Blagojevich's Forecast

I'm saying stormy, at best. I just love living in the land of mobsters and corruption. It's a long way from Utah.

True Meaning Tuesday

Bobby was getting cold sitting out in his backyard in the snow. Bobby didn't wear boots; he didn't like them and anyway, he didn't own any. The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold. Bobby had been in his backyard for about an hour already. And, try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother's Christmas gift. He shook his head as he thought, "This is useless, even if I do come up with an idea, I don't have any money to spend." Ever since his father had passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn't because his mother didn't care, or try, there just never seemed to be enough. She worked nights at the hospital, but the small wage that she was earning could only be stretched so far. What the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love and family unity. Bobby had two older and one younger sister who ran the household in their mother's absence. All three of his sisters had already made beautiful gifts for their mother. Somehow it just wasn't fair. Here it was Christmas Eve already and he had nothing. Wiping a tear from his eye, Bobby kicked the snow and started to walk down to the street where the shops and stores were. It wasn't easy being six without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to. Bobby walked from shop to shop looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful and so out of reach. It was starting to get dark and Bobby reluctantly turned to walk home when suddenly his eyes caught the glimmer of the setting sun's rays reflecting off of something along the curb. He reached down and discovered a shiny dime. Never before has anyone felt so wealthy as Bobby felt at that moment. As he held his new found treasure, a warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw. His excitement quickly turned cold when salesperson after salesperson told him that he could not buy anything with only a dime. He saw a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. When the shop owner asked if he could help him, Bobby presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother's Christmas gift. The shop owner looked at Bobby and his ten cent offering. Then, he put his hand on Bobby's shoulder and said to him, "You just wait here and I'll see what I can do for you." Bobby waited, he looked at the beautiful flowers and even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers. The sound of the door closing as the last customer left jolted Bobby back to reality. All alone in the shop, Bobby began to feel alone and afraid. Suddenly, the shop owner came out and moved to the counter. There, before Bobby's eyes, lay twelve long-stem, red roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers all tied together with a big silver bow. Bobby's heart sank as the owner picked them up and placed them gently into a long white box. "That will be ten cents young man," the shop owner said, reaching out his hand for the dime. Slowly, Bobby moved his hand to give the man his dime. Could this be true? No one else would give him a thing for his dime! Sensing the boy's reluctance, the shop owner added, "I just happened to have some roses on sale for ten cents a dozen. Would you like them?" This time Bobby did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his hands, he knew it was true. Walking out the door that the owner was holding for Bobby, he heard the shop keeper say, "Merry Christmas, son." As he returned inside, the shop keepers wife walked out. "Who were you talking to back there and where are the roses you were fixing?" Staring out the window, and blinking the tears from his own eyes, he replied, "A strange thing happened to me this morning. While I was setting up things to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn't sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway. Then, just a few minutes ago a little boy came into the shop and wanted to buy a flower for his mother with one small dime. When I looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago. I too was a poor boy with nothing to buy my mother a Christmas gift. A bearded man, whom I never knew, stopped me on the street and told me that he wanted to give me ten dollars. When I saw that little boy tonight, I knew who that voice was, and I put together a dozen of my very best roses." The shop owner and his wife hugged each other tightly, and as they stepped out into the bitter cold air, they somehow didn't feel cold at all. Unknown.

After I found this story, and without me even mentioning it to him, Sugar Daddy brought me home a dozen red roses. The only time I've ever gotten flowers from Sugar Daddy is when I've given birth. I don't recall giving birth in recent days, so I guess he was just inspired. It makes this story that much more special.

Ha Bum Hug

What day is it? Monday, the what, 7th? 8th? I don't even know. And from the looks of it around here, you can tell I don't really care. We have a total of zero Christmas decorations up. Yep, zero. Zilch. Nada. This isn't for lack of intentions. I've been meaning to get them up for weeks now. It just hasn't happened. Let's face it, I don't feel like hauling up that heavy box from the basement. That's what the menfolk are for. And my manfolk has been AWOL for the last few days. Between work, church stuff, Christmas partying, and DVR, the time to do it has eluded us.

But there is a more sinister reason behind my slacker ways. You may recall that I don't like Christmas much, and that is what sparked True Meaning Tuesday. It's hard to want to play the role of a Holiday lover when truly I'm a total Scrooge about it. I know, I suck. Another reason is that we leave for Utah in a week and a half, and we'll be there for 2 weeks. Do I really want to decorate for the 10 days we'll be here? Not really. And I certainly don't want to come home from Utah after all the celebrations there, and have to take down Christmas stuff I never wanted up in the first place. Do you see my logic here? I knew you would.

What's a mom to do? I'm thinking tree, minimal other decorations, and it all comes down the night before we leave. Sound like a good compromise? I thought so.

Fun For Friday

I don't know if this counts as "fun" exactly. Below is a snapshot of my Oregon Scientific thermometer. The top number is the outside temperature. The middle is the inside temp, the bottom is the time of day, and below that is the date. You will see it is today's date and time. But please notice the outside temperature. And this is without the wind chill. Yeah. Not so fun.


So what is the coldest temperature you've ever been in? And where were you?

Have a great weekend!

Sugar Daddy's Day

Happy Birthday to you, my dear Sugar Daddy. There are so many things I love about you, so here are just a few.

• You can fix anything.
  
• You watch "Ice Princess" just to see the ending.
  
• You have an immense love for jackets and coats of all styles.
• You snore like a fog horn.
  
• You are always thinking of the girls and I, and ways to make our lives easier.
  
• You take out the garbage cans every Thursday.
  
• You like your sleep time.
  
• You can make friends with just about anyone.
  
• You do all the ironing.
  
• You love me and the girls more than anything else.
  
• And we love you too!
  

Have a great day!

There's also a sweet blurb about Sean over at Terrill's blog, so you can check that out here.

Remember That One Turkey?

Sugar Daddy kind of dropped the ball on our Thanksgiving dinner. After being asked by moi several times to go and pick up a turkey, he "forgot", and Sunday morning decided he could just run to Jewel and pick up a fresh one. Ha! Yeah, I knew it. I fully expected him to return empty handed, or at the very least, with a rotisserie chicken. But he went all out and purchased this here beauty. A fully cooked, yes you read that right, fully cooked, whole turkey. Vacuum sealed for freshness, and caramel color added for appeal. Mmm, caramel color, my fave.

So here we have the beginning product. Yes, it's a Butterball. That was my only hope of it turning out half decent, I've always had good luck with a Butterball.



Here it is in all of it's bagged glory. Why a bag you ask? I really don't know, except for that is how my mom always did hers, so that's how I do mine. No basting, it always turns out juicy, and it's just the way it is. Obviously I need to spring for the bigger roasting pan, as my scale of turkey to pan is a little off.



Here you see the temperature set at 320. The instructions say 350, but my oven is a total over achiever, and likes to cook a little hotter than it should. So I have to compensate. And you also see the timer set at 1 hour and 46 minutes. It should be 1 hour and 45 minutes, but I overshot it a little. I usually do this when I top off my gas tank too. I always get that 1 penny over. Dang penny. Also, I apparently have no use for that "Auto Clean" button. For I have never to this day cleaned any oven I have owned. Perhaps I should.



And here is the lovely finished product. Looks okay, right? The caramel color seems to have done a nice enough job. The juices were flowing, and the meat was tasty. I can honestly say I was pleasantly surprised. Like so pleasantly surprised, that I'm thinking about going and buying another one to freeze and keep on hand just in case. For .89 a pound, it's not a bad deal. And considering that we've eaten turkey in some form or another for 3 days now, it's pretty economical.

So even though Sugar Daddy had to change up our routine, he proved me wrong, as usual, and came out on top. It ended up being a nice, simple, fairly easy meal to cook, and I was happy to be all together as a family again. Thanksgiving just isn't the same without Sean around. Nothing is.

True Meaning Tuesday

The White Envelope

by Nancy Gavin

Editor’s Note: This is a true story that is provided to us by the family of the author. Even though Nancy passed away two years after her article first appeared in Woman's Day Magazine in 1982, her family continues to keep alive the tradition of the white envelope. This article has also inspired The White Envelope Project and web site.

~~~

It’s just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree at this time of the year for the past 10 years or so. It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it. You know, the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma, the gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t think of anything else.

~~~

Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

~~~

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner city church. The kids were mostly black. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.

~~~

As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without head gear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously couldn’t afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn’t acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.”

~~~

Mike loved kids — all kids. He understood kids in competitive situations, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner city church.

~~~

On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition — one year sending a group of mentally challenged youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas — on and on... The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.

~~~

As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. Still, the story doesn’t end there. You see, we lost Mike several years ago due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. Yet Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further, with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation, watching as their fathers take down their envelopes. Mike’s spirit, like the spirit of Christmas, will always be with us.

Please visit the White Envelope Project website for more information about how you can implement it in your Christmas experience

Thanks to Nurse Heidi for this story. She posted this on her blog a while back, and this is what got my gears aturning in the direction of True Meaning Tuesday. Heidi is a special friend, and belongs to a very special family. They have all seen us through some very difficult times, and have had their fair share as well. They are all the kind of friends that only come along once in a lifetime.

Thanksgetting

I heart Thanksgiving. I really, really do. I love the day before Thanksgiving almost more than the actual holiday because of our super fun family tradition of dinner and a movie that evening. Picture it; a family of 20 or so, half of which are kids, crammed into Applebee's, spilling chocolate shakes, sending back undercooked steaks, and raising the decibel level by at least 20. Then we head to the movies. Remind me to tell you a story of the family accusing us (oops, my bad) of sitting in their seats, even though they were 15 minutes late, and the theater was less than half full. They just couldn't make the mental jump and take other empty seats. Geniuses , I say. Okay, so that was pretty much the story. Now you don't have to remind me. We also had a girls only sleepover at my inlaws, and all the girl cousins stayed up waaayyy too late, and laughed too loud, and had to wake me up at 4 in the morning to do laundry duty. Darn bottled water next to the bed. It was a good time, though.

This was a bittersweet Thanksgiving. You know, another first without Mom. It's that sick sad time line we all keep in our heads, and I'm starting to resent it. And it was less another person this year too. Sugar Daddy was here in Illinois all by his lonesome. He managed just fine, though. He caught up on his sleep, and even cleaned up the house! He's such a good husband. He did forget to buy a turkey for our Sunday celebration of Thanksgiving, though, which warranted a trip to Jewel on a Sunday for a "fresh" turkey. Remind me to tell you the story about Sugar Daddy forgetting to buy a turkey, and then getting stuck with all that the store had left, a fully cooked whole turkey. Really, I'll go into more detail about that one tomorrow, and I even have pictures.

I know Mom would be proud of our Thanksgiving, though. It was perfect. Crowded, loud, too much food, naps, football, roll ups, cheese tree, chips and dip, and lots of pies and cheesecake. And I think we all took away more than just pot bellies and L-Tryptophan hangovers. We got renewed as siblings, and as daughters and son. We learned that no matter where we are, we have fun together. We learned that Dad is stronger than we (I) thought, and that he is doing okay. We also learned that being in the temple all together is one of the most special things a family could ever experience. We're all very excited to have Josh join our family next month. I know mom would be proud of that, too.

So all in all, it was a good holiday. I always feel like I get more out of Thanksgiving than I give. I guess that's what Holiday's are supposed to be. Family, friends, fun, food, and growing a little.

Because It's Good To Have Smart Friends

Today my good friend Nikki is featured as a guest poster on NieNie. She is sharing her thoughts on her favorite past NieNie post, and she also mentions our Cancer Sucks blog from many days past. Seriously, it's good to have smart friends. And also, thanks to Clisty for her heads up. You gals are the bestest.

True Meaning Tuesday

In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry babies and just 75 cents in my pocket.

Their father was gone.

The boys ranged from three months to seven years; their sister was two.

Their Dad had never been much more than a presence they feared.

Whenever they heard his tires crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide under their beds.

He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy groceries.

Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more beatings, but no food either.

If there was a welfare system in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew nothing about it.


I scrubbed the kids until they looked brand new and then put on my best homemade dress, loaded them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.

The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant in our small town.

No luck.

The kids stayed crammed into the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince who ever would listen that I was willing to learn or do anything. I had to have a job.

Still no luck. The last place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck stop.

It was called the Big Wheel.

An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out of the window from time to time at all those kids.

She needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until seven in the morning.

She paid 65 cents an hour, and I could start that night.

I raced home and called the teenager down the street that baby-sat for people.

I bargained with her to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.

She could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already be asleep

This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so we made a deal.

That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job. And so I started at the Big Wheel.

When I got home in the mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with one dollar of my tip money-- fully half of what I averaged every night.

As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my meager wage.

The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency of penny balloons and began to leak. I had to fill them with air on the way to work and again every morning before I could go home.

One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go home and found four tires in the back seat. New tires!

There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand new tires.

Had angels taken up residence in Indiana? I wondered.

I made a deal with the local service station.

In exchange for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his office.

I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his floor than it did for him to do the tires.

I was now working six nights instead of five and it still wasn't enough.

Christmas was coming and I knew there would be no money for toys for the kids .

I found a can of red paint and started repairing and painting some old toys. Then I hid them in the basement so there would be something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.

Clothes were a worry too. I was sewing patches on top of patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far gone to repair.

On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee in the Big Wheel. There were the truckers, Les, Frank, and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe.

A few musicians were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were dropping nickels in the pinball machine.

The regulars all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of the morning and then left to get home before the sun came up.

When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on Christmas morning, to my amazement, my old battered Chevy was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and sizes.


I quickly opened the driver's side door, crawled inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat.

Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.

Inside was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!

I looked inside another box: It was full of shirts to go with the jeans.

Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes. There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries. There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables and potatoes.
There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies, pie filling and flour. There was whole bag of laundry supplies and cleaning items.

And there were five toy trucks and one beautiful little doll.

As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was sobbing with gratitude.

And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little ones that precious morning.

Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December. And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop....




Thanks to a family friend who forwarded me this email.

I'm A Winner

Look what I won over on Tip Junkie. I never win anything. But I guess I can't say that anymore.

And when you read this, I will be en route to Utah to see my family! Which is way better than winning any contest. Unless it was a contest in which I would win a free trip to see my family. That would be the ultimate.

Stay tuned for "True Meaning Tuesday", and the maiden post tomorrow.

Things I Hate

I hate that I only have today and tomorrow left to get ready for next Saturday's craft show.

I hate that I have piles of laundry on the dryer that need to be put away.

I hate having kids on anitbiotics, and repeatedly forgetting to give it to them.

I hate waking up cold and headachy.

I hate that I have to leave Sugar Daddy alone for Thanksgiving.

I hate that my dog has a uterine infection and I hate that it will cost a fortune to treat her.

I hate it when my Voice Mail light is blinking, and then there isn't even a message.

I hate lying awake stewing about life.

I hate cancer.

I hate being in a bad mood first thing in the morning.

I hate that I still have 3 more days until I get to see my family.

Things That Blow

The other day, I got an email from my friend Dubya. She is always on the lookout for a great deal, and when one comes along, she doesn't hesitate to spread the word. In this email, it said that Target.com was having a sale on a Toro snow blower. It was regular priced at $299.00 and it was on sale for....Wait for it....



$15.00!

Yes, you read right. $15.00!!! So of course I immediately hop on the net, and check it out, and sure enough, right there in print was said snow blower priced at 95% off, coming in at $15.00. Add the $25 for shipping, and I had myself a new snow blower for $48.00 including tax. Suhweet. My mind was a swirl with thoughts of Christmas presents bought with the money I would make by selling it on Craigslist. Suddenly my burden was light.

But then, a day and a half later, I received an email from Target.com, stating that it was, in fact, an error on their part, and the snow blower was priced wrong. They had canceled my order, but offered the snow blower to me for the sale price of $219. Nope. No sirree.

That totally blows.

Genes

Yesterday I finally (finally!) went out and bought a new pair of jeans. I had received a catalog with a cute cute pair on sale, so I went on over to the store to check them out, and turns out the ones on sale were elastic waist. Okay, I'm all about comfort, and I understand the need for elastic waist in certain situations. Pregnancy, post-op, post-pregnancy, and, okay, I think that's about it. Unless you're 90 years old, then due to the fact that you've lived nearly a century, you can wear pretty much whatever you choose. I would choose a house coat. And slippers. Okay, I would choose that now, but I can't pull it off like an old gray haired granny.

So I give in and buy the regular priced jeans, and a shirt on sale for $9. Score! I'm not thrilled about paying full price, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. This whole time, both kids had been with me, and had been perfect angels. No, really. Gretta is still fighting a vomiting virus, so she was at an all time energy low, which translated into her sitting peacefully in a chair while Maggie entertained her with books and stuffed animals. It was Heavenly. I proceed to check out, at which point the cashier tells me she's a Montessori trained teacher who does babysitting on the side. Always a nice thing to know, just in case.

I gather up the goods, and the children, and head outside. As I'm crossing the road and scurrying through the 15 degree air, I see a car out of the corner of my eye. I realize about halfway across the road that it isn't stopping, and is, in fact, speeding up! Speeding up! The drives swerves around us, at which point I take it upon myself to give him the old Chicago Hello wave. This prompts him to slam on his brakes, which is just what I wanted. Now I can confront my attacker face to face.

He proceeds to get out of the car, and walk towards me. He is about 5 feet tall, no teeth, and no hair, and covered in tattoos. It is a perfect juxtaposition to the beat up POS Hyundai he's driving around. So we exchange words, which went like this,

Me: "Hey! What the heck? I'm a pedestrian (not pedestrain, Jill), you should be giving me the right of way!"

Jerk: "You need to use a *^&*ing crosswalk you *^&*(). "

Me: "Do you see any crosswalks around here?" Me motioning around and pointing out the fact that there are in fact, no crosswalks.

Jerk: "Well, you need to use a crosswalk! Stupid @#@$%"

Me: "I have 2 kids here, you could have killed us! You jerk, I'm calling the police."

Jerk: Ducks quickly into his Hyundai and "speeds" away.

At this point, I'm grateful for 2 things. The fact that Gretta was in my arms and not running alone by herself as she normally would be. And also the fact that I'm medicated with anti anxiety meds. Normally a confrontation like this would have sent me into a crying fit. I wasn't even shaking. I was calm. Calm, people! That $2 a pill is totally worth it after this.

But as I drove away, still reliving the incident in my mind, I realized that I'm especially grateful for my genes. Knowing in my heart that I was in the right, and knowing that had I been on the other side of this confrontation, I would have let that mother and her children cross the street and not even given it a second thought. There is something basic and instictual about it. Being a good person is more than just waving to a neighbor, or going to church every week. It's doing what we know is the right thing.

I could have turned out like that Jerk, who obviously has no respect for women, children, or people in general. I don't know his circumstances, but most people are taught right from wrong at an early age. And yet sometimes, it just doesn't take. They still do stupid things that are common for most of us.

But thankfully I didn't turn out like that Jerk. For some reason it took on me. And it stuck. Not that I don't ever make mistakes, but there is a place in me that wants to make others safe and comfortable.

And I blame it all on good genes.

True Meaning Tuesday

It's time for me to make a confession. This is hard fought because it practically goes against my DNA code.

I DON'T LIKE CHRISTMAS

I know! How can it be! But it's true. I don't like feeling torn in so many directions, and I don't like "settling" for the perfect gift to give some one I may not know very well.

I do love the spirit of Christmas. I love the lights, and the snow, and the food, and the food, and the food. But I especially love the stories of Christmas. You know the ones, the ones when you hear it, you start to get all goose pimply, and your eyes well up (or in my case, sweat) just a little. The ones that make your heart feel good, and your faith in humanity is restored. These stories can come in many forms. Children's books, short stories, family history stories, or songs. (Christmas Shoes, anyone?) But if we're lucky, or very observant, we may be privy to one of these stories in the making.

So this year, I'm starting True Meaning Tuesday. The Tuesday part is insignificant, mostly it just sounds good with the True part. Feel free to participate on your own blog. I will be telling one of these stories each Tuesday. Some will come from me, some from other people you may or may not know, and some will come from other sources such as published stories and such. My hope is that through this act of seeing the True Meaning of the Christmas season each week, my eyes will be opened to the miracles of the season that are happening around me. Thus making the necessities of this Holiday more bearable.

So stay tuned for your first dose of True Meaning Tuesday. And enjoy the Holiday season.

En Francais

This just made me smile.
She reminds me of Gracie, only en francais. Tres magnifique!


Once upon a time... from Capucha on Vimeo.

Give Away Time

Go here for a great Macy's giveaway. 3 Kids And Us is a great site, found through Tip Junkie, just another reason to love that website, that does lots of giveaways and has a very cute template and button. Go here for the Macy's believe promise to donate $1 for each letter to Santa they receive at their stores. A good cause, and a great excuse to get your happy butt over to Macy's. I need a new pair of jeans in a bad, bad way, and Macy's is very um, size friendly for me. So I don't really need a better excuse than that.

At Least It's Clean

Yesterday started out like most days. Up and at em bright and early. Emma off to school, Maggie awake and dressed in her standard outfit consisting of a Hannah Montana shirt, jeans, and the puffy pink skirt over the top of the jeans, all of this topped off with sparkly pink shoes. She is all girl. And Gretta being her silly self carrying around 13 binkies and her milk. We headed over to the local Starbucks to meet up with some friends and get "coffee", which is code for Hazelnut Hot Cocoa. Mmm. I chatted up the ladies while the kids sufficiently destroyed the table and chairs with donut pieces and spilled milk. Eh, we'll just leave a tip, no biggie. After I had my fill of funny stories and gross sex talk, it was time to head off to Maggie's dance class. She danced her little butt off. Gretta got her white-girl groove on, too, and it was hilarious.

So we head home. I've decided that on the way, a trip to Linens N Things is in order, to take advantage of their misfortune of going out of business and scoring an electric blanket for cheap. Sounds good, right? Yeah. So I'm heading along, minding my business and listening to Cathy and Judy's Sex Thursday talk show, when I approach the turn off for my street. Should I continue to LNT, or should I head home and put Gretta to bed? Hmm. If only there was a way for this decision to be made for me. If only.

Then suddenly, "Waaahh, baaarrrfff." Gretta has spewed all over in her car seat. Decision made. I turn up the street and head home as fast as I can. She continues barfing in her seat, not really crying, mostly just saying "Eeewww", and looking at her slime covered hands. We whip into the driveway, I pull her out of the van, and strip her down naked on the grass. Mind you, it's 30 degrees outside. But I'm not taking any chances of having my van smell like rotten milk, as I was doomed to drive around a Jeep that smelled that way all summer. My bad. But I digress.

I pop G in the tub, and start the mind numbing task of disassembling the damn car seat. Does that remind you of the movie Short Circuit? "No disassemble, no disassemble! Number 5, alive!" That movie reminds me of Meg for some reason. And again, I digress.

What the heck is with those car seats? I mean really. I understand the need for safety and all that good stuff, but who hasn't had their kid puke in the car seat, and needed to rip it apart STAT? You'd think they would make them a little easier to get apart for washing and sanitizing and such. This is the second time in 5 months I've had this kid puke in her car seat. I should be a pro at this by now. I'm not. So now I have a clean, sanitized, taken apart car seat in my dryer. Sugar Daddy is out of town, and this time I don't have an identical model to copy like I did last time. What's a girl to do? I guess I'll stay home and take care of business here. Or I could attempt to put it back together. But at least it's clean.

Say What?

What do you think it says? I have my own suspicions.

Hey Y'All

Check out the Mom-preneur Shop-a-thon giveaway extravaganza going on over at Tip Junkie. Love the Tip Junkie. A prime spot for inspiration for an Activity Days leader such as myself. But seriously, tons of good stuff going on over there. It's definitely worth a look.