Welcome To Our Sitcom

So we're engaged in our usual Saturday-night pastime of channel surfing when we happen across the "Transformers" movie and a shot of the bod-licious Megan Fox.  We both spend a moment in quiet contemplation/appreciation of her hotness.

I casually mention to Big Daddy that I recently read an interview wherein Miss Fox admitted to being something of a nymphomaniac.

BD: "Huh? ...Really."

Me: "I wish you could see your face right now."

BD: "What?!  I mean. Um. That's just... uh.. interesting, that's all."

Me: "Mmm-hmm..."

(a moment passes)

Me: "Are you sweating?!"

BD: "Uh. No! I mean.. no." (wipes a hand across his brow)

Jack: "Daddy, are you pouring your drink on your head?"

BD: (pause) "Yes, Son.  Yes I am."

Yep, just another typical Saturday night in the Casa De Aum.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go hose down my husband.  I believe he may have spontaneously caught fire in the next room.

Friday Foto Feature

Hello, internets.  

This week has been one of those weeks.  Jack went off to college Kindergarten.

I do not recall giving him permission to grow up.

Toby was understandably confused by this whole idea.  His brother? Going somewhere? WITHOUT him?!  He apparently missed that memo, and posed for one good photo before the whole situation started to dawn on him and he became increasingly nonplussed by the whole deal.

2 illegally cute children and one empty can.

It's somebody else's can. I didn't notice it until after I took the photo.

Then, I VERY RESPONSIBLY kicked it to the side and took 2 more photos.

Tobin refused to smile in either of them.  Hence? Great photo which includes random litter.

It is probably coincidence that Toby woke up the next morning with a fever and proceeded to puke his way through the day.  The fever is finally controlled, and the puking appears to have ceased - and thank the Buddha for that, because I don't think I could have handled being puked on at 2am two nights in a row.  I mean, it's no picnic on a regular night, but in case you somehow missed it - I am incredibly freaking pregnant.  HOW pregnant, you ask?

WELL. Since you asked.

I was reading Amalah today, who happens to be one of my favorite reads and who also happens to be pregnant.  She posted her 33 weeks belly photos, lamenting her hugeness.

I laughed until I cried.... and then? Then I just cried.

Allow me to introduce to you the Belly of Aum at 35 weeks plus some days.

Actual unretouched photo.  

Because obviously if I was going to doctor it, I would have first removed all those Freddy Kreuger-esque stretch mark scars.

Clearly this baby is intent on setting some sort of weight record and perhaps getting his own reality show.  Me? I'm just hoping he can be pushed out without the aid of a backhoe.

Enjoy the Silence.

This face? This is the face of a 5-year-old.  One who will start Kindergarten tomorrow.  And, not to get all sappy on y'all, but I'm not exactly sure how I'm feeling about that.  At least tomorrow is "Orientation Day" and we'll just be popping in for half an hour to meet his teacher.

Wednesday, though, he gets on the big yellow school bus bright and early... and doesn't come home until just before dinner.  

Adding to my general sense of malaise today is the fact that I got up about 8 times to pee last night - after Tobin finally went to sleep at 11.  And then? And then there's the fact that I have 5 weeks left in this pregnancy and I am sooo ready for this baby to vacate my premises.  

SO let's just say I'm having a petite blue period.  Let's leave it at that.

Really Good Excuses...

Here are two of the very good reasons why, even when the internet decided to work (thanks dude whose spotty but entirely unsecured wireless allowed a few quick interludes with the internets) I didn't manage to communicate with the outside world from the beach.

Tobin ponders life's imponderables.  

Like is it really gross to pee in the ocean? I mean, the fish do it...

Jack... providing a very clear example of why I find myself frequently replying

"No, he's not of mixed race.  Unless you count German and Scots as mixed..."

I did manage to participate in 2 rousing games of scrabulous online.  I was tired and needed a distraction besides the 5 awesomely trashy romance novels someone kindly left behind at the beach house.  Yes, 5.  My brain is so full of a jumble of slutty lifeguards and sexily earnest cowboys it's a wonder I haven't made Big Daddy do some dress-up role play with me.  I call dibs on the role of jaded-but-secretly-romantic executive with the hots for his secretary.  Honey, prepare to take some dictation -- if you know what I mean.  And you know you do.

Pants: Still Flaming.

I know! I didn't post anything! For days!  Not even photos! Because I am a big liar.

In reality, we had spotty internet (at best) at the beach house and I was actually quite busy... what with all the lounging in chairs on the beach, eating a metric ton of seafood, and trying not to have a panic attack watching my husband walk out into the roaring surf with mah preyshus baybeez.  I was sure a rogue wave would snatch Toby out of his arms to be lost forever at sea.

If you've ever been to the Outer Banks, you know the waves there are relatively calm.  Also, if you've ever met my Mother you know my crippling and irrational Fear of Horrible Things That Will Never Actually Come To Pass is purely genetic and not in any way my own fault.  

The beach over all, though, was soothing, relaxing and pretty much exactly what we needed after an unprecedentedly hectic summer.  Also, the break from the computer made me realize that I am overdue for a slowdown on internet time.  So I'm going to be doing less of that for a while - at least until Milo arrives and I'm a slave to the house and the schedule of a small mewling infant who wakes at all hours.  Which isn't to say I won't be blogging - I'll just be putting a lot less pressure on myself to do so.  And probably posting a lot more photos and a lot fewer words.  Photos that may or may not have anything to do with... well, anything.

And, on that note, I will leave you with this.

Jack's R2D2 Birthday Cake.

Pants: On FIre.

It's a rough Sea Lion life.  Eat, sleep, lounge. Repeat.

Fisherman's Warf; Pier 39, San Francisco

So I didn't get enough questions yet to justify the random things post.  So I'm a big liar, and I'm not going to post anything clever here for the next week or so.  

And I'm here on the Outer Banks.  And it's raining.  And yet still beautiful and relaxing.

And I'm lazy, and I'm on vay-cay-shun, people, so in lieu of posting actual stuffs while I am here for the next 7 days... I will be attempting to post a daily photo.  Some will be of the scene here on the Outer Banks.... some will be from BlogHer... and yet still others may just be random photos from the recent-past that will fill up the space.  

Enjoy.  

Public Nudity. Only, Not Really.

In spite of the fact that I have chosen to chronicle some of my more intimate life details and personality quirks on the internet, I really am quite mum about personal matters.  In person, anyway.

I've realized recently, as the comments have begun to pick up around here a bit (and THANK YOU! I want to snog each and every one of you, but my husband is afraid I might enjoy it a wee bit too much and abandon him.  Probably to live on an all-girl-blogger commune with the Redneck Mommy, who I smooched full on the lips at BlogHer.  I regret nothing, and I would do it again this instant if the opportunity arose.  This time with tongue. Hi, Tanis! Heh.) 

*cough*

So, um, yeah.  Like I was saying, I'm kinda shy.  (Seriously. I swear.) so when you lovely kind people leave comments I DO think about responding to them, but then I realize that makes this internet-conversation-with-myself more like a real conversation with Other People.  And then I start to sweat and twitch and generally retreat under the covers with a novel and a bag of gummy bears.  

I'm trying to overcome this particular quirk.  

In that spirit, I volunteered to be interviewed by Pete at Fiddley for his Blogger Love on Wednesdays podcast a while back.  Now I'm going to do something even more revolutionary. (After all, even though people would be listening to that interview later, I only had to really focus on talking to Pete... and he happens to be one of the nicest people in the state of Utah, so that was much less scary than anticipated.)

I'm going to ask you, dear readers, to ask me some questions.  Really.  You can either post your questions in the comments or, if you prefer, you may email them to melkist (at) gmail (dot) com.  And then, before I leave for the beach next week, I will post the answers to your inquiries.

So if there's something you have been dying to know about me, or if you're just idly curious and happen to have some extra time this week, go ahead and fire off a question or two.  I may filter through them (if you're one of the people who keeps stumbling upon this site by googling for "Mom Panty" or "Sexy Spanking" I completely reserve the right to ignore you.  Or send you a referral for my shrink.)  Oddball questions will earn extra points, and to kick things off I will now answer three questions that absolutely nobody asked.  

Q) Are you a natural redhead?

A) I don't remember.  It's been so long since I let my natural color grow in, I'd be hard pressed to figure this one out.  But the carpet doesn't match the drapes, so if that's any indication I'd have to say no.  My (currently blond) sister has the "natural redhead" claim to fame, and the requisite second hairdo to prove it.  Just don't ask her if you can check for yourself because she is secretly a total bad-ass and she will cut you, you perv.

Q) What is your husband's real name?

A) Big Daddy T is a moniker I adopted because some of his coworker friends have/do read this blog.  I would hate for the wrong person at his office to stumble across the site and perhaps make me the unwitting cause of any awkwardness at work.  I will reveal that his actual first [name begins with the letter "J", which adds a whole new layer of confusion, now, doesn't it? You may now stew on that for a while.

Q) Why "Aum" Mom? Do you do Yoga? Meditation?

A) First because "Aum" rhymes with "Home" and I thought it was clever.  Second because I have done yoga in the past, as well as Pilates.  I preferred pilates, for the record, but they both gave me a sense of calm which I strive to translate into everyday living with varying levels of success.  I am also a semi-casual student of Buddhism, and it felt like a nice triangulation all around.  When I do manage to go to the bathroom and finish without interruption I tend to consider that my meditation for the day; otherwise I try to find a few minutes to sit quietly in a chair and ponder the nature of existence.  More often than not the "sitting in the chair" method results in an impromptu nap, which is okay because it helps me find a teeny bit of zen in my day.

So there you are.  It's the internet equivalent of Public Nudity as I blog (metaphorically) naked for you.  Feel free to be creative or to ask silly questions (I think toilet paper should roll forward off the top, for the record).  I'll even throw in a prize of some sort for the best question, with the winner to be chosen by Big Daddy.  I'm not sure what the prize will be, but does it really matter WHAT you win as long as you win?  Something to ponder while you're sitting there thinking up fascinating questions for a semi-fascinating woman, now, isn't it?

Nothing Doing

I woke up this morning, ate breakfast with Big Daddy and the boys, got Big Daddy out the door and on the road in his shiny new silver car (no sign of mining gnomes yet, but I'm keeping a vigilant eye), and then I sat down in one of our wing chairs with the most recent Entertainment Weekly while the boys settled into their play for the morning.

Two hours later I woke from a sound sleep to find two angelic children playing quietly at my feet.  I think they might have been mine, but since my boys are not famous for quiet play I can't be entirely sure I didn't hallucinate the whole thing in that semi-comatose state between awake and asleep.  

But really that's neither here nor there, except to explain that I lost 2 hours today and got a much later start than anticipated on the grocery shopping and house chores.  And I still can't seem to find the cable for my camera, so I have no photos for you.  I'm so far behind the power curve that I might officially be upside-down by now.  Which would explain the hair, y'all, because today I resemble a horrifically pregnant Lyle Lovett.  

Which is all really getting at the point that I probably have nothing to say today.  I know! One of "those posts" where the writer is all "I'm just posting to say I have nothing to post".  Did you know those posts can be quiet helpful for the writer if they are, say, extraordinarily worn out and looking for a good excuse to procrastinate the starting of dinner?  

I am a champion procrastinator.  I also happen to have a ridiculous case of ADD, which helps because it's quite easy to delay doing things if you can't remember exactly what you set out to do in the first place because - ohh! Lookit that, I really need to redo my pedicure, don't I?  

I'm sorry, what were we saying?  Something about me being an exhausted procrastinator with the attention span of a coked-up ferret?  Yeah, that might have been it.

So strictly for your entertainment, here is a list things that distracted me today- which will also serve as the perfectly reasonable list of excuses why I didn't accomplish 90% of my "To-Do List" today.

-"What's that smell?" (in order: the dog, Toby's diaper, something still unidentified in the fridge)

- "Oh, look! I haven't seen this episode of Blue's Clues..."

- "What was that crash?" (Toby tipping over the heavy table in his room, Toby flipping the laundry basket over in an attempt to ride it down the stairs, Toby knocking the step-stool over while trying to wash his hands for the 54326 time today)

- Things I noticed that completely derailed me en route to something else: 

- the 4 dead flies we have trapped on the fly paper in the kitchen

- my empty coffee mug

- 3 empty packets of fruit snacks

- the entire section of fake Crocs at Walmart

- a forgotten package of unopened bacon in the crisper, discovered while searching out the aforementioned mystery smell, which I have been fantasizing about all afternoon

- Things I need to get done but were NOT on my to-do list for today, which didn't stop me from spending precious hours obsessing over them while accomplishing exactly nothing this afternoon:

- packing my suitcase for the Birthing Inn

- packing for our trip to the beach next week

- finding Big Daddy's swim trunks for the beach trip

- shopping for new school clothes for Jack

- bringing up the box of "newborn to 3 months" boys' clothes from basement storage to wash and put away for Milo

- installing the infant car seat into the van

- cleaning the van out for the beach trip

In fact, the only serious task I accomplished today was scheduling the dog for a visit with The Vet From Hell for this weekend so he can get up-to-date on all his vaccines before we deposit him at the boarding kennel next week.  So acute is my fear of this horribly nasty man, I got off the phone with his very pleasant receptionist and almost wept with relief that the only available appointment was Saturday morning.  This means that Big Daddy gets the honor of dealing with the whole thing, and I am saved from being lectured on: the evils of Any Pet Food That Is Not Science Diet, being a horrid mean dog parent who refuses to get my dog vaccinated for anything that isn't a documented risk in our area (no, I don't want the lyme disease vaccine for an extra $50, thanks), and allowing the nice vet at our boarding kennel to administer a rabies vaccine because it was more convenient for us at the time.  

All things considered... well, I mean, the whole vet thing? It's pretty traumatic.  So when you put that into perspective AND realize that I am also incredibly busy with the growing of a small human being, I really accomplished quite an impressive lot today, didn't I?

Thanks, I'm glad we had this talk.  I feel much better now.  Was it good for you?

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Tonight we drive to the dealership to pick up the new car.  Yes, I said "new".   I know, I'm quelling the panic at the thought of the car payment... but aside from the fact that it appears John Q. Everybody is busy trading in their horrific gas-guzzling SUV's for every compact and sub-compact car in the used market  (Even our beloved Carmax came up with a pitifully sad selection of vehicles to fit the bill in replacing the dearly departed Aquaman) Big Daddy is in critical need of a vehicle with things like.. you know... air conditioning and working windows and locks.  Also a vehicle that doesn't require me to crawl out of bed and come rescue him from a breakdown off the side of some godforsaken stretch of highway between here and civilization in the wee hours of the morning would be lovely.

Rest in peace, AquaMan.

And so it is that Big Daddy will soon be the proud owner of a brand-spanking new Saturn Astra. Because the availability is limited in our area he found that to get the options he wanted his only color choice was... silver.  Like the minivan.  He mentioned that he fully expects to wake up tomorrow to find a troop of gnomes with pickaxes making a muck of the front lawn.  Don't mind him, though, he's just bitter because he has a thing for blue ("da-ba-dee-da-ba-doo").

So that's changing, then.  New car.  That's different, right?

So then we leave in about a week for our family vacation to the Outer Banks.  Sand, surf and, hopefully, quiet hours in the sunshine with a good book.  And then back home just in time to get Jack ready for Kindergarten.  Now, normally this would involve copious quantities of wine and weeping. For me, I mean.  Being pregnant limits my mental health options, though, so I may have to make due with tabloid magazines and frozen limeade.

Once we get into the swingin' routine of regular school (did I mention it's all day kindergarten? ALL. DAY. *sniffle*) I'll have a few hectic weeks to prepare for the arrival of the small being currently percolating in my lady regions.  And by "small" I mean "freakishly huge, just like my previous spawn".  I was hoping to land somewhere in the eight pound range this time but if the size of my exponentially growing belly is any indication this baby will weigh approximately 86 pounds.  So at least there's the fame and free diaper sponsorships to look forward to.

But basically what I'm getting at here (not that you expected a coherent point at this stage in our narrative, did you?) is that my life 8 weeks from now will be unrecognizable as the same life I am currently leading and I'm really not sure exactly how I feel about that.  I'm sure it will all end up just peachy keen, but it's the not knowing that is driving me a little bonkers.

So I guess what I'm getting at is... Hold me? And maybe send cookies.

  

Blog The Recession

Kristin over at Motherhood Uncensored noticed that July has been a pretty craptastic month across the board.  Oh, sure, there were some fantastic highlights - BlogHer, pretty fireworks, and (for me) my kid turning 5. 

But there was also the wrecking of Big Daddy's car and, oh, did I mention my kid turning 5?

It's hard out there for a pimp blogger, y'all, so let's all do something a little kinder and gentler in August and Blog The Recession.  Basically, that means if you're using a feed reader and normally don't click through... just this once, go ahead and click.  And once you arrive on the site, maybe go ahead and click a few of those sponsor ads.  

Christmas will be here before you know it, and who couldn't use a few extra bucks in pocket right now?  Even if they (like me) don't have any ads, the added eye t

raffic will send a little internet love (the good kind) their way.  

Spread the love, my peoples.  Haven't you heard? There's a recession on.  It could end up like 1977 around here, and nobody wants that, now do they? 

The effects of the recession echoed all the way into 1981.

Or, maybe this is just a gratuitous photo of my second birthday.

Et Tu, Tuesday?

Officially, Monday is the Day Of Doom at our house.  Mondays have been known to attack without warning. You need an example?

Yesterday (which was Monday, for those keeping score at home) Toby got an inexplicable bout of digestive badness resulting in explosive diarrhea.  I discovered this when he walked into the family room with a stream of brown running down one leg.  It was lovely.

Even MORE lovely, though, was hearing the dog lapping at something in the next room.  "Something" turned out to be a puddle of diarrhea that had collected on the floor after escaping the diaper.

That dog has kissed me on the mouth, people.  Not that I allow him to do that willingly, but he's 60 pounds of conniving lap-dog and sometimes you just can't dodge fast enough.

So I figured, once all the poopy chaos was cleaned up, we were clear for the rest of the week.

Not so, dear friends.

This morning, on his way to work, Big Daddy got into a car accident.  Fortunately, he walked away without injury.  Not so fortunate was his trusty jalopy, the 1990 Honda Civic, our beloved "Aqua Man Car".  (Jack named the car when Big Daddy first drove its teal gloriousness into the driveway.)

Rest in Peace, Aqua Man.

So if any marketing people from a major auto manufacturer happen by and want to give us a free car for his hour-long commute each way, I'm open to changing our middle name pick to "Chevy" or "Honda".  Okay, maybe not really, but I'll put an ad up for you and generally be your corporate love-muffin.  Totally a win-win, right?

So, yeah, back in reality-type-land, if anyone needs me I'll be busy perusing the local used car dealerships, crunching some numbers, and possibly stuffing my face with leftover birthday cake.  Also possibly calculating the relative street value of my prenatal vitamins.  They won't get you high but your hair and nails will be fabulously healthy! 

As for you, Tuesday... I'll deal with you later.  Maybe you can make it up to me: from now on, any calories consumed on Tuesdays don't count.  That would be a good start.  I mean, there's an awful lot of cake left.

Of Birth Days and Birthdays.

The internets, they have stolen a week of my life. 

More specifically, BabyZone's newsletter cheerfully informed me this morning that I am 32 weeks pregnant.  

The problem with this?  I had written on my little calendar (a paper and ink sort, because to keep track of anything concrete in my life requires me to rock it like it's 1987.  At least I don't refer to it as a "file-0-fax") that I was 31 weeks pregnant.  

I checked and double checked and asked my OB at my appointment this moning and, um, it appears BabyZone is correct and I am 32 weeks pregnant.

Well, Crap.

I had PLANS for that week, people!  I was excusing myself from stressing about kindergarten supply lists and back-to-school nights, about packing for the beach and perhaps packing my hospital bag.  I was giving myself a free pass because, after all, I wasn't in that final 2-month window of this pregnancy yet.

DAMN YOU, BABYZONE!

Big Daddy mentioned the other night that he thought I should go ahead and pack an emergency hospital bag.  Given that I have never gone into early labor - that, in fact, I have been twice successfully induced, I found his request silly in the extreme.  I asked him why I would want to do something so obviously unnecessary.  His reply? "I'm craving pickles.  It's a sign."  Yeah, it's a sign of something, all right.  *cough*

It is also possible I may be taking my sudden panic-and-hormone-induced mood swings out on my husband.  Just sayin', it's possible.  

It doesn't help one iota that Jack is now officially 5 years old.

FIVE. EFFING. YEARS. OLD.

How did I become the mother of a five-year-old?!  I mean, I know - technically - how it happened. (Several cocktails and a french maid costume for Halloween will tend to make that happen.) But how did five years go by? Where did this articulate little person with more skill for video games than his parents come from?  He even wipes his own behind now.  It's like having a very small adult in the house - albeit one who can still throw the occasional tantrum to make the earth tremble.

We celebrated the Birthday milestone in the usual way: there was cake, ice cream, the odd party game, and there were gifts.  I have photos of all of these things (especially the R2D2 cake, of which I am especially proud) but I've somehow misplaced the camera cable and you can hardly blame me because holy crap five years old!  

The weirdness just keeps getting weirder.  I realized today how horrified the teenagers at Hot Topic looked when the pregnant lady with the two kids came wandering in from the mall corridor to purchase new body jewelry.  What? I needed a new nose stud, and a new ring for my left ear.  But I could see it in their blankly-horrified expressions: This woman is way too old to be shopping at the Hot Topic.  But, hey, in five more years I can go in to buy purple hair dye for my skate-punk son.  The one who picked out a trucker hat that says "chairman of the board" at Old Navy today.  Also the one who told me that high tops were "so not cool, Mom".

And if his growing steadily into a pool of angsty no-longer-baby wasn't proof enough that time is passing me by at an alarming rate, the internet pregnancy calendar had to come along and steal another week of my life away.

I want that week back.  Also, I would like a 2-hour deep-tissue massage, a mini-van that gets 40 miles to the gallon, and one dappled pony.  And if anyone has seen my ability to form coherent thoughts, I'd appreciate the return of that as well.

Thanks.

Have You Seen My Brain?

The jet lag, she is a wicked mistress.  Jack keeps saying "Mommy? Do you need some coffee?" .  But it's not just the time difference... I am feeling the void that my girls left behind.  And nobody in my house can give a proper accessory critique.  I have worn flip-flops for 3 days now, and THEY ARE LETTING ME GET AWAY WITH IT.  If this keeps up, I will be busting out the banana clips and skorts in no time.  Save me!

It's so surreal, the being back home and doing of housework.  Oh, and lest I forget, the changing of diapers.  How lovely was it to wipe no behind but my own for 4 whole days, you ask?  SO LOVELY.  But all that was (nearly) forgotten the moment two sets of pudgy arms wrapped around my kneecaps.  It's a fine line to walk, this place between carefree city girl and pony-tailed, yoga-panted Mom.  

And I left my creativity swirling around in the ether, up with the foggy blanket over San Francisco.  I like to think it's just marinating there, soaking up a bit more of the melancholy of the bay.  Perhaps it will return to me once it is fully saturated.  Until then, I can always just post more photos of my dog in funny hats, right?  Or I could, um, plagiarize myself and take my email ramblings and put them up as today's post.  Which do you think I chose? (Mocha knows.)

And now off we go for the pre-kindergarten physical.  There will be shots, and so also tears... and then ice cream. 

This Is Not The Post You're Looking For.

No Jedi Mind Trick intended.  Seriously. This is not the post you are probably expecting.

See, the thing is, I am still working on processing the events of the past 4 days.  This conference, this Mythical THING that I attended, is still being digested.  It's a bit like the old saying about eating an elephant: one bite at a time.  

Here are a few quick bullets.  Think of them as a quick snack, with the more filling meal to follow.

* MochaMomma and Mallory the Magnificent were quite possibly the best roommates in history.  I felt like I was part of the world's most awesome sleepover.  Also, they swear I didn't snore AT ALL.  I suspect they're either sparing my feelings or just really, REALLY heavy sleepers.  Either way? Rule.

* I am officially in love with The Redneck Mommy.  I mean, I already had total girl-crushdom on her, but now I officially wanted to put her in my pocket and take her home with me.  I don't think she would have minded, but when I gave it more thought I realized that I don't really want to bring someone so obviously hotter than me home to meet Big Daddy.  The man might get ideas, and in my currently delicate condition I might be too slow to successfully beat his senses back into him with my ham sandwich.

* My one big regret of the conference would have been missing the Mighty Haus launch party but, after shaking my oh-so-pregnant groove thang for hours at the Ruby Skye party, I headed to bed just in time.  By the next morning my pelvis was creaking and it took me a good half hour to relearn how to walk properly.  So, yes, I missed my chance to give a heartfelt fangirl shout-out to Dooce and many others.  I did manage to steal a brief moment to chat with Mighty Maggie after her panel, though, and she was as lovely and gracious as I imagined she would be.  Also, she brought the leftover Krispy Kremes from her party to give out after her panel, and thereby purchased a special place in heaven.  (nummmmm, Krispy Kremes. Remind me someday to regale you with the glorious tales of Friday nights and a dozen fresh Krispy Kremes back in the glory days of a little site called Kozmo.com).

* People I am happy to have finally met face-to-face, however briefly:  Redsy, Velma Smeddling, Fluid Pudding, Oh, The Joys,  Amalah, and others I know I should remember and will look like a loser for forgetting to mention but oh mah gawd I am so tired and please forgive me and comment and remind me that Hi! We met, and I said it was great, and now I'm acting all aloof and do you want to break up or what, because we should totally meet up behind the gym after fifth period and have The Talk or whatever.  Also, most of the people I DID remember to mention will likely be all "MeL WHO, now?".  Oh, and I also met Bossy, who I was somehow unaware of until her Excellent Road Trip Adventures.  Her blog makes me laugh with regularity.  She is much taller than I expected, and also I might have accidentally almost strangled her with her scarf while attempting to dance with her at one of the parties - so basically SHE will remember me, but only as the insane pregnant woman who attempted to suffocate her with her own accessories, the end.

The posts I will write later, the ones brewing in my impish head, have less to do with the adventures of BlogHer than with the ideas that were planted in my head there.  The conversations were multitude, and I have been thinking through several essays on topics raised there.  So keep your eyes open for coming-soon posts on topics like Body Image, Why I Write, and MommyBlogging as a Radical Act.  These things require further percolating.  For now, then, I will continue to digest and maybe post some of the few photos I remembered to take.  

Also, I have to catch up on the latest episodes of Avatar, So You Think You Can Dance, and Monk.  Because, you know, Mama needs her stories.

Be Sure To Wear A Flower In Your Hair.

San Francisco.  The city is the same and different all at once; it's foggy and cool here, and the view from the 32nd floor party room was spectacular.

So far I have:

*Unwittingly snubbed a fellow BlogHer (sorry about not being more chatty on the shuttle! I was, um, sweaty. and tired. and didn't realize I probably came off as an unfriendly whore until much, much later.)

* Been screamed at by an Angry German.  Apparently I was supposed to print off the confirmation email to prove I had prepaid for my shuttle ride.  I didn't realize this, and I wasn't about to fork over another $20 (which I didn't have on me, anyway).  My apologies to the people who had to wait in the shuttle while I called my husband to get the confirmation number, and then while Mr. Angry German tried to call it in to confirm.  Also, apologies on his behalf to the people who got stuck behind the blue van because Mr. Angry German had parked illegally.  

*Attended 2 parties.  I met and molested several notables: Redneck Mommy? As UberHot as she appears in photos.  Oh, The Joys? Shorter and even more adorable than you thought.  CityMama?  I almost peed my pants when she looked at my business card and said "Hey! I know this blog."  

And now? Now it is approximately 11pm California time. That's 2am EST for those of you keeping track at home.  My head is going to explode any second, so I'm off to sleep.  I'll wave at Mallory for you; MochaMomma? She's still out painting the town somewhere.  That woman? Knows how to party.

To be continued, my friends.

Things You Should Know.

In just over 24 hours I will be heading to the airport for my 4 day Girl Extravaganza at BlogHer 2008.

If I didn't already have bladder control issues (thank you, pregnancy) this would likely send me running for a dry pair of granny panties.  I'm looking forward to meeting, in person, people who I have learned to adore on the internet.  I can't wait to put names with faces and grope give hugs to people whose words have alternately entertained, inspired, and elevated me. 

This woman is all big and important and, in case you haven't heard, an INTERNET PHENOMENON, etc, etc, etc.  When I stumbled across her, however, she was my first brush with a "mommy blogger" and her words helped me laugh and cry and find solace in some of the darkest days of my post-partum depression.  I had no idea she was a "somebody", but in those difficult days she never knew that she was the girlfriend who sat and had coffee with me and said "I've been there, and this will get better. You will get through this."  Also, she is a keynote speaker at the conference this year.  That feels like something coming full circle for me.

So, yeah, I have a lot of expectations about this conference.  And I'm hoping to meet a few people who can tell me Where To Go Next, because I do have the desire to branch out and maybe take on a few assigned pieces for other sites or something to that effect.  Because - all evidence to the contrary - I AM interested in writing about things besides the kids, my dog, my breasts, and the voices in my head.  So there's that.

In the interest of full disclosure, then, there are a few things you should know about me before my grand "coming out" at BlogHer.  

1) As I write this, I am sitting in my favorite multi-purpose item of maternity clothing: a shapeless, black, stretchy cotton housedress thing.  When I arrive in San Francisco with my multitude of carefully coordinated outfits, complete with matching jewelry, shoes, and purses, please recognize that I am not actually That Put Together.  It's a carefully crafted illusion, and when I get home I will probably take entirely too much joy in placing my fancy kicks back up on their shelf and slipping my feet into my fuzzy pink house slippers.

2) I am a drinker.  I am NOT an alcoholic, but were it not for the small resident in my uterus I would take great pleasure in joining you for a cocktail or three.  That said, my family has a talent for acting like a buncha drunks without the aid of alcohol.  Don't believe me? Just ask any of the many guests who asked, rather doubtfully, after my wedding if I was SURE my mormon family members weren't sneaking drinks behind the curtain.  Surprisingly, an overabundance of personality can be achieved without the aid of alcohol.  So if I appear a bit tipsy, rest assured it's just my natural exuberance.

3) If I remain sitting to talk to you, it's because my feet/back/pelvis/(insert other appropriate body part here) is aching from carrying the weight of another large baby.  Please don't think I'm rude, it's just that I'm quite ponderously large.  Also, I am not due until September so PLEASE don't ask me if I'm sure there's not twins in there.  I really am that big; I really am having just one; I'm really not due for another few months.  So glad we could get that out of the way.

4) Feel free to rub the belly, unless you are creepy or certifiable.  I am a firm believer that the buddha belly is good luck, and if spreading a little luck around will come back to help me out... well, my karma can always use a boost.  

5) Bonus points to anyone who says things like "You only had one dessert; now you need to eat one for the baby!" or "But you look too fantastic to be having your THIRD baby!"  I'll know that you're lying, but I'll love you anyway.

6) If I swap my fabulous shoes for a pair of flip-flops sometime during the afternoon, please pretend not to notice.  Pregnant women? Our feet swell in the summer.

7) If you recognize me, PLEASE come and say hello!  I may act skittish and awkward, but that's just because I'm not used to it yet.  I made an art form of being invisible for most of my adolescence, and breaking out of that mold is not the easiest thing to do.  

8) When I get nervous, I tend to talk faster and faster until I may appear to be speaking a foreign language.  I'm working on it; please forgive me.   

9) In attempt to curb inappropriate language use in front of the small humans I have developed a whole host of "alternative curses" which may include such phrases as "Jimminy Christmas!", "Son of a biscuit!", "Frickity-fricking-FRAKK!".  Please avert your eyes and understand that I am aware of my own weirdness.  I'm quirky - let's just accept that and move on.

10) I really suck at keeping lists, being on time, and pretty much anything that involves minute-to-minute organization.  If I stumble into a session 10 minute late, please smile encouragingly and offer me the open seat next to you.  I promise it will be worth your while; what I lack in organizational skills I more than make up for with charm... and chocolate.  Also, I usually smell very nice.

So there we are.  I'm sure there's more that you should know about me, but that will give you a good base.  Well, that and a fair warning that I have a habit of smacking people I find charming on their bum.  Like I said, I'm a little quirky.

I'm not sure how much time I'll have for posting while I'm on my adventure; I do expect to twitter at least intermittently, so you can look for me there.. but just in case you're not going to be in San Francisco this weekend, let's plan to meet back here on Monday, shall we?

Summer Book Review #2

This review was SUPPOSED to be about The Road by Cormack McCarthy.  

But then I began to read it, and I realized that my mushy, pregnant brain and McCarthy's beautiful but sparse (and, Holy Hannah Montana, I mean sparse) prose combined to give me a splitting headache 4 pages into the first chapter.

I know - Blasphemy! It won a frakking Pullitzer!  But apparently the selection committee wasn't made up of hormonal pregnant women.  I'll get back to it in a few weeks, I swear.

In the mean time, I moved right along to another book from The List.  This time it was Water for Elephants by Sarah Gruen.

I was a big fan of the short-lived HBO show Carnivale.  I didn't finish it out, however, because it started to get too weird.  And, really, what I loved about it was the depression-era circus culture.  Okay, so it wasn't technically a circus - it was a carnival.  But you get the idea.  This book tapped right into that fascination, complete with photos from the era.  Apparently, the author herself was inspired to write the book after coming across a collection of these photos.  

The Era of the Depression is as foreign a world to us of this digital generation as the French Revolution was to Americans of that era.  Add to that the romantic and strange world of Circus life and the effect is as disorienting and fantastical as the world from any science-fiction piece I have ever read.

The story of Jacob and his sudden immersion into the realities of the depression amidst personal tragedy ends up really being a framework to explore the unique relationships of the Circus folk.  The character is allowed to move between the various classes of Circus society with relative ease throughout the story.  

The strange freedom of his adventures is in stark contrast to the state of modern-day Jacob, who spins the tale of his memories from the confines of his restrictive nursing home.  

I was utterly captivated by the characters in the tale; Kinko the dwarf-clown, Marlena the glamorous horse trainer, and the larger-than-life Uncle Al - the man in charge of the Benzini Brothers Circus.  Each return to Jacob in present day felt like being ripped from the bustling sights and smells of the circus midway and crammed into the cages with the animals Jacob tended as Circus Vet.  

The book is heavier than I anticipated; this isn't a fluffy bit of cotton-candy summer reading, for sure.  That said, I found myself staying up past bedtime to finish "just one more chapter" and I nearly over-processed the dye on my hair when I lost track of myself in the middle of a chapter that included a funeral procession for a deceased "Fat Lady" who was displayed in an elephant cage.  (Thankfully, I came to my senses in time to wash out the color before could turn myself into "The Bald Lady with Burned Scalp" and join a sideshow, myself.) 

So there we are.  Oh, and there IS an elephant, as well.  A lovely girl named Rosie.  

Now, on to "The Devil in the White City" by Erik Larson.  Which I suppose means I'm reading 2 history-related works in a row.  Look, Ma! I'm reading for fun AND getting edumacated!

BlogHer Approacheth

This is what I look like on a typical morning.

Note the shiny, lick-able macbook.  Also, the shiny, lick-able pregnant lady - with hair desperately in need of some stylist attention.  That would be me.

I leave for BlogHer in 6 days, y'all.  I am a ball of excitement, anxiety, and hormones.  (Literally - a ball.  I have the spherical dimensions to prove it.)  Right now, I am doing my best to get through the weekend without losing my mind.  Big Daddy is off searching for his lost youth being manly with the other manly men on the New River Gorge.  The kids are attempting to kill each other with carefully applied blows from pool noodles.  The dog, for once, is giving me no trouble whatever.  I am taking all of these as signs of the impending apocalypse; seeing as I just gave myself a pretty decent pedicure, I'm hoping apocalypse can wait until after I get back from San Francisco.

Speaking of Apocalypse, however, we have tentatively begun the next round of potty training at our house.  Mostly this involves Tobin removing his diaper after he's already made a deposit of some sort, and only then asking to be placed on the toilet.  I was planning to put off the whole potty training thing until the spring at this point - what with the baby coming in September and all.  Because I already carry around a full plate of crazy, and this might just push me over the edge.  Won't you come hold me, and bring me something chocolate?

 Toby has also discovered the joys of marking his territory around the house.  The sometime delay between his removal of diaper and the application of a new one has provided ample opportunities for him to put this new talent to use in a multitude of places.  Fun for the whole family! He has so far peed on: the carpet, the wall, the chairs, several books, a few unfortunate toys, and the stereo receiver.  

Once again, lucky to have this face.  

Especially after peeing on expensive electronics.

I'm holding out the completely impossible hope that his father will have better luck with this process while I am out of town.  To be honest, though, I'll be happy if I make it there and back and there are no reports from the home front of fires, floods, trips to the emergency room, or sudden illness.  Bonus for nothing with a value more than twenty bucks being urinated on.  Double bonus if there is no repeat of the unspeakable "baby squats on bathroom rug" incident which shall never be mentioned again.

And with that, I am suddenly reminded that perhaps I am in need of a few days away from home even more than I realized.  6 days to go, people.

Rejected but not Dejected.

So to the surprise of exactly nobody, I was not selected to read at the BlogHer Community Keynote.  However, that said and my minor disappointment aside, quite a few people whom I alternately admire and adore were, indeed, selected. I will live vicariously through them and also probably give them some of my drink tickets so I can watch enviously as they sip the martinis I wish I could have.

Although technically my drink tickets don't belong to me and I'm really giving away her drink tickets, since as my room mate she has already staked her fair claim on them.  

But I digress, and y'all can fight her for them later.  Seriously. I'll make a fortune selling tickets to that spectacular, which is much more reasonable than my idea for the Pregnant Caged Death Match - Me vs. Amalah.  Because everyone knows pregnant women don't do caged death matches.  At least not when there is a buffet in the vicinity.  Unless they're fighting over the last slice of pineapple upside-down cake.  MMmm.... cake.

But, er, BlogHer is only a week away, people!  My head is aching with the sorting through my rapidly dwindling selection of "cute maternity clothes that still fit my enormously bulky girth" and the choosing between money for groceries or a new pair of lust-worthy shoes.

So dedicated am I to this whole proposition that I even managed to give myself a pedicure today.  Imagine sitting on a kitchen chair with a yoga ball strapped to your stomach. Good. Now try to lean over and reach your toes.  Yeah, that's a fair approximation of what I just went through.  But I managed it, and my feet are velvety soft and the french pedicure even came out respectable.  You may now marvel at the greatness of my accomplishment.  Me? I'll be over here snarfing down more cake.

OH! And speaking of cake... (smooth transition, right?!)

Happy 30th Birthday to Big Daddy!

We celebrated the occasion early - way back on the 4th - so that he could be surrounded by loved ones when he came to terms with his mortality blew out his candles.  I even got a cake with appropriately funerary festive black roses, because I'm thoughtful that way.

Mmm... cake.

Does not look 30.

So today he is OFFICIALLY 30, and we celebrated again with a Funfetti cake expertly crafted with the help of the small humans.  Also, he received new boxer shorts and Hanes undershirts as gifts because, obviously, I am the best wife EVAR.  

Actually, his real gift comes this weekend when he heads out to the wilds of the New River for a weekend of camping and whitewater rafting with the proverbial "guys".  I'm not sure what all this weekend entails beyond probably head injuries, possible drowning, and the odd weenie roast. (Not a euphemism... so far as I am aware, anyway).  I'm guessing there will also be mass quantities of beer and maybe some manly chest bumping.

So Happy Birthday, Baby.  Enjoy all the opportunities for untimely death and male bonding.  Just be careful, and remember that you're not as young as you used to be.  You know - like, yesterday.

Going Under / Surfacing

It has been a plethora of days (yes, I said PLETHORA) since I posted.

There are very good reasons for this.  I have been BIZZY, y'all.  For a woman as monstrously pregnant as I currently am, busy equals tired.  I'm not just talking your run-of-the-mill, after company tired.  Oh No.  This is bone weary, "why are the nights so short and who are these small people begging for breakfast?" exhausted tired.

My sister and her family were delightful to have with us for the 4th Holiday, and the boys each became a Mini-Me for their older cousins.  In order to fully appreciate the extent of this tiny clone phenomenon, you must please refer to the following photographic evidence:

Corban and Tobin: The Blonde Ambition Tour

Rees and Jack get Cheeky.

And, yes, her boys are as "photo-negative" of each other as mine are.  Weird, I know.

Our good friends, who recently purchased the home across the street from us, also joined us for the holiday festivities.  Big Daddy and Mister Joe were in charge of manning the grill.  In the pouring rain.

Gives new meaning to the phrase "wet ribs".  The bbq ribs, by the way, were spectacular.

We spent a great few days in the company of my sister's family, and then waved them on their way on Sunday morning.  Then, Sunday afternoon, we welcomed my cousin Katie, my cousin Mike, and 4 of Mike's eight (yes, EIGHT) children into the homestead for an evening of chatter and Rock Band ruckus.  I still rock out on the drums, by the way, even if I have to lean back to reach them around The Belly.

And then, on Monday morning, I died.  The End.

Okay, not really.  But the housekeeper came.  Did I mention we now have a lovely woman coming in twice a month to scrub the bathrooms and do the floors?  Because my bulky self can't manage it any more, and yes I do feel incredibly bourgeois about it all, but there it is, and it saves my sanity.  Anyway, the housekeeper came and so I spent Monday morning doing house cleaning to prepare the way for her, and then I spent the afternoon digging out from under the mountains of laundry.  

And then, this morning, I died for real, which explains why it is now nearly 11pm and I am finally getting around to posting this rather sad summary of a really exceptional weekend.  I managed a 2-hour nap this afternoon and, after dinner at a local Mexican restaurant followed by ice cream at The Cone Zone, we finally got the boys bathed and into bed and settled in a bit for the evening.  

And now, my friends? Now I go to sleep the sleep of legends.  And tomorrow? Well, tomorrow Big Daddy turns 30.  Don't tell him I told you.  More on that later.

Nighty night!

You Can Learn A Lot Of Things From The Flowers

These blossoms are mostly gone now; Salvias don't like the heat of July.  While they lasted, though, the blooms were spectacular.  Without fail, every time I looked I would find at least one very focused bee going around and around the stalk to visit each tiny flower.

June has already faded into the sweaty, humid summer fervor of July.. but for a while there were Golden Afternoons in the front yard.  The boys would run and ride bikes and lay in the grass with me under the cool shade of the Bradford pear tree.  

We bloomed in June, right along with the rainbow of flora in the yard.  I was as frantically busy as those bees: painting, sewing curtains, scrubbing, moving furniture around.  June is a good month for nesting.  Those flowers? They're really on to something.

July will be a busy, sweaty month.  Although there is a lot to look forward to (Hello, BlogHer!) I have a feeling that by month's end I will be as wilted as the rest of the blossoms.

But the memories of our golden afternoons in the sunshine? Those should go a long way towards getting me through the next hectic weeks.. and our planned trip to the beaches of the Outer Banks will swoop in just in time.

So I've been AWOL for a few days, but really I've just been busy with the cleaning and the napping and such.  Yesterday I sat down to write a wildly entertaining post - really I did! - but then I fell asleep in my computer chair with my feet propped up on the back of the sofa.  

I'll try to be better, really I will.  My sister Kim and her family are arriving tonight and will be with us through the weekend, though, so I may be patchy with the posting until next week. 

Have a Happy July 4th everybody.  Try not to blow off any digits while lighting wildly over-the-top fireworks displays for the kids.  (Or at least take pictures if you do.)

Shrinking Those Degrees.

I don't put a lot of thought into that whole "Six Degrees of Separation" thing, but I came across this little item (okay, so I'm only 3 or 4 months behind in seeing it...) and I it gave me a little thrill.

You see, my father-in-law is a retired Navy Captain.  He also got to work with (now) Cmdr. Mike Lopez-Alegria back in his Navy days, and even (so I have been told) got to help recommend him to NASA for the space program.

That alone is a cool enough "degrees" thing, but that I can then connect the dots between Mike L-A and Alton Brown?  Our Good Eats Hero? The Man who inspires my husband to tackle new and exciting challenges in the kitchen, and who may yet inspire my eldest to set his sights on Culinary School? (Okay, so the kid is 5, but Good Eats is his favorite show and he already talks about being a chef when he grows up)...

Well, that's pretty schweet, y'all.

Oh, and before I forget, I do realize that today is Friday.  I also realize that means I should, according to my own schedule, be posting a "Friday Foto Feature".    Due to circumstances beyond my control (read: I am exhausted... and lazy) we will be skipping it this week.  I'm sure that a combination of therapy and dark chocolate will help you recover from your massive disappointment. (*cough*)

My Cup Runneth Over

This is not in reference to my pregnancy-enhanced cleavage (Although those cups? They also runneth over, in case you were wondering. And we both know you were.)

No, instead this is about all the blog love I have received this week.

First, there was the Fiddley Gomme BLOW interview - with your host, Pete!  I highly recommend the experience.  If you are a lesser-known blogging type entity with an interest in pulling back the curtain a little and letting people get to know you better... well, I highly recommend getting in touch with Pete and asking very sweetly if he would like to BLOW you.  Just make sure it's the right Pete, because someone else could take that the wrong way.

Then!  AND THEN!  The lovely Stacey from Is There Any Mommy Out There? gave me a totally unexpected gift -- a profile on the maiden voyage of AllMediocre's new feature  -  the spankin' fresh "The Lonely Blogosphere Guidepost Series".

So be sure to stop by and check it out.  While you're at it, peruse the rest of the AllMediocre blogroll - there's some good stuff up in there, y'all - and see if you don't find a few new daily reads.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off in search of Coffee.  I hear it's a local specialty in the Land of Aum...  

Now and Then

Then

(Ziggy was my home boy)

Now

This Girl Goes To 11.

Blogger Love On Wednesday is up at Fiddley Gomme.

Pete did a great job interviewing a guest that interrupted him at least a dozen times... someone who has obviously been off her ADD meds for the past 8 months...  

Someone who has just now, this moment, vowed to make her husband sit in the next time she does anything like this - so that he can fit me with a shock collar and give me a good jolt every time I forget to SHUT UP ALREADY.  

In my defense, I do talk the most when I'm nervous.  Also this was recorded on a day when I had been awake with Toby since 4am and my allergies were kicking my tuckus.  So that buys me about 30 seconds of the 20 or so minutes I talked nearly without interruption or maybe stopping to breathe.

Thanks again to Pete, who could teach classes in being patient with the Crazies.  (and by crazies, I mean me.) 

BLOW Me.

First off, quick aside.  I had every intention of posting this yesterday, but then our power flicked off and on and the wireless router died for the dozenth time this year and then refused to come back.  And so I was without internet, because I refused to sit down like a normal person and plug into the ethernet cable.  Because - WIRES! The weight of it all, the tied-down-ness.  It was all more than I could bear.  Also I was somewhat busy digging my way out of the pit of despair our house descended into over the course of the busy weekend.

So now things are back to normal, the house is no longer in danger of being condemned, and Big Daddy picked up a spankin' new wireless router, thus restoring my faith in the internets. All is mostly right with the world.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled insanity.

I may have mentioned once or twice or eleventy-billion times that I have a small problem with phone anxiety.  

Talking to strangers or even acquaintances over the phone has been known to give me heart palpitations, sweaty palms, and halitosis.

So it was a big step for me to spend an hour chatting with Pete of Fiddley Gomme for his Blogger Love On Wednesdays podcast.

Pete is an incredibly personable guy, and I have a feeling he'd be great to set with over a couple of beers.  Not that lightweight Utah stuff, where they water the beer down to like 4 percent.  I'm talking good, New England Lager beers.  

That said, I'm also fairly sure that I talked too much, talked too fast, and meandered down Tangent Lane a few too many times.  I mentioned to him (off recording) that I have been living happily in my little bubble of relative anonymity, and I'm somewhat ambivalent about venturing out into new territory. I've never received hate mail, nor have I had to deal with trolls and other lower life forms.  It's like the Garden of Eden -- all naively exuberant exploration without any real consequences.

It's probably to be expected, then, that I'm feeling a little anxious about letting that go and moving on into the Big Bad World.

But moving on I am.  I started with getting my ticket to BlogHer for this year... and now everyone except my Mom can tune in to Pete's B.L.O.W. podcast this Wednesday to hear me interviewed.   He's too nice to tell you that I'm as awkward to talk to on the phone as you would imagine, but I suspect he required a stiff drink and perhaps a high colonic in order to recover from exposure to all hundred kinds of my crazy.  Anyway, be sure to give it a listen so that you, too, can hear me cackle like a hyena and possibly talk about conceiving my children under the influence of too much wine. 

Thanks, Pete.  You're a gentleman and a scholar. :)

Technicolor Spectacular

So last night was the Tee Ball Team Party.  The season ended all-too-quickly, and I'm already feeling unexpectedly nostalgic for Saturday afternoons at the ball field.  

The players, coaches, and parents met up at a restaurant to engage in the time-honored tradition of the Team Pizza Party.  The pizza and soda flowed, and we wrapped up the journey we have taken together over the past few months with a spectacular cake.

This cake was a replica of, what else, a baseball diamond - complete with rich green grass and muddy brown infield.  The colors were really quite eye-popping.

And the point of this little anecdote (about which none of you really give a flying rat's buttocks) is to get us back to this morning.  Specifically, you may follow me to the bathroom where I had to help Jack wipe his bum this morning.

He usually does this on his own now, you see, but he was in a bit of a panic because his poop was the exact color of green Play Doh.  Which scared the junk out of me - until I remembered that frosting.  I explained to him about the color coming out the same as it went in, and he finally came around to believing his insides weren't about to spontaneously combust.

And just to drive home the point, about 20 minutes later I did my own Play Doh-tinted party trick.  Which, of course, he demanded to inspect - just to be sure I wasn't pulling his leg about the food-coloring.

Welcome to The Family Aum.... where we are comfortable enough to critique each others' technicolor poo.  That's real LOVE, man.   

Extremes of the Waking Spectrum.

This is the difference between the toddler who wakes up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, at 4am and the Mother who had to get up with him.  By 9am he is ready to conquer the planet, whereas I am still looking for the license plate on that tractor-trailer that ran me over.

Summer Book Review #1

Note:  When I decided to do a short review for the books on my list as I finish them, I may have neglected to mention that these reviews may have very little to do with the actual content of the book.  

I feel it only right to give fair warning that the reviews may have as much (or more) to do with my feewings about the book as they do with the actual content of the book itself.  But then again, if you're still here (after.. um... 5-ish years now? HOLY CRAP.) you're probably cool with that.

The Good, Good Pig - by Sy Montgomery.

I didn't expect to love this book.  It's not that I hate animals, it's just that I've been known to be.... let's say "somewhat ambivalent" when it comes to the furry creatures in my own life.  I love other people's pets - the ones who do not threaten to leave feces or hairballs on my rug, the ones who do not wantonly chew on our dirty underwear.  It's MY pets that give me the cold night sweats.

So I didn't expect to love this book.  But I have to admit that, beyond giving me a new appreciation for pigs in general (did you know their meat tastes just like ours? I can't stop imagining myself as a lovely sage-rubbed roast...) and this pig - one Christopher Hogwood - in particular, it made me take a new look at the animals in my life and vow to extend them a little more understanding.

Sy Montgomery knits together the stories of her life and her passionate pursuit of knowledge about the most exotic species of animals (pink dolphins in the Amazon! Doesn't she know there are PIRHANA there?!) (Yes. She does. And she swam in the river anyway!) with stories of the life and times of one ordinary and extraordinary hog.  She treads lightly in describing her many adventures, focusing instead on the cozy comforts of hearth, hog and husband which keep her coming back to home.

If I had to do a quick and dirty summary, I'd tell you that this book is about the relationships that we cultivate - both human and animal - and how they enrich our lives.  I found it particularly poignant that the author was estranged from her own family but, using the titular pig as an ice-breaker, was able to overcome her innate awkwardness with other humans and build a varied family of her own from the kindred spirits she has met along the way.  

It was a great beginning-of-Summer read that went down like a good slice of country corn bread slathered in honey butter.  

So there you are.  Next up: I will begin reading .. umm... something else from the list!  I haven't picked up another book from the list yet, but I'll get on that later in the week.  Lounging in the shade of the big Bradford Pear tree in our front yard with my book while the kids ride their bikes back and forth down the sidewalk and we all slurp on popsicles?  My own little slice of Summer heaven.

Indeed.

"I do not think it is necessary to believe that the same God who has given us our senses, reason, and intelligence wished us to abandon their use, giving us by some other means the information that we could gain through them."
– Galileo Galilei

Why You Haz Evil Humors, Horrid Humans?

I love that my kids treat our ginormous, scary-looking dog like he's an obnoxious sibling. 

The big, strong guy who delivers our pizzas? He backs away from the door  at the sight and sound of Gizmo's frantic (but friendly) barks of greeting.  

The boys, on the other hand, are apt to react to his attention by shoving him out of their faces with a distracted "shoo, Gizzy!" without even looking up from their play.  

Case in point: Jack decided to mess with the dog just for giggles.  On this particular day that meant subjecting the dog to 15 minutes of "dress up" play, including this scene I caught on camera.  My best guess? Gizmo was playing the part of "Major League Baseball Player With Severe Hangover".  

Garbage Pail Kids.

Because Mama is watching her "So You Think You Can Dance", I'll keep this short and, uh, sweet.  Actually, more sour than sweet.  Allow me to explain.

 The boys got into the nasty, fetid trash on the back deck this morning.  I'm talking empty charcoal bags, old newspaper, and various plastic bags - all of which have been soaking in the rainwater from the storms of the last few weeks.  It was.... gross.  To say the least.  AND it stank.  Which meant that my little angels stank, horribly, and had to be dumped in the tub for a quick hose down.  

Let me reiterate: I had to bathe them in order to scrub off the nasty moldering garbage and muck they had been PLAYING IN.  The next time I decide I need to spend perfectly good money on toys for the little buggers? Remind me I can just dredge the neighbor's dumpster and save myself some coin.

Summer Reading Awesomeness.

On to the Bounty of the Written Word.... Summer Reading List-a-palooza!  I thought about dividing it into parts and putting at least 10 items in each, but then I realized exactly how self-defeating a proposition that would be.  Instead, here is the list in no particular order with no particular reasoning for the number of books.  Also, it is divided into 3 categories: Books I Will Most LIkely Read Between Now and September and Books I Have Already Read That You Should Read This Summer If You Haven't Already and Books We Should Both Read In The Future That I Probably Won't Get To This Summer.  Actually, let's just refer to them as "Books for Me",  "Books for You", and "Books for Us".  Again, each list is in no particular order.... Okay? Go!

BOOKS FOR ME

The Good Good Pig (Sy Montgomery)

The Road (Cormack McCarthy)

The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)

Slightly Shady (Amanda Quick)

Daisy Fay and the Miracle Man (Fannie Flagg) 

The Devil in the White City (Erik Larson)

The Seventh Sinner (Elizabeth Peters)

The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)

The Wife (Meg Wolitzer)

Water for Elephants (Sarah Gruen)

Look at Me: A Novel (Jennifer Egan)

BOOKS FOR YOU

The Glass Castle (Jeanette Walls) 

The Time Traveler's Wife (Audrey Niffeneger) 

The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)

Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West (Gregory Maguire)

Outlander (Diana Gabaldon) -- (Love this whole series.  Great Historical Fiction/Romance)

BOOKS FOR US

Use Me (Elisa Schappell)

Who Will Run the Frog Hospital (Lorrie Moore)

Cowboys are My Weakness (Pam Houston)

Garlic and Sapphires (Ruth Reichl)

Finding George Orwell in Burma (Emma Larkin)

If you note any gems that were suggested  (by you or others) that I somehow left off the list, please feel free to bring them to my attention.  

I had to go see the vampires LabCorp peoples yesterday and have my blood sucked out an hour after drinking that godawful glucose solution that they always try to convince you "tastes just like orange soda".  Ugh.  My stomach turns in a very queasy roll just thinking about it.  But I digress.  The hour between drinking said awful concoction and having needles punched through a tender nerve or two gave me ample time to start on the first book from the list, and the only one I happened to already have handy.  

And so I am about one-third of the way into The Good, Good Pig and so far it's a breezy and delightful summer read.  I'll post a full review when I finish it, and then start on whichever book from the list happens to catch my fancy (or that happens to leap out at me the next time I'm at a book shop.  I'm going to try to skip Amazon as long as possible... what with the spectre of possibly crippling car repairs hanging over our heads.  But I won't think about that now.... I'll go crazy if I do... I'll think about it tomorrow.... etc. etc. etc.  and fiddle-dee-dee.)

Good Reading, all.

With Much Further Ado...

Remember that list I've been attempting to pull together for simply ages?  The one I promised to post MONDAY?

*Checks to see if pants are on fire*

Oh, sure, Monday started off well enough, all full of optimism and idyllic good intentions ... Toby was sleeping in (a rare event) and Jack was happily settled in with his matchbox cars while I, in my comfy jammies, enjoyed my morning coffee and perused the CNN.com.  

Then the phone rang, and Monday reared its ugly, ugly head.  

Big Daddy's car had suddenly and inexplicably stalled out at a light about 20 miles from our house; he was now parked on the side of the road and in desperate need of rescue.

So after waking Tobin, changing out of my jammies, throwing the kids into clean clothes and then into the car, and heading down the road, we picked up our stranded damsel hero and headed up to drop him at his office. (His office which was still another 30 minutes further down the road. The man has an unholy commute, he does.)

To avoid simply turning around and subjecting the kids to an additional hour of uninterrupted car time, I decided instead to tote them over to a farm near our old apartment.  We peeked in at the baby cows, pigs, and goats and they each sat a spell on the old tractors (engines removed) while I sweated and generally cursed the passing heat wave.  We grabbed some candy cow tails at Ye Olde Commercialized Country Store and then headed back on our way towards home.

And so it was that all thoughts of carefree summer reading had fled my heat-baked brain.  Long story shortened: No List For You Peoples.

Then? Then, yesterday, (that's Tuesday for those of you keeping score at home)  our wireless router decided that it was ready to pass on to the big data stream in the sky.  Ergo, no internet for me.  At least, not until this morning, where I am currently perched in our cat-litter-scented basement plugged in to (hand to God) WIRED ETHERNET.  (*cue up the tiny violins playing "Nobody Knows... The Trouble... I Seen....."*)  I know, I know. These are first world problems, my peoples, but they are MY problems just the same.  We're working on sorting out the wireless situation (NOTE: Potential Givers of the Free Stuff, I am happy to test drive a wireless router for you!  Becuase BlogHer has eaten up all spending money for the forseeable future.  And because pregnant women have very, VERY sensitive noses and OH MY FLAMING HOLY COWS, Big Daddy needs to change that litter box!  My EYES, y'all. IT BURNS!)

BUT! Today is a new day, and the faster I take care of this, the faster I can hustle my buns upstairs and take the kids for a walk to drop bills in the mail.  Because Big Daddy's car is still in the shop and he has taken the still-unnamed (though I'm leaning towards "Bertha") MiniVan of Doom, leaving me stranded.  SO, on to the good stuff.

First allow me to share the unholy cuteness of my spawn, and then I shall make with the Book Love.

And now... for some bullets!

*  Two-year-old Tobin has learned to say "Oh, SNAP!"  I find this endlessly hilarious.  You should, too.

* Jack inexplicably refers to Ruby Tuesday Restaurant as "Rooty-Fruity Tuesday".  He is also, at this moment, down on all fours and barking at the 60-pound dog.. in what I can only describe as a comic attempt to assert his dominance.  The dog is suitably unimpressed, and probably wondering what the child would taste like smothered in kibble sauce.

And now, because it requires its own post (so you and I can refer back to it as we make our way down the list... right? RIGHT!)  On to post #2 of the day...

Random Musings on Country Cooking.

It is safe to say that when Big Daddy and I met I was somewhat less than a whiz in the kitchen.

It is safer to say that I was basically a disaster.

Big Daddy's Mama, my mother-in-law, whom we shall now dub - for official blog purposes - "Cooking Mama"  (also a wickedly addictive game that Jack and I both play obsessively on the Nintendo DS).... anyway, Cooking Mama was horrified at the prospect that her only beloved son should face the rest of his life with a companion who had only just got as far as mastering the art of boiling water.

She decided very quickly to teach me a thing or two - or fifty hundred million - in the kitchen.  I was a slow pupil, but eventually I started to learn a few things.  I am happy to say that I have finally learned a passable imitation of the art of home cooking.

And so it is that Big Daddy returned home tonight from his week in the Czech Republic, and together we prepared a feast fit for the king's return to his castle.  He threw a couple of New York Strip steaks on the grill (after liberally seasoning with cajun spices).  Hearty rounds of salted, sliced pineapple joined the steaks over the toasty coals.  Add some fresh cobs of boiled corn, some even fresher homemade fried okra, and a big bowl of chopped heirloom tomatoes tossed with balsamic vinegar and olive oil.... and it was Summer on a plate.

And see that part up there? The part where I said "Fresh Fried Okra".  THAT, my friends, is the product of having a culinarily inclined mother-in-law with an Alabama/New Orleans sensibility in the kitchen.  I FRIED FRESH OKRA.  If I had completed Maggie's challenge to write up 100 life goals?  That would totally be up there, so I'm going to go ahead and start my list just so I can cross that off.  

I'm not kidding when I tell you that before the tutelage of my kitchen mentor, the finest thing I ever cooked in the kitchen was a pot of spaghetti with a jar of ready-made sauce.  It dawned on me tonight that I've been cooking for long enough now that I didn't even think to be scared of boiling and frying okra - AND I was able to use the corn meal we bought at a local agricultural festival last fall - from a guy who we watched grind the corn fresh - corn that he had grown on his own farm and harvested with his own hands.  

Holy crap, I might be growing up to be a country girl after all... or at least a woman who can cook like one.  Next Cooking Challenge: wait for the apples on our tree to get ripe this fall so I can make an honest-to-goodness homemade apple pie from scratch.

In the mean time, the plum tree is nearly ready for fruit harvesting.  Anyone know what on earth I can do with several bushels of plums?  (Don't say can them.  Anything but that.)

...

And with that - admitting my lack of canning knowledge? - I believe I just heard my hard-fought Country Kitchen credibility shatter into a kajillion tiny pieces.  Somewhere, Paula Dean just shuddered involuntarily.  

Ah well.  The education continues.  It's not like anyone is going to be all that impressed anyway -- especially after I admit that the kids and I lived on bologna sandwiches and Papa John's pizza for most of the week that Big Daddy was away.

But. Still.  I FRIED OKRA!