2009!

Bookworm Wednesday

Wishing you all a wonderful, healthy and positive New Year! In celebration of Bookworm Wednesday, I am linking up with The Literacy Site. Each click earns free books for kids. One of my New Year’s Resolutions is to click everyday. I am hoping to inspire at least one other....Maybe that will be you! You are just a click away from a smile!

Twas the Night Before Christmas

Bookworm Wednesday....

Bookworm: Here I am, Bookworm Wednesday, reporter on the street. Tonight I’ve wormed my way between the pages of the children’s classic ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas hoping to score a face to face with that mythical elf, Santa himself.

Book: Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

Bookworm: So far, it’s been awfully quiet in here, but I know the characters are awaiting the infamous midnight visitor. As I am a sucker for drama, let’s see if we can cut to the chase….

Book:…..and I in my cap had just settled down for a long winter’s nap…

Bookworm: Is the snoring in here bugging you? Let’s skip this page…

Book:…down the chimney Saint Nicholas came with a bound.

Bookworm: Our hero makes a grand entrance! Santa! Santa! A few questions please?!

Santa: Ho-Ho-Ho!

Book: The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath…

Bookworm: Santa, were you aware that the general consensus is no smoking in children’s books? That cancer thing, ya know?

Santa: It’s 1823 here, kid. Lighten up. Ho-Ho.

Bookworm: Is that the copyrighted date? Explains why I am hacking in here. Next time I will bring my ionizer and some pledge.

Book:…and I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself…

Bookworm: Excuse me, sir. Yes, you. The one in the nightie and sleeping cap. Is laughter the appropriate reaction to finding a large hairy man in your parlor in the dead of the night?

Father in story: Don’t know, dude. My agent just told me to show up here in girlie PJs. Does this mean I got the part? Score. That’s hot.

Bookworm: Santa, are you feeling well? You seem rather jittery and shaky.

Book: A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head…filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

Father in book: Dude, he is in character…’lively and quick’, remember. Jeez, man. The gall to question the one and only Mickey Rooney. Wow. No respect. Speechless. Dude.

Santa: Where’s the eggnog? Ho-Ho-Ho.

Bookworm: And, Santa, I noticed earlier when you whistled and shouted and called them by name, you left out Rudolph. Where does he fit into the equation?

Santa: Ho-ho-ho-Who?.

Bookworm: No, Santa, I believe the Whos are featured in another book. But, I digress…

Book: The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow…

Bookworm: And, Santa, I can perhaps let the smoking thing pass, but now we have boobies in the snow? Maybe we need to up the rating to PG-13.

Santa: Talk to my agent, kid. He-he.. I mean, ho-ho.

Book: And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose…

Bookworm: Santa..Santa! Are you up for a sequel?

Father in story: Dude? I think it’s a wrap. We hit it in one take. Hot…. Hey, aren’t these gigs catered?

Girls, Girls, Girls!

Having little girls has seasoned our lives with a mix of drama, a pinch of chaos, a variety of squeals and a whole lot of entertainment! The blessings abound.

A sense of wonder… “When will my ant farm come back alive…maybe on Wednesday?”

Ample reason…. “I like to eat chocolate because I like to eat chocolate.”

A touch of social etiquette…. “Thank you and I know I am welcome.”

A bit of suspense…”Is Santa coming next afterday?”

Some tossed creativity… “The teddy likes to wear the plate hat because he likes to have cookies on his head.”

A whole lotta passion… “NOOOOOOOOO!”

A healthy dose of intellectual stimulation…. “Da-da-la-la-wa-wa-ma-ma-ka-ba-ba-ca-ca-cat !!”

Moments of discovery… “Belly button!” (pointing to the spot just south of kitty’s highly held tail.)

A handful of grace and charm… “Sweetie, say hi to Uncle Charlie!”
“No. He is old.”

Episodes of unquestionable wit… “My mommy ate ice cream on the couch aaaallll day long today.”

Unarguable joy… “I love cookies. I love Christmas. I love Mommy. I love Daddy. I love sister. I love preschool. I love Santa. I love cookies. I love…”

And, those two young ladies always give me a run for my money.

That’s not what I meant. Come baaaack here!

Voted off the Island

Thank you to all who voted for me when I was featured on Top Momma! Unfortunately, my moment in the sun was brief. I was voted off the island just about as quickly as I arrived. Or to quote the elegant email that was sent I “was booted from Top Momma.” They gave me a nifty badge to commemorate the occasion and sent me on my way. Hmmm…Should I wear it with honor?



However, I was featured on Momtourage once again here. It was an honor to be featured and after getting my booty kicked on Top Momma, it was great news to hear!

Monkey Mind

Sometimes I suffer from the monkey mind, my thoughts a runaway train at 2:00 AM, leaving me filled with all sorts of cold and prickly anxiety. Nothing like a little something prickly as a midnight bed fellow, all snugly wrapped next to you attempting to steal your blankie.

“Did I forget to buy milk?”

“Am I behind 5 loads of laundry or just 4?”

“What was that noise?”

“Am I a doormat?”

“Sleep. Sleep. I need to sleep.”

“Did I set the alarm?”

“Maybe I’ll go blog about this. At 2:00 AM? No, that would make me obsessive.”

“Am I obsessive? Do obsessive people think they are obsessive? Do other people think I am obsessive? Maybe I should wake hubby and ask if he thinks I am obsessive….Or is that obsessive? How do you spell obsessive? Surely someone aware enough to wonder if they may be obsessive, couldn’t be obsessive? No, clearly not obsessive here….(Pause)….Anxious? Do you think I am anxious? Only anxious people wake up at 2:00 AM to worry about being anxious, right? Or does that make me obsessive? …(Pillow over head)….Hide, I’ll hide, yes hiding is good….Or , ummm, does that make me socially phobic?”

Sometimes the monkey gets the better of us in the wee hours. It is wise to distract him with a peanut or two and quickly lock the window behind him. And maybe throw a rock at his furry a** as he scampers away. Fingers crossed for a direct hit.

A Sip of the Bubbly

Last summer, I was drowning in the roaring rapids of new motherhood with a newborn and a two year old. My memories are blurred and my hair is greyer from it.

This year, I’ve managed to raise one nostril above water with a one year old and a three year old. My memories are sharper and I love my new hair color.

Next year, I will have a two year old and a four year old. Perhaps my diapering days will be over and maybe both nostrils will be above water.

The year after next, I will have a preschooler and a kindergartner. Quite possibly my whole head will be above water gasping full deep breaths. I daydream about mornings filled with long showers and the occasional quiet home

I dream about the days when they are both in school full time, a first grader and a third grader. The quiet will be a fine champagne, bubbly and much anticipated.

Of course, this is what I wanted. Two bundles close together. I wanted them two years apart, equipped with a forever best friend. I wanted them to have what was absent from my childhood, a similar aged sibling. I wanted to silence that defeaning biological tick, squeezing them in before 35 (didn’t make it). I wanted to rush thru the diapering stage by overlapping the diapering stage (don’t try this at home). And the fertility Goddess was swift and kind to me. I am thankful for that.

Surprisingly, I find the work less stressful than teaching at the local elementary. There are less meetings, less paperwork and far less grouchy parents. I love where I am and what I am doing. At times, I find the inevitable mess and chaos of the situation to be funny. Other times, it is quite satisfying. But, there are times when I am up multiple times at night with a hacking 3 year old and goopy nosed one year old, when I dream about that sip of champagne. It will be a long, savory sip, with feet up and followed by one lengthy enormous exhalation.

Of course, this delicious sip of the bubbly will be followed by girl scout cookie fiascos and lost ballet shoes, I know, I know. But, for the moment, I will linger in the fantasy.

Watcha' Say?

OK, I rated it. I kept score. I kept track. I calculated and tabulated. And here are the results. My top 12 utterances in any given week in 1998 (pre kids) versus 2008 (post kids).

Top 12 Utterances of 1998. Listed in order of regularity.

12. OK, Chum, lose my number or what?
11. Well, there were sufficient funds yesterday.
10. Can you believe she wore that?
9. Take a gander at the fox at 3:00.
8. Martini, no olive.
7. Sorry, Charlie. Washin’ the hair on Fridays these days.
6. Ah, can ya throw in a couple extra orders of fries with that?
5. 555-1212
4. Those thigh hi boots are smokin’. Gots to get me some.
3. (Weep, weep. Exhale, shaky inhalation) Do you think he’ll ever call?
2. Old maid? Old maid? Ya don’t think that will happen do you?

And, my #1 utterance in a given week(end) in 1998…

1. Whatsup, G?


Top 12 Utterances of 2008.

12. Out of the cat litter box already!
11. Watch it, young lady.
10. Don’t put that up your nose.
9. Get back here.
8. No cookies before dinner.
7. Santa’s watchin’
6. Eat your peas.
5. Gentle with Mr. Kitty
4. Uh-oh
3. SSSSHH!
2. No! No! No!

And, my #1 utterance in any given week in 2008….

1. Hmmm…Smells like poop….sniff. sniff.

Opposite Directions

I now have two children that can walk. Happened a couple months back. No more baby blob securely strapped to my hip, front or back. Now, there are two of them moving….mostly in opposite directions.

Hubby helps. “I got me a full visual on #2 and a partial on #1. Do you read me? Over and out.”

But, on the days I venture solo to a play date at the park or museum….Oh, my!

“Sit here! Your sister’s getting away.”

“Sit here. Come here. Not you. You! Sit. You. Stay. You coooooome HERE!”

“Gotcha, ya little bugger! Where’s your sister?”

“Which way did she go? Which way did she go?”

“Where’s my daughter? Not that one. The other one.”

“Here. Here. Here. ….Come baaaack here!”

“….And don’t eat that!”

I spin around so much, I wouldn’t be surprised if my body corkscrewed its way into the ground. I am sure I’d make a great permanent fixture in the park between the slides and swings, jaw dropped wide, eyes rolling, hands flailing, my Medusa locks on end. Hopefully, I would provide some solace to other mothers on their wild run through the park chasing a toddler or two. Perhaps a plaque at my feet… “Motherhood…She came undone.” ??

Bookworm Wednesday

“You can tell which girls lack mothers by the look of their hair…”
~The Secret Life of Bees

I gasped as I read this quote from The Secret Life of Bees, a novel about a motherless girl. I was horrified at the tremendous absence that would fill a motherless girl’s life. So many motherly details just gone. The thought sent me running to my daughters, interrupting their usual afternoon Play Doh tea party for a hug and kiss session.

And then I went to work. One at a time, I pinned my daughters down and began my obsessive grooming. French twists, braids, ponytails, buns, and fancy knots. Our mornings became filled with Goody clips, barrettes, stretched out hair bands, bobby pins, head bands, glittery, no slippy hair clippies…..My one year old is off the hook with a couple brush strokes and one simple clip....for now. Not so with the three year old.

“Ouch!”

“Quit pulling!”

“You’re hurting me!”

I growl under my breath and make a mental note to remind myself to assign my daughters the task of reading The Secret Life of Bees when they are teenagers. In the meantime, Mommy Hair Nazi cackles each morning over a bottle of detangler and a drawer full of hair doo-dads. Or is hair thingy the proper term?.

I Was Featured!

Mammatalk was featured here on Momtourage powered by iVillage. Apparently, this website supports the notion that every mom needs an entourage, a circle of friends to help her navigate mommyhood. I agree. An entourage....oops, I mean, Momtourage. Gotta get me one of them.

Thanks, Momtourage! I appreciate the recognition.

P.S. Do you really like me? ( Gulp)

Mommy Primping

(Yeah! Date night! In honor of such a rare occurence, I will re-post one of my very first Mammatalk posts, Mommy Primping.)

I remember when I was an unfettered maiden, free of children and matrimony, singing to my animal friends in the forest....I spent hours gazing at my loveliness in the mirror brushing my silken locks, applying lipstick and primping for dates. I would try and re-try on my new outfits, many still with tags. Should I wear strappy sandals, boots or my mules? Should I carry a clutch, an over the shoulder purse, or oversized handbag? Skirt or little black number? Blouse or tank? Sinfully skin tight low rider jeans or capris? And if we were past magic date #3 ...ahem, I mean...date #10, thong or bikini? Perfume or all body splash? Should I wear the matching lotion? Should my hair be adorned with sparkly clips, captured by a tortoiseshell clip or worn free and loose, blown dried, moused, dyed and spritzed? Taupe eyeshadow or black eyeliner? Both? Oh, you nasty vixen. Lipgloss or lip liner? Matte lipstick? Should my nails be French tipped or natural? The pearls or gold chain? Oh, the choices. So many details and so much time to gloriously decide....

As for today? I still primp....

1. Hair in banana clip ( why did these ever go out of style?)
2. Stretch pants retrieved from dirty clothes hamper.
3. Clean shirt taken from bottom of clean clothes basket.
4. Shirt thrown in dryer for 2 minutes to get rid of wrinkles.
5. Sniff arm pits
6. Quick pit wash with wet wash cloth
7. Can't find deodorant
8. Use hubby's Speed Stick
9. Sniff nursing bra
10. Rate its stinkiness from 1-10
11. Baby crying.
12. Get baby wearing only bra and pants.
13. Nurse baby
14. Can't remember where shirt is.
15. Decide not to worry about it.
16. Not leaving house today anyway.

Ahh, the luxuries of a Stay at Home Queen

Daddatalk Revisited

Rewind to March 2007….

Mammatalk: Oh, hooooney! I can’t believe we are having another baby girl! What should we name this one? After your Grandma? Mine? What do you think about seashell pink with scalloped border for the nursery and pink toile for the bedding? Let’s go antiquing and find a lovely old fashioned dresser to re-finish. Maybe paint it white? What about a baby shower? Do you have a shower for the second baby? They will be born in opposite seasons…Should I register? I want to breastfeed so I will need a new breastpump , a sling and some sort of booby cover up. How about a Hooter Hider? They have great funky fabric…Should we get a new baby stroller or stick with the old one? I’ll do a quick websearch for recalls….

Daddatalk…Ahh….Yeah.

Fast forward to…August 2007

Daddatalk: And they painted her belly with this orange antiseptic. It was huge just sticking through a hole in her sheets, all big and round and painted orange….kinda like a pumpkin. The anesthesiologist gave me a stool to sit on, but I kicked it away and said “Oh, no bud, I am watching this.” I looked over the barrier the whole time. They cauterized her incision and you could smell the burning flesh. They used this tool to spread open the incision wiiiiide….and then out came this baby head! Kinda like Alien, but no…not really…Huh-huh-huh-.Afterward, they actually took out her uterus and put it on her belly and examined it with this magnifying glass…..

Mammatalk:.. Ahhh…..yeah.

This just may be the glue that keeps us together. We each know when to smile and nod.

Bookworm Wednesday

“Isolate a honeybee from her sisters and she will soon die.”
~The Secret Life of Bees

I feel very buzzy today. I’ve buzzed along from blog to blog paying each of my SITStas a visit. I’ve always considered these visits light, fun, breezy trips around the blogosphere. A laugh here, a chuckle there, a weepy eye or two, advice gathered, giveaways entered…Fun, fun. However, perhaps there’s more to these visits than I thought? Modern living can be isolating especially for the stay at home mom with young children. Most past civilizations were far less isolating, a grandma or auntie just a cave or mud hut away. Are we lady bloggers responding to a deep, instinctual need to congregate in numbers? Is there a need to buzz around the bloggy bee hive in search of a little female company? BZZZZ!

“You have to find a mother inside yourself. We all do. Even if we already have a mother, we still have to find this part of ourselves inside.”
~ The Secret Life of Bees

Great advice. Most women need to learn to mother themselves. So, go out there and be good to yourself, my fellow bees! And, then, go ahead, spread the bloggy love to your sisters….comment here, follow there, and click on an ad or two on your way out!

Merry Grinchmas

(This post is dedicated to The Secret is in the Sauce on today, their First Annual Merry SITSmas blogathon! Grand prize is a $200 Target gift card and the chance to be Friday’s Featured Blogger.)


“Where are the stockings? The STOCKINGS!!!!”

My three year ran wildly among our Christmas paraphernalia, tossing aside old holiday cards, dusty garland and jingly bells.

“Christmas ‘posey gots to have stockings!!” Lower lip quivered, breathing accelerated and watery eyes fixed in my direction.

I had been informed. Educated. Enlightened I was. By a three year old.

“Perhaps this will stop Christmas from coming?” I pondered silently.

Witnessing this lost stocking preschool panic attack made me re-think my typical commercial Christmas cheer. Forget jolly ol’ Saint Nick. I’d prefer a visit from that green little Christmas bandit, Dr. Seuss’ Grinch. I would even help out. Set the alarm for midnight. Wait for him with a plate of cookies. Enlist a hand from hubby.

I would stuff all the baubles, gifts and packages in his enormous bag. I’d gleefully hand over the holiday DVDs and CDs. Surrender the glittery decorations and lights. Hand him the oversized Costco eggnog jug. Present my endless Christmas card list, my fruitcake recipe, my Secret Santa organizational binder, my supersize rolls of wrapping paper, the LED blinking holiday wreath, and yes, even offer up my perky sprig of mistletoe.

Yes, readers, I would even assist as he shoved that tree up!!

I can hear the collective hisses and gasps echo across the blogosphere. Maybe I am the grinchy, witchy one here, green fur and all.

But, for just a moment, could you set traditions aside and join me in my Grinchy Christmas temper tantrum? Visualize a non-commercial Christmas? A Christmas highlighted with a circle of hand holding neighbors, singing songs of joy, delighted to receive nothing-ZIP-Nada-Zero on Christmas morn? A holiday filled with only expectations of a shared Christmas meal with loved ones, good will to men and peace on Earth?

Maybe the Whos were on to something?



PS. Santa, please disregard. It’s that monthly dragon thing again.

PPS. I know this does not qualify as a holiday card. For some real Holiday cheer, check out these crafty ladies…..Christie and Cherry.

La-La-La-La-La!

My one year old daughter is a screamer. During dinner, she flavors the dining experience with “AHHHHS!”, some “Grrrrrrrrrs”, a few “ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-yas!!”, a handful of “da-da-da-da-das” and the occasional “oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ooh-oh-OH!!”

“It’s a stage,” hubby says.

Is it? I do hope so.

I envision prom dates gone bad…...

“Gimme more fries! Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya!”

graduation dinners gone awry…..

“Ahhhhh! Goodbye Central High! GRRRRR!”

and wedding receptions hitting the fan.

“I’d like to thank my parents for their never ending love and support. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Yaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

On a lighter note, there could be some benefits.

Childbirth will be a breeze.

“Push and breathe.”

“ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!”

My retirement party should be interesting.

“Let’s toast to my mother. Ooh-Ooh-Ooh-Ooh-OOH!”

Business dinners will have a twist.

“And, further, I propose to decrease our monthly spending by …Da-da-da-da-la-la-la-la-LA-LA!!”

Oh, well. At least she inherited my charm and good looks. Kinda makes up for the gaps.

Turkey Escape

Bookworm Wednesday


Webster was a turkey with a tragic story. Every November, children would select books from the top shelf in the children’s library. This was Webster’s home. Here, stuck in A Thanksgiving Tale, Webster spent his time forever imprisoned in the pages of this holiday book, ducking and dodging the farmer’s ax. Sadly, it always ended the same. The family sat down to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with no mention of Webster’s untimely demise.

This year Webster had a plan. He had spent the summer chatting with his neighbor, a certain holiday bunny. This bunny, having grown weary of all the bouncing and egg coloring, claimed she went on a well deserved vacation when a 5 year old ripped out some pages of her story. Another holiday creature of a spookier persuasion told Webster his mood had lifted when a third grader had applied lipstick and rouge to his pasty complexion. Webster’s plan began to form.

He needed a child, preferably one in possession of an art kit and a desire to destroy library property. Looking out the window, Webster saw the school bus arrive.

“Field trip,” sighed Webster. His luck was beginning to change!

Froupy Frit Frat!

I admit, I used to have a bit of a potty mouth, slipping in a creative utterance here, a colorful phrase there, and carefully tossing in a detailed, edgy description when deemed necessary. Yes, I managed to flip the switch off during working hours, but, boy, I let my hair down after hours. I simply thought a story would be incomplete without a handful of epithets, cleverly selected curses and properly chosen 4 lettered expletives.

And, then I had children, a permanent audience to my saucy narratives. Today, I have grown to be sneaky with my sailor’s mouth.

“Ouch! I hurt my freaky, feathery finger.”

“I wish he’d get out of my ding-dong way.”

“What hamburger flippin’ business is it of his, anyway?”

“I’d love to throw this shippy piece of slip slap away, gosh dangity dang dern it.…”

“Holy, Mommy, myrtle turtle tater tots. That was one big freaky, froupy frit frat. Did you see that nickel knuckle knickerbukker? That must have been the biggest dibble dabble dripper I have ever….What a shite shut!”

And, boy, did I think I had my bases covered…..Until parent teacher conferences at my 3 year old’s preschool.

“Ahem, Mrs. ******," The teacher was hesitant as she spoke. “What is a shite shot?”

Daddatalk Wonders

Daddatalk: So, ah, why do you always blog about my a**?

Mammatalk: An artist is compelled to write about her passion. And I am a slave to my art.

Daddatalk: Sounds good. Keep it up.

Toot.

I live with a family of musicians, always entertaining me with random honks and toots and rips.

My hubby likes to play his instrument in the shower and while reclining on the couch after dinner. His melody is strictly baritone and he rarely strays from his usual tune. I have grown accustomed to his music and could single him out in a roomful of tooters. I have often wondered if it is the shape of his instrument or his many years of experience that have contributed to his musical flair.

My daughters are just learning their instruments. They are musically all over the map, a baritone drilled into the high chair, a tenor ricocheting in the shopping cart, a lone high note in the middle of story time at the library.

Once, while grocery shopping, I was serenaded by a duet by my daughters. I could only smile and nod my head to the beat. I was disappointed with the grocery store’s acoustics. The background noise of the store made it difficult to hear some of the smooth lower notes. The fellow shopper in line seemed to appreciate the subtlety of their song…a quick turn of the heel and was that a sneer?

As for me, well, my bloggy friends, I do not play an instrument. And, when the rare note does manage to escape, I always give credit to others. I am, after all, a lady.

Bloggy Orphans

I am a Stay at Home Mother. I have shelved my teaching career for a handful of precious years to attend to the needs of my little ducklings. I am happy to place their needs over our indulgences. I am filling their foundational years with my full attention and…

Not, now, sweetheart I am blogging…

and my greatest wish is that I use my years of teaching experience to mold their growing minds…

I said, not now. Go watch Dora.

Research states that the young mind grows more during the first five years than it does in our entire lifetime. In fact, there is a distinguishable difference in the minds of neglected children when compared to children who received at least “adequate” attention during these precious years. So, when you ask “Can we mold our children’s minds?”

Big girls go potty by themselves…

I say, yes, yes, we can mold our children’s minds. No, we need not become flash card wielding paranoid mothers. Pressure and over scheduling can be detrimental as well. But, a quiet moment cuddled up with mommy and a book…

You know where the Cheerios are! Gimme a minute!

…a morning in the park, pausing for a moment to enjoy the meandering line of ants under the tree…

I don’t know where Mr. Socky went…..

A day in the library browsing through books, enjoying a morning Mommy and Me class, an afternoon playdate with friends….All these activities help contribute to your child’s growing social skills, intellectual development, language and vocabulary acquisition and emotional well being.

Yes, I see the Kitty. I know. I know. Kitty Kitty! Nice kitty!

Small attention to the details of their day, listening to their thoughts, focusing on their interests, engaging them in conversation, reinforcing good behavior, allowing them the luxury of knowing that mommy will always be there…

Ssssssss! Can’t you see I am WORKING?!

All of these things lay the foundation upon which an entire life stands firmly, well grounded and secure. Ah, to grow up in a home under the watchful eye of an attentive, loving mother

STOP BUGGING ME!!


PS. Note to Social Services.....I am prone to exaggeration.

Cool Like That

I remember when I was cool like that, lingering over cocktails and shaking my caboose under the strobe lights at the local hot spot. The better part of my energy was spent eyeing the newest fox in town. My wardrobe was bursting at its designer seams, full of hip huggers and size 2 slinky numbers. The top on my ride was usually down, highlighted hair in the wind. “Catch me if you can, cowboy,” followed by a wink and a smile was my M.O.

Now, my calling card has changed.

“OK, who pooped?”

“Sit still. I gotta wipe your boogies.”

“And shove another pea up your nose and I’m gonna get ugly!”

These are among the most common utterances in my typical day. Nowadays, I get giddy when Lee Riders go on sale at the local Wal-mart. Most of my energy is spent chasing people with poopy pants. My nights out often include a burger and a balloon. The highlight of my week involves veggies and a cooperative 3 year old. And my mini van is the slinkiest ride on my cul -de- sac.

Such is the life after a girl is swept off her feet by a new in town stranger, a wide smile, a fat diamond ring and one smoking hot hiney. Kinda caught this gal unawares.

Death by Baby Safety

It all began with my Baby Safety Class in the hospital. Pregnant, wide eyed and bushy tailed, I took copious notes and listened intently. ”A home is a dangerous place,” warned my Safety teacher. Later, at home, we bolted and screwed, applying gadgets, latches and locks throughout our homestead. Chipping paint and creating gaping holes in drywall, we were a man and wife Captain Safety Crew. When the baby proofing was complete, we were proud of our secure little nest, safety screws, bolts and all. We slept better at night knowing we protected our offspring with the best Home Depot had to offer.

I faced my first safety crisis when, at 3:00 AM, I found myself with a screaming newborn, a screwdriver and a baby swing that was clearly dead in the water. Previously, I felt secure and smug knowing that the batteries were tightly screwed into the swing, safe from my colicky newborn’s tiny taste buds. And, now I cursed and snarled under my breath at stripped bolts and @#$% safety regulations.

I figured a wee bending of the rules was acceptable given the late hour and found the out dated electric swing complete with the long frayed electrical cord. This was when I lost my first thumbnail, prying away at the electric outlet safety cover. Nursing my thumb, I found my way into the bathroom. That safety lock on the medicine cabinet put up a good fight before I broke it in half, cracking my second thumbnail below the quick.

Not one to take an injury lightly (insert wince here), I rushed into the kitchen in search for an icepack only to be reminded of the hazards of the kitchen by our expandable baby gate (which was fully expanded at the time, thanks for asking.)

That was it. I had had enough. This gate deserved an aggressive hurl into the back of the closet. And hurled it was, following a 10 minute battle of the wills between myself and the closet doorknob safety cover. (Was it push and then twist clockwise? Or twist counterclockwise while simultaneously pushing? Perhaps a cryptic clockwise-counterclockwise-Morse Code-a la DaVinci Code- back and forth combination twist?) I reached a brief low point when my front teeth made aggressive contact with the doorknob safety cover. I then decided to involve hubby who was snoring in bed.

I believe my rag doll body did a complete 360 degree spin mid-air after my foot became entangled in our safe infant car seat that had been innocently sitting in the living room. The roar that emanated from my lungs echoed through the baby monitor, re-awakening colicky baby and causing hubby to reach for our safety flashlight under the bed. That flashlight rushed down the hall, in hubby’s hand and was beamed into my spinning eyeballs as I lay, collapsed on the floor, battered and bleeding, but happy, nonetheless, to be reclining peacefully.

Death, by baby safety…quite the heroic exit.

Bookworm Wednesday

That Thing I Have with the Library.....

I grew up with books littered all over my bedroom floor, propped in front of teddy bears and stacked in piles by the bed. But, I had a small fear of the library. Yes, of course, I always had the urge to dive in knee deep, wildly exploring Winnie’s Hundred Acre Woods and grasping at Laura Ingalls’ pigtails. But, the rigidity of the library frightened me. The stacks of books were so orderly and controlled. Was this a book prison, with fines and strict rules about visitation? To add fuel to the fire, my teachers chimed in about Dewey and his complicated decimal system. I was simply spooked by the librarian's Head Mistress appeal and snarling threats of mounting late fees. Of course, on Sundays, I still paid those imprisoned books a visit, supervised visits naturally. But, I was fearful to venture there alone.

Then I fell in love with bookstores. Dewey was delightfully absent from their bookshelves. Books were stacked in inviting pyramids showing off their shiny new jackets. Cozy couches nestled in quiet corners by even cozier fireplaces. The salespeople lacked fangs and met you with a smile rather than a hiss. Music played. Food was served. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

Unfortunately, in time, simple economics made me re-evaluate that little thing I had with the library. Afterall, $15.98 is a stiff price for a quick read and the re-sale price is dismal.

I entered the library with my double stroller, head held high and decided I would put that ruler wielding, bun wearing, hissing book warden to work for me. And , it worked. Eager to get my whiney children out of the adult section of the library, she put that hustle in her bookish bustle. She even suggested that next time I hop on my home computer, and place my desired book on hold. She pointed to the “On Hold” bookshelves that lined the library lobby and gave a head nod to the self check out computer. The picture began to form….a non-librarian library visit? Just me, a computer, and all the free books I wanted (provided I return them on time?) Gulp. Oh, I have found heaven.

These days, I dart into the library to pick up my requested book and then let my little ladies run wild in the children’s section. Sometimes we even catch storytime. Yes, I have been guilty of incurring some overdue fines. (pennies) But, now I open my pocketbook, and nod at my gaggle of gals. “I haven’t known the day of the week since I gave birth 3 years ago.” This is usually met with a smile, sometimes a suppressed giggle and an occasional snort of disgust, but I can leave with my dignity intact. Heck, I am even a bit smug knowing that I managed to read Tolstoy while juggling two monkeys. Look at me. I am a regular book circus!

A Day at the Park

“Honey, I am going to take the girls to the park this morning. You can shower with no distractions.” Hubby smiled, obviously quite proud of himself.

“Wow. Great. Bring the sippy cups. Whole milk for baby 2. Skim milk for baby 1.”

“Got it!”

“Snacks. Bring snacks.” I advised.

“Oh, we won’t need those. We’ll be gone for just a bit.”

Hysterical laughter.

“Ok, I’ll bring snacks.” He concedes.

“Cheerios for Baby 2. Raisins for Baby 1.”

“Okey, Dokes…” Hubby was halfway out the door.

“Don’t put the snacks in a baggie. Choking hazard.” I warned.

“Yep. Got it.”

“I hope you’re not thinking of going anywhere unarmed. Grab the diaper bag,” I continued.

“That big, flowery, womanly thing? I’ll just grab a diaper and throw it in the back.”

“Wipes. Bring wipes then.”

“Gotcha!” He chuckled.

“And a change of clothes….in case there’s a poop explosion.”

“Alright, I’ll bring the girlie bag!” He begins to admit defeat.

“Throw in a couple hats and sunscreen. They inherited my skin.”

“Hats? They have hats?” He scratches his head, confusion looming.

“And a couple sweaters in case it clouds up," warns Weather Mamma.

“Should I bring an overnight bag?” he jokes.

I ignore the joke and continue...

“A blanket would be a good idea.
Not her quilt. The grass will get it wet.
Ya might wanna grab a ponytail holder.
Not that one. It pulls her hair.
And grab some hair clips.
Not the sparkly one. It scratches.
Don’t forget a baby toy.
No, that one might have lead. Try this one.
The Kleenexes are on the table.
Ah, the purse size one is …well…..in my purse.
Oh, here’s their sunglasses.
And, put some shoes on them, ya goofball!”

My checklist complete, and my hot, much anticipated shower only seconds away....

“Um….looks like it might rain….Do I have to bring all this stuff if I just take ‘em to Target?”

My Monthly Dragon

I have a beast that lives in my closet. Scaly and mean, she naps most of the month. But, sometime between week three and four, like clockwork, she rears her ugly head. It usually starts with a low guttural growl of a warning, escalates quickly, and if not carefully managed, can make an ugly mess.

Hubby is quick to help manage the crisis. His emergency trips to the grocery store are always met with appreciation.

“Drop the chips and back away!”

Our darling daughters contribute to the cause.

“Mommy, where’s my Halloween candy?”

Door to door salesmen take one for the Gipper.

“We DON”T want any!!!!!!!”

My OB/GYN offered tidbits of advice.

“There is a birth control pill that has a little Prozac in it.”

And, at the peak of the fury, the bagger at the grocery store offered himself up as a sacrificial lamb.

“Don’t put the EGGS at the BOTTOM!!!!”

Luckily, after scorching one or two victims to the bone, my dragon grows weary and retreats, belly full, to a cozy corner of my closet, nestling her head between my slippers and UGGS

And, a calm settles upon the village……….for now!

Bookworm Wednesdays

I’ve always been a wormy one, making my way through the pages of a good read. I once won a bookworm bookmark contest receiving first prize for the most witty bookmark caption. “Watch out for those cookbooks! They’re killers! Hick!” I was only 8, but yet still related to bookwormly humor.

To pay homage to my bookworm roots, I have decided to name ( most) Wednesdays as Bookworm Wednesday. On such Wednesdays, I will focus on some sort of bookish topic…book review (with a twist naturally), character analysis (with a curve thrown in), book gadgets, or some sort of library related topic. (I have lots to say about the library.)

Today, I will introduce you to my inner bookworm. She wormed her way into my heart as a small child and took up permanent residence. I admit, she was a deep in the closet bookworm in high school, took a paid vacation in college and became a late night type in my twenties. Today, encouraged by my devil may care…I- am- nose- to- nose -with -40- anyway attitude, she is in full swing. Finally, feeling appreciated, she has gained confidence and esteem. She has toyed with the idea of changing her name to Book Caterpillar, thinking that “worm” had a negative, wormy ring. She has extended her social network, hanging out in the sections of the bookstore she never dreamed of and she is thrilled to be the star of this blog entry. She hopes to inspire others to join the bookwormly revolution and she prays I won’t make too much fun of her eccentric nature.

Here’s to you, Book Caterpillar, my wormy, little friend.

Freaky Friday

My girls were hot and sweaty in their furry outfits, my monkey and Halloween poodle, both scratching and complaining. The Costume Parade at the local retirement home had gone as scheduled. We were met with some bright smiles, some foggy grins, and truth be told, quite a few confused stares. And, according to schedule, for the third year in a row, my hubby later shared his views about our twilight years over dinner. ”Just take me out to the backyard.” And, again, one of my hisses finished that conversation.

“I envy your busy hands,” an elderly lady had whispered as I walked past. My busy hands, I thought, as I lugged my wiggly, twisty, children to the mini van. I had just been thinking how a quiet lunch in bed, with a book propped, a pretty view and an on call nurse sounded inviting. Have I lost my mommy mind? Have I been tortured to the point that I view a quiet bed, any bed, anywhere as a vacation??

My mind began to gallop away with the thoughts of escape. Perhaps some sort of Freaky Friday -Trading Places – Senior Wife Swap? I could get a few hours in a toasty bed munching on a pb&j sandwich and a good read while someone named Edith rocked my baby and brushed my 3 year old’s tangled hair? Is this a fair swap?

Most likely not. Most likely I should take a moment to listen to the advice that the little blue haired lady in the wheelchair was whispering just under her breath.
“I envy your busy hands.”

Which, I will do, as soon as I get a minute………..

Mulitasking Mamma

Mammatalk enters front door cradling baby on hip, balancing cell phone on shoulder, groceries hung on arm, pinky holding 3 year old hand, foot kicking the door open, right side of mouth shouting hello to neighbor, left side of mouth finishing phone conversation with Grannytalk, right eye winking at hubby in kitchen, left eye watching baby eat car keys, back of mind making note of next week’s doctor’s appt, front of mind busy navigating path through toy scattered living room.

“Hoooney…Help me with groceries?”

Daddatalk is dicing tomatoes in kitchen. “Just a minute. I am focusing.”

Moral: Superhero multi-taskers shouldn’t took down their noses at mere mortals, especially if he’s cooking in the kitchen.

Disco Pumpkin

Charlie Pumpkin was a good pumpkin. Round and smiley, he sat alone on page three in The Little Halloween book. He faithfully entertained my oldest daughter for the past three years, enduring flips and flaps, endless page turns and violations from a pink crayon. Never did his disposition take a turn for the worse. He sat in his spooky scene cackling gleefully despite his frozen circumstances. He waited patiently during his 5 month little banishment under the couch. He had no grievances over the rip through his middle. Nor did he complain over the apple juice fiasco. He lovingly grinned as sticky fingers smudged his ink. He lived a lonely existence between the crumpled pages, always surrendering to a toddler’s love.

Today, Charlie gets a facelift. We glued and taped and, in the end, we stapled. Between the orange Crayola and iridescent glitter, we managed to somewhat regain Charlie’s original complexion. And when we were done, my three year old stuck a sparkly ghost sticker, hovering just overhead in the starry sky, a ghostly disco of a scene.

“A friend,” she sighed.

A good deed done!

Book ADD

I admit it. I am a book hopper, always starting and stopping some poor and unfortunate novel; always on the look out for that one book that will sweep me away. I blame it on my Book ADD (are there drugs for this?) that was triggered by my maternal hormones. In my premarital life, I spent long stretches of time lingering over a gut wrenching book…. Ah… an evening well spent. ( got married late, remember?) Now, if a book is to be read, it must be devoured in 90 second intervals….bit by bit….during those heavenly pockets of peace between baby screams and three year old whines; between poopy diapers and poopy pants; baby scrapes and bandaged knees.

The book must be fast paced and quickly engaging. It must take me away to an exotic locale, with heroes and eccentrics dancing around an intricate plot. I ‘d like to be challenged, the boundaries of my reality pushed with far reaching story lines, my attention captured with its spiral twists and hairpin curves, and satisfied by a heart warming ending. I am looking for a book full of charm and wit; a book that holds a mirror to your soul; a book that will suck you into another cultural context, time and place, toying with universal themes of love, passion and betrayal.

A tall order, yes?

On this typical morning, I was book hunting in Costco, scanning the stacks of books, both girls quiet and sticky faced from their cookie eating. I had no more than a handful of moments to make my selection before the cookies were devoured and the threat of whines loomed. My heart ached at the selections. Love in the Time of Cholera….Suite Francaise,…..The Glass House……Peony in Love…so many choices. I settled on The Secret Life of Bees, an older book that had been giving me the eye for years.

“It’s about time we met,” I said flopping the book into the shopping cart.

Maybe it will be a book that can be read 90 seconds at a time during those exquisite pockets of peace….

Microwave Mondays

Yeah!! It’s time for Microwave Mondays. I tried this recipe just the other Sunday for my brood, and boy were they chippity chip happy! It fed a family of four for under 10 dollars. I clipped a few coupons from our Sunday paper. Golly, I must have saved 42 cents! Anyhoot, here is the recipe from Grammy….

Chicken Cassserole

Take 2 chicken breasts, marinate
3 pinches of parsely
A dash of Parmesan cheese…..


Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!!

We interrupt this blog posting to give you a message from the Emergency Mommy Sex System!

Hubby’s home from trip! Both legs shaved. Body spritzed. Kids exhausted from run in the park. Wine chilled. Rose petals scattered (Ok, I made that up) Toenails clipped (didn’t make that one up) House clean (hahhahhaha!) Dander up! Game on!

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming….


Cook chicken in microwavable dish for 45 minutes ( every microwave is different, please see your microwave instruction booklet……….





(Please note. This blog entry is entirely fictional. Any resemblance to other blogs, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.)

Hold the Mustard

Today I will tip my hat to a bloggin’ queen. Her Bad Mother has done it again with this post. She writes about one horrific baby poop story involving a restaurant bathroom and no wipes. She also invites you to share your own baby poop story in her comments. I posted a humble “I dodged the poop bullet”. Sure, I have had my share of squirts and dribbles, but nothing even close to this. It’s a long one, so grab your coffee and enjoy an excellent read. Many of the comments are also very worthwhile reading. Top notch writing and knock your socks off humor!!

You also can support a good cause if you read the post directly following.

Daddatalk

Mammatalk: Hooooney, remember our first date? I just knew we’d be 2gether 4ever. You smiled your big smile and I got all goosebumpy. You were so sweet standing there with your roses.

Daddatalk: Hmmmm?

Mammatalk: And, on our third date, you bought me that pretty necklace, the one with the moonstone. And, on our 6th date, we stayed up late talking. I knew it was you. I just had a gut feeling that I’d meet my husband soon. I knew it. I just knew it had to be you.

Daddatalk: Mmmmm!

Mammatalk: Remember how everyone thought we were nuts running off to Europe together just 2 months after we met? Silly kids, we were! Right, honey?!

Daddatalk: huh?! Ummmm…yeah.

Mammatalk: And your parents just loved me and my family was crazy about you. And it all sorta clicked. Like a cosmic button being pushed really, really hard.

Daddatalk: uh, huh…

Mammatalk: Isn’t it nice that, after 6 years, we can still talk for hours and just sit and hold hands like a couple of crazy kids? So, romantic…Kinda like on our 11th date…

Daddatalk: So, ya wanna get busy?


Moral: Ya gotta get, when the getting’s good.

Snacks Happen!

“Sometimes, snacks happen, Mamma!” My 3 year old piped.

How very true! Just the other day, I had a snacking moment in the produce aisle. They wouldn’t miss a couple of grapes, would they?

And, I had one at Monday’s playdate. (Oh, these are for the kids?)

I had several at Costco. …”It bakes in less than 10 minutes, ya don’t say? I think I’ll have another!”

Sometimes, I have a snacking moment while having a lunching moment.

“Want fries with that?”

“Sure.”

I have snacking moments at kid’s birthday parties. “Oh, she doesn’t like pink frosting? Let me help.”

My snacking moments are sometimes disguised as cleaning moments. “Oh, let me lick that off for you!”

Or going green moments. “Don’t wanna waste that one.”

Or spa moments. “Chocolate…Ahhh!”

Or bonding moments. “Of course, I’ll try one of your treats.”

Or Sex Nazi moments “Not now, cowboy. I got a chocolate chip muffin screaming my name.”

Or a sharing moment. “Ya gonna eat that?”

Like tiny sunbeams of delight in your day, snacking moments are little friends, keeping you warm and cozy and cheering you on. Word to the wise, ya gotta sneak ‘em in when ya can. (but you probably already knew that.)

I was quoted!

Yeah! I was quoted! See here. for my claim to fame.

Battle of the Remote

Alright, Ladies and Gents….In case you just joined us... We’re going for Round 2 in the WWW Sweetheart Battle of the Remote Control. In the last round, hubby pinned his sweetie to the couch landing on ESPN for a total of 30 seconds.

Wifey’s up and ready for round 2. She’s doing a quick cat stretch in the kitchen and ….she’s coming back into the ring…..Oh, this lady’s feisty. She has him in a wicked lip lock. Distraction is her game. His grip is loosening. Ouch! He’s dropped the remote. Wifey does a nosedive under the coffee table. She’s in possession. She’s in possession. This is quickly taking a turn for the manly worse. Oh, she’s hitting that volume button. The Soap Opera channel?? Gulp.

“Oh, Thor! Thank you for rescuing me from falling off that icy cliff. You know, in this light I can see our future when I look into your eyes….”

*Click!!*

The man’s playing dirty pool. He stepped out of the ring and hit the channel button on the TV. Rookie move. Wifey’s calling foul. A penalty for hubby.

Back to the couch they go. Hubby’s performing a foot rub (his penalty). This is gonna be a slow game tonight, ladies and gents…..sorta like watching a defensive struggle on Monday Night Football. What??…Wait a minute, just wait one minute…..Wifey’s eyes are drooping. Oh! She can’t keep them open. Is she falling asleep mid-game? Come on, fella! Ya got your opening. Is he going for it!? Come on, buddy, my granny could pull this one off! Just like stealing candy from a baby. zzzzzzzzz! She’s sawing logs, bud. Take advantage.…. There he goes….He’s….I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes….he’s pushing the buttons while the remote is still in her tight grip…Master maneuver.

“Biff! Biff! Smack! You motha…f******!”

And he scores The Gangster Channel! This just may be a win for all manhood. Kids in bed. Wife snoozing. A full stomach and we got Scarface at his best! This may be a hall of famer moment!



Note to hubby…I know I got the sports lingo messed up. That’s what makes it fernnnyy!

A Special kind of Mathematics

Calculating your chances of getting lucky tonight…

Take one marital sex life, add 500 points
Divide it by 10 after first child
Divide it by 100 after second child
Find the square root of that number after third child
If you are nursing a baby, subtract 20 points
If you are nursing a baby, add 80 points (big boobs)
Erase all points if you are currently living with a newborn
Subtract 5 points for each load of dirty laundry sitting in the laundry room
Add 10 points if hubby mowed the lawn recently
Add 20 points if it is winter (who am I to argue with statistics?)
Add a zero to your number (15 becomes 150) if your child currently does not have colic, an ear infection or the croup
Add 3 points if it is payday, ahh, make that 2 points (inflation)
Add another 10 if the lady of the house won tonight’s battle of the remote control
Add 10 points and a chocolate martini if you are still with me.
If your mother in law lives within a 5 mile radius, divide by 2 and start over
If Grey’s Anatomy is on tonight, erase all points
If it is a re-run, ….Hmmmmm…OK…add 10 points
If it is after 9:00 PM, stop your calculations and start again tomorrow
If your child is over the age of 21, stop calculating and see How to Calculate if your Adult Child is Getting Lucky Tonight.

Results

200 points or more- I know what’s been going on in your house!
100 points or more-Just a friendly reminder that the bedroom tango is still on!
50 points or more- Well...Go ahead, add a zero to your number and see above
Less than 50 points- Sorry, not in the cards for you, but go ahead, add a zero and see above!

The Secret is in the Sauce

“What is that woman doing?”

My mother was sticking her nose between the kitchen curtains, hands dripping with soap suds, as she teetered on her tippy toes.

“Want me to go ask her?” I smiled between Jello licks, crooked ponytails bouncing.

I was met with a scornful look and a hiss.

This scene re-played all my life. My mother was/is a neighbor peeker, keeping abreast of the goings on of the neighborhood, forever peeking her head between curtains. Her neighborhood supervision was not limited to curtain peeping, however. She was also a frequent ‘head over the fence peeper’, ‘eyeball behind the laundry line peeper’ and ‘nose between the daffodils peeper’.

I laughed at my mother. I looked down my nose. I scoffed. I belittled. I over analyzed. I speculated. I judged. I pitied. I giggled.

And, now, my mother and I are playing for the same team. I, too, am a peeper. Only, I have it worse. I am a cyber peeper, forever peeking over the rosebushes at my fellow bloggers, peering into their doings, musings and craftings. Wondering, if I am indeed, keeping up with the Jones.

Thanks to the Secret is in the Sauce website, the nosy parker in me has gotten a mind of its own (and it’s only been a week. I am a newbie!). The Secret is in the Sauce features a different blog each day. To be in the Sisterhood (or, SITStahood), you must visit the featured blog of the day and leave comments (footprints showing where you have peeked! Eek!) This website has created a sort of sisterhood, a magical blogging sorority, so to speak, uniting lady bloggers through comment support. I have found 5 interesting blogs through SITS.

http://cherrysjubileehome.blogspot.com/ ( this smarty pants is a dollar store craft diva)
http://skiptomylou.org/ ( I followed this skipping one to SITS)
http://tressinnorway.blogspot.com/ ( adventurous, humorous American living in Norway! )
http://wheresmyangels.blogspot.com/ (inspiring and funny blog about life raising children with Down Syndrome)
http://penniesinmypocket.blogspot.com/ ( If blogs were stores, this one would be Target. She has everything…movie reviews, sales, recipes)

And, if you, too, are wondering “what is that woman doing?” click here…
The Secret is in the Sauce. Hope to catch you peeking between the rosebushes.

My Itchy, Little Friend

“It’s itchy …..and red….and hurts when we…..ya know…”

My doctor, clipboard in hand, pondered the situation.

“Wear synthetic panties?”

“No.”

His eyebrows weaved together. Clearly, his concern was growing and he would put that Ivy League education to work for me, garsh darn it.

“Taking antibiotics?”

“No.”

His pensive look deepened. He was searching the archives of his knowledge, sifting through his medical “know how”, and thoroughly assessing my dilemma.

“Our vacation is going to be ruined!” I exclaimed, hands in the air.

He nodded, scratched his chin, and asked, “Have you been riding a bicycle?”

The look I gave him must have answered his question because he quickly backpedalled. He gave me another thoughtful look and told me to buy a tube of Monistat. You see, Monistat is my friend. If it doesn’t clean up after that, he invited me for another cozy visit to his office so he could prescribe a megadose of Monistat.

“But, I have already used that. It keeps coming back.”

He hesitated for a moment, my hopes high…

“Well,” he said slowly, “Try it again. Won’t hurt.”

I left his office disheartened and reluctant to buy another tube of Monistat. Instead, I would be a vigilante. A sort of vagina vigilante, seeking justice for all itchy vaginas. I would seek truth, justice and….well, help. Happily, I did find what I was looking for all those years ago. And, I have it to share with you….

A website every woman should read.

Did you know….

*Nonoxynol- 9 on condoms and lube can cause yeast infections and vaginal irritation in certain women (especially if used frequently, you horny little devil).

*A UN sponsored study followed 1,000 sex workers who used nonoxynol- 9 frequently. Those workers had higher incidence of vaginal lesions. Yes, lesions! Ouch! Spermicide is designed to kill sperm cells. It can not tell the difference between a vagina cell and a sperm cell. ( “Cide” does mean kill….pesticide, genocide, suicide, etc…)

*Frequent use of Nonoxynol-9 also correlates with higher incidence of STDS, bladder infections and HPV.( Don’t believe me? Google it. Here, I will help ya get started. )
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nonoxynol-9 It seems viruses and bacteria love irritated skin. It gives them a great pathway into our system.

*Overuse of Monistat or other over the counter yeast remedies can set you up for recurrent yeast infections. It tends to kill both the bad and good bacteria. Frequent use of such products also tends to contribute to your getting a drug resistant strain of yeast. (kinda like overuse of antibiotics.) Oh, joy.

*There are numerous alternative remedies you can use to prevent and treat yeast infections and vaginal irritation. Doctors are often fearful to recommend non-FDA approved remedies for fear of lawsuits (Don’t blame ‘em. It’s just a bad situation.).

*Probiotics, probiotics, probiotics!! Have you had your acidophilus today?

This and a whole lot more here https://www.msu.edu/~eisthen/yeast/
….Check it out or bookmark for future use …you just might be next!

Hissss!

There’s something wrong with my mouth. It appears to have sprung a leak. My days have been peppered with a variety of hisses lately.

“Shhhhhhh…Baby’s sleeping”

“Hisssssss, not in front of the children!!”

“Shuuushh! Do you need a time out?!”

Of course, my years spent in the classroom afforded me lots of practice.

“Hisss! No talking!”

“SHhhh! You are speaking outta turn.”

“Shuuuuush! We are in the library!”

Hubby says I have two mouths, one for talking and one for…SHHH! The bloggers are listening.

All shushes are not the same.

* Machine Gun Shush- Sh-Sh-Sh-Sh-Sh- watch out! There’s a bullet in each syllable. Mama ain’t happy.

* Lullaby Shush- huuuuush… a kinder, gentler shush, the place where all shushes are born; commonly echoed in maternity wards and baby nurseries.

* Librarian Shush- ssssssssshsssssshSHH!!- a long, continuous,snarling shush gaining in acceleration and followed by a sharp punctuation mark of a shush; translates to a firm warning, often precedes machine gun shush.

* Mommy Shush-ssssh-ssssh-sssssh-sssh-ssssh- a long series of rhythmic shushes, a reassuring hiss; An “Are you OK?” shush; usually accompanied by the patting of a back and smoothing of a toddler’s hair; often heard under playground equipment, bottom of stairwells and ends of long driveways.

* Daddy Shush-SSSHHH*T! – A firm, crisp shush, meant as a quick warning, it’s back end is blended with an expletive; often heard as a teeth clenched warning such as “Watch it!!...It’s gonna….SSSSHHH*T!”

* TSSSK-TSSSK-Tsssk- a cousin of Shhh. Translated to “No, no, not now.” Or “Don’t touch.” And occasionally meant to be an “Outta the way, pronto” command.

* Shhhh should not be confused with the distant relative ssssssss, which is a crisis hiss, an ouch, breath holding inhalation hiss.

I am a talented husher. My knowledge and application of said hisses shouldn’t be underestimated. I am always ready to lend a hand at story time in the public library. I am equally available for crowd control at the bookstore. I am lots of fun at the movies. I am currently working on the ability to throw a hiss to the far side of a room without moving my lips (advanced hushing). It just might make me the fun one at parties.

Hiissss!

Grocery Store Panic

“I have to go potty.”

My shopping cart, filled to the rim, screeched to a sudden halt.

“What do you mean?” I asked in all my motherly wisdom.

“I have to go potty.” My three year old replied with an urgency I knew all too well.

A smoke cloud of burnt rubber hovered in aisle 8 as I accelerated past the frozen food. Much like Fred Flintstone, my stone aged feet were a blur as I weaved around old ladies and elbowed past soup stacking employees. My cart swayed on two wheels as I navigated corners.

We sprinted past the bakery without so much as a sideways glance (a first). We dodged the line in the pharmacy (without pausing for a look, listen and laugh). We crash landed just outside the bathroom door and quickly found our place at the end of a long meandering line.

I remained cool as a cucumber as I did the baby juggle in line. I kept my calm demeanor as I pacified my whiney 3 year old. I breathed deeply while I waited for ladies finishing their snail paced business. I sang softly to my two little ones as I listened to women cackle and gossip in their stalls. I averted my eyes when I saw ladies picking their teeth at the sink. I didn’t complain about the missing toilet seat covers. I didn’t grimace over the sticky floor. I restrained my belly aching over the two last squares of toilet paper. I was patient as I elevated my three year old’s buns over a sticky toilet seat. I smiled as I maintained my balance crouching in a football squat in front of yet another public toilet, baby draped over my lap and my arms aching from the weight of my three year old. But, I was not prepared for what would come next.

“Can’t go. Maybe try later.”

Sex Nazi

Sex Nazi

I have a confession. Since having 2 babies in 2 years, I have become a sex Nazi. Yes, I am a rigid ruler in our love palace, littering our marital rolls in the hay with abrasive commands and demands.

“Skip the fancy stuff, Mister. I got laundry.”

“Cut to the chase, Bud. Baby’s crying.”

“OK, Romeo. Your time window is T minus 10 minutes and counting.”

The clock glares at us ticking down those precious bedroom moments. I, of course, contribute to the romantic mood with my tyrannical tirades.

“Can ya put the pedal to the metal? I’d like to wrap this up before Oprah.”

“Let’s skip to the good stuff, Tarzan. I got a sink full of dishes and no time to waste.”

 "None of that, big boy. No time. Maybe later."

I admit it. I rule the bedroom with an iron fist, steadfast to the strict schedule and adherent to our time constraint, one ear listening for the stirrings of our offspring.

“The kids are stirring. Our time window is shrinking. Better deliver the goods pronto, cowboy.”

Luckily, I am married to a team player. He has taken one for the team on several occasions, and does not mind playing with a handicap. He is quite the trooper, always looking for ways to fill our sometimes desolate sexual landscape. Despite the stiff parameters, he always manages to deliver a grand performance, worthy of a standing ovation, lengthy accolades, and a “My hubby is better than yours” show down any day!!

Afterall, despite my bossy shortcomings, I did manage to wrangle me a Bedroom Superstar!