him about an hour to warm up and begin running through the house with the other child, both squealing at a pitch any opera singer would envy.
Once the children were exhausted and sleeping, the fellas, moved from beer to scotch and at some point started demanding that we play Star Wars Trivial Pursuit. I knew I would sorely suck at Star Wars Trivial Pursuit, but I was willing to play, in part because Jorma was all rosey and flushed at the thought of it, (or maybe that was the scotch) but also because the children were sleeping and there were adults to talk to. Honest to goodness ADULTS, with honest to goodness adult conversation. Well, sort of. Did I mention the Scotch thing?
It was boys against girls which in truth was a bit unfair but as luck would have it, they seemed to be getting the easiest questions anyway, vastly tipping the scales in their favor.
Question for the boy team - What color is yoda's skin? Question for the girl team - On what planet is station 23 located? And also - What craft is also known as Ti-46?
wtf?
Now I know how Matt and Bae felt when Jorma and I suckered them into a game of Lord of the Rings Trivial Pursuit. That's right, we have that one, come on over if you think you can take us. HA!

Shall we begin a pool?

Every Mom wants their childs first word to be mama. Every Dad wants the first word to be Daddy. Jorma got his wish. Dada was Connor's first official word. In all honesty, I was hoping that his second word would be Mama. I guess I thought since I was the one that went through 22 hours of labor and then breast fed our 7.14 oz monkey for 6 months, that it would be fair that Mama was at least the second word.
Nope. Second word. Cheese. Cheese.
The first time I heard him say it after I said to him, let's go get something to eat, he was toddling behind me saying it over and over. I thought it sounded like "cheese" but was like, nah. Then the next day, he was sitting in his high chair, banging, "Slave Woman, bring me food!" on the tray, while saying, cheese-cheese-cheese-cheese until I dumped a hand full of mozzarella in front of him. Then he just smiled, while scooping it up with his chubby little hands, cramming fistfulls into his mouth and banging his feet against the bottom of the chair with glee. Today I asked him if he was hungry and he looked at me and said, cheese. It's official. Second word - cheese.
My guess is the third word is going to be, Oobi. Shall we begin a pool?

I miss being a geek.

My mom sent me this link so I gave it the obligatory look. The ten seconds I wasn't impressed but when I looked at the video length, I HAD to keep watching. And then. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. Not because it's amazing video manipulation or because it's really that fascinating, but because I know that someone spend a good 10 hours drinking pepsi, staying up until 4am and totally geeking out to create it. Someone that doesn't have children. Someone that gets to sleep late in the mornings. Someone that can dedicate more than 10 minutes every three hours to a project. Man. I miss being a geek.

Another year wiser.

Happy Birthday to me!

Everyone wants in.

It's Wednesday, after the Lowes experience and Connor are in Wal-Mart. We are in the DVD's browsing for Christmas presents and he starts squirming, trying to chew on the metal back of the cart-seat that he is leaning against. I tell him no and hold my hand against his forehead so he can't bite down on the cart, which he thinks is hysterical.

In the time that it takes me to reach down and grab a DVD, he has bitten the metal bar behind the seat too hard and starts crying. I pick him up out of the cart and calm him down. Once he's over the drama, he starts trying to get out of my arms onto the floor. I put him back into the cart.

The Wal-Mart employee behind me says. "He's just playing you. I saw him trying that a few minutes ago and I knew he was going to start crying to try to get you to let him out of the cart. They do that." I didn't explain to her that, no, in fact that was actually his, "Mommy something just hurt me cry" not his fake cry which is preceded by his fake cough.

That's the thing about having a kid. Everyone wants in on the advice action. Even the Wal-Mart employees.

Today. It happened.

Today. It happened. We are in the hardware store, Lowe's to be specific. I am wearing yesterdays make-up but I have brushed both teeth and hair. I have on a pair of jeans that has only been worn one other day, (practically CLEAN!) and a sweatshirt. I am wearing a bra. I am glad I am this much put together because people are looking at us.

People are looking because Connor is yelling, DADADA at the top of his lungs in between loud grunting protests. You see, I let him out of the cart once. He was allowed to walk behind the cart in the grocery and he's not forgotten it. If you have just had a child, let me give you some advice. Keep them in the cart until they are at least 10. But I digress.

I walk around the store for a while, go to the customer service desk and have to practically beg them to help me find the lamp re-wiring kits. They page someone for aisle 12 who never comes. I finally approach someone for help, but she doesn't know where the kits are. She asks two other people who also do not know where the kits are. She suggests waiting for about 15 minutes until the person that does know comes back from lunch. I tell her, that's ok, I'll just go to another store.

I am walking out of the store, I give the unhelpful customer service lady at the desk one of those smirky smiles. You know the ones that look a little bit like a smile, but actually mean, "Thanks for doing absolutely nothing for me you useless bitch". Connor is now turned around trying to escape from the cart on his own, but still hoping if he yells DADADA long and loud enough, Daddy will appear. People are still looking at us. The crazy, worn out mom and her lunatic monkey-child. I look down. I am wearing my houseshoes.

My FUZZY, RED houseshoes. In PUBLIC.

How in the hell do I leave the house and not put on SHOES? What is happening to me?! In another two years, will I be at the grocery store having forgotten to take out my curlers, wearing my bathrobe?! Of course I won't. Mostly because curlers indicate that you might at some point during the day FIX your hair and as my husband can attest, that hasn't happened since I gave birth. Truth be told, they do feel sort of like regular shoes when you are wearing them, if regular shoes were made of fuzzy wool. It's almost happened before. But today it happened.

And to tell you the truth... I was sort of disappointed that no one mentioned them. I had a great story ready about how they were actually Swiss clogs that were made from a very rare ibex wool in which the internal padding egronomically conforms to your foot, giving such perfect support that my cronic back pain was cured. But I didn't get to.

Tomorrow. I'm curling my hair.

I'm so going there.

CO-SLEEPING: YES, NO, SOMETIMES?

This subject of co-sleeping came up in playgroup today. I've never written about this on the blog, but tonight, I'm so going there.

I’ve discussed co-sleeping with most everyone I know and I’ve found that almost everyone has a strong opinion on the subject. It seems that everyone thinks that the person that doesn’t share their side, needs to be aware of what a “bad situation” they are getting themselves into. No matter which side of the fence they are on. Pro-family bed types, feel that abandoning a child in the crib to “cry it out” causes emotional damage, while the “pro crib” types believe that by sleeping with the parents, the child is somehow going to develop behavioral problems. Although I personally have not been able to make the connection on how the latter occurs.

In the early part of the century, it was believed that babies were so fragile, they should only be held when being fed or changed. The rest of the time, they were not to be held, less one of their fragile bodies become damaged. Today we know that this is not true. In fact, some twins in the NICU of hospitals are put into the same incubator, because although no one is sure why, it helps them grow stronger.

Who really likes sleeping alone? Even our cat, who prides himself on his independence would be incensed if he were not allowed to sleep on the bed. When I had a dog, she slept on the bed, ruining more than one comforter and more often than not waking me at odd hours because she was LOUDLY, practicing the canine version of feminine hygiene. But THAT was never taboo.

Connor started out his life in a little co-sleeping side car that snuggled up next to our bed. It made breastfeeding a breeze and allowed me to sleep. If he would have been in another room, I would have been even more sleep deprived in my constant post partum state of paranoia, as I had to check to make sure he was breathing about every 45 minutes. Eventually, I would nurse him in the bed, and we would both fall back asleep in the bed. Soon, the co-sleeper was used for holding books, tissues and diapers and Connor took the supreme spot, previously occupied by the cat, in between mommy and daddy.

Basically it comes down to REM sleep. Connor sleeps with us because when he wakes up at 3am, it takes 2 minutes to get him back to sleep - if he gets into the bed with us, and 45 minutes – 3 hours to get him back to sleep if we don’t. You can do the math on that one.

I think no matter which way you decide to go, what’s right for your family is right for your family. On nights when Connor sleeps in his room the entire night, (and this DOES miraculously happen) I truly enjoy sleeping on my stomach, instead of the right side, arm extended position that I sleep in when Connor is in the bed with us. At some point, we fully intend to move Connor over to his crib completely. He’s only a baby for a little while though and I don’t mind cuddling him when I get a chance to. In the middle of the night, when he reaches out in his sleep to pat my face and then smile without waking because he knows he’s not alone, I absorb it like a cat laying in a sunbeam. After all, before we know it, he’ll be ashamed to be seen in public with us, will only trade hugs for gas money and will forget our birthdays. But for now, he remembers us… even when he’s sleeping.

As I Lay Dying - by William Faulkner | Rating **

Amazon.com: As I Lay Dying (Vintage International): Books: William Faulkner

This piece is supposed to be one of the great literary works of our time, but it was hard for me to get my head around it. It was a check off the list book for me. It's about the Bundren clan going to bury their mother in the town that she was oringally from. Each chapter is written from someone else's point of view which makes the book interesting but sometimes hard to follow.
I did have to go back and reread certain areas because I wasn't sure if I was clear on the dialog. The book is so filled with Southern Fried Colloquialisms that it's sometimes hard to make sense of. It does leave a striking impression of how hard times were back in "the day", especially if you were god-fearing-poor-country-folk. This book is supposed to be "Faulkner Lite" so I can't imagine how complicated his other works are. I sort of enjoyed reading it, but received more of a feel of frustration at the difficult language, the sheer ignorance and stubborness of certain family members and the slow moving plot. But at least I can check it off of my list.

Concept is what sells

This is a week for fascination with the ideas of others...

I really want to see this documentary. Fantastic idea. I'm not sure that it's going to start a movement, but it's an interesting concept and probably was extremely fufilling to create. Although I haven't seen it yet... it might be crappy. But the concept... the concept is what sells the DVD.

Alas, Brilliance eludes me.

Why in the hell did I not think of this?
This guy has people make handmade postcards then send them in to him anonymously with a secret pasted or written on them. Brilliant. You know why it's brilliant? Because it's probably such a fun, great project and because he now has a book that has just been published and because he's contributing to two publications and because now... the collection is touring the country as an art exhibit.
He doesn't even have to write well! Why didn't I think of this? Why, Why, Why?!?!

So earlier I was trying to convey the distress I feel not having thought of "postsecret" to my husband and he says, "You know. That IS the American dream. To have just one good idea. And never have to work again in your life." Now, chances are the post secret guy is going to have to keep working... but isn't it always nice to have a little extra income. Income that stems from a good idea, a $10.00 domain name and a $20.00 PO box?

So of course, now that I am just completely fascinated by this and I go to Amazon to view the book. But there I find something stunning.

There are more people, making little extra income on one simple idea.

Like this guy - He's started a small vandalism ring and is replacing random words in street signs with a sticker that reads, "Fuck". Now, that sounds crude and discusting... but Jorma and I were laughing until we were crying looking through the book on Amazon.

This guy - Also started a confessional website.

This guy took pictures of lost pet signs around the world.

This guy, gets pictures from people that have found lost things... like grocery lists on buses and lots of other fancy stuff.

Alas, Brilliance eludes me.

Happy Birthday Mikey

Just a shout out from the Dewcom blog to Mikey to both wish him a happy birthday and also to prove that I remembered it was today even though I didn't call because I have Mommy brain and didn't remember until I was curled up on the sofa far far away from the phone and was too cold to move since our heat is on the fritz again and we may have to get a new heating system but did remember and then by the time I got up thought maybe it might be too late because I'm not sure what time Mikey has to be at work and then I remembered that I hadn't blogged today and that I forgot to blog yesterday and thought that I would come in and tell Mikey Happy Birthday on the blog because I have Mommy brain.

You will be assimilated.

I try to write about exceptional things that happen in our household, and this week something exceptional did happen. Connor got to meet one of his Dad's best friends, fresh off the plane from Colorado, Larry.

Larry is so full of cartoon character voices and a willingness to play the "Surprise!" game, that Connor loved him instantly. Instantly means of course, after taking about an hour to determine that Larry was not going to wipe his nose, make him eat green beans or feed him to wild monkeys. Once he discovered that Larry liked playing with his toys almost as much as he did... it was on.

It was almost like Connor sensed it. Sensed that Larry was in that vulnerable place where you start thinking about kids of your own. And he went in for the kill.

Connor was nothing but completely charming the entire time. He sat in Larry's lap, he made his special squirrel-face for him, he didn't rub peaches in his hair while he ate and he even lunged out of my arms to get Larry to hold him. His poop didn't smell as bad, he didn't come up to us with a dead moth in his mouth and he listened when I said no.

Our child was so unbelievably cute that Larry's biological clock started ticking, uterus or not. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.

SunCom gets it after all.

To SunCom's credit, they sent a text message this evening that said that our contract has been terminated. This makes me happy. I wasn't necessarily pissed about the service on the account, just the fact that they had us in a contract that we did not sign. I guess maybe SunCom gets it after all.

SunCom doesn't get it.

Today I sat on the phone with AT&T/Suncom/Cingular for two and a half hours, trying to get someone to believe that I did not renew my contract with AT&T when we called to have our address changed after moving to NC.

In fact, they do not have a signed contract from me. In fact, if there is no signed contract, they can only hold me in contract for one year. In the beginning, I didn't really care that much about leaving or staying with SunCom, but by the end of my customer service experience with them, I completely want out of my contract. I won't give all of the details, but know ye this. I wrote a two page letter and attempted to assume the naming convention for their CEO, CFO, VP of Ops, Senior VP of OPs, and the VP of legal affairs. Plus, every category that I was able to find on the Contact Us portion of the website. It's things like this that make me wish I had gone to law school.

If you aren't willing to hire a lawyer, and no one responds to your letters what power do you have as a consumer? The BBB? I don't have much power, but I have a blog, and a website, and plenty of people read both. I also have both the ability and the audacity to create and wear a SunCom has displeased me T-shirt as I go about my daily tasks... grocery, mall, ect. I could make Connor a T-Shirt that says, Mommy doesn't like SunCom, but I hate it when people use their children for political gain, so I'll not be doing that. Who knows, maybe he'll grow up and be the CEO for SunCom... if that happens I bet, THEN they will listen to me when I call them.

Connor, I'm sorry.

Connor, I'm sorry.
For grabbing the vacuum which you are terrified of, and putting it in front of the baby gate so that you would stop shaking it and yelling while we ate breakfast without you in the room with us, (for once). We did get a few minutes of silence as you ran for your life across the living room away from the vacuum, our brief respite ended however, when you stood in the middle of the living room, crying because you wanted to watch us through the baby gate, but were too afraid of the vacuum.
Nothing like a sausage, egg and cheese biscuit seasoned with little guilt for breakfast. I hope you know when I gave you that Oreo four hours later, I was still feeling bad about the vacuum incident.

Holy Shit, Mom

Today was concussion day in our household. The boys were a little bit accident prone. Connor ran into Jorma's foot as Jorma was swinging his foot over the baby gate, knocking him, (Connor) backwards and launching a meltdown any drama queen would envy.

Jorma while trying to fix the office desk, was laying on the floor and leaned his head down quickly towards the floor where it was quickly introduced to the corner of the drawer he was fixing, resulting in a bleeding cut behind his ear.

I only bring up these two incidents to lessen my own guilt, as I almost dropped a DVD player on our child's head. I had it on top of the TV which is on top of the chest of drawers in our bedroom and was kneeling on the floor trying to get more length from it's plug that lives in the socket behind the same chest of drawers. The DVD player fell from the top of the television, bounced on the chest of drawers and came hurtling at light speed towards me and Connor, who was hovering behind me like a dimpled, rosy cheeked leech. We were saved from it's murderous attempt by me barely catching it by the cord before it made contact.

I looked at Connor and although he can't talk yet, what he was thinking was clearly indicated in his expression. He said, "Holy Shit, Mom".

I love a Holiday.

We were at Mom's house for about 1 minute last night, when my Step-Dad, Chuck reached to turn on a light and the whole lamp shorted out. Sparks shot out the top like a Roman Candle, filling the house with the smell sharp smell of electrical smoke. He unplugged the lamp and took it out back, since it was on fire in the middle of the living room, and grabbed a fire extinguisher which he couldn't get to actually work. Mom came out with the spray bottle and misted it, until Chuck, grabbed the house and doused it. At least it didn't damage the lucious chocolate pie she had prepared for dessert.

Thanksgiving dinner was wonderful, Turkey, Sweet Potato Casserole, Broccoli Casserole, Dressing, Cranberry, with Chocolate and Pumpkin Pie for dessert. Mom cooks food the way that food should be cooked, with lots of butter in vast quantities. We ate until we were in a food coma, Connor eating so much that he later spit up while destroying their house a short while later. What the hell, it's not Thanksgiving unless everyone is miserable, full, right?

Connor was well behaved at the table, focusing all of his attention on the broccoli casserole and dressing in front of him. Although he was full and playing with his food, by the time dessert rolled around, we were able to tempt him with pumpkin pie, chocolate pie and a mound of Cool Whip on his high chair tray. Cool whip is fascinating when you are one year old...

This morning Jorma took off at 5am to hit the sales at the mall. I would have gone too, but we of course wanted Connor to sleep as long as humanly possible, so I took one for the team and stayed curled up in a warm cozy bed, sleeping off the second helping of dressing until 7am and having a yummy breakfast of leftover Chocolate Pie. I've done the Black Friday sales many times, so I was able to give Jorma some advice. The most important being, "I highly advise bringing home Starbucks."
I love a holiday.

BOOK REVIEW: The Four Agreements | Rating: *

This book got fantastic reviews and I'm not sure why.
I'm going to make this one brief. Imagine the Celestine Prophecy only astronomically more stale.

Let me save you $12.99.
1. Don't gossip
2. Don't make assumptions
3. Don't take things personally
4. Always do your best

Do this, and have a happier life.

And there it is. There are some good things about this book. For example, I have to remember that everyone is part of their own set of experiences and not to take everything personally. That is something that I already believed, but needed to remind myself.
If you haven't read a great deal of New Age Self Help books, you might like this one. Better though are books like Shakti Gawain 's Creative Visualization, which gives you the power to transform all of parts of your life, rather than using four specific agreements.

Now, I'm not saying that this book is a load of crap, I definately think if you follow the agreements it would simplify your life. But it's kind of like a diet. Any plan will work, you just have to stay on it.

Rating: *

It's hard thinking.

It's really hard keeping a blog. It's hard thinking of things to write about on a regular basis when you're life is grocery trips and diapers. But I really think it helps keep me sane. A few minutes of alone-time each night should be compulsory for anyone that reads "That's not my Dinosaur" fifteen times in a row.

Tonight when Jorma came home, I cornered him in the kitchen and breathlessly babbled about each item I had purchased at the grocery store, while he smiled and nodded. I even lead him over to the pantry to show him the Frappacino. I started to go into a rant about how Food Lion doesn't have the fruit cups of apples and peaches in 100% juice like Harris Teeter does, but his eyes were starting to glaze over at this point, so I spared him. He never looked at me like I was crazy once though. Which just makes me love him all the more.

Now that it's just Connor and me during the day, I really look forward to Jorma coming home so that I can tell him about all of the laundry I've done and how many diapers I've changed. And then because he's actually left the house, he has exciting news and information from the outside world. News about spreadsheets and lunch at Wendy's. His life is sooo much more exciting than mine. I get to hear words like, ass-rocket and Active Directory... although usually not in the same sentence.

For me, by the end of the day it's a struggle to find what is good and funny and interesting to write about. But I like finding the bright spot, it keeps me sane. Or maybe it's just the time alone.

There's just something about a man in a skirt.

2005's Sexiest Men Alive | Matthew McConaughey : People.com

People Magazine has just declared Matthew McConaughey the sexiest man alive. To which I would like to say, Bravo. That is one sexy man. And a lucky one too, because apparently his look only requires shaving once a week.

When I was reading his article on People Magazine.com, I couldn't help but get sucked into some of the other links on the page. Like the Top 20 Sexiest Geeks alive. Ok, this I had to read. Number two. Clay Aiken. When in the hell did Alfred E. Newman get sexy? And Beck. Beck was number 9. That boy needs to eat a damn cheeseburger. He looks like he should be working the catwalk.

And Jon Stewart was number 5. Jon Stewart totally deserves the hottest geek award. What is wrong with those people?

They also gave Mel Gibson the number one sexiest man of all time award. I could get behind that... I mean without Braveheart, we'd never know that there's just something about a man in a skirt.

Dreams.

Last night while completely asleep, Connor rolled over yelled "Dada!" and then started snoring again. To me this is further evidence that babies dream. Probably when he starts crying in his sleep, (which happens about once a week) he's either dreaming that Mommy is trying to wipe his nose, or Daddy came home, but didn't throw him up in the air, not once.

Last night I dreamed that I was trying to introduce Jorma to everyone in Connor's playgroup, but forgot everyone's name. There was just this awkward silence while everyone stared at me and waited. Finally, Jorma got the hint and just asked everyone for their name, while I sat there, stunned in humilation.

I used to have dreams where I was in a meeting with the CEO at work, and couldn't pull up the presentation I had worked so hard on because my laptop wouldn't stop running the matrix screen saver. Oh, how times have changed.

So lovely.

There was never a child so lovely, but his mother was glad to get him asleep.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

A shiny trail of dried baby snot

Connor is sick today and I think he might have contaminated me as well. I took some Alka-Seltzer Cold Plus and drank a cup of coffee, as I'm not sure if I'm sick or just tired as hell. I figure between the two, I'll break even.
He has a runny nose, which means snail trails all over our living room. I just bought new sofa pillows yesterday and by 9am this morning, they had a shiny trail of dried baby snot across them. What was I thinking? I should know that we can't buy anything new until he goes off to college.
Maybe we could have BadMadMatt rig up a carwash type sprayer triggered by our front step that scotch guards everything and everyone that comes into the house. Y'all wouldn't mind, would you?

How my day is going.

I can survive anything.

Today I had the dreaded Tilt-Table Test. I've not been looking forward to it and made an appointment as quickly as possible last week, when I realized that my apprehension could soon turn to white knuckled fear, if I allowed a month to work myself up. I was afraid that I would fail the test, argue with the Dr. about beta-blockers, possibly lose my drivers license and as a result, get attacked by a rabid opossum one dreary morning as I walked to the Harris Teeter to get tampons. Clearly, this had to get taken care of ASAP.

For those of you that watched, House MD with the tilt table test, it was nothing like that. I personally did not see that episode of House, because we moved it out of our DVR rotation. I know that Dr. House is supposed to be a misunderstood brilliant Dr, but to me... he's an ass. A few people mentioned this episode to me, "a few" being enough that I could carry on a conversation with the nurse about it, having never seen it myself. The nurse I had was fantastic, keeping me calm and laughing when I started singing 99 Bottles of Beer on the wall.
But, I digress.

During the test I was strapped onto a table, complete with BP cuff, electrodes and an IV. Then I laid on a table for 15 minutes and then was quickly raised to an 80 degree angle. This did not make me faint. 20 minutes later I still had not fainted so they had to step up the process by giving me nitroglycerine, which gives you that, 4 shots of Tequila on an empty stomach followed by a White Russian, sort of feeling. If you can imagine that feeling, while strapped to a catapult.

I still did not faint. So I got to stand there for another 20 minutes. Nothing. After all of that in addition to, not allowing me to eat or drink anything after midnight they realized that their evil plan was foiled and I was released.

Now, according to the good Dr, if I don't faint on the table, I don't have this neurocardio thingy. Which is what we wanted! In retrospect, I should have not been afraid at all. Sleep deprivation, no food or water, standing for long periods of time, drugs - it's like working May Race at the Speedway. And if I can survive that. I can survive anything.

Larry's Magical Commentary

Larry left this comment in the previous post but it's too funny not to post as an entry.

Larry Says:

"You've no idea the danger you've just put yourself in, encouraging such a habit in your husband.

Collectible Card Battle Games are the scourge of modern society. It has been estimated* that over 300 acres a minute of rain forest is destroyed just to keep up with the unholy demand for such card games as “Magic – The Boredom”, “Yugi-o”, “Iraq: Quagmire Magic!” and “Lovable Dance-Dance Battle Worship Master Satan”.

They have an awful influence on today's youth, and an even worse effect on the nation's husbands.

I should point out that Jorma once possessed a distressing amount of these cards. When he moved to California, he gave me what I honestly believe to have been around 35 – 40 pounds of the things in a few gigantic cardboard boxes, and bid me give them to Jay.

There had to have been /thousands/ of cards. During the middle of a hot and hellishly humid day, the likes of which only Charlotte can seemingly produce, Jay and I had to make multiple trips to my VW Beetle, hauling boxes out of the back seat, climbing the three flights of stairs to his pad, putting them on the floor, and repeating. The last trip was the worst; one of the boxes ripped open and cards went everywhere. Once Jay noticed that a few of these were “rare”, he went crazy.

Here's the image. Two grown men. In 95-degree heat. On their hands and knees, in a parking lot, on scorching asphalt, manically digging cards off the ground as fast they could, lest “Forest of Dread” or “Magic Dungball Summon” melt.

We both had to change clothes and shower after that. Jay sweat at least five pounds of body weight. For about three months afterwords, I'd randomly find a magic card under the drivers' seat, in the glovebox, wedged in the gear shifter.

The fact he's once again amassed such an army, nay, and armada, of these things scares me. Beware, Janice! He's CRAZY! Don't let them suck you in with their silly card games. Do something healthy, like play “Final Fantasy X” for 300+ hours. :)"

Funny stuff.

Magic: The Gathering

So I found Jorma looking at Magic: The Gathering cards online a few days ago much the same way that I still wistfully look at stickers. I like to look at them even though I haven't collected them since I was about 12. I never buy them, because, well, what does a 33 year old stay at home mom need a pack of stickers for?

But later I saw him looking at them again. When I asked if he wanted to start playing he responded that there wasn't anyone that he could play with. To which I said, I bet we could find some 10 year olds up the street.

He is somewhat used to my sense of humor but for some reason didn't think it was as funny as I did, and then got a look on his face like a sad and dejected puppy. Intentional or not, the look worked and I felt mildly guilty for the next couple of days.

So, to placate my wearied soul I told him that if he really wanted to play, he could get us both a deck of cards and I'd play it with him. He didn't wait for me to tell him twice, by the end of the day he had in possession about 400 cards.

I mean, I can play cards... Uno, Poker, War you know... cards. I mean how complicated can it be? Well apparently, quite.

While His Majesty, Connor was having his bath that evening, Jorma sat on the sink and explained how a few of the cards in the game worked. This took several minutes and there are a bizillion cards, he was just explaining a few of them. I tried really really hard to pay attention, I tried to store it all in that little bit of space left in my brain that isn't used for rationing Cheerios and chasing around our child all day long. But when I try to replay it in my brain to write it out here, it only comes out as, there are land cards and you are playing with a green deck and you can tap cards and something about hits and spells. But I do remember looking at the cards. They have illustrations and some of them are foiled.
oooooooo. Shiny.
Teaching me to play this game may be the biggest challenge that our marriage has ever faced. Maybe we could collect stickers together instead.

It's not a pet, it's an INVESTMENT!

Today we went to the Renn Fest where we drank beer, toured the wares, petted sheep and rode a camel. Jorma stayed with the little one and I rode the camel. Riding a camel is one of the things that was on my "To do before I die list", which was quite lengthy and has since been lost in one move or another.
I've always wanted to ride a camel because I've heard that they have a strange side to side gait and that it's harder to stay on. The gait is a large sway but it wasn't hard to stay on. It was kind of scary being up that high on an animal, but it was fun just the same and I wasn't worried about the camel bolting in it's little pen.
I feel sorry for the Camel just the same and hope that it lives a happy and placid life somewhere out in a field when it's not on the job. They must have made a fortune though, because it was 3 bucks a ride, and they rode people three at a time. And they had two camels. Maybe Jorma will let me get one. No honey, it's not a pet, it's an INVESTMENT!

The Dewchild Chocolate Milk Challenge

In the interest of fairness, I have tried both the Promisedland and the Hershey's Chocolate milk.
And I have to say, I could tell the Promised Land Chocolate Milk was going to be better just by looking at the label. One, it actually has photographs of cows and comes in a glass bottle. Two it proudly boasts "All Natural and No Hormones". So it's HEALTHY chocolate milk. However, the Promised Land brand is very thick, which makes me think of cow mucus, which is what milk IS anyway but it has sort of a mucus-like consistency. But it's forgivable because it's just SO chocolatey good. And it makes one hell of a Mocha. Half Chocolate milk and have Coffee. Tasty good, my friends. It's also quite pleasant with Peppermint Schnapps.

The Hershey's does have sort of a watery flavor and while it IS quite tasty, it still has a residual hint of carton. It's also more expensive than the Promised land, but you get more in the carton, so it's probably cheaper ounce for ounce. I think the Hershey's might work out well for the white wine chocolate cake I've been developing. And it's better with baileys.
See, all of the taste testing sacrifices I make for this site?

So, in my book the Promised Land is better, but if you want to try it for yourself, come on over. We have plenty. We'll take your picture and post it on the site. Hell, maybe we'll get you liquored up while you're here. We have Bailey's and Schnapps.

My child is a genius.

Today when I was trying to cajole Connor into saying ma-ma for the five billionth time, he looked and me and clapped his hands. Not my hands. His hands. If you remember from a previous post we have been working on this for quite some time. I guess it was his way of saying, "Will you leave me alone with the ma-ma thing already? Here, watch me clap. Maybe that will shut you up."
I was thrilled. He was thrilled, that I was thrilled. I was thrilled, that he was thrilled, that I was... well, you get the picture.
My child is a genius.

The fussy butt machine

Connor is sick and since has forgotten that he just lays in his crib and goes to sleep on his own now. Instead, tonight he opted for the 3 hour scream-a-thon, just a brief sample of the glorious life we will be living once he hits his terrible twos. Now we didn't leave him in his crib for three hours crying... we left him for FIVE minutes. Five minutes was enough to get the fussy butt machine reved into high gear and then it was off and on crying for the next three hours. Towards the end, he was actually asleep and still unmercifully sobbing.

And with no segue we move to:

Jorma bought chocolate milk for The Dewchild.com Chocolate Milk Taste Test. (Way to take one for the team, babe!) Promiseland and Hershey's. The Hershey's is expired however. Luckily, we were able to dig the receipt out from under the babyfood jars and dirty diapers in the trash so that we can return it. So tomorrow, I will load my child into the car go to Harris Teeter and return my milk. And I will not be happy about it. But I'm going to practice my new customer service method which is being nice, THE WHOLE TIME. I'll let y'all know how it goes.

All hail the power of Ibuprofen!

My shoulder is feeling better - All hail the power of Ibuprofen! It's still sore, but at least I can open the door on the minivan. Not that I tried today.

Today was a no laundry, no errands, just let the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed turn into a small mountain range sort of day. I fully intended to take it easy, but ended up pulling out the stroller and taking the little one for a walk.

I did think about actually not leaving the house all day, but finally determined that if tomorrow it became cold and rainy, that'd I'd feel so guilty for wasting a perfect day that I'd end up feeding Connor Low-Fat Strawberry Pop Tarts for breakfast. I know that doesn't sound like a bad thing, but certainly it would begin a cycle of refusing to eat oatmeal that would last untill he hit his teens.

He's already determined that whatever Mommy is eating has GOT to be better than the green beans on his tray, and watches me with interest when ever I'm eating. If I'm eating in the den and he's not strapped into something, then he's standing at my knee begging like a puppy. Those puppy dog eyes... who can resist?

Pushing through.

I somehow managed to hurt my shoulder yesterday. Despite my (now) daily walks around the neighborhood with stroller, or my attempt at eating better and cutting back on the smokes, I can not raise my shoulder above my chest. Apparently healthier lifestyle has little to no jurisdiction with the muscles inside of the shoulder joint.

It's been hurting for a couple of days now, but I'm one that believes the best thing to do for soreness in the body is to work it out and push through. So yesterday while I was pushing through at the park, I was holding Connor on my left hip, with the left arm and he decides that he wants to get down. The way he has decided to demonstrate this is to simply throw his entire body weight towards the ground, so naturally I throw up whatever hand is not supporting him and catch him. Moving him back up and into the "on" position.

Although yesterday when I caught him, something snapped. Something in my already sore shoulder. This snap resulted in me not being able to get open the mini-van sliding door without some significant pain or work the auto gear shift with my right arm at all. Everytime I tried it felt like my arm was having a contraction.

So I did the alternate hot-cold thing, took some Aleve and whined to Jorma when he got home, all making my arm feel a little, but not much better. So this morning it still hurts, Connor is coming down with a cold and wants to be picked up constantly... the thing about being a Mommy is you never get sick days.

Laugh and Learn Puppy

Amazon.com: Laugh & Learn Learning Puppy: Toys & Games

Pattie gave Connor this toy for his birthday. Jorma swears that it's the toy that's going to one day grab a steak knife and run through the house on a rampage playing it's "Hug Me!" soundbyte.

In the interest of fairness.

It's been a great weekend. Last night we went over to Mike and Robyn's housewarming party, baby in tow. He did great for about an hour and a half and the Jorma took him home and I stayed on, bumming a ride from home Sammie.

It's amusing me to hear people argue when they are drinking. Pattie and Laureen argued about which Chocolate Milk was better. PromiseLand, (Pattie's pick) or Hershey's (Laureen's pick). The conversation got louder, and louder until is actually turned into a debate. One side arguing that PromiseLand makes Hershey's look like watered down chocolate water, the other arguing that the entire staff of Harris Teeter is addicted to Hershey's.

So. In the interest of fairness I've decided to solve this debate by tasting them myself. And then of course, posting the winner here. It's a good excuse to buy some chocolate milk anyway. Connor's never had it, I'll bet he'll suck down a sippy cup of it in record time. I bet Jorma will suck down half a gallon in record time.

Maybe we can have Connor taste test them too. See which sippy cup he prefers. I'll do just about anything that involves procrastinating laundry.

Numb with fear.

Remember that fainting thing we discussed and I said I was having it looked into? Today I had an appointment with a Cardiologist. He thinks I have something called Neurocardiogenic Syncope. I have to wear a monitor for a month, have an echocardiogram and a tilt-table test but that's not what scared me. What scared me the most... was the waiting room.

Everyone in the waiting room was in their late 60's to 70's. I sat down prepared to make the most of my child-free waiting room time but wasn't able to read my book, because I could not stop eavesdropping on the group of about 6 people behind me. They were discussing people that they knew collectively, who had cancer, who was on 16 kinds of medication, who had heart problems, who died and then went around each telling what was wrong with them personally. At one point an elderly man came out of the office into the waiting room, carrying a ziplock bag so full of medication that I almost offered to carry it for him. He happened to know everyone that was sitting in the quilting bee behind me and walked over to say hello and discuss all of the different medication he was on. Which he was sort of forced into as when he was in the checkout area, all of the people behind me were loudly commenting on how much medication was in his bag.

It scared the crap out of me. I was honestly numb with fear. Because at that moment it occured to me, that someday, I too will be old. Holy Crap! I have to do something about this! I'm 33 years old and I'm ALREADY sitting in a Cardiologists office. And I smoke. And I don't exercise. And I forgot to take my vitamins today. What in the hell is WRONG with me?! I need to get moving. This. Is. Important.

This isn't about fitting into a little black dress, this is about never having to be in a Cardiologists office again. This is about survival. This is about the Cardiologist telling me that it wouldn't hurt me to lose 20 pounds... (and do you know he said it nicer than anyone else ever has) but if I wanted to eat french fries to go right ahead, just make sure I load it up with salt.

You know, I may not be able to give up Reece's Cups and I do love a grilled cheese sandwich, but I have GOT to start exercising. Or else one of you may have to carry around my bag of pills for me and I'm just way independent for that crap. Yeah. It really scared me THAT much.

There will be no sleeping when the cat has to poop.

Our cat prefers to poop outside. Could be there just isn't enough privacy in the back corner of the laundry room, nestled behind the door and next to the washing machine, completely concealed so that there is a perfect cat sized crack to waltz through when he finally decides it's time to go. Maybe he's telepathic and knows how much I hate scooping the box. Maybe the neighbors yard just is better than his box for covering up the glittering jewels he leaves for them. Whatever the reason... it's starting to get annoying.

Pink knows that he must take drastic measure to roust Jorma, (HA! You thought it was me?) from the bed at 5:30am to let him out. First he starts his threatening meow. It isn't the actual meow that that's threatening, it's the position he is meowing from.
He starts in the kitchen, having somehow associated meowing with Tuna, in hopes that one of us will leap from bed to feed him before letting him out. But then slowly moves in the hallway. Stopping in front of Connors room.

He did the same thing when we were living in California.
When I was pregnant and sleeping he would go to the foot of the bed and scream until Jorma opened a can of tuna for him. This of course started a trend and now, the cat is holding us hostage. There will be no sleeping when the cat has to poop. He's ensured this, by threatening to wake the baby who if awake, also allows no sleeping.

He never meows consistantly enough to actually wake the sleeping child but long enough for Jorma to stumble out of bed, scoop him up and throw him outside, before the Kracken awakens. This isn't because he isn't trying to wake the baby. This is because his brain is the size of a walnut and he's not so much with the rationalization. But, this works for Kitty.

Although for Jorma, not so much - he's one of those people that can't go back to sleep once he wakes up.
I know, RIGHT?! I married one of THOSE people! But hell, he gets up at 5:30 am to let the cat out... what's not to love.

Well, no shit.

Scotsman.com News - International - Terror suspects held in secret CIA prisons

I came across this article today and I would just like to say, Well, no shit. (That was sarcasm for those that do not know me). Of COURSE there are secret CIA prisions. It's the CIA for God's sakes and we are the United States of America. Does anyone really believe that we really play by the rules. Does anyone believe that anyone else does? France might, but we just let them live in their own fantasy world, military and all. Didn't these people ever watch the Ex-Files?
If this article would have said, there are no secret CIA prisons for Terror suspects, THEN I would have been like, wtf?! I mean it's WAR people, not a freaking game of bridge. God the media drives me nuts.

He doesn’t have time for my nonsense.

Sarcasm begins at an early age. I know this because we are trying to teach Connor, nose, chin and ear. We point to our nose and say, “nose” and then point to his nose and say “nose”. So when I ask Connor where is Mommy’s nose, he takes my finger in his hands and points to my nose with it. It’s his way of saying, “Well, you wanted me to copy you exactly, right?”

Clapping is the same way. He takes my hands in his and claps them together. If I try to get him to clap and sit on my hands, hoping that he will make the leap of understanding and clap his own hands, he looks down at my hands and then back to me and then gets up and walks away. He doesn’t have time for my nonsense he has a cat to chase.

Little boys should come standard with tails.

We thought about taking Connor trick or treating, but he can't eat a lot of candy yet, and he wouldn't understand the process, we thought it would just make us look like a couple of parents trying to use our child to score some free candy so we could sell it at the crackhouse later... so we opted instead to go by both sets of grandparents so they could see him in his pony costume.

I could have watched him run around in it for hours, but I didn't think my heart could take the strain. It was that cute. But cutest of all, was the little 8 inch tail on the back of the costume that swished when he walked. It made you want to pick him up by it and smoother him with kisses. A built in leash. Little boys should come standard with tails.

Dad and Ellen got 1000 trick or treaters, several of which showed up in their school clothes with bookbags, basically just trying to score free candy and other high school students that even dressed up, but remained completely aloof just so you know, that they are too cool to be trick or treating... even if they are wearing a fairy costume.

I think it would be fair to put a sign up that says, no costume, no candy. If you can't bother to dress up, then maybe I can't bother to give you 15 cents worth of candy. Or, no costume gets a Soy Carob bar with a note taped to it that says, next year wear a costume.
After all of the chocolatey goodness is gone from their Halloween bags, there sits the Soy Carob bar... and you know you would have to taste it. That'll teach em.

How to tickle the crap out of your parents

Make a fuss about going to bed, and then when exasperated, they put you into the crib and leave the room, stop fussing, play by yourself a little while and then PUT YOURSELF TO SLEEP.

Without even bursting into flame.

We all went to Mike’s memorial today. First there was mass and then the memorial. During the mass communion was held and I took communion without even bursting into flame. Pattie and Darlene didn’t take communion, Pattie because (she said) she hasn’t been to confession in 5 years and should have started confessing last week if she wanted to make it in time for communion. Darlene didn’t because, well, she probably would have burst into flame and that would have been a slight inconvenience for the people that rode to the church with her, not to mention the clean up.

But I took communion. Mainly because Jeff was going up and I didn’t want him to go by himself, since he appeared to be the only one out of the 20 people we were with that was going to take the long walk up the aisle to absolution. So hopped on up.

I am Methodist. But I take salvation where I can get it, and I don’t think God gets really miffed like that. I mean, it’s the thought that counts, right? Just like when I crossed myself at the appropriate times. Because I know how. So I did. And I even kneeled. And thanks to sporadic visits to the Catholic Lite Church (Lutheran) with Chelvis now and again I also happen to know when to come in speaking with the rest of the congregation. Although I forgot that when you shake the hands of the people all around you, you say “Peace be with you”, so when the lady with the mild moth ball aroma next to me reached over to shake my hand, she looked at me expectantly, I said.

“Hi”, nodding and smiling.
“Peace be with you”, she said, turning back to her husband no doubt mouthing the words, “Methodist” to him while she rolled her eyes.

But no one from our group yelled out “Free Bird” during the gospel songs and everyone teared appropriately during Ava Maria, steeped in tradition as it was, it was a good service. And we are all going to miss Mikey, so very much.

On the floor of the Wal-Mart

When you are one year old there are few things as fascinating as velcro. Especially the velcro on your first pair of denim baby shoes. Because when you tug on the velcro it makes a sound that's a hybrid between paper ripping and the cat coughing up a hairball... both things that fascinate you.
So, you unfasten and refasten your little shoes with much concentration and focus until you are actually able to remove the shoe and throw it on the floor of the Wal-Mart, using the opportunity when Mommy bends to pick it up, to covertly grab a handful of the clothing on the rack next to you and pull it over to put into your mouth.
But then when the "Taker away of all things fun" (Mommy), intervenes you have to give her the special smile. The one where you close your eyes all squinty shut and smile bearing all 14 of your teeth while looking at the ceiling and turning beet-red. Because then she won't get that look when she realizes that you just kicked your other shoe off onto the floor.

And we are all going to miss him very much.

One of the things about Pattie is that she's pretty direct. She's not one to soften the blow when she's giving bad news. She just tells is like it is. She called today to tell me that Mike Crites, was found dead in his apartment yesterday, presumably from going into diabetic shock.
When I was living with Joe, Mike moved in for a few months before I moved out and up to Concord. Mike is one of those guys that has the "it" factor. He had such a persona about him, you couldn't help but love him, he's nice, he's goodlooking, he's fun, he's uber positive and... loves to drink. And there it is. But aren't friends supposed to love each other despite our faults?
And we did. We all loved him. And we are all going to miss him very much.

Where IS that place?

I fainted the other night. Now, it's not that big of a deal, and I'm having it looked into... throughly, but that's not really what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about the dream-like thing that happens when you faint. If you've never fainted before, you won't know what I'm talking about, but if you have... there is a sort of dreamlike state that you move through while you are regaining your consciousness. And it's really odd. It's sort of what lucid dreaming would be like, if instead of being in a dream, I was in this weird static-y dimension where I know something is wrong and I know I am supposed to be aware of something, remembering something, but I just can't quite grasp it. All of this while there is a knowing feeling in the back of all of this, that something is really really wrong. Then reality slides back into view and all of a sudden, you are laying where you fell bathed in a cold sweat, reeling... for me, not from the fact that I just fainted, but because of the freakness from the dreamlike state.
I mean where IS that place? Where is your soul during this time? I mean obviously mine didn't take off because I'm here writing this now. But is it a different dimension or something? It's not like having an our of body experience, although similar in some ways. I have to research this. I'll let you know what I find.

Help me think would you?

It's hard trying to find something inspiring to write about when you just hang with your kid all day. I could of course write copious amounts of prose on the subject "The Fussy Butt " who we affectionately refer to as, Connor. But I really try to write about other exciting life events. So I still remember that I have a life. And because it's good for me to get out of the Mommy role even if it's just for 10 minutes a night and pound out all of my exciting life events. Except I really don't have any exciting life events today that don't involve my child. I'm not even reading anything decent.

sigh.

So here are my exciting life events for today.
- Connor spills 8 oz of coffee on our still newish and unstained sofa
- I made a Dr's appt. One for Connor and one for me
- We went to the grocery store
- I canceled my YMCA membership
- I picked up pictures from Walgreens
- I watched John Stewart and half of an Oprah
- I sat down and had dinner with Jorma

Honest to God, that has been my day. And I don't really crave excitement even, I just want something to write about. So, I guess in lieu of actual events I'll have to start trying to experiments of my own. You know, like smile at every person that I see and see if people behave differently... or if I do.

So that's all I need. An experiment. Help me think would you?

Make weather sexy and tasteful.

Damn it got cold quick. Sunday it was in the 80's, and now the peach juice that runs through my veins is getting a little bit chilly. I went to the weather.com site to check the forecast for the next few days, and there is a web banner advertising, weather.com on the cell phone. It says:

You are on the 4th tee.
Clouds are brewing.
Track the storm on your cell phone.

This makes no sense to me. I mean, how much up to date weather information do we really need. Obviously, if the clouds are brewing overhead, it might rain. And guess what else, when you start getting wet... it's raining. I don't understand people that have weather obsessions. I mean, I understand checking out the 10 day outlook so you know what to wear or whether or not it's going to rain on your beach trip, but do you really need it on your cell phone? Can't you just look at the sky and tell? I really don't get it. Especially since it's a 50/50 chance of the weatherman getting it right. Unless you are a Southern California weatherman, then everyday you get to show up to work with your spray on tan and announce, - No chance of rain - Sunny all week - High in the upper 70's. Now that's a job.

The weather channel actually got sued a while back for demanding that their female metorologists dress a little sexier. I don't care how short the skirt is, you just can't make weather sexy and tasteful at the same time.

So here's my predication for the weather... It's going to warm up in a week, and then spoil us for two until it gets bitter cold and we all wish for Summer, mosquitos and all.

A total ball of nerves.

So we had a party for Connor's birthday today. We meant to wake up at 6, but instead woke up at 7:30, putting us an hour behind schedule. I had food to prepare and a house to clean. I decided I was not going to start stressing out about it. This was going to be an exercise for me. I was going to stay calm. I sat down and fed Connor breakfast, sipping my coffee lesuirely thinking... I like this not stressing thing. When I put Connor in the living room and went into the kitchen to prepare the food, he played quietly alone, for about 10 minutes. Then the screaming commenced. He was briefly calmed by Oobi, then started screaming again. We have kind of a routine in the mornings, and me cooking instead of sitting in the livingroom floor while he crawls all over me for an hour threw him for a bit of a loop. I was just starting to get into my groove of hurried food prep when he came to the wailing wall and started unconsolably sobbing. I stopped what I was doing, made a bottle and tried in vain to get him down for a nap.
I'm telling myself the whole time... I'm not going to stress about this. It's an hour and a half before everyone is to arrive, Connor and I are both still in pj's, and I am falling more and more behind, and realizing that I have more and more to do, that a grocery store trip is needed, and how could I forget to vacuum, and I start to get stressed.
Now I might even bother you with the list that I had to get done in an hour and a half, including get myself ready, but I won't... because I don't think you'd believe me anyway. But because I was starting to stress, I was able to pull it all off. I just work SO much better under pressure. And in my egotistical state, I dare say I could have done it in less time even. Although, I was a total ball of nerves while I was doing it. But that made my first beer of the party, even the sweeter.

Happy Birthday, Connor!

Today our son is one year old. Everyone says it goes by fast when you have children, and I believe it, and everyone keeps saying that they can't believe it's been a year. But I can. Three months of Colic and then teething started immediately after. Moving across the country and quitting my job to stay home with the baby. Trying to learn how to be a mommy. It's been hard.
I don't know if it just comes that easily to other mommies, or if all other mommies lie, but it's hard trying to figure out what that cry means, and how much is too much, and how much is not enough. It's a time of reading and measurement, experimentation and observation. It's a time for laughter and also for tears. I think the first year of parenting lets you do at least one thing, and that's experience each and every emotion in your repatoir. Most more than once. And I mean all of them... even the ones that haven't shown their pretty heads in quite some time.
I think it takes a full year to recover as a first time mommy. I think it takes a year to recover from all of the labor, the sleep deprevation, the new schedule adjustments. It takes a year to learn to just ignore the crying without feeling guilty because you have to pee. It takes a year to stop worrying about SIDS. It takes a year to learn how to move around in your marriage with this new addition. It takes a year to learn that, it isn't just about the baby. It takes a year to be fully struck by the awe that your parents did the same thing that you are doing now. It takes a year to poke your head out in society and see what's going on again. It takes a year to relax.
So, yes, I can believe that it's been a year. But it's been a good year. And probably the most enriching in my life. So I'm glad it feels like a year, because certainly he will be in college before I know it.

Welcome back to the world, Madam!

So, I've decided that I'm going to use our much loved, DVR to start recording the nightly world news. Then I will watch it while I drink my morning cuppa coffee, and Connor bounces on the forbidden sofa, which is the only thing I can do to keep him quiet if I'm watching TV. Welcome back to the world, Madam!
I can't stand to watch the local news. It drives me nuts. It's just so damn... reality show. It's so sensationalized and they use scare tactics to seduce a larger viewing audience and I just can't get behind that. The World News appears to be about the same, but on a grander scale. At least the things that they are sensationalizing affect the nation, and not just the community.
Now the community is important, but tonight's feature on Channel 3 local news was, how to tell where your significant other has been going on the internet. They are teaching viewers how to invade someone else's privacy. I guess they are hoping that some people will actually do this, domestic violence will occur and they can report it, creating more sensational news coverage... see how this works? It's like Starbucks putting heroin in the coffee so you always come back for more... now that's not really happened. But I do have my suspicions.

What the hell DID I do?

At first I was going to work tonight. But after working for a couple of hours during nap, and having an hour long meeting, now I've decided, I've put in my hours today, Jorma is out of town and I have the whole house to myself... (myself and a sleeping infant), I'm going for some me time. But so rarely I get me time anymore, now I can't remember what I used to do when I lived alone. What the hell DID I do? I remember something about staying up really late drawing and then sleeping till noon... and then I remember something else about a bar and Jagermeister shots. And I remember it was fun. And then I remember that both of those won't work out too well with my one year old roomie, so I'll have to think of something else.

So tonight, to celebrate my aloneness I'm eating my microwaved left over Burrito Supreme from Taco Bell and blogging. Yes I know, it's not Jagermeister but it's still kinda fun in a pajama-party-for-one sort of way. Now, off to the sofa for TV watching and chocolate consumption. ooooo and maybe even a hot bath.

Road trip anyone?

We are back from our Alabama reunion safe and sound. Connor did suprisingly well in the car, playing with his feet, talking to Grammie, who sat in the back seat with him, and napping most of the way. He was running before his feet hit the floor when we got there. Staying busy and becoming so tired that he couldn't get to sleep once we got to the hotel about ten.
On the way back, we only had to stop once due to an impending meltdown... we let him run around for about 15 minutes, got back into the car and he was fine. And while I was relieved not to have to listen to screaming for 8 hours, I am even more relieved because now we know that the baby, truely is portable. Now it's not just trips an hour away he can stand, but longer trips. This means it might even be possible to go to the beach. Or the mountains!
Road trip anyone?

It's not profound

See, I knew this Google personalized page would come in handy... a get a new quote every day on my homepage. Now on nights like tonight where I'm too tired to write I can just post a quote.

"When you encounter seemingly good advice that contradicts other seemingly good advice, ignore them both."
- Al Franken

And there it is. No. It's not profound. But if I was going to spend the time to find a worthwhile quote, I could spend the time to write too, eh?

If you are a bra designer

I sometimes wonder what bra makers are thinking. Most bras have a couple of hooks in the back. When when the size goes up to 40, (this is the measurement of the ribs, gentlemen) suddenly there are four hooks there. No matter what the cup size is.
So.
If your average stripper is a 28DD she has two hooks on the back. But if she were a slightly chubby flat chested stripper wearing a 40B, she would have 4 hooks. My question is, what in the hell are the four hooks supposed to do?! Does a B cup (B-cup, think Uma Thurman gentlemen) really need something the width of a weight belt running across her back? It's not like her B cups need the extra strength to support their weight. The bigger around the ribs, the more hooks the bra has.
I know what you are thinking. There are more hooks because the width around is bigger... but that doesn't make any sense either. I mean, what are they thinking that because it's bigger around that it needs the extra hooks, so it doesn't... what? break? Like they aren't making the 40 bigger than the 28 in the first place?
This makes no sense to me.
So if you are a bra designer and you are reading my blog, send me an email to explain this nonsense to me. If you are a bra designer and would like to send me free bras to apologize for this inconvenience, that would be fine too. As long as they have less than 4 hooks.

Now THAT'S safety

One of the things that is a constant fascination to me is my increased paranoid after becoming a mom. I mean, I expected to feel a little protectiveness... you know, like any animal in the wild does, but this paranoia, totally threw me for a loop.
I've tried not to live a life of fear... in my pre Mommy days I've gone to the ATM at night, I've walked out to my car alone late night in a parking deck, and done all sorts of stuff that probably falls into the, It seemed like a good idea at the time category.

So I certainly wasn't prepared, when I caught myself walking down a long steep hill with the stroller in my neighborhood (in the daytime) and wondering... what would happen if I suddenly had a massive coronary.

Why, I would fall down and Connor would keep rolling in the stroller, his velocity increasing to light speed as he barreled into the car full of teenagers that cruises the neighborhood at 90 mph. Then getting tossed stroller and all into the air, landing miraculously unharmed right side up in a neighboring lawn. (Yeah, it's the loony toons version)

But this weekend we went shopping for a jogging stroller, I was kinda on the fence, not 100% sold on the idea of needing one, even though Jorma was happy to hang out in the only manly section of BabiesRus. But then from the one we are inspecting, Jorma holds up a Velcro cuff, with a line that attaches to the stroller. "What's this", he asks, puzzled... since he is somewhat immune to my own paranoia.
And I explain" it must be in case you have a massive coronary so the baby doesn't roll away."
"That's smart", he says probably realizing the added value this could have for a paranoid wife.

And just like that, I hopped over to the other side of the fence and was completely pro jogging stroller. Not just any stroller either, but the one with the anti massive coronary strap. Now THAT'S safety. Now if it will just stop raining so I can test it out.

The code.

So they've found a new project for me at work. And it's a major project. But luckily it has a procedure that is already written and goes with it. That generally makes things easier... you know, step by step instructions. Except for these. This is a 21 step process. Which might not be that bad... if I didn't have 760 issues that had to be run though that process. And, the process contains, about 7 different, acronyms. I mean, what would corporate america be without them? I know that 7 different acronyms doesn't sound like a lot. But I have counted 30 times they are used. This document is ONLY a page and a half. Doublespaced.

Dude.

And it doesn't make any sense. It reads like, George Bush wrote it... Sorry all you Bush fans out there, but todays quote from the Bush-isms Calendar is:
"The basic tenets of Islam is peace and respect and tolerance. And that's what they wanted to make the point to me, that we are - that's the way we are." George W. Bush Oct 22, 2003. On board Airforce One.

But acronyms are the Everdream way. They are the corporate way. It's almost like a Corporate code. Have you ever noticed that the people that know the code the best are the ones that get promoted. For instance, you hear someone say in the breakroom, "hey, ya know we are down with the SE in Surfboard. The OLS, went code and the GM talked to IT and they checked the ECC for the SMA and Asset, but couldn't find it." And you think to yourself. What a moron... to say something that stupid in front of the VP of Operations... that didn't even make sense. But then a few weeks later that person is promoted and you have a long meaningless lunch by yourself wondering what the secret is to failing upwards.

I'm telling you people. It's the code. And that's all it is. Hell, I should know. I speak it fluently.

You should do it too

Tonight I have writers block. So after browsing the web for a bit, I found, www.nanowrimo.org. It's a pretty cool site. Sign up is Oct. 1st. By God. I think I'm going to do it. I meant, my writing can't get any worse right? Hell, maybe by the end of it all, you guys will actually ENJOY reading the blog! I'm going to do it. You should do it too.
More info below.


What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month's time.

Who: You! We can't do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together.

Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era's most enchanting art forms! To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from your novel at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work.

And hell. I'm still paying taxes

Ok, this is how it started. We recieved an envelope in the mail, requesting donation for Childrens Cancer Fund. I read the literature, just as I have before, but now something is different. Now the Mommy in me, empathizes with not only the kids but the parents also. Oh, what a horrible thing to go through! But when I look at the form for donations, I notice that there is a picture of a bald little boy, that looks a lot like our son. So, of course, I decide to donate.
Now Jorma donates to about anything. He can not resist girlscout cookies, kids selling magazines, candy, raffle tickets or popcorn tins. We have had some of each. Me, I've always felt like, I give to charity because, well... I pay taxes. I make donations to charity on occasion, but am not afraid to smile, and nod politely and continue on my way as a doe-eyed girl scout tries to sell me cookies on the way out of the grocery store. And I have an immunity to all sales pitches. It's a honed skill from years of being broke.
So. We donate. And then, they sent us labels! How sweet!
And then so did St. Judes.
And every other organization in the country involved with sick children. And. We donated, to a couple. And then the outpouring began.
We now have greeting cards, labels and pins from different charities hoping into guilting us into a donation, after all, they went to the time and trouble to send us address labels. It's gotten crazy, almost every day we receive a letter from some organization begging for funds. Even the disabled vets. That one is hard to say no to. It's not enough that the goverment sends them off to war, they get hurt and some can never work again, and have to live on some half ass pension.
I felt kinda guilty at first, using some of the greeting cards and not donating to the charity. But we have SO many. And hell. I'm still paying taxes.

Funkadelic

I meant to report on the playgroup yesterday, but I felt blah all day. I usually like to blog when I feel blah, but yesterday I felt so blah I just went to bed. I knew you'd understand. Connor had gotten up at the crack of dawn, I was stressed about having the playgroup here and it just landed me in an all day funk. Thus I post twice today. Now that's some discipline y'all.

The playgroup was a success. Success meaning, the mouse that sometimes appears in the den didn't come out and Connor didn't arrive in anyone's lap with a cricket in his hand. (I don't know where they are coming from, but they LOVE our den). Connor toddled around the room, always managing to be far enough from me that I couldn't stop him from pulling hair, taking toys or stepping on someone else's child. Right now he's the only walking baby which is kind of a bummer... But I'm willing to hang in there. Once all of the babies are walking... It's going to be a whole different dynamic.

Breathe much?

So tomorrow, the mom's club playgroup is at mi casa and I've been cleaning all day. Well, I've been trying to clean. Connor is terrified of the vacuum so that makes part of it difficult, and him screaming each time I left the room doesn't help any. He did have a great time when I locked him in the bedroom with me to change the sheets on the bed. He found that the blinds in the bedroom, being about a foot too short for the window, which is 3 inches from the floor is the perfect height for him to hang from as he slings his bodyweight from side to side, slamming himself into the wall and shrieking with glee. Miraculously, the blinds held and I got the bedroom cleaned up without him pulling all of the books off of the shelves, which is his favorite bedroom pastime.
At least the house is cleanish, so now I can start the other projects that I have, two websites and six mock ups. And working my 16 hours this week. Breathe much?

Nice to be famous

Sometimes I think it would be nice to be famous... but then today, trying to find pictures of the hairstyle I want, I came across a site dedicated to Lauren Graham, with hundreds of pictures. That was great for me, as she has a hairstyle that I kinda like but it still creeped me out a little bit. Wouldn't that be creepy to have a webpage that was all about you, that you didn't build? Although if I was famous and someone put up a site about me, I would definately have to send them an email or something... from an pseudonym hotmail account though.

Slave Woman. Bring me FOOD

Today, our child waved bye-bye. Now in the grand scheme of things, waving bye bye is no big deal really. But for our little 11 month old ... it's monumental. Well, actually for Mommy it was monumental, for him it was probably more of a, Dang, check out what I can do with my hand. Since he wasn't actually doing the traditonal wave, but more waving at himself and looking over my shoulder at Grammie waving at him. (He's waved at Jorma, but this is the first time that he did it and wasn't just mimicking Jorma and me.)
Certainly he'll have other accomplishments in his life and I'll be proud of them too, but this means he has a sudden understanding. He suddenly understands or is on the verge of understanding, that gestures mean something. And that is something cool. Now starts the sign language project. I've been showing him the food sign each time I feed him, but it's hard to break his eye contact away from the Cheerios box in my hand. But when I do, he just looks at me blankly, and then starts banging on his high chair with glee. Maybe I should teach him the sign for, "Slave Woman. Bring me FOOD!". He'd probably pick up that one pretty quick.

Reading my diary

Jorma says he's never read my blog because he felt like he was reading my diary. I think a lot of people feel like that for some reason and I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the daily entry.
But it's ok to read a blog. That's why people have them after all. You could have your own for a matter of fact. And... it's free. But please, please, read on. And for God's sakes leave comments if you feel like it.
The only comments I have so far are the 26 on the "Playgroup Day! Yay!" entry. And those are from a spammer. I didn't know that when I first saw it however, and I had written of my playdate group, "The playgroup girls are stark raving mad!". I saw the 26 comments and thought, great. The Mommies Club has found me, left enraged commentary for everyone to view and probably kicked me out. The I could coin a term like, "Dooce" (which means to be fired for writing on your weblog about your company), but instead would mean being kicked out of a club for writing in your blog. So anyways, it wasn't the Mommies, it was a spammer, but I put a verification code on the page, so it shan't happen again, my pretties.
What in the hell is a verfication code you might ask? Well then. I guess you'll just have to leave a comment and see, now won't you?

Bring DOWN big brother

When I was 11 I lived in an apartment complex. The complex had a swimming pool, beloved by all the kids who would beg a different mom each day to come to the pool and watch us while we swam. We really didn't want an adult to watch us, but there was an age limit for children without adult supervision. That limit was 12 years of age. After a full summer of adult supervison all of the kids discussed at the close of the summer how the next year, we would be able to swim whenever we wanted because we would be 12 years old. In early summer, the pool opened. It had new lounge chairs, new paint and a new sign. The sign posted the Pool Rules and on that list it said, No child under the age of 13 to be admitted unless accompianed by a parent or guardian. 13. We were stunned.
For some reason it never occured to us to just go to the pool anyway. In an apartment complex that large, there is no way that the office staff would be able to keep track of the ages of all of the kids. But we didn't know that then. We feared the office staff. Although in their early twenties, they had JOBS for God's sake.
While we it never occured to us to just break the rule, it did occur to us that maybe we could change it. Us being my friend Kyra and I. We were still young enough to be idealistic about the country, it's values and still believed that we were living in a democracy.
So, we consulted Ky's mom, who completely encouraged us to try to make a change. Bring DOWN big brother! We created a petition, handwritten on unlined paper that we had drawn the lines onto to make it seem a little more imporant that something torn out of a sprial ring notebook.
And we did it.
We went door to door with out petition, asking all of the residents to sign the document we had created that stated it was unfair to change the age for unsupervised children at the swimming pool. And you know what? They signed it. Most of them. We had a couple of people refuse but that measured out, by the couple of people that praised us for being so democratic, and then to further add to our karma we smiled and nodded as old women went on and on about their 15 year old poodles.
Once we had hit every house in the apartment complex we put our petition into a manilla envelope to make it seem more business-like and presented it to the office staff.
We stated our case and explained that we had gotten all of the signatures, presenting them with our envelope. They didn't say much and I remember leaving with a sense of dispair as they sort of just looked at us, looked at the list, looked at us. Now I know that they were just stunned. What do you say to a couple of rabid, libral 12 year olds? So, they just said nothing.
Until the next complex newsletter was sent... they had lowered the age that children could be in the pool area unsupervised to 12.
And it was a fantastic summer.

All hail the Chile Relleno

So in my last blog, I had "go me!" typed out, except the way that the font in my blog is used, it looks like gome. It wasn't Global Ozone Monitoring Experiment which is what GOME actually stands for. Just in case some of you were hoping to join up with the Dewchild.com Ozone Monitoring Experiment, which could consist of hhmmm. maybe sitting outside of different Starbucks around the city and seeing which one has the cleanest air. It couldn't be global though... you know. With the kid and all.

Today was a great day! Got out of the house, with my new friend from the Mommies Club, ate lunch, went to Target and had intelligent conversation. She is also a graphic designer, so now I have someone that I can send my mock ups to, and say, Can you BELIEVE my Client choose THAT one?! Ahhhh, a little design commiseration. Just what I need.

So at Target I bought a scale that measures body fat. I've never had my body fat measured before and well. It's shocking. I'll not mention my weight on the internet, (gasp) but I will mention that I am a whopping 38% body fat. That's almost half my body mass. Although according to the chart that comes with the scale, it's not really bad. Just bad. And then of course Jorma announces that he's only 21%, which for some reason doesn't really irritate me as I'm still in denial over my own reading. But I do think that's it's cool to be able to see when my body fat drops as I try to lose weight. I'm still trying to do the SouthBeach thing, although I had Mexican for lunch today which has a bluegillion carbs in it. All hail the Chile Relleno. Yum.

Dewchild.com on Google

Speaking of Google, I just Googled my site name, dewchild and my site came up first on the list. gome! gome!
ok, signing off now, for real.

Google Personalized Toolbar

I love new stuff on the web, but I've seen alot of it. But I must say, Googles new personalize it page is da bomb. Google was my homepage anyways, so now it's just less boring. It lets you pick what catagories you want, you can personalize your weather, choose cnn, or how to's and a quote everyday. And you can move around your lists. Each time you go to google, it shows up like that. You can add websites that have a streaming xml news page, like The Daily Show, or CNN. I love, love, love, love it. But if you use it for your homepage like me, after you create your sign on, (email address and password is all that's required) you just sign in, and then copy and paste the link into Internet Explorer > Tools > Options - Paste it into the Address section, choose apply and ok. You will SO love it.
I've been building sites all evening, practicing my new minimalist style. I really like it.
I got my new beginners Yoga DVD and tried it out today. It's only 20 minutes and I'm going to try to do it everyday and then take a class at the Y. I actually enjoyed it. I couldn't believe it. The video is pretty decent and I don't get lost because it's so slow moving. Granted, it might have been easier if Connor wasn't laying on my back when I went into "Upward Dog", then rolled off onto the floor. (He grunted, but climbed back on). But it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.
When we were living in California, Jorma decided he wanted to do yoga one morning, (he used to do it religiously) so we started into his power yoga tape and after 15 minutes, I stopped leaned over to him and said, "What do you want from Starbucks?", took his order and then went to the Starbucks downstairs for breakfast and coffee.

Einstein Never Used Flash Cards.

I'm reading a book called, Einstein Never Used Flash Cards. It's about how children develop intelligence and how all of the flash card, classical music hype is really just that. It touches on children in our culture that are over scheduled so that their parents can feel like they will be ready for school-then college. It's pretty interesting and I agree with most of it. I mean, certainly there isn't any problem teaching your kid to read early, but they need to have the basic skills down too. How to get in line, how to sit, how to pay attention.

I bet we have an entire generation in 20 years that are talking to their cyber shrinks about how they were over scheduled children. I bet they say it causes some sort of psychological damage and they give it some sort of name. You know, like the now termed, ADHD, which we just called hyperactive when I was a kid. Which basically meant that your parents avoided giving you sugar and made you run laps around the house. I do think that ADHD is a legitimate disorder... I just feel as though it might be being misdiagnosed as it seems to be at epic proportions nowadays. Maybe they'll have all of the 20 somethings with their hang ups, relive their childhood and lay around playing video games and contributing absolutely nothing to society. Yeah. That'll be great for a whole generation.

I built a website this weekend, in the minimalist style that I've been wanting to experiment with. It's for my new clients who also have three other options to choose from. And I really dig it. I think I might shift my web style over to the minimalist style completely. I so love the less is more theory in web design.

I've joined a Mommies Club, which I think might be cool, but I'm really disappointed in the lack of community service that's being done. An organization that large, (not huge, but ya know, 50 members or so) has the potential to make a pretty good impact on the area, not to mention that it can help to teach some of the older kids that like it's just about them. Something that I think this generation may have a hard time grasping due to the whole overscheduling thing. Maybe I'll see if I can rally them into some community service action, or hell, maybe I'll to start my own. You know, community service club for kids. Then I can over schedule them with my activities, teaching them that it's not all about them, it's all about Mommy. Yeah, I know they'll never believe it... but it's nice to fantasize once in a while.